Books and literature – Page 38 – a sibilant intake of breath

The World is Flat

The World is Flat cover In The World is Flat, Thomas Friedman provides a reasonable introduction to some aspects of globalization for the general audience. The strength of the book lies much more in the examples than in the analysis, which can sometimes be glib and patronizing. Even so, I would personally have appreciated fewer wonder stories about the internet transforming business and more discussion of the kind that concludes the book: on the complexities and caveats of the globalization process.

Friedman’s argument that the ‘world is flat’ strikes me as little more than a different way of saying that it is ‘smaller.’ Further perpetuation of the outrageously false notion that the world was thought flat pre-Columbus is never welcome. Sorry, Mr. Friedman, but Eratosthenes of Cyrene identified the size and shape of the Earth correctly back in the 2nd century BCE. That trifling correction aside, it can be little disputed that Friedman uses his analogy far, far too often.

At its best, the book is a fairly robust defence of the practice of outsourcing. Friedman argues effectively that the benefits are nearly universal, while still pointing out the importance of having societal systems to assist those who are harmed by the changes. Insofar as the book demonstrates the extent to which change and competition look set to become ever-more constant features of the lives of all people, I find it worrisome. India and China might not be quite as ready to take over as he seems to indicate, but the extent of competition in an increasingly globalized world has undeniably expanded. Like most people, I worry about whether I am going to be able to manage.

Friedman’s analysis of global terrorism includes some insightful discussion: especially with regards to the importance of humiliation as a motivating phenomenon. Understanding the psychology of terrorism – and why well-educated Saudis have become suicide bombers, but virtually no Indian Muslims or any type – is clearly essential for dealing with the problem.

In summary, while the book is overly long and sometimes lacking in analytical quality, it is worthwhile to have a look through, especially if you’re looking for examples of how business practices are changing as the result of increased global communications, competition, and supply chains. I don’t think The Economist was entirely justified in calling the book “a dreary failure,” but it certainly isn’t a stunning success.

Changing gears, I am going to read Alain de Botton’s Essays in Love next. It has been on my discretionary reading list for so long now that I can’t remember who was the other party to my promise that I would read it.

Summer employment: bookshops

Reasons for which working at a book store for the summer – ideally Blackwells – is an increasingly appealing option:

Working in a retail environment without a ‘hard sell’ character would be a refreshing break from Staples. Nobody is going to tell you that you need to ask probing questions to determine the literary needs of shoppers, then argue why a particular book suits those needs, then overcome their objections and sell them accessories. I enjoy being in a position to help people, but strongly dislike being in a position where I am under pressure to put them under pressure.
Friends of mine who worked in book stores (especially Kate) really seemed to enjoy it.
You can never know enough about literature or contemporary fiction.
Staff discounts: useful both for summer reading and the acquisition of thesis related books.
A high probability of literary discussions and the meeting of fellow appreciators of books.

The biggest potential liability is that such an employment environment might not allow the flexibility required for the travel I am hoping to do. It’s something to ask about if I get interviewed, in any case.

Having already dropped off a resume and cover letter at Blackwells, what other book shops might I apply to? There’s IQ, but it seems to be a really small place – though one that seems to be quite well admired. There are Borders and Waterstones, neither of which has the same institutional feel as Blackwells, but which are nonetheless possibilities. Since Blackwells is something of a tourist attraction in its own right, they are also more likely to take on extra staff for the summer, despite the exodus of students.
What other possible summer jobs do people recommend?

Towel Day: a curious but entertaining memorial

Fans of Douglas Adams may appreciate being reminded that this coming Thursday, the 25th of May, is Towel Day. Created after his untimely death in 2001, the event is meant to mark his memory with good humour of the kind always demonstrated in his writing. Learning about his death was personally difficult in a way I don’t think it could have been for almost any other stranger.

For the unfamiliar, Douglas Adams is was best known as a British writer of science fiction, though much of his career was devoted to radio work. His most famous books are the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy “trilogy in five parts” and the Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency duo (trio if you include the unfinished segment in The Salmon of Doubt). If you haven’t read them, you are a lucky person: you have the chance to spend the next few days experiencing something exceptionally amusing for the first time. Personally, I’ve read them at least six times each – including going through most of Dirk Gently’s aloud.

On the matter of why towels are relevant, I shall quote a section from the first Hitchhiker’s book:

A towel, [the Guide] says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical value – you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you – daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have “lost”. What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Carrying a towel on Thursday is therefore both a way of marking your appreciation for Adams’ work and setting yourself out as the very example of a well-prepared and capable individual. Given that the world’s most interesting English-speaking people are all either present or future appreciators of Adams, you stand a decent chance of meeting some new ones if you carry the towel obviously enough.

To the many people who have already read and loved the books listed above, I recomment having a look at the lesser known non-fiction book Last Chance to See: written about a slightly mad worldwide expedition in search of endangered species, including the Kakapo parrot of New Zealand, Komodo Dragons, and Chinese river dolphins. The book has all of Adams’ characteristic wit, as well as quite a forceful conservation message. The fact that he climbed Mount Kilimanjaro while wearing a rhino costume definitely contributed to my own ambition to find my way to that lofty summit. Widely available in the UK, you may need to order the from here or wander through a few libraries to find a copy in the US or Canada.

Also worth noting is that Douglas Adams had one of the most amazing funerals possible: with the eulogy delivered by Richard Dawkins and a live performance of Wish you Were Here by David Gilmour of Pink Floyd. That’s my favourite song of theirs, as well. Dawkins also wrote a touching article in The Guardian praising Adams.

On the Road

This afternoon, I finished Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. The experience was a familiar one. To begin with, everything about the book was interesting: the language, the characters, the setting. But as it went, you got the increasingly powerful sense that everything described was pointless. The desperation of it is captured by a section from the end of part three:

All the cigarette butts, the bottles, the matchbooks, the come and the gone were swept up in this pile. Had they taken me with it, Dean would never have seen me again. He would have had to roam the entire United States and look in every garbage pail from coast to coast before he found me embryonically convoluted among the rubbishes of my life, his life, and the life of everybody concerned and not concerned.

Nobody was really doing anything, and it wouldn’t have mattered at all if everything described just hadn’t happened – disconnected stories and disconnected lives. The constant hyperbole on the part of the narrator contributes to that sense that nothing fits together, that everything is the superlative form of its genre, and that every statement has no real relevance beyond the moment in which it is made.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about the book was the sort of communal madness described between the characters: when they seemed to understand one another while exchanging stories and meanings that were opaque to everyone else. You have to wonder if there’s anything to it, or whether both speakers and listeners are deluded about the content of their exchange. Whether they’re just talking to themselves in insane tongues, prompted by the noises around them. It makes you wonder if whatever mechanism that clicks to one side or another in the brain, separating the plausible from the inaccessibly strange, actually operates according to some comprehensible logic, or just based on strings of obscure past cues and approximations.

I probably came to the book looking for the wrong thing, not a glimpse into a previous and mad generation but some kind of message for the present. I suppose most such messages end up being cautionary ones, about how lives can just whiz around infatuated with destructive madness. By the end, I was reading it much too quickly. I was sick of the road long before the characters were ever able to be.

Long summer bike ride

Happy Birthday Greg Polakoff

Today was unambiguously the first summery day in Oxford. As seemed to befit it, I went on my longest bike ride so far: 42.6km from Oxford to Blenheim Palace and Woodstock, then back via Kidlington. I’ve heard that Blenheim Palace and gardens are really nice, but I definitely wasn’t willing to pay eleven Pounds to get in. Instead, I found a shady spot outside Woodstock and read Kerouac’s On the Road for a few hours. While sitting in the shade, molested but unbitten by flies, I actually saw what I can only conclude was a pheasant: a big, red, darting sort of bird that ran off and hid when I tried to photograph it. I also saw huge numbers of cow, sheep, and horses – as well as rabbits and lots of birds.

After leaving Woodstock, I found the road between Kidlington (which is on the way to Oxford) and Deddington (which I walked to one night). Once I realized that Deddington was a further nine miles from where I found that road, I veered off eastwards and found the much smaller town of Tackley. Throughout the ride, there was nice countryside. It would have been perfect but for the strangely insistent sun and the truck that caused me to slam my hand against a metal fence by not signaling when it was exiting from a roundabout. If I hadn’t checked, it would have been overall splattering from under-correction, rather than one nasty bang from over-correction.

I am enjoying On the Road. It has what I would call a Catcher in the Rye narrator: someone focused on being self-sufficient, somehow outside the system, but still caring and generous. The book makes me want to take another road trip in the US.

Instead, I should spend the rest of tonight burnishing thesis ideas for presentation to Dr. Hurrell tomorrow.

Race Against Time

Early this afternoon, I finished reading the compilation of the Massey Lectures delivered by Stephen Lewis in 2005, on HIV/AIDS in Africa. It’s overwhelming stuff – to be confronted with a problem on such a scale, where perfectly viable means of mitigation, treatment, and control exist, but where the overpowering lack of will on the part of those who possess such means keep appropriate and necessary actions from being taken.

There is nothing inevitable about the continuation of the AIDS pandemic. Through combined strategies of nutrition, education, and treatment we could squeeze it down to a tiny fraction of its present size. A 24-week course of nevirapine can cut the transmission rate from mother to child to under 2%. The viral loads of those already infected can be reduced through a combination of anti-retroviral therapies and improved overall health and nutrition, to the point where they are dramatically less infectious. The widespread use of condoms, the management of intravenous drug use, and the proper maintenance of hygiene in medical facilities could slash the vectors by which the infection spreads. Public education could make the avenues through which the disease travels known, as well as empower people to make choices that would protect them and their families.

Of course, there are lots of other factors that require examination: working out how to deal with millions of orphans, many of them now the heads of their families and responsible for younger siblings and, of course, the need to deal with conflict: the eternal spreader of disorder and disease. The danger exists of being overwhelmed by the toughest problems, or using them as an excuse for not taking the easiest and cheapest steps, as part of a progression towards improvement.

When the problem is presented as a cliff face, it seems impossible to climb. Much more accurately, the problem is like a difficult piece of terrain, but one in which we can maneuver if we marshall the skills, the equipment, and the will. As Lewis demonstrates eloquently, the potential benefits of doing so are as enormous as the moral obligation that should compel us to achieve them. Even without a cure or vaccine, it seems obvious that the toll of HIV/AIDS can be reduced enormously; all it would take is political will, backed with money, and the keeping of promises long-made but rarely honoured.

Lewis’ short book is an eloquent and worthwhile expansion upon the above ideas, complete with a huge number of stories and examples from his own experiences in Africa and the corridors of the multi-national institutions. HIV/AIDS is certainly an area in which he speaks with authority. His final chapter, entitled “A Gallery of Alternatives in Good Faith,” includes some excellent suggestions. I quite like the pique of suggesting that, if Japan gets the seat it seeks in the Security Council, it should be forced to live up to the promise it made – of doubling aid to Africa – in order to secure support for its campaign. Quite simply, Lewis suggests, they should forfeit the seat if they fail to live up to their promise. Other ideas, including giving the concerns of women an enormously more prominent place in the UN architecture through the creation of a powerful and permanent body with that mandate, are long overdue for implementation.

In short, I highly recommend the book. I am lending my copy to Emily now, but others in Oxford can borrow it subsequently. I also have Jeffrey Sachs’ The End of Poverty to lend.

Letters

After long delay, I dispatched my response to Alison’s letter today. Indirectly, doing so was a reminder of the sheer number of important, interesting people who are out there to keep in touch with. There are even many fellow Oxford students who I see much less than I would like. Thankfully, there have also been reminders of late that even those with whom I lack contact for extended periods do not become entirely alienated from me as a result. At different times, Kate, Viktoria P, and Sarah W have all been reminders of this. To know that is comforting to someone off-continent from family and the bulk of friends.

I also finished re-reading Dune today. I read it for the first time during the first Bowron Lakes expedition, many years ago, with Alison Benjamin and my friend Chevar. Back then, I remember finding it very long and difficult, though enjoyable. It’s certainly a book with extensive verisimilitude. Herbert does an impressive job of constructing a whole universe for it to take place within: complete with politics, history, and religion. Like all the best science fiction, the themes of Dune speak to enduring human concerns and possibilities.

Discretionary reading

Early this afternoon, I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. While it was not at all what I expected, it was quite a fascinating book. Narrator-based novels have the potential to be the most interesting kind of character stories, and Mark Haddon delivers on that possibility with this unusual yet compelling book.

I enjoyed the mathematical, scientific, and factual asides. I don’t know how accurate a representation the book makes of Asperger’s Syndrome, but it struck me as credible and interesting during the course of reading it. The narrator is certainly an extremely sympathetic character.

I am glad I bought the book, because I will be able to lend it to other people. If Anna hasn’t read it yet, I will lend it to her when we meet next week. I need to learn her last name, so people won’t think I am referring to Anna Heimbichner from the program when I mention her.

Tonight, I am going to The Turf with a number of Edwina’s friends, to see her off before her departure. Later, Alex has arranged a dinner party with Byrony, Emily and her boyfriend, and some friends of his from Aberystwyth.

Well endowed with fiction

With the completion of the exam, I find that my way of thinking about things quite unrelated to it has changed rather a lot. A kind of generalized urgency that had been prevalent before has softened a bit, leaving me more willing to take things as they come. I used my book token from one of the brain scan experiments to buy two books this afternoon: Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I hope to get a good start on both over the weekend, as well as finishing my re-reading of Dune and The Skeptical Environmentalist. Reading fiction is one of the best things about times not yet endangered by papers and exams; of course, I’ve not been known to cease completely even during such times.

Our respite from schoolwork is not destined to be long-lived. Lectures resume on Monday and on Tuesday, we have our first core seminar discussion for the history from 1950 to present segment. I am told it’s on nuclear deterrence: an especially appropriate topic given the ongoing kerfuffle about Iran.

PS. Those who have not yet seen it should check out my brother Mica’s White Rabbit video. You can leave comments about it on his blog.

Science fiction and positivist social science

While thumbing through a copy of Frank Herbert‘s Dune that I bought for a Pound at a used book shop, I realized the extent to which the highest ideals of strongly positivist social science can be found in science fiction. Because of the complexity of his notion of politics – and the interconnections between politics and other phenomenon, like religion – Herbert’s perspective extends somewhat beyond social science as often envisioned. Much closer to the ideal is some of the work of Isaac Asimov, which I will come to in a moment.

Dune itself can be read if an interesting (if fictional) study of politics. The Bene Gesserit notion of politics as fundamentally bound up in the structural relationships between different entities would not be hugely out of place in an American international relations faculty. The connections drawn up in Dune between transport, resources, and power are also relevant to contemporary politics. Of course, at times Dune is quite a self-aware allegory for the situation in the Middle East. I was entertained to find a discussion of coercion and consent as dual means for maintaining power in the novel. With a bit of terminology changed, it could be in a textbook on Machiavelli and Gramsci.

A better example of positivism embraced in science fiction is the concept of psychohistory: as described in Isaac Asimov‘s Foundation novels. Basically, psychohistory is envisioned as a science that can accurately predict the development of human society in the long term, and for large numbers of people. While it can’t make specific predictions about precise moments in time, it can predict massive systemic reorganizations over the course of anywhere between decades and millennia. It’s a strong endorsement of the idea that history is guided by comprehensible forces.

One interesting twist is that even with the benefit of psychohistory, the arch-positivists in the Foundation novels must still be actively involved in shaping the development of the system they examine. Also, for the predictive power to be maintained, people must not be aware of the fact that psychohistory is being applied. To say much more would spoil a number of key surprises in an iconic science fiction series, but the connections between science fiction and social science – within the historical context that spawned both – might reveal some important things about the kind of project some people understand themselves as being engaged in, as regards the world around them.

An alternative explanation is that, after spending so much time trying to force as much IR as possible into my head, I can’t see things any other way. When an eight year old boy is given a hammer, he suddenly discovers that everything needs pounding.