Library Tales: Interestingly Titled I

Here are just a few of the more interestingly titled books I've come across recently.

The Industrial Vagina : the political economy of the global sex trade

Thinking Like a Communist

When Skateboards Will Be Free : my reluctant political childhood 

More, Bacon, Neville
Showing the importance of punctuation, which I cannot help but read as, More bacon, Neville!

A dog's history of America : how our best friend explored, conquered, and settled a continent

Housewife or harlot : the place of women in French society 1870-1940

Stiffed : the betrayal of modern man

Life is not complete without shopping

Sexed Pistols : The gendered impacts of small arms & light weapons

The Communist Controversy in Washing [sic]
 Due to a damaged cover this title has occurred, it should read Washington, but some things are better by accident

Cows, Pigs, Wars, and Witches : the riddles of culture

The True History of Chocolate

Mao's War Against Nature

Honourable mention goes to : The Male Body by Susan Bordo that should probably come under a new category 'cover stories'. The book's spine is an eight inch ruler.

Mystical Mondays: the poetry of Aurobindo Ghose

Aurobindo Ghose (or Ghosh) was an Indian political and revolutionary leader who became a poet, philosopher, and yogi or spiritual leader. His scholarly and socio-political work was always informed by a sense of mysticism derived from the great traditions of India. A sense that was not world-denying but world-affirming, a mysticism of presence rather than of abstraction. But this is not an essay about the works of Sri Aurobindo (his honourific title), I'll save that for a later date, today I wanted to share one of his short poems and first a quotation from an excellent collection of his work by historian Peter Heehs:

An even more direct sense of the spiritual life comes through his poetry. Like the Vedic rishis, like Yeats and Heidegger, Sri Aurobindo believed that the rhythmic language of poetry could convey meanings that went much deeper than the intellectual significance of the word. The rishis embodied their vision in 'Mantras, revealed verses of power, not of an ordinary but of a divine inspiration and source'. In The Future Poetry Sri Aurobindo showed that this heightened power of speech was not the prerogative of Sanskrit scriptures, but could be found to some degree in the poetry of any languages with a developed literature. English poetry has passed through evolutionary stages of primarily physical (Chaucer), vital (Shakespeare) and mental (Pope) inspiration. In the works of Wordsworth, Blake and other so-called Romantic poets it had sometimes risen to heights of inspiration close to what he called the mantra. He hoped that this tendency would be continued in contemporary poetry, and saw hints of this in the work of Yeats and George Russell (A.E.). But he was disappointed by most poetry published between the two world wars, considering much of the work of Eliot and other Modernists to be a relapse into mere intellectuality.

The Essential Writings of Sri Aurobindo, edited and with an introduction by Peter Heehs (Oxford: OP, 1998), xxix.

Trance

A naked and silver-pointed star

       Floating near the halo of the moon;

A storm-rack, the pale sky's fringe and bar,

       Over waters stilling into swoon.

My mind is awake in stirless trance,

       Hushed my heart, a burden of delight;

Dispelled is the senses' flicker-dance,

       Mute the body aureate with light.

O star of creation pure and free,

       Halo-moon of ecstacy unknown,

Storm-breath of the soul-change yet to be,

       Ocean-self enraptured and alone!

Library Tales: Dedications I

Here are some of the more interesting dedications I've come across recently, can you tell I've been working on mostly politics books?

To Linda, Fred, Peter,

and the little pink rabbit

For David and Edward
(from Marxism and Politics by Ralph Miliband)

To Joe,
who was born on Marx's birthday.

To
ALL MY STUDENTS,
PAST AND PRESENT
(Not overly well received by undergraduate graffiti'ers, e.g. "patronising git!")

To David, Daniel, and Carola,
that they may grow up in a more democratic
and, therefore, more peaceful world
(Written 1959, now seems hopelessly naive)

For David, my hero
(Me too although I suspect their's was a different David.)

For 1st Lt. George B (Tinker) Pearson, III (1941 - 1966)
Who believed in the American Dream and died for it in Vietnam

For Robert Dahl and Karl Deutsh
who care about science
and about people
(Really! You can do both?!)

To Bunny

To my grandfathers,
who both were colonels in the Soviet Army,
To  my father,
Captain of the First Rank ( Ret. ),
To my brother,
Captain in the Russian Army,
And to my son,
who will - I hope - choose a different career

To Marion, for her 'generosity of spirit'
(Blimey! Euphamism or scare quotes?)

Cinema on Saturday: Rewatching Kurosawa - Seven Samurai

Four hundred years ago, Japan was a land of civil wars.

Bandits roamed the lawless country, terrorizing farmers.

SEVEN SAMURAI

Finally in this week's revisiting of old personal favourites is Akira Kurosawa's 1954 chanbara classic Seven Samurai.

And yes, Cinema on Saturday is new, I missed my own deadline for Film on Friday, but don't want to leave it a week. Really, I don't know how more regular bloggers manage it...


If you asked me twelve or fifteen years ago what my favourite film was my immediate answer would have been "Seven Samurai," but times change, my attraction to samurai culture (which came about after my first viewing of Seven Samurai) has waned and I've since discovered many other films that I now love. So that now the question of what my favourite films are, is normally met with a long thoughtful silence and then perhaps a tentative mention of some recent films I can remember enjoying.

I can't really remember exactly when I first saw Seven Samurai but I do remember the vivid exciting effect it had upon me. I'd never seen a film like it, but at the time I wasn't even sure of the film's name. This was probably in 1994-1995 (there are some specifics that let me work out this rough estimate) and I probably missed the first ten minutes or so. Without a TV guide, internet access, or any other way of finding out it took me another few years before I learned the name of the film and about the other films of Akira Kurosawa. Having since enjoyed many other chanbara films (that is, sword-fighting samurai films) I've since come to realise that although it was Seven Samurai that helped inspire that love, it is a rather different type of film, not really chanbara at all, as these films tend to be very stylised and have very typical conventions. Indeed, Seven Samurai is often referred to as a Jidaigeki (which simply means a period drama), in order to emphasise the relative lack of sword-fighting action (until the last third of the film), but as with all great films with a period setting it is actually making a commentary about modern life. That is, life for the young Japanese in the 1950s and how roles have or were changing.

In some regards then, Seven Samurai is entirely the wrong film to watch to get one into Zatoichi and Lone Wolf and so forth, as it actively shuns away from showing our heroes as invincible perfect warriors with beautifully choreographed fighting scenes.

The downpour during the final battle.

Instead Seven Samurai, despite the later action, is a meditative stance on how one could live one's life well in such hard, dangerous, and chaotic times. Unlike The Hobbit's thirteen dwarves, the seven samurai characters are sufficiently well-described and complex to call them an ensemble performance. However, of the seven there are three characters that have more of an impact upon how we view the film (how I do, at any rate). These three are; Kambei the leader, Katsushiro the eager student, and Kikuchiyo the reckless wannabe samurai. The master and student relationship between Kambei and Katsushiro is one of the many interrelationships between the samurai and the villagers, however, it is also the most persistent and developed throughout the film. Also, it is a relationship that occurs repeatedly in Kurosawa's films.

(L-R) Kambei, Katsushiro, and Kikuchiyo.

Both Katsushiro and Kikuchiyo approach Kambei as students, but Katsushiro's request (above) is of the traditional kind, whereas Kikuchiyo just walks up to Kambei and says nothing, while pacing around him; either unsure how to ask or unsure whether he'd want to serve him or anyone anyway. Kambei as pragmatic as he may be, is still a traditionalist and finally accepts Katsushiro's request and warns him off the strange and reckless Kikuchiyo. They walk away from this; master and student leaving the vagabond, but later they will be rejoined and Kambei finds that this rogue has something to teach him.

One of the most endearing characteristics about Seven Samurai are the individual performances that help define the separate nature of each samurai. This raises them above the kind of samurai archetype more commonly found in chanbara films (think Western archetypes for a similar comparison) and even the silent swordsman Kyuzo, who is closest to a stock character, is defined by; the excellent performance the actor gives, and his tragic death.

Kyuzo reflecting before combat.

Kyuzo dies from a gunshot wound, even the most skillful samurai is helpless against the power of the guns wielded by the bandits. Heihachi, Gorobei, and finally Kikuchiyo - who dies avenging Kyuzo - are all also killed by guns. Symbolically we could say it represents the power of the samurai being destroyed by modern technology, something that will come to reorganise Japanese society.

It is not just the samurai that have definition, the villagers too are shown to be individual characters with their own fears and motivations. Of greatest importance is the romance that develops between Katsushiro and Shino, a daughter of one of the peasants Manzo (who goes to great length to ensure that this doesn't happen and fails), this is the only other transition between caste roles that we see during film. The other being Kikuchiyo, who is revealed to be the son of a farmer and not a samurai at all. Both these attempts at cultural shift end badly for all involved. Still, it is the tension that these hierarchical roles create and their failed attempts to break free from them that engages us. Kikuchiyo's impassioned speech about the farmers shows this enmity and divide between them and the samurai. When it is revealed that the farmers had stolen samurai armour, the samurai are shocked and then outraged, Kyuzo even says he'd like to kill everyone of the villagers. Kikuchiyo, clad in some of this armour, then berates these so-called noble samurai. If the farmers seem like animals to them and fight and lie and cheat to survive, who made them like this? The oppressive lords and their enforcers the samurai. It is the system of feudal control that has created this terrible situation and whereas this speech helps create some understanding between samurai and farmer, it cannot remove it, nor can it stop the chaotic murderous bandits. 

The incredible Toshiro Mifune as Kikuchiyo

The action scenes are absorbing and kinetic, but also realistic and make great use of atmospheric mist and rain effects. Kurosawa was a master of editing and filming action scenes, with his use of tracking shots and sudden cuts and wipes we are pulled into the action. It is also Kurosawa's use of on-location scenery that helps add believability to the story. The setting becomes another character, the world of feudal Japan.

Interestingly it was originally planned as six samurai, with Kikuchiyo coming about quite late on in the production. Mifune was given free range to improvise and develop his character, this helps give the modern audience unfamiliar with samurai tropes a way into the story.

These samurai are all practical pragmatic career soldiers and not honour-bond devotees to tradition. There is a Zen-Bushido correlation that is shown in Seven Samurai to be one that helps the helpless, this is the doctrine Kambei lives by. It is in opposition to the warped notion of Bushido that pervaded Japan during WWII and led to a suicidally violent nationalism (such as Yukio Mishima also lived and died by). For all their adherence to this 'good' Bushido the samurai are still melancholy figures. "I've got nothing out of fighting, I'm alone in the world." Kambei says early in the film. The constant warfare of their existence only brings them a swift and sudden death (like Kyuzo). At the end of the film Kambei says to his friend Shichiroji, "We've lost again. The farmers have won. Not us." The farmers have something to fight for, their village, the samurai only have their fading ideals.

It is an incredible film, one that belies its 3 hours and 10 minute run time, it is an action film that is anti-violence, it is a samurai film that is anti-tradition, it is funny, warm, sad, exciting, and easily one of the greatest films ever made - I still think.

The village, saved.

Words on Wednesday: Rereading The Hobbit

This is the edition that I own. The front cover of Smaug is by John Howe.

I also owned (and loved) this version, a fully illustrated 'graphic novel' edition from 1990.

This is the illustration on the front cover of JJ's copy that we read. It's Rivendell by Ted Nasmith.

I recently had the pleasure of rereading J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit after a gap of many years. It was also the first time that I had read the book out loud to someone. I read the book to JJ, mostly in bed, but not always, and, of course, with a variety of different voices (I decided that the Rivendell elves were Welsh for example). Indeed, my Gandalf voice drew some praise I'm proud to admit.

Now, obviously, this reread was prompted by our recent viewing of the new Peter Jackson film:

'The HOBBIT: Part One: The Unexpected Journey: The Extended Saga: In HD 3-D HFM super-dooper-plus: Now with more Goblins!' 

A film that I have a mixture of emotions about, but this isn't going to be a film review (not yet, I withhold my final judgement until I've seen the series completed).

However, as we tended to view the book through the eyes of film-goers, i.e. what we saw and how it related to the story, what we read and how we expected Jackson to insert thirty extra minutes of action, this book review will often make reference of the differences in approach and style.

Obviously, the film is the film and the book the book, one could not work as the other... actually, that's not strictly true. One could write a book based on the film that was based on the book, interestingly it would be totally different in many ways (pacing especially) and would spend a great deal of time explaining action scenes. Anyway I'm diverting myself... We are all agreed (I hope) that there is no way whatsoever that P. Jackson &co would make a film that was an exact recreation of the original book. For those doubters that remain to ask "Why?" I hope this suffices as an answer: Quite simply because it does not fulfill standard action film criteria  and that is precisely what Jackson has done and has been doing to Tolkien's work all this time. Making them action films. Now, this is not a complaint, I love Jackson's Lord of the Rings, because it's made by someone who so obviously loves the work and surrounds himself with people that also love this world that Tolkien made.

People like Alan Lee especially. Amazing work.

Enough waffle, on with the review proper. When people talk about The Hobbit they tend to dismiss it as the lesser children's book to the 'epic' Lord of the Rings, or else that it is merely fantastical nonsense with no connection to reality (and thus, if we take a line from Plato, harmful to the young).

It is true that The Hobbit was originally meant as a bedtime story for Tolkien's own children, but even then it's more like a classical myth or traditional fairy tale than what we would now consider a children's story. One of the things that are different; if this were a modern children's story then the main character would also be a child (easier to identify with) and not a fifty-something hobbit who is a bit of a lazy academic and recluse, rather than a carefree child or heroic adventurer. This brings up another incongruity, for us the modern reader, it is the lack of heroism in the main character(s). Certainly Bilbo, when he has no other option, 'steps up' and is courageous (both with the spiders and again with the elves) but we are told many times that he'd really rather not. Indeed, he spends most of the adventure wishing he was back in his comfortable hobbit hole. He is simply not naturally heroic and never thought of in that way, but it is a trope of Tolkien to show that in hard times even the smallest can show true bravery (something that doesn't just come from duty but from friendship).

What of the dwarves? They are the main reason for the adventure happening and although most remain uncharacteristed (there are thirteen of them) we do get to know a few of them quite well (Thorin, as their leader, especially), surely, we might wonder to ourselves, aren't they heroic? If you'd seen the film or knew of dwarves from D&D or WoW you'd expect them to be capable doughty warriors, but the dwarves in The Hobbit really aren't very effective. It's true that Thorin and a few of the others (Balin and Dwalin, Oin and Gloin, Kili and Fili) are descended from the Royal Dwarven line of Durin, but they're really not that brave, driven instead by thoughts of revenge and lust for gold, and they're not overly effective warriors or well-armed, although Thorin finds Orcrist the sword, he later loses it and the dwarves are repeatedly overpowered by; trolls, goblins, spiders, and elves. Only with the help of Gandalf and later Bilbo do they manage to escape at all. Indeed, the one heroic action of Thorin, his charge from the gate in the battle of five armies, leads to his death. 

Sure, Gandalf is heroic, he is after all a wizard, but he is absent for large portions of the story and even so, for all that, he's not invincible. We're told that were he to have rushed the goblins and wargs when the group is trapped up the fir trees, with seemingly no way out, that he would have died. Other characters that could be considered brave (like Bard) are only secondary characters and even then they are not especially heroic, merely fortunate to have gained the knowledge needed to kill the dragon (in Bard's case). This is because The Hobbit, no less than the Lord of the Rings, is fundamentally anti-action as we have come to understand it.

The idea of the heroic individual bravely (and justly) standing alone against a horde of enemies, brilliantly captured in the 1988 genre-classic Die Hard, is precisely the sort of contemporary notion that Tolkien's work stand in opposition to. Why is this? To me, it seems like writing styles have their day. In Tolkien's day (possibly due to post-war pessimism, but let's not go into pop-psychological reasons) there was a general theme for a slow narrative build and negativity towards heroes. After a few generations people got sick of that 'old fashioned style' and writing tended to be faster paced, with an emphasis on the power of the individual hero (this itself a recycling of even older ideals, but then what else is new?). 

For Tolkien no matter how great or brave you are, if outnumbered (like Gandalf) you will fall. It is not simply a matter of having enough heart (a recurrent theme in American films that I'd like to fully describe one day, cf. James Cameron's Avatar) and a strong belief in the goodness or correctness or justness of your actions that will allow an individual to prevail. It is only by our working together in friendship that we can hope to achieve anything. The dismissal that it is a simple story only meant for children in that it tells the adventures of a "happy little hobbit" fails to properly understand this undercurrent that runs through The Hobbit. 

One might argue that it is anti-exceptionalism and I suppose in some ways it is, but this is mainly due to the suspicion that such affectations lead to a violent nationalism or a ruling elite that has no care for those they rule. It's not that the individual isn't important, it's just that alone (or with only a unity of vision) we cannot hope to accomplish anything as great as we can together (Frodo needs Sam...).

A great deal of these creative decisions can be put down to Tolkien's amateurism when it comes to novel writing. At least, that is how it is commonly described (although I can't point to an academic work, it's how Tolkien is described by his 'experts' in the documentary on the Lord of the Rings DVD extras disc). What would make one a novelist? Writing in an expected way? Doing a Creative Writing MA? Although the second may be popular today, it wasn't an option for Tolkien and he certainly wasn't trying to write a typical children's adventure story. Instead, both The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are not only thematically but stylistically influenced by Norse myth and traditional fairy tales. However, even if we attribute Tolkien's narrative 'errors' to a structure borrowed from ancient myth, rather than modern writing, I believe it is an excellent choice of Tolkien's to have the supposed climax of the novel (the death of Smaug) happen sooner and in an unexpected manner. An altogether unanticipated climax (the battle of five armies) then brings the adventure to an end. A modern audience might baulk at Smaug's death being told in retrospect or Thorin's death happening 'off-camera', but these stylistic choices of Tolkien's can either be put down to his inexperience, or his love of myths that fearlessly kill off heroes - this is because the hero isn't as important as the mythical tale being told - either that or it's just good judgement.

In many ways The Hobbit is obviously a simpler tale than the Lord of the Rings, being more of an adventure from point A to B - a 'road movie' - than the much darker apocalyptic salvation theme that pervades Lord of the Rings. However, it has a deeper thread running through the story, one that rewards a more critical reading. As a child one remembers the excitement and danger, as an adult we see glimpses of Tolkien's larger world and themes. If you'd not read The Hobbit (or had it read to you) when you were a child I'd not recommend reading it first as an entry into the Lord of the Rings, just read that instead, the benefit of The Hobbit is as a nostalgic rereading preferably as a bedtime story or as a unique combination of fairy tale and Norse myth meant for a younger audience, just don't go expecting the 'prequel' to the Lord of the Rings. Unlike the claims of Peter Jackson, in a recent BBC radio 5 interview (on Youtube), The Hobbit does not simply fit alongside it's larger sibling and nor is it meant to. Both are doing different things, albeit within the same world and with some of the same characters, to try and drag the film of The Hobbit into the action-packed world of Jackson's Lord of the Rings is to miss the charm, warmth, and simplicity of the book. It is a story that has always stuck with me and probably always will. Sharing it with someone else just multiplied the joy.