Author: Seb Palmer

Neither devil nor saviour…

Ok, I haven’t done this for a book before, here on ye blogge. But then I don’t often post book reviews before I finish the book under review, either, like I did with this one. I had to take a breather on 12 Rules, during which time I read a few other books, such as Peter Burke’s excellent Polymath.

I think the stink I kicked up on FB just around the mere idea I might have the temerity or foolhardiness to entertain the foolish charlatan mummery of this evil purveyor of patriarchy and conservatism drained me of energy and enthusiasm. Plus I found that JP’s incessant recourse to Biblical ‘wisdom’ grated.

But, returning, refreshed and invigorated, from said breather, I found I did actually want to finish 12 Rules. So, er… I did.

Interestingly enough, chapter eleven, which was unread at the time of my last (and therefore partial) review, is probably the one that most directly addresses the more contentious areas he covers, the ones that produce allergic reactions in some on the left. Intriguingly, chapter eleven is also the longest single chapter in the book.

The chapter title, ‘Do not bother children when they are skateboarding’, isn’t the clearest of the twelve chapter headings. I initially guessed it might simply mean ‘let the children have their fun’. And it does. But more than just this, it’s also addressing those that seek to circumscribe the fun those children might have: ‘Beneath the production of rules stopping the skateboarders from doing highly skilled, courageous and dangerous things I see the operation of an insidious and profoundly anti-human spirit.’

Some of the people Peterson chooses to attack, as exemplars of this anti-human spirit, are not that surprising, such as the Columbine shooters. But others include the much beloved naturalist and TV presenter David Attenborough, and the Club of Rome (a progressive international think tank dedicated to solving global problems). The former for calling humanity a plague the latter for calling humanity a cancer. The nihilism inherent in the actions of the shooters is patently obvious. It’s more shocking to hear Attenborough and a group dedicated to solving the world’s problems described thus, or juxtaposed with ‘postal’ teen murderers.

Clearly at times JP enjoys courting controversy and ‘needling’ his audience. But there is also a very sobering aspect to this. Whilst this is a challenge to those of us who love Attenborough, for all the incredible natural history TV he has given us (and, perhaps even the Club of Rome? Though how many folk even know of them, let alone who they are or what they do?), I think Peterson is on to something, and is essentially correct.

Attenborough and the Club of Rome are, in this instance, perhaps not being precise enough in their speech (and precision in speech is one of JP’s rules). The negativity of their language, designed no doubt (like JP’s juxtaposition of them with serial murderers) for maximum impact/effect, creates a dangerous space.

A dangerous space into which some folk – I was going to say ‘less enlightened folk’; but you can be genius clever and still be wrong – might seek to interpolate their own malevolent answers to the ‘human problem’. Via appalling ‘final solutions’ such as are imagined in say, 12 Monkeys. Casting themselves thereby as heroically ridding earth of the plague or cancer of humanity.

This sort of thinking, taken to it’s most nihilist extremes, was indeed the kind of raison d’etre behind the infamous Ted Kaczynski’s personal war against modern humanity. A very clever chap. Hence the decision not to use the term ‘less enlightened’!

Two other areas where he discusses stuff that seems to trigger hostile reactions from ‘the left’ are around his views on Marxist academia and gender politics/history. He clearly dislikes the whole postmodernist project. And he doesn’t pull his punches, describing it as state-funded extremism whose aim is the destruction of the very same state that supports it.

First off I might ask JP to calm down and substitute ‘transform’ for destroy. Having said that, having been in such an environment myself, studying art and art history at Goldsmiths, where Deleuze, Guattari, Barthes, Horkheimer, etc, were bread and butter, I can see and understand his position. I personally think that much of this stuff is indeed total bullshit, masquerading as intellectualism.

But, and here I may, perhaps, differ from Peterson; whilst they may posture as radicals, I think most academics are innately conservative; they want to stay in their relatively cushy well-paid jobs. The issue is, what does all the relativist, ‘nothing outside the text’ postmodern claptrap become, or facilitate, when it exits the groves of academe, and, like genetically-modified crops, escapes from its own fields, and get out into the ‘real world’?

And here I think Peterson’s fears are better founded. And no, they are not just some paranoid conspiracy theory. Ironically the whole postmodern ‘my truth vs your truth’ relativism actually seems to favour the extreme right – by nature generally more belligerent – at least as much, maybe even more, than the ‘extreme left’.

Another area to address, again coming out of the mammoth eleventh chapter, is gender roles, and our deeper cultural (and social/biological) history.

Some of the very dominant themes being cultivated or promulgated in the kinds of departments in universities that Peterson takes issue with, are ideas such as the whole ‘patriarchy’ narrative, or the popular notion that gender identity and roles are almost entirely culturally constructed.

One of the key themes in the whole ‘Do not bother children when they are skateboarding’, idea is allowing life to continue to have risk and danger within it. And around this idea JP does also address the current trend to constantly run down maleness or masculinity as ‘toxic’, and patriarchally oppressive etc.

I see plenty of evidence of this in daily mainstream social intercourse, say for example on FB, where some women will very openly and regularly complain of the constant oppression they suffer, usually by repeating off the shelf memes on these themes. And an amen chorus of fellow ladies, and a number of men – some will say enlightened, others might say dissembling, or even ‘pussywhipped’, etc. – will provide a hallelujah-chorus. And a frequent contrapuntal theme in such threads will be the mocking of any men who question this narrative, with vigorous suggestions that they are the blind, brutal, entitled oppressors.

I’ve seen Peterson coolly and calmly unpack such ‘arguments’ (in fact they are not usually arguments at all, they are blunt assertions), and dismantle the treasured narrative. And yes, he does the same here in his book, albeit only now and then, and in specific places.

One of his key arguments against the patriarchal oppression model is that what has oppressed women for most of history has not been men, but the natural workings of women’s own bodies. And in more recent times, a number of men have, via their compassion and industry, contributed to the liberation of women from the ‘tyranny’ of their own bodies, via such things as better sanitary products, and the pill. As JP asks, are they part of this all powerful all consuming patriarchal oppression?

Like Peterson, I think a good long look at human history will show that, by and large, ours has actually been a history of cooperation and mutual support between the sexes, in the face of the extreme hardships – and I’m talking now of the more fundamentally physical irrefutably extreme hardships, such as plague, famine, and war, not the more modern ones, which arise once we live longer and are somewhat liberated from the more basic limits on our biological survival.

The division of labour in the human species has rested for vast stretches of time on men doing certain things more, such as hunting and making certain stuff, and women doing other things more, mostly around the domestic sphere of child-rearing and food preparation, etc, albeit with a good deal of overlap, no doubt. I don’t personally ever hear JP saying that because this was true, we must therefore continue exactly that way. Far from it, he says we need to rework what we inherit from the past and continue to adapt to our own peculiar set of circumstances.

Viewing the past as having been predominantly cooperative between the sexes, as opposed to one long unceasing dominance and exploitation of men over women, seems to chime better with the evidence.

This is not to say that in recent history there has been no discrimination and imbalance between the sexes. There is plentiful evidence that there has been. What doesn’t seem right is to counter one form of imbalance with another. There is also a need to learn to be able to recognise things for what they are, not what we wish them to be. And perhaps ideas of totally uncircumscribed ‘freedoms to choose’ are illusory (or even worse, harmful?).

Another problem with the ‘oppressive patriarchy’ model, as I understand JP’s critique of it, is that it can give an appearance of having nothing positive to say about masculinity. And that is inevitably as lopsided and bad a stance as a male-chauvinist position. But, truth be told, much of what I’ve digressed into here really isn’t what this book is about.

Anyway, now that I have finished the book, I don’t find myself convinced that Peterson is a dangerous alt-right idealogue. Far from it. He does have some views that are what some might call ‘innately conservative’, such as that much of what we inherit, to our benefit (as well as detriment), from those who’ve been before us, whether that’s in the form of myths that might contain traditions of wisdom (for JP Christianity is one such), or social institutions, such as marriage, might be better than a complete abandonment of such things, to be replaced by a free for all. I don’t find such observations, especially if couched in the terms of traditions of contemporary science, i.e. supported by evidence, very threatening or troubling.

Unlike JP, I’m not a massive fan of the Christian religious tradition. I suppose aspects of such relationships will often boil down to one’s own personal experiences of these traditions. For me the Christian tradition has for too long been used too oppressively, and been taken or treated too literally. And I also believe that a big problem with the poetry of myth, any myth, is that it’s wide open to almost any interpretations. Many of the ways JP chooses to read Biblical stuff in the context of this book would be, to my mind, amongst the best (and most generous spirited!) of possible readings. But the fact that such a body of traditional tales can also be used to bolster positions I find totally moronic or repellent means I prefer to discard the whole thing, more or less.

I think this is a good book, for the most part. I don’t agree with everything Peterson says. But a lot of it I do. There’s a lot of potentially useful wisdom here, mostly around the perennial themes of taking personal responsibility, and working on self-improvement.

And, as he himself says, not directly so much, but in his use of references to religious traditions (mostly, but not entirely, Christian), and writers like Dostoyesky, and philosophers and psychoanalysts, etc, these are not his own original ideas, but long established ones, ones that are – and need to be – continually re-learnt and re-stated, in our cultural traditions.

I would definitely recommend this book. And perhaps most of all to those who think he’s some kind of alt-right nutjob; instead of bringing your preconceptions, listen to what he’s actually saying, try and understand it, and maybe even, as per rule nine, consider that he (or any interlocutor you may encounter) might know something you don’t.

Or he might even simply be restating something you do already know, but forget to put into practise? Anyway. I think I probably will read his follow up. Whilst 12 Rules isn’t perfect, it hasnt put me off JP either.

Originally reviewed for Amazon UK, in 2012.

I absolutely loved Neil MacGregor’s History of the World in 100 Objects, and was wondering what he’d do next. This excellent series follows a similar line, albeit through the prism of ‘The Bard of Avon’, and objects that can, in some way, be related to aspects of his life, times and work.

From a simple apprentice’s cloth cap to a coin/medallion map celebrating Drake ‘s circumnavigation of the Globe, the range and scope is once again fantastic. MacGregor’s as charming as ever, with experts on hand to flesh out and illuminate, and once again both the individual objects and the larger themes are engaging and compelling.

At first I wondered if the Shakespeare focus could possibly sustain interest across the whole series, but by the end (and the last episode is excellent, taking a slightly different approach, which I won’t give away) I was not only convinced, but dead keen to see more Shakespeare.

Excellent stuff, and highly recommended.

More dissection than penetration.

More archival reviews from the vaults. This one from 2014.

I got this book because I’m interested in sex. Who – if they’re being really and truly honest – isn’t? Oh, and art and culture, of course! Having flicked through the pages to have a quick look over the pics, I made ready to, erm, get stuck in, so to speak.

My view was immediately arrested by the bizarre pendant of fig. 1, pictured below: ‘Pet Phallus’, c. 100 BC… length 9.2 cm. Even amongst academics and custodians of culture it appears size matters!

However, any idea that this might be an erotic viewing or reading experience, never mind entertaining (a bit of tongue-in-cheek humour – steady! – might not have gone amiss), rapidly evaporates upon reading the text, which is worthy but, frankly, rather dull.

Caroline Vout displays an admirable breadth of erudition, and the text is very clearly and sensibly organised, but it feels a bit flat and lacking in passion. The potential eroticism of the objects and images is rinsed out with academic earnestness; comprehensive and balanced, perhaps, but – for me at least – flaccid.

The book itself, organised into six chapters over approx. 240 pages, and supported by nearly 200 crisp, clear images (as many of these are context-setting as are sexual), is a handsome and well made thing, but I’d say it was beautiful, as opposed to sexy. Some of the images and objects can, as Vout says, still shock and challenge us, despite the pervasive ubiquity of sexual imagery in what some might call our ‘permissive’ culture.

Vout traces the history of these objects, from their contexts and origins, inasmuch as we can determine them, via later fates, including their passage through the collections of private ‘antiquarians’ of the relatively recent past, such as Warren and Townley. It was the collections of such men that stocked the museums they now reside in, the material here being predominantly drawn from the stock of the British Museum, who also published the book.

Having examined how the Greeks and Romans may have related to this material, Vout eventually looks at a range of C18th ideas, from admiration to opprobrium. On the one hand Vout quotes an Enlightenment collector, enthusiast and apologist, who ‘argued passionately for sexual tolerance’, and talks of the ‘noble simplicity of the ancients’, whilst on the other we hear from one of the numerous critics of such collectors, who decries their collections for being filled with ‘generative organs in their most odious and degrading protrusion’!

It’s only very recently that many of these once relatively commonplace objects, and this is particularly true of the more risqué ones included here – which include fairly explicit depictions of bestiality, rape and homosexuality (some taboos evolve, others perhaps don’t) – have begun to emerge from the shadow of our more recent Christian heritage, and find their way into public view, beyond the esoteric confines of the ‘museum secretum’. These changing modes of display reflect evolving values, and the ‘Warren Cup’, for example, has enjoyed an odyssey from ‘controversial’ object of private admiration to British Museum shop souvenir!

For me this book, whilst undoubtedly really quite interesting, and filled with many beautiful objects and images (as well as some strange, some disturbing, and some weird or banal), dissects rather than penetrates its subject, and is, rather bizarrely perhaps, almost sexless.

Towards the end of the book, as she starts to sum up, Vout refers to a Barbican show called Seduced (fairly recent at the time of writing) which she describes as ‘a show which put visual stimulation over and above context’. Vout very avowedly does the precisely the opposite.

Another old review, transferred and updated in minor ways.

As Sam Harris attempts to make clear at the start of his book The End of Faith, what we believe is tremendously important. In Harris’ opening scenario he portrays a religiously motivated suicide bomber. This character feels that by killing a bunch of random strangers, who they – and this is the crucial bit – perceive to be their enemies, they are doing God’s work, and thereby also taking a direct short cut to heaven.

In this book Christian Ingrao is looking at something similar, in relation to what highly educated Nazi intellectuals believed, and how their beliefs became actions: hence his title phrase, believe and destroy. Like the infamous image – known as ‘The Last Jew In Vinnitsa’ – used on the books cover, this is a horrible subject.

But where Harris’ book is an easy read, clearly very much intended for the general reader, Ingrao’s book is based on a thesis written for fellow academics, and consequently is a rather tough slog for the non-specialist. Freighted with specialist jargon and many German terms, and neither written nor translated with ease of readability obviously foregrounded (although some terms are explained in a brief glossary, others in the index, and yet more via translator’s notes, overall the approach is haphazard and hard to follow); it’s interesting and worthy, but often feels like swimming through treacle.

One thread that came through strongly for me, albeit not brought out clearly or specifically by the author, is Nazism’s unholy blend of science and religion: in religious terms, Nazism offered believers faith in ‘the expectation of a racial utopia in which the elect would be made as one.’ This faith aspect was in turn founded on a pseudo-scientific biological racial determinism, in which the continued existence of a superior Nordic/Aryan race is threatened – both directly via conflict, and indirectly via miscegenation – by other races, including Asiatics and Slavs, but particularly the Jews, who are seen as ‘parasitic’.

The supposedly scientific side has several strands, some of these come from the unfortunately named area known popularly as Social Darwinism (unfortunately named because it’s based more on the ideas of Herbert Spencer than those of Darwin), including such ideas as ‘survival of the fittest’ and ‘might is right’.

But Ingrao barely touches upon this side, and deals instead in the scientific side as manifested by academic professionalism, as in data-gathering, compilation, and extrapolation. This aspect sees the SS intellectuals using what might appear to be scientific principles or methods to bolster their own world views.

Actually this is more like ideology skimpily clad in the apparent trappings of science, as the scientific method is (or ought to be) very different: you study the world, and the results tell you what to believe. With these SS intellectuals, you study the world to confirm what you already think. So, effectively what you have in Nazism is the unholy marriage of two of the worst aspects of belief systems: pseudo-science – an ideological natural fallacy – believed in with religious fervour, written in the blood of those perceived to be enemies.

The siege mentality, based on the unfinished business that many Germans felt was the legacy of WWI – and this is a major theme in Ingrao’s book – allowed many German’s to follow the Führer in believing that their active, discriminatory aggression was a defensive act! I would say that this is precisely the kind of mentality shared by Christian crusaders or Muslim jihadists, and more religious and emotional in its basis than rational or scientific, despite the desire within the higher echelons of the SS and the Nazi machine to pass itself off as founded in science. The emotionally driven atavistic völkisch aspects of this toxic creed clearly trump any kind of rationalism.

Unfortunately, the overly florid, windily verbose academic language Ingrao chooses to employ – a typical sentence: ‘They were, in their very subjectivity, an exceptional source for the history of representations’* – clouds what are essentially simple issues, making it all rather tortuously complex. Also, as with Esdaile’s Napoleon’s Wars, or a book I read on Constantine fairly recently, the nature of Ingrao’s choices, in choosing to study the structural and administrative side of the phenomenon under the lense, make for rather dry reading. So, far from being without interest, this is good, solid academic work, but a pleasure to read it ain’t. Put bluntly: worthy but dull.

* This is, in fact, a short and relatively clear/easy example. But it sounds as much (or perhaps more?) like a phrase from a postmodern influenced art theory essay, as it does something that might be said of Nazi ideologues.

Tales of Two Tolkiens.

Another ancient review migrates over to ye blogge. This one must be 10-15 years old? I’m thinking that I’ll try and publish a chunk of Tolkien related posts over the next few days.

Like many, perhaps most, I found my way to The Silmarillion after reading The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. And, again, like others, it took me several attempts to get past the first few chapters. In fact it is only now, some 30 years after I first started reading Tolkien (and I’ve read both The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and other sundry Tolkien works, numerous times) that I’ve been able to read the whole book.

It is in fact a compilation of several writings, put together after J. R. R. Tolkien’s death by his son and literary executor Christopher Tolkien. It’s this fact that leads me to title my review as I have done: J. R. R. Tolkien’s achievements in creating the legends, histories, geographies and languages of Middle-Earth are truly staggering, but Christopher Tolkien’s work since his father’s death, is likewise monumental.

Evolution is a theory that has changed our understanding of the world, but that doesn’t make some chapters of Darwin’s Origin any easier to get through. But neither does it devalue the worth of the book. And, in his own but very different way, Tolkien (and his son) have also contributed to changing our world, by inventing a new one. I’m not trying to compare Tolkien or Darwin in terms of what it was that they achieved, I simply mention them together because both worked obsessively on their projects, and both produced writings some of which carry you along with rapid drama, and others of which can be a bit of a slog.

The dense historical and mythological nature of parts of these writings can, in places, be quite arduous, and the large amounts of names, genealogies, and detailed reference to Middle Earth’s topography, can be bewildering and hard to grasp (better and more comprehensive maps would still be great, and I for one would prefer that any such maps kept to Tolkien’s original style, but were expanded – at the very least – to include Melkor’s realms in the north of Middle Earth, since he and his lands figure so prominently in much of the narratives. But, like Darwin’s difficult chapter on pigeons in the Origin, it’s a case of all the parts making for a better whole.

And there are some parts of the book, especially the stuff about Turin, Hurin and Tuor (of which tales Christopher Tolkien has subsequently brought his father’s work to us, to his great credit, first via Unfinished Tales, and more recently The Children Of Hurin, and other similar syntheses) which are fantastically easy reading, and very gripping and exciting, full of the best qualities of Tolkien’s more famous and accessible writings (if a little darker, which actually makes them somewhat more thrilling).

J. R. R. Tolkien’s talent and imagination knew few bounds, and beggar belief. And his son Christopher has played a massively important role in bringing the richness of Tolkien’s unpublished legacy (unpublished in his father’s lifetime, that is) to us. The Silmarillion is a truly and uniquely magnificent book!

“One morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green…”

More archival doings. Opening up a new (old!) chapter on Tolkienian Middle-Earthiness!

Whilst I’ve read very varied views on this adaptation, personally I love it. Anthony Jackson is good as the ‘Tale Bearer’, a story telling device of the producers (i.e. not of a strictly Tolkien-ian pedigree), Paul Daneman is a lovably flustered Bilbo (slightly posh and middle aged, which is as Tolkien wrote him), and Heron Carvic – more famous, perhaps, as the original author of Miss Seeton novels – is, for me, an excellent Gandalf.

A full-cast dramatisation, with excellent sound from the radiophonic workshop, this production also benefits from some highly unusual and individual music. This is an aspect of the production some find unattractive, according to my researches, but I’m with the actor Michael Kilgariff, who adapted the 1937 book for this 1968 radio play/serial, and agree that the music actually helps make the production.

Like the books, The Hobbit is aimed at a younger audience than the LOTR, and this version stands, in relation to the BBC LOTR, in exactly the right relation, like a younger sibling. There are aspects that I’m less keen on, such as the voices of some of the creatures, e.g. the Spiders of Mirkwood, or Roarc the old talking crow. But, all things considered these are minor gripes. 

Even now, as ‘big kids’, we love listening to this. It’s atmospheric, fun, by turns ‘epic and homely’, evoking a world at once alien and yet familiar. Love it!

Clear and pertinent insights. But, poss’ stating the obvious & preaching to the converted?

Originally published on the Amazon UK website, a number of years back, it seemed to me that this would sit well here, now, along with my recent reviews of a few other more recent books critiquing capitalism.

I like the idea behind this book a lot – what Sandel calls the ‘marketization of everything’ is indeed a cause for concern. And I remember hearing and enjoying his Reith lectures, on BBC Radio 4, back in 2009, on the theme of ‘a new citizenship’, in which, if memory serves, he mentioned some of the ideas discussed in this book.

However, this is a rather thin book in terms of concepts and arguments (I read it in one evening), whilst considered in terms of lists and repetition it is, as several other reviewers have noted, rather fat. When Lyell or Darwin do this, in their books on geology or evolution, one feels the cumulative weight of their evidence was entirely necessary. By comparison, Sandel’s examples seem limited and almost entirely anecdotal. And if, as some reviewers suggest (and I suspect they may be right) this book is preaching to the converted, do we need so many examples?

His opening question, the two principles of ‘coercion’ (relating to fairness and choice in an unequal world) and ‘corruption’ (the corrosive effect that supposedly neutral markets can have in valuing goods), along with the closing statement (actually just a reiteration of the opening questions: ‘Do we want a society where everything is up for sale? Or are there certain moral and civic goods that markets do not honor and money cannot buy?’), supported by a few examples, could’ve made the same case in just a fraction of the space.

An Amazon reviewer calling themselves Sphex has said elsewhere that ‘We all know of public figures who scoff at the idea of progress and make a good living bemoaning the current state of the world’. My guess is (the Sphex quote comes from a review of Stephen Pinker’s Better Angels book) he’s referring to John Gray. Whilst one hopes and imagines that Sandel does at least believe we might be able to do something in the face of ‘market triumphalism’ he offers no ideas whatsoever here: this is really just a long (and, at £20, expensive) litany of woes. Whilst Sandel might not be blowing a dirge on the trumpet of pessimism in quite the same way Gray does, he does appear to be trading in gloom.

Although I’m in more or less complete agreement with him that rampant deregulated capitalism running amok in every walk of life is doing immense amounts of harm, I found the parade of morally repellent practices he adduced as evidence, well… frankly, depressing. And on the evidence given here current trends look resolutely headed towards ever more of life being colonised by commerce. Certainly a debate on these issues is needed. But, as Sandel quite correctly points out, neither debate nor engagement on such issues are in a healthy way.

Sandel is American, which is evident not only in his spelling, but also most of his substantive focus, and I feel this book would have benefitted from casting its net wider. I would like to have given the book more stars, but I don’t think it will change many minds, and amongst its readership the litany of gloom might even prove de-motivational. It didn’t really tell me anything new, other than a few specific details of how awful modern capitalism can be, and how frighteningly amoral or immoral its apologists often are, adding a few gory details to the minutiae of horror that its ever spreading tentacles of doom represent.

As whistle-blowing, or acting the role of the boy who shouts ‘the emperor’s butt naked!’, the points Sandel makes are a necessary element of a debate that needs to be happening. Catch-phrase economists passing off their ‘expertise’ as morally neutral, and the oxymoronic concepts that suggest economics is at one and the same time both scientific and yet also clairvoyant are myths more deserving of deconstruction than, for example, Gray’s pet hate, progress. But as well as the critique, the negative, we need positive suggestions, and there are none to be found here.

Stimulating, thought provoking, but flawed.

Transferred, and very slightly amended, from an old Amazon UK review.

This tiny 20 or so page pamphlet is not really a book.

As well as containing the essay boldly if drably emblazoned on the cover, there’s also a very brief review of Hitler’s Mein Kampf. An odd pairing at first glance, but less so when one considers the subject of the first essay in broader terms. In fact Orwell’s review of Mein Kampf is a succinct example of the clarity and concision advocated in the main foregoing essay.

I’ll not say any more about Orwell’s review of the book that helped launch Hitler on his ill-started career here. So, to the main event. In discussing the relationship of politics to the English language, Orwell begins by using five examples of what he deems to be turgid, pretentious and, in several instances, largely meaningless prose, thereby attacking pretentiousness and politicking. Having given examples, he extracts five principles of poor English usage – his  ‘catalogue of swindles and perversion’ – giving them such names as ‘dying metaphor’, and ‘pretentious diction.’

He also puts forward six principles he feels writers ought to follow. Essentially it all boils down to clarity, honesty, concision and simplicity, as basics, with freshness and vividness, should you choose to use metaphor, as the icing on the cake. As some other reviewers of this little publication have observed, Orwell is oversimplifying things drastically to make his points, and even admits he’s guilty of the sins he’s throwing stones at. But this remains a pretty well written case for clarity, honesty and transparency in writing and thinking.

Despite this, and despite some rather unconvincing caveats from Orwell himself, this has the salty tang of Canute against the waves about it. And if he’s right about some things (say for example ‘politics and the debasement of language’) he’s flat wrong about others: both the clichés he refers to on p. 17 (read it to find out they are!) are still alive and well and, whether by the same rules as biology or not, languages and their usages certainly do evolve, an idea he doesn’t seem entirely happy with.

Ultimately I disagree with his reductive and proscriptive stance. Yes language can be and often is political, and yes it can be and often is used to ‘humbug’ us, and ‘give an appearance of solidity to pure wind’ (his objection to lazy off-the-shelf language and its anaesthetic affect on human consciousness is put beautifully, and remains a challenge to us now, perhaps even more so in our info-saturated cyber age). But language is also a rich, evolving, free-flowing mode of human expression, and to seek to control it as Orwell seems to want to do here, is to sit Canute like, before the waves.

Certainly I’ll be thinking about his list of rules, and trying perhaps to employ some of them; clarity and concision – basically the trimming away of verbal fat – being the most obvious and compelling aims. But, unlike Orwell, I won’t be consigning any phrases (except perhaps the new-speak of business culture?) to any kind of literary dustbin.

As others have noted, given the subject, and the slightness of this publication, the typos (particularly egregious is ‘turning’ rendered as ‘turmng’, in a note on p. 7.) are inexcusable!

Stimulating and thought provoking, but something of a flawed oddity, both in itself, and in this tiny, slim format.

Judith Herrin’s Byzantium is an engaging read, which is exactly what I want in a popular history book. 

She puts it well in her concluding statement when she summarises all the possible reasons why one might naturally be fascinated by the story of Byzantium – as a bulwark against Islam for nascent Western Europe, as the inheritor of Greek and Roman legacies, as the Eastern half of Christendom, or countless other things ranging from the creation of new alphabets to the use and roles of eunuchs – concluding that it’s not any one of these things, but the combination, what she calls “a rich ecology of traditions and resources”, that make for such a fascinating history.

She does seem to have a bee in her bonnet about the “systematic calumnies” perpetrated against Byzantium by the West, and she pinpoints the root of this as being the sack of Constantinople in 1204 during the Crusades. I was, personally, unaware of this allegedly jaundiced view, but I can quite easily see that she may well be right. Diarmid McCullough, in his History of Christianity makes a similar special plea for the re-evaluation of Eastern Christendom, so she’s certainly not alone in taking this position.

Byzantium is delightfully pleasurable straightforward reading on the whole (although I think a glossary would be a good addition), structured in easily digested bite-sized thematic chapters.

One minor irritation was the way the supernatural side of religion (Christianity in particular, naturally, given the subject of the book) was related as if factual (e.g. p 107, ‘Leo’s defence … intercession of the Virgin’, or p 103 ‘Sometimes the icons … powers.’ This last is immediately followed by a short section couched in two lights, first as if the supernatural were factual (‘Patriarch Sophronius … witnessed’ etc), and then in a more historical/rationalist vein; ‘individuals who believed themselves cured’ etc. I find this double-standard a little odd.

Herrin explicitly states in her intro that she’s deliberately emphasising the role of religious belief (and in particular her feel for the historical weight of Christian belief: ‘an intensely personal view’ founded in work done on her previous book The Formation Of Christendom) in a history where she feels ‘secular scholarship and popular appreciation’ may be in danger of forgetting or overlooking this.

I thoroughly enjoyed the book, yet there is a dissonance when religious experience (and by that I mean the supernatural aspects of religious belief) is couched in exactly the same terms as any other ‘fact’.

And indeed I was really struck by how little rational qualification of such ‘data’ there was, and how late it started putting in its rare appearances. So much so that when, roughly a third of the way through the book, on p101, she actually qualified a statement (‘Visions and … were alleged … icons.’), I felt like saying ‘at last!’

Quite what her exact personal position is, in religious terms, is then, potentially, an important and relevant issue to the proper understanding of the book.