-->

Monday, March 10, 2025

Something New

 We feature each fortnight Nicholas Reid's reviews and comments on new and recent books.  

“WHY WE’RE GETTING POORER – A realist’s guide to the economy and how we can fix it” by Cahal Moran (published by William Collins; distributed in New Zealand by Harper-Collins, $NZ39.99); “NESTING” by Roisin O’Donnell (published by Scribner; also distributed in New Zealand by Harper-Collins, $NZ39.99)

 


            Cahal Moran is an economist, gained his PhD at the University of Manchester and now lectures at the London School of Economics. In his introduction he says he rebelled from the traditional economics that was taught him at university in a style that emphasised mathematics rather than considering real human situations.

Moran’s style is a breezy one. To jolly readers along, he often interposes in his theses quotations from funny comments in TV sit-coms and cartoons - but of course his intention is very serious. He wants to tell us why, despite all the improvements that have been created in the world, we are still on the back-foot, and even in developed and advanced countries there is much real poverty.  He explains his book’s title thus: “What exactly do I mean by ‘getting poorer’? The answer is that across the global economy, people are much poorer than they could be and that they reasonably should be….across the global economy most people remain in poverty and we have not done enough to address this. All the problems with the uneven economy can be tackled by reining in the rich and powerful while boosting the poor and disadvantaged, though there is room for reasonable disagreement about how exactly to do this.” (pp.12-13). So at once he plants his flag on the side of general monetary reform and the Left.

While Moran does deal with global economics, readers should be aware that his perspective is mainly a British one, and many of the ‘cases’ he gives are set in England. He emphasises that if a working-class is in good health, there will then be a working-class happier working and more productive – and therefore there should be a much improved National Health system than the one Britain has. [It is now in distress – a bit like New Zealand’s health system.] Also please note that even if he is on the Left, Cahal Moran is not blind to other people’s views and he sometimes gives credit to entrepreneurs and capitalist companies that have really tried to relieve poverty.

In his first chapter “The Uneven Economy” he begins with a brief and general survey of economies in former ages – slavery, feudalism, the evolution of the market etc. It is always understood that production is a mass thing – that is, many are involved. This being the case he says that employees should therefore have a say in the running of businesses and corporations because they are essential workers. Both Adam Smith and Karl Marx also said this in their own ways. [By the way, Adam Smith is often quoted by the Right as the founder of Capitalism – so you may be surprised to find Moran often quotes Adam Smith with approval.]  But the fact is that the mass of workers are not always treated as partners by their employers and not given the same freedoms. Also those who employ and are wealthier have privileges – as in free time off etc. To  give an example of inequality, he points out that during the Covid lock-downs [in England], employed clerks, employed accountants and others could work on “at home”, while employed working-class had to either stay at home or [if their work was out out-doors], they could get on with it. He says   Surely, at some point virtually everybody has to get back to work – but it is strange that we can easily recognise those whose labour we literally cannot live without, then continue to pay them poorly and treat them badly” (p.51) So he uses this to assert that the economy is uneven in the sense that not all have the same opportunities to thrive.

Turning to Chapter Two he asks “Why are there so many billionaires?” and he says it is easier now for the very wealthy to buy out rival companies, put together conglomerates, and continue the process until they are on the “Forbes’ Rich List”. Why? Because laws against monopolies have, in the last few decades, been eased to the point where laws no longer matter. In detail Moran gives accounts of billionaires who exploit their employees; endlessly claim patents that they’ve often filches; make even more money by underpaying employees on site; grossly paying themselves (i.e. billions) for things they have not earned; obsession with buying out other companies etc. Says Moran: “Tech companies could be accused of providing a glossy coat over the far darker reality of how their products are produced. Terms like ‘the cloud’ provoke lofty images of ideas floating around the sky when in fact internet servers are huge blocks of complex circuitry located in warehouses across the world which must be perpetually cooled, an extremely energy-intensive process.” (p.82) Certainly there are some millionaires who have financed beneficial things, but as benefactors they are usually a sham, their main purpose being to boost their prestige and be admired.

But what of those who say that anyone could become rich if they only try and work hard? Moran deals with the fallacy, in Chapter 3 “Who Climbs the Ladder?”, on “the myths of meritocracy” . In every country in the world there are social classes, be they tribal, caste [as in India], or aristocracy – and of course in the differences between upper, middle and lower class. In Britain, most of Europe, America and their off-springs, the wealthy are born into the higher classes. Yes, there is the occasional lower-class person who becomes very wealthy, but that is a rare exception. On the whole, poorer people have to deal with immediate problems, such as how much money is coming in and how to pay the rent. It is therefore harder for them to accrue much money than it is for those who are set up by all-ready wealthy parents . [In passing Moran also deals with how it is often, for women and people of certain ethnicities, to be turned away by potential employers.] On the whole, too, poorer people are less likely to have a thorough education that might have allowed them to become doctors, lawyers, academics, engineers etc. Naturally Moran, and very reasonably, takes a crack at Britain’s upper-class filthy rich who are able to go to elite schools (Eton, Harrow etc.), many of whom end up as Members of Parliament or very rich entrepreneurs. Middle-class people may choose and find solid state schools… but the pupils of the working-class tend to be in poorer areas where the schools are not as helpful with teachers who are less likely to lead pupils into the professions. The simple fact is that, all over the world, real education is not available to everyone.

It is only in Chapter 4 “Is Poverty Getting Better?’ that Moran turns his focus away from Britain and considers the world at large. Optimistic writers [especially American ones] keep telling us that nowadays millions are being “brought out of poverty” every day. But in reality, this means that the “precariat” [those living in precarious situations] are getting a tiny-little-more than they used to have and they are still on the edge of starvation. Optimistic statistics tend to ignore this fact. Yes, here are some impoverished countries that have gained a little by the WHO [World Health Organisation], but Moran notes:  The USA has effective veto power at the International Monetary Fund (IMF), which is responsible for lending to poor countries and often imposes conditions on the types of policies they can enact. The World Trade Organisation (WTO) determines the terms and conditions of trade between countries. Even though the WHO is more democratic than the IMF or WB [the World Bank], many poor counties simply lack the resources to engage meaningfully in trade negotiations.” (p.172)

But does all this answer Moran’s title “Why We are Getting Poorer”? In his last two chapters, he is much more discursive, rambling somewhat. He asks about why it is now so difficult in England for people – even middle-class people – to secure a mortgage and a house. Locations – especially in desirable locations in cities – are almost impossible for the middle-class to get. Why? Because banks deal not only with mortgages but also with trading companies who snap up locations to build their offices, apartment-blocks etc. so…  We have seen the financial sector get more and more into property, with the result being serious instability. It was not until the late twentieth-century wave of financial deregulations – which, contrary popular belief, came in the early 1970s before [Margaret] Thatcher – that ‘regular’ banks could now get into the mortgage business more freely…. These days, banks do the majority of their lending for commercial real estate…” [pp.199-200] He compares this with the more generous public housing that is provided in some European countries.

He then launches into the matter of what money is anyway, telling us the obvious that money is made by banks, that loans and bonds are the same thing, how currencies are made or printed, and all transactions are loans. When he deals with inflation, he says this often occurs because when workers get a rise in their wages, prices go up because companies and shopkeepers raise prices to put a bit more money in their pockets. And “To put it bluntly, central bankers are too obsessed with wages, specifically when they go up, which is often assumed prima facie to be a bad thing. This is a political choice that we do not talk about nearly enough…” (p.270) In his very last chapter “Why did the Global Economy Break?” he does not really give a coherent answer.

Coming to the end of this book, I concluded that Moran tells many truths, is enlightening in places, is not a fanatic in any way, but somehow hasn’t persuaded me that he has answered the ultimate question he has asked - “Why Are We Getting Poorer”? Maybe we are, but in more ways than he has explained. But worth reading.

Sarcastic Footnote: For the benefit of those who see themselves as virtuous because they use electric cars rather than petrol driven, please note “… it is unclear that efforts such as Musk’s are the kind of environmental change that is needed to stop feeding either local pollution or climate change. An obvious problem with a company like Testa is that if most electricity is produced with fossil fuels, then the impact of electric cars is nullified. It’s little good swapping your oil-fuelled car for electricity that is produced by oil fuel… public transport almost always results in lover emissions than cars, whether they’re petrol or electric.” (pp.93-94)

  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *


 

            In Dublin in Ireland, Ciara is married to Ryan Fay. They have two daughters, 4-year old Sophie and 2-year-old Ella. Ryan is a civil servant. Ciara wants to work too and get out and about. She’s been to university, has degrees, is capable of being a teacher and she wants to be more than a house-bound housewife. But Ryan won’t let her. He does not beat her or otherwise physically hurt her. There are no bruises on her. But he does constantly intimidate her, belittle her, shout at her and demand that he alone is the master of the family. It’s a sort of psychological torture. So one day Ciara packs her bags when Ryan is at work, takes their two little girls, and flees, looking for shelter somewhere in the city where Ryan can’t find her.

            Ciara hasn’t told Ryan that she is pregnant. Roisin O’Donnell sets her story in 2018-2019, the years when abortion became legal in Ireland, and she gives some references to this. At first we might think that Ciara is looking for an abortion; but that turns out not to be the case. She gives birth to a little boy. When Ryan finds out about this he becomes even more possessive then before, saying their son belongs to him. Much of the novel concerns his ruses, tricks and sheer nastiness in trying to find her and drag her back to him. He gets a solicitor. She is able to get a solicitor only because there is free help for the poor.  In court, the magistrate, despite being a crusty old man, rules that Ryan can have access to the children only at limited times and the children will stay with Ciara. But this is just the beginning to what Ryan can do.

            Obviously this is a story of misogyny and an account of obsession. Ryan’s parents think Ciara is shaming their son and she is a thoughtless mother. Ciara’s family (who live in England – Sheffield to be precise) have different attitudes.

            But while this is the backbone of the story, the novel is as much concerned with the fate of those who cannot find shelter or a home in the city. Ciara first hides with her children in a hotel (where there are other people in distress). Then she tries to buy or rent an apartment, as often as not being turned away or not having enough to pay the rent, even though she has found work. Of course there are people who help her on the way – mainly women -  but frankly, Roisin O’Donnell is indicting city councils for not providing accommodation for those who are not wealthy.

            Nesting often reads as very good journalism and O’Donnell’s prose is clear and  readable. But I do have some gripes. I am sure there are men who mistreat their wives or partners, even the ones who do not use direct violence. But Ryan is so devious and clever in his ways that he almost becomes a super-criminal. Or am I being naïve about this? Anyway, it’s almost “hiss the villain” territory, and we do not really understand how he became a monster in the first place. I also find the denouement [the last three or four pages] improbably melodramatic, while Ciara’s friendship with a nice Brazilian man becomes a little too neatly lovey-dovey. And my goodness it is long – 383 pages long to be precise.

            Still, this is just me being grumpy. For what it’s worth, Nesting has already been lauded in Irish, English and American reviews, so what am I to be a little out of step? A huge readership is likely.  

Something Old

Not everything worth reading is hot off the press. In this section, we recommend "something old" that is still well worth reading. "Something Old" can mean anything from a venerable and antique classic to a good book first published year or two ago.    

“SPLENDEURS ET MISERES DES COURTISANES” [variously translated into English asA Harlot’s Progressor, in the Penguin translation,A Harlot High and Low”] by Honore de Balzac (First published together in 1847, sections of which had earlier been published separately )


            Readers of Balzac’s works are often confused by the way a character in one novel can turn up in another novel, sometimes as a major character and sometimes as a purely incidental character.  These are the “recurring characters” that critics often discuss. Some years back, when I visited in Paris the house where Balzac wrote some of his best works, I saw on the wall a large plan of all the recurring characters and how they were linked with one-another and in which novels they appear. There were hundreds of them. In Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes, one of Balzac’s longest books, a major character carries over from Lost Illusions [reviewed on this blog]. If I were the kind of chap who chases down all the rabbit holes of Balzacian literature, then I would diligently tell you of which character was related to whom. But I will not test your patience. Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes is one of Balzac’s more “sensational” works, the sort that (with some reason) is often criticised as, in places, near to a thriller or “shocker”. It is also as much a collection of different stories put together as L’Histoire des Treize [also reviewed on this blog]. And once again, it is therefore one of Balzac’s longest. Incidentally, some readers of this blog have told me that my synopses of novels are too long, so I will attempt to give you brutally short ideas of the “novel’s” four sections.

            Part One  [the headings as given in the Penguin version] “Esther’s Happiest Days” Esther van Gobseck, known as “La Torpille”, is a fashionable, beautiful courtesan [i.e. expensive prostitute]. She falls in love with the young Lucien de Rubempre, but she almost commits suicide because of the fact that she is Jewish – therefore  not acceptable to many in the upper classes. She is rescued by the master criminal Vautrin [who in this novel goes by the alias “Collin” ] and places her into a convent, gets her baptised, explains to her how high society works and then lets her live for four years with Lucien. Their life is bliss. But Lucien de Rubempre wants to be accepted into high society himself and starts courting the rich but plain daughter of a Duke, Clotilde. He claims to be a wealthy man. And coincidentally another roue, the elderly  millionaire banker Baron de Nucingen, sees beautiful Esther and wants her for his own. There follows long bargaining [which I will not present in detail] between “Collin” and Baron de Nucingen and a whole circus of criminals, lechers and schemers before “Collin” gets the money he wants and de Nucingen gets Esther.

Part TwoWhat Love May Cost an Old Man” Old de Nucingen pays large sums to set Esther up in style. Comical in his love-sickness [he does not yet have sexual intercourse with Esther] he is advised by his wife on how to entertain a mistress…. But then his wife accepts such things as she has a lover, the pushy Rastignac. There are many intrigues among the police who want to find out who “Collin” really is… and a bunch of lawyers work out that Lucien de Rubempre is not the wealthy man he claims to be. The daughter of a Duke, Clotilde, whom Lucien was courting is taken by her family out of Lucien’s reach. Meanwhile, Esther is about to enter fully into life as de Nucingen’s mistress. There is to be a great celebration in her apartment. But Esther is so depressed by the prospect that she will now really be an old man’s harlot that she takes poison and commits suicide. Goodbye to the courtesan who was about to be a wealthy mistress. Lucien has illegally made a rendezvous with Clotilde, still trying to get her marry him. But her parents are on the warpath, and he is arrested and thrown into jail. “Collin” [Vautrin], who has been arrested for many crimes, is also thrown into jail. [NB For the sake of brevity, I’ve skipped  a side-story wherein a certain Peyrade whose daughter is kidnapped caught by Vautrin gang. She is debauched at an orgy. Peyrade dies of grief.]

            Part ThreeWhere Evil Ways Lead” [and here I will be very brief]. Both Lucien and “Collin” are in jail – but in separate cells. At one point, Lucien hears that the late Esther bequeathed her money to him. But it does not bring him any good. The police are now determined to find out who “Collin” really is. Under pressure, Lucien betrays “Collin” as the man who for a long time has been pretending to be as priest [the same bogus priest who appeared in Lost Illusions]. Shamed, and caught out in various dodgy deals he has done, Lucien hangs himself. But from all this, “Collin” [Vautrin] still is cunning enough to survive.

            Part FourThe Last Incarnation of Vautrin” has the criminal clever enough to extricate himself from any situation. In the prison yard of the notorious Conciergerie he is able to gather together a gang of spies and thugs. Through them, and in other ways, he promises the police that he will find out who murdered an important person, so long as he gets pardoned and becomes the head of the police’s detective squad!!. After much detective work he is pardoned, and does indeed  become head of the police’s detective squad!!! But to round it off, he has Esther and Lucien interred side-by-side, two sad suicides; and in an emotive scene he collapses at their funeral. He continues in his police work and dies of old age. The crim wins.


 

            Dear reader, for the sake of brevity, I have stripped this synopsis to the bone, missing out many characters, missing out many episodes, and certainly sparing you from being told who in this novel has already appeared in other of Balzac’s novels. Leave the litany of “recurring characters” to the real Balzacian fanatics. There is, however, one recurring character who has to be noted. For those who think that a criminal becoming a police inspector is rather improbable, then please be aware that Balzac was drawing this character, Vautrin, from real life. Vautrin is based on Eugene-Francois Vidocq, a long-term criminal, often jailed, but also expert at escaping. Eventually, because he knew all the underworld and all the ways of criminals, he was invited to be the head of France’s first criminal investigation bureau and he held that position for many years. His methods are often regarded as the foundation of modern criminality. Balzac knew Vidocq personally and used him as the model for Vautrin in many of his novels  - Lost Illusions, Le Pere Goriot etc. Incidentally, “Vautrin” means a wild boar and it was one of Vidocq’s nicknames.

After saying this I hope you realise that I, a great fan of Balzac’s work, think Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes is one of the Master’s lesser pieces. Even more than the third part of  Lost Illusions and the three separate tales of  L’Histoire des Treize, Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes is a literary mess. It does not hang together as a single novel and shows the strains of writing for serial publication (which, by the way, was how Charles Dickens presented his novels). Despite the “novel’s” title, the courtesan ceases to be the centre of attention halfway through the tale (she dies in Part Two). With her disappearance there is the complete and disconcerting disappearance from the novel of other major characters, such as the millionaire banker Baron de Nucingen. Much of it has an air of improvisation with new characters introduced at convenient moments. Balzac is keeping his yarn going and writing himself out of a corner. Three murders (at least), two suicides and the final cheek of the master criminal [based on Vidocq] becoming a respected detective. Blood and thunder elements there certainly are. I’d willingly describe Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes as one of Balzac’s most absurd and far-fetched plot. Yes, there are some good moments, but it is mainly the type of thing that allows a ninny like the critic Martin Turnell to condemn all of Balzac’s work, including masterpieces like Le Pere Goriot, Cousine Bette, Cousin Pons, La Rabouilleuse and many of Balzac’s best short stories.

I could say much, much more about what is wrong with Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes, but brevity is what you wanted and so you get it.

Something Thoughtful

  Nicholas Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to literature, history, popular culture and the arts, or just life in general. You are free to agree or disagree with him.

                                                          IRRITATING WORDS

            The state of the world is such that I should be writing a column about Gaza, Ukraine, tariffs, climate change and how much the Academy Awards stink. But the fact is you have already heard every pundit, journalist, columnist and general loud-mouth belch out their half-baked ideas and I refuse to join the fray. Instead, I put myself in grumpy mode and decide to give you a lecture on the misuse of words. So sit up straight and listen carefully. There will be questions after.

            Clichés .

How often do you now hear on radio or TV some tired journalist use the cliché “the song book”. I could be wrong [occasionally I am], but I believe the phrase first became popular in the United States. It is inserted most often in the context of discussing politics, where some journalist wants to belittle a politician for merely copying what somebody else has already said; or castigating a politician as merely mouthing what the leader of his/her party has said. Yes, I get the metaphor. Song books were, once upon a time, literally printed books for singing in church; or books [or sheets] that people read from in old-time community “sings”; so the idea was that this meant people baying to the same tune… like a politician. So we now get journalists saying “Trump is playing from Hitler’s song book” etc. etc. Okay. I get it. But can’t we go back to saying “XYZ politician is repeating [somebody else]” or other obvious ways of making a point? “The song book” metaphor is now worthy of being ditched.

            Going forward”: For God’s sake abandon this tiresome phrase. Much better to say “in the future” as we used to do. Besides, who says we’re necessarily “going forward when we don’t know whether we are going forward or going backwards in our development. Going forward we might be falling off a cliff.

            Passed” : Okay, I’ve whacked you with this before but it’s worth repeating. Maybe you could say politely to a very old person that somebody had “passed away”. But if you are dealing with sturdy adults you should say that somebody has died. It is both more honest and more truthful. Besides, if I have been told that grandma has “passed” I would immediately assume that my grandma has passed my front door. These days she is losing it after all.

            Misuse of language

         There are many words that are simply misused – almost always by those who do not know the meaning of the word in the first place; and often misused by people boosting ephemeral people in showbiz. Here are some particularly annoying examples.

Iconic: I won’t go into the history of icons and what is truly iconic, but at least something iconic must mean a person or work that has become very well known, esteemed and important in a whole civilisation. But now we have boosters saying that such-and-such half-forgotten pop-singer is “iconic” e.g. “Mike Turniphead is the iconic singer of the 1962 hitI’m gonna slobber all over you”. Same goes for Classic: Yep. I’m not a pedant, so I don’t expect people now to use the word only when referring to ancient Greece and Rome. But I do reasonably expect the word to be used when referring to something that has weathered at least some time, is greatly admired and widely known. Now the showbiz boosters and scribblers for “social media” will tell us that “Last week’s joke on our favourite channel was a classic”. Need I go into detail, in the same context, about the misuse of Legendary, as in “Barny Bloots is the legendary stagehand who once picked up Mick Jaggers’s used handkerchief mid concert. What a hero!

            Finally, I can’t leave you without annoying some of you. I believe the words student or students should not be used for primary-school children or for most teenagers at secondary-school [high-school as Americans call it]. Real students study. Real students are earnest and earnestly seek to learn more about things. Real students go further than merely doing dutifully assignments that have been given to them. Primary-school children, no matter how good their teachers are, are at best learning only the basics – essential, of course, but not any more than setting out blocks [metaphorically] for the children to learn. Some secondary-school adolescents are genuine students. The great majority are not. How dare I say this? Because I was a high-school teacher for 30 years, that’s why. I am fully aware that some “students” at university are slackers who do little studying. Even so, I believe that the terms student or students should not be used for primary-school children or for most teenagers at secondary-school. The appropriate terms should always be pupils. My fervent belief is that the only reason the words “student” and “students” have been given to primary-school children and secondary-school adolescents is that teachers wanted to boost their prestige and get more mana as a profession. Very sad when you think of it.

            Have I annoyed you? So be it.

Monday, February 24, 2025

Something New

 

We feature each fortnight Nicholas Reid's reviews and comments on new and recent books.  

     “NEW STORIES” by Owen Marshall (Penguin Books, $NZ38); “WHILE HEARTS COUNT OUR FOREVERS” by Hugh Major (Disjunct Books, $NZ32:99)

Among New Zealand writers, there is a long tradition of short stories. In fact New Zealand’s short stories are often more read than New Zealand’s novels.  Who is the most revered New Zealand writer? Katherine Mansfield, who stuck with short stories and never wrote a novel. Some of our best short-story-writers did also write novels – Frank Sargeson, Dan Davin, Janet Frame,  Patricia Grace etc. But since the recent death of Vincent O’Sullivan (poet, novelist and short-story writer), Owen Marshall reigns supreme as our most-read short-story writer (yes, he has also written some novels). His first collection was published in 1979, and since then he has always been lauded as one of our best and most perceptive writers. Owen Marshall is an unassuming writer. He does not condescend to his audience but [with very few exceptions] writes about ordinary people, mainly middle-class and Pakeha and only rarely involving us with academics or overt politics.

Marshall’s latest collection comprises 27 stories – some short, some long. Interestingly, only six of the stories are written in the first-person. One (Double Whammy) has a narrator telling us how difficult it is to deal with friends when they are about to get divorced. Swansong has a desperate narrator facing old people in a run-down apartment. The Hour of the Wolf  lets us hear the pompous voice of an ex-academic now depressed and hitting the bottle. Up at the Nancy is a strange story of a band of deer-hunters in the mountains who have to look after an odd intruder. Legacy is a sketch wherein the narrator’s memory reverts to childhood. And (opening the collection) there is a longer-than-usual story Fortune’s Whim, told by a young Kiwi who is doing his O.E. by picking up casual jobs around Europe and finds himself being a deck-hand on a millionaire’s pleasure yacht.  This is one in which we seem to be heading to a sting-in-the-tale, but Marshall has the nous to let us work out what has finally happened. In each of these cases, Marshall’s skill is his ability to adopt the exact sort of speech each narrator uses – we are listening to unique voices.

As for the other 21 third-person stories, Marshall rarely takes us outside New Zealand. Jasper Coursey presents a young Kiwi in Nice picking up some money by helping an old English historian around the ancient city… and oddly enough he comes to enjoy the experience. The Enemy Without a Tail is surprisingly about narcotics in Australia. One of Marshall’s finest (and longest) is the closing story Elsbeth and Lloyd George. Charming is its account of a New Zealander, with Welsh forebears, visiting Wales and enjoying the company of an English woman whom he meets. Marshall avoids the clichés that often go with romantic tales of meeting delightful strangers. This meeting is matter-of-fact and real in both its narrative and its denouement.  Dealing with almost “alien territory”, rarely used by Marshall, is Ghost Christmas, where a young man avoids having Christmas with his rowdy flat-mates and heads up to Auckland which he’s barely visited before. He finds some of the unexpected things young Aucklanders do. The fact is, in most of his writing, Marshall tends to stay in his own stamping grounds, far south of the Bombay Hills and usually on the South Island.

Some tales are brief anecdotes – Broderick and Riley, Free Fall, Cloud Drift, Marjorie’s Mushroom and others. One such is almost metaphysical, but I won’t spoil your reading by telling you which one.

At the risk of annoying you, I won’t give any sort of synopsis for all the other stories in this collection, great though so many of them are. But I will say that Marshall deals with very common domestic and public situations known in this country -  a retiree tasked with looking after a blind woman; two women coming to terms with their sexuality; how a man deals with visiting the factory where he once worked; a typical day of a young teenager just looking for harmless things to do; a woman who wants to break from a man who had once been her lover; engaging with people you’ve never met before; the cop who just happens to do the right thing when the wrong thing comes his way; the man who has the skill to move away from his boring job but finds, even with his skill, he can’t get any opening; the parents who are not sure how to deal with the situation when their son gets a girl pregnant; the young woman who is determined to meet the biological father whom she has never seen.

Mundane? Not at all. Marshall makes his characters live, behave like real people, show us what it is like to be a New Zealander and while he steers far from sentimentality he knows what compassion is.

Of course New Stories is a great collection. What else did you expect from Owen Marshall?

  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  *


 

As well as being a skilled painter, Hugh Major is also a well-informed student of philosophy and spirituality, not identifying with any established religion but fighting a good fight against pure materialism. Twice before on this blog I have reviewed his work, first his Notes on the Mysterium Tremendum and later his From Monkey to Moth . I do not agree with everything he has written, but I am always stimulated by his earnest quest and his real insight.

In While Hearts Count Our Forevers, Major moves from speculation and pure philosophy to narrative and history. While Hearts Count Our Forevers comprises three novellas, all set in the 17th and 18th centuries and all based on historical fact… but of course in all three of these tales there is much discussion of philosophy and philosophers are among the main characters. 

First novella Zeitgeist – Weltgeist is set mainly near Jena University, with events taking place between 1798 and 1804 [this was, of course, long before Germany became one state]. Romanticism is in its high tide, and the man who calls himself Novalis is writing very romantic poems. Among philosophers there are many discussions on the nature of being and understanding. The aggressive philosopher Fichte believes that everything depends on the Self – we understand the world only through our own and single perception. But the philosopher Friedrich Schelling believes that two people can merge into having the same perception and in effect become one. Or could it be that Schelling believes this because he is in love with Caroline… who happens to be the wife of the philosopher Schlegel? Major deals with this carefully and it is the relationship of Schelling and Caroline that is the main focus. The novella is not only credible [it is based on fact] but it takes these matters seriously. Many characters appear (Hegel and Goethe himself have minor roles… and remember it was Goethe’s novella The Sorrows of Young Werther that was the epitome of romanticism). What is the denouement? Read and find out. Yes, it is a page turner.

Next novella A Material Girl has not quite so much angst, being the story of Margaret Cavendish (nee Lucas) but it does have some frustration for Margaret. Again based on fact, it is set in the years between 1644 and 1660 – that is, the years of the English Civil War and then the Restoration of the king (Charles II). Margaret is a royalist. She (and later her husband – who is 30 years older than her) take refuge in France while the civil war is raging. In Paris she gets to know a number of philosophers – Descartes, the master of rationalism; and Thomas Hobbes, a materialist who believes that everything is physical matter and who has little room for spirituality. Margaret believes there must be some immaterial force that feeds our intelligence. Major takes much interest in Margaret’s book The Blazing World, in which she presents her own radical ideas. What frustrates Margaret? That even the best philosophers tend not to take women seriously and do not really allow her to express her ideas. But she is able to square off with members of the Royal Society. In that respect, A Material Girl is a feminist story, but it is also a galloping tale of a particular era.

Finally comes Undoubtedly, really a spritely verbal duel between two very wilful people. It takes place in the years 1649-1650. Rene Descartes is feeling old, tired and in poor health [for the record, he died when he was 54]. The great philosopher has fled from France and Holland – where he had enemies – and has taken up the offer to tutor Queen Christina of Sweden. He is aged. She is 23. She swears effing and blinding. Hugh Major has researched and found for Queen Christina quaint ancient swear-words that are authentic but will no longer give offence. What is the verbal duel? Descartes believes that the only way we can understand things is by reason. The queen keeps testing him by confronting him with hard – and often foul - physical facts. Major does not use the terms, but this is a battle between rationalism and empiricism. Of course there is much more to it than that – the political manouevering around the queen; the question of who will succeed her; the queen’s sexuality [Major does not sensationalise this]; and Descartes’ memories and dreams.

In these three novellas, Major has not only researched carefully, but he has presented these distant centuries vividly. And believe it or not, given that he deals with such weighty matters as philosophical debates, he has managed to bring a light touch to his narratives. Quite a feat.

Something Old

  Not everything worth reading is hot off the press. In this section, we recommend "something old" that is still well worth reading. "Something Old" can mean anything from a venerable and antique classic to a good book first published year or two ago.

     “HISTORY OF THE THIRTEEN” [“L’Histoire des Treize”] by Honore de Balzac (First published as three separate works; published together in 1834-35)

To the horror of some fastidious critics, the young Honore de Balzac was often happy to write cloak-and-dagger, blood-and-thunder shockers. Before he was a fully-fledged as an author, he wrote, under a pseudonym, many pot-boilers which he later disowned. In that respect, he was like the capable Alexandre Dumas and the (much worse) sensationalist Eugene Sue with their stories filled with conspiracies, cut-throats, dark hidden passages etc. etc. Yet even after he wrote his more respectable novels, Balzac still sometimes liked to deal with crime, with secret societies and with scandal in high places. L’Histoire des Treize is the epitome of this trend in Balzac’s work. It is presented as one novel, but in reality it is three novels, only loosely connected, and it is one of Balzac’s longest. Balzac also dedicates each of the three novels to a man in the arts whom he admired. The premise of L’Histoire des Treize is that there was a secret society in Restoration Paris (that is, Paris after the fall of Napoleon when Royalty was restored). This secret society is made of men totally devoted to each another’s well-being by fair means or foul. They have their own codes and ways of inserting themselves in the lives of people who threaten them; or people dear to them whom they want to protect.


Ferragus (dedicated to Hector Berlioz) is the first and weakest of the novels. It is very much a melodrama of mistaken identity. Maulincour, an aristocrat, is deeply upset when he sees a much admired and chaste wife in high society, Clemence, consorting with disreputable people in an unsavoury quarter of Paris. Shortly after he starts trying to follow Clemence and find out why she is behaving so strangely, nasty things begin to happen to him. He discovers that Clemence is frequently visiting the old criminal known as Ferragus. Maulincour continues to be terrorised. The knowledge that Clemence knows the criminal Ferragus compromises her. The blissful harmony of Clemence and her husband’s marriage is disrupted. Gentle reader. Let me not hold you in suspense. The upshot of this unnecessarily tangled plot [I have spared you much of the detail] is that the criminal Ferragus is in fact Clemence’s disreputable father!! Melodramatic drum-role here please.  There are a number of deaths. Maulincour is poisoned (by Ferragus of course). Clemence is driven to death by grief when her marriage falls apart. And [for reasons which I don’t wish to go into] Ferragus’s poor and mistreated mistress commits suicide. The “accidents” which befell Maulincour were naturally the work of the Treize of which Ferragus was the head. He was attempting to protect Clemence’s reputation in society.

Put together, Ferragus is frankly a wild and absurdly  melodramatic story. And yet Balzac still had the skill to bring alive many scenes of Paris high and low – observations of the shabbier parts of Paris; close examination of the behaviour of the nouveau-riche and the returned aristocrats in their salons; redolent thoughts of death in the elaborate funeral for Clemence; in contrast the bare funeral in the Pere Lachaise cemetery for Ferragus’s mistress. One wonders if it was the funerial atmosphere that made Balzac decide Hector Berlioz, with his famous Requiem, to be the appropriate man to be dedicated to this novel. Like so many of Balzac’s novels, in this novel and the two others there are characters who repeatedly appear in other of Balzac’s novels. There has also been much discussion that suggests Ferragus is really about the love of a father for his daughter. After all, Ferragus was trying to do his best for his daughter and to keep her from falling out of high society. This has been linked by some to Balzac’s masterpiece such as Le Pere Goriot, in which an old man gives much to his daughters expecting their love – but they end up scorning him. Father-daughter complications are in many of Balzac’s novels, such as Eugenie Grandet.


If much of Ferragus is outrageously melodramatic, then the second of these three novels La Duchesse de Langeais is both outrageously melodramatic and outrageously romantic.  Perhaps Balzac’s dedication to Franz Liszt was a nod to the composer’s romantic music.  La Duchesse de Langeais is also known as “Ne touchez-pas a la hache” – “don’t touch the axe” – which were supposedly the last words of King Charles 1st just before he was beheaded. It suggests vengeance to come, and this novel is in part about the vengeance of a man who has been toyed with too often by a coquette-ish woman, and eventually the vengeance of cruel fate. Yet despite all its overt melodrama and romanticism, this novel has more nuance and sense of the relationships of men and women than you might expect. It begins with the French general Armand de Montriveau, fresh from wars in Spain, dropping in to a Spanish Carmelite convent, closed to the world on an island.  He recognises the music being played by an organist in the convent, recognises her voice in the choir and secures a chaperoned interview with her. In the convent she is called “Sister Theresa”, but General Armand calls her Antoinette or Duchesse. He tells her that her husband has recently died. They speak passionately. “Mother Theresa” confesses to the Carmelite superior of her relationship with Armand and her love for him. But she has sworn that she will stay in the convent. Armand departs, determined to somehow free her.

All this happens in 1823, but it is the prologue and back-story to what has happened previously in 1818.This takes up most of the rest of the narrative. In 1818, Antoinette de Navarreins, aged  24, marries for pure prestige with the Duc de Langeais. But, now known as the Duchesse de Langeais, she lives on her own in the fashionable Faubourg Saint-Germain. She is a typical example of the irresponsible Restoration aristocracy, not without intelligence, wit and charm, but artificial, self-centred, coldly enjoying the admiration of young men in salons brought together with kindred spirits such as the Vicomtesse de Fontaine, the Duchesse de Maufeigneuse and the Comtesse de Serizey.  Armand de Montriveau, general of the Guards, a marquis who has served the both the Republic and then Napoleon, has led a hard and adventurous life. After Napoleon’s fall, he explored Africa, nearly perished in the desert, was enslaved and escaped. He is a man of fierce intelligence, impatient of frivolous high society, with a strong sense of rectitude and duty. But he is totally innocent about women. At a salon, the Duchesse de Langeais determines to make a conquest of Armand, whose exploits happen to be all the rage. She wants to make him a pendant for her own esteem. What follows is the story of a cruel  coquette who arouses in Armand passions neither he nor she really knew existed. So innocent is he that he does not recognise her studied wiles. She puts him off with various pretexts – first pleading that she is married (though she has no regard for, and no real connection with, her husband) and she does not want her reputation ruined. Then (with the assistance of her confessor l’Abbe Dongrond) she puts forth religious arguments on the immorality of loving somebody other than her husband. All of which simply arouses Armand’s love to fever pitch. But at last Armand understands the cruel nature of her coquetry. So he has her kidnapped from an evening salon [here the secret society the Treize enter, being friends with Armand, who assist in perpetrating this crime]. Now in his clutches, Armand denounces the Duchesse and her wiles. He even threatens to brand her with irons. But now the tables are turned. In this moment of extreme crisis, the Duchesse de Langeais realises that, while she was playing with him, she really was falling in love with Armand. Artificiality yields to passion. As if by magic, she is brought back to the salon [unbranded, of course!], but from this point on it is she who is hopelessly smitten with him. Armand still loves her, but he turns his back on her because she has so often played with him, and he withdraws from salon society. She tries to contact him. He does not reply. She deliberately has her carriage linger outside his bachelor residence, so that all Paris will think they are a couple. Whereupon a whole crowd of aristos and hangers-on [including her father] persuade her of the benefits of discretion – not that they object to adultery so long as it is kept quiet. Armand flees and the Duchesse attempts to contact him. Finally, discovering his whereabouts, she sends Armand a message saying that he will satisfy her love [okay, you know what that means] or she will retire to a convent. But by ill luck [shades of Romeo and Juliet] the message goes awry, Armand doesn’t get it, and the Duchesse goes into the convent.

Flash forward to 1823. Six months after his first visit to the Spanish convent, Armand returns there with some trusty members of the Treize planning to spring the Duchesse “Sister Theresa” from the convent. They secretly build a ladder to scale up the rocky side of the convent [Stewth! This really does sound like Alexandre Dumas or Eugene Sue]. In the dead of night, they get into the convent. But cruel fate!!! They hear the Mass for the Dead being said. At just the wrong moment “Sister Theresa” has died of grief – for her late father or for Armand? They take her body and bury her at sea. Armand’s dreams are over. One of his friends ends the story by telling Armand “After this, have passions; but as for love, a man ought to know how to please it wisely. It is only the last love of a woman that can satisfy the first love of a man.” Take this “moral” (if it is one) for whatever you like.

Now please do not chastise me too much for giving you this long account of far-fetched romanticism, with its Spanish convents and blazing passions and big coincidences and a mysterious secret society. It is said to have been inspired by Balzac’s own unhappy experiences in loving an aristocratic grande dame who toyed with him. In the novel there are elements of male revenge fantasy – first masochism in the idea of love as self-abasement at the feet of the haughty lady; then the revenge of placing the haughty lady before the branding irons; then the lady’s moral humiliation as her sophisticated façade cracks and she too surrenders to passion. And the novel’s dedication to Franz Liszt seems most apt when Balzac has a long sentimental description of the majesty of organ music in the convent and the sublime splendour of the nuns’ choir and the religiosity of it all. Yet oddly enough, for all its melodrama La Duchesse de Langeais is a more thoughtful, and in places and more credible novel, than Ferragus. In its scenes set in Restoration Paris, which takes up most of the novel, Balzac gives a scathing account of the careless upper classes, their back-biting, pettiness, gossipy bitchery, and obsession with status and wealth. Balzac is far from romanticism when he reverts to hard reality in a 20-long-page- essay theorising about the factionalism and general stupidity of the aristocracy; their inability to see where their real interests lay; and their sad contrast when set beside the rising and more productive bourgeoisie. It is as if they have not learnt anything from the Revolution. Above all though, the power of his story lies in the long analysis of Antoinette’s relationship with Armand, which takes up over half the novel. It is almost an anatomy of coquette-ry. Compared with this, the rest of the novel is mere dressing. Given much of its romantic content, it is not surprising that La Duchesse de Langeais has often been filmed in France.

And so we come to the last of these three novels which purport to be about a secret society, the Treize, but in fact the secret society is only a very small part of any of these three novels. La Fille Aux Yeux d’Or (The Girl With the Golden Eyes) – dedicated to Eugene Delacroix -  is for some prurient people Balzac’s most scandalous novel. It does have more sex than would have been the norm at the time it was written [apart from outright pornography which throve in the underworld such as England’s Fanny Hill and in France the work of the Marquis de Sade]. But La Fille Aux Yeux d’Or is less explicit than is now taken as the norm. I’ll give a brutally brief synopsis. Rakish young wealthy Henri de Massay sees, in a Parisian park, a beautiful young woman with golden eyes. He becomes obsessed with her. After many intrigues, he gets access to her boudoir and makes up to her with cuddles and kisses. She is exotic. Her name is Paquita Vales. She is technically a virgin but she knows a great deal about love-making. However, when they are canoodling, she insists that when Henri visits, he must wear a red cloak. This makes Henri think that she must have been using him and she must have another lover. He swears he will have revenge… though the next night he visits her again and is once again bewitched by her beauty. In the transport of passion [not said explicitly but presumable an orgasm] she calls out a woman’s name. Henri leaps away from her, ready to stab her for this outrage. But he is thrown out of the house by Paquita’s valet who always guards her when she goes walking. Therefore the next night, Henri (who just happens to be the leader of the Treize), accompanied by his bravos, breaks into her home… and finds that Paquita’s boudoir is splattered with blood, and over Paquita’s corpse, wielding a knife, stands Henri’s illegitimate sister Euphemie. She is almost a double of Henri, which explains why Paquita was ready to accept Henri as a sort of lover. Paquita was the daughter of a slave from the Middle East. Her body is easily disposed of, and to a naïve friend, Henri says that this beautiful young woman had died of consumption [tuberculosis]. Through the language of euphemism the “explanation” of this mystery appears to be that Euphemie bought Paquita as a slave for her lesbian pleasure. This explains why Paquita was skilled at love-making but was still a virgin. Euphemie murdered Paquita when she discovered that Paquita had made love to a man. Let’s admit that this is one of Balzac’s clumsiest works. Fully the first quarter of this story is taken up with another diatribe at the rich classes of Paris and their obsession with gold and other wealth and the cynicism of rakes. This hard-nosed sociological comment bears little relationship to the erotic melodrama that follows. The atmosphere of duennas, the closed house of a Spanish grandee, the secret passages and sound-proof rooms for love-making – are these what made Balzac dedicate this tale to the painter Eugene Delacroix, depicter of voluptuous half-naked slave girls and the wild Middle East? Probably. Yet in a way, Balzac redeems himself when he shows how depraved Henri is when he passes on his cynical ideas to a impressionable innocent provincial. And give the author credit for not making the denouement a total surprise. We know from the beginning that Henri has a sibling called Euphemie and, though one of them is legitimate, they are both the offspring of the English Lord Dudley – and of course every self-respecting French writer knows that English Lords are all hypocrites. For the record, La Fille Aux Yeux d’Or was filmed in France in 1961 at the time of the nouvelle vague. It updated the story to the present (1961) time. It was popular in its day, but has largely past out of memory and it now seems very tame.

Foot Note: These three works are sometimes called short stories – which they definitely are not – or novellas. La Fille Aux Yeux d’Or is relatively short, but Ferragus is a considerably longer than a novella and La Duchesse de Langeais is a very long novel.

Something Thoughtful

   Nicholas Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to literature, history, popular culture and the arts, or just life in general. You are free to agree or disagree with him.

                                                                  F**K

            F**k? Yes f**k. The most objectionable word in the English language beaten only by c**t, although the feisty feminist Germaine Greer has made a good case for legitimising c**t and honouring it. But you do notice how I am bowdlerising my own words, don’t you? I am deliberately not spelling both words in full lest readers might think I am simply trying to gain attention or be smutty. So f**k and c**t they remain.

            I’m not an expert in the origins of c**t as a word, but the use and misuse of f**k really intrigue me.

A little bit of backstory. The word f**k has been in use for at least 700 years… and perhaps more. It originated in Germanic and Scandinavian languages and was probably used in Early French. And bear in mind that the English language as we now know it is largely a mixture of Old German and French, with some Scandinavian and a little Celtic thrown in. Etymologists are very clear about this and they note that f**k, in its first form, probably meant sexual relationships but without any derogatory connotations. I am pointing this out clearly because every so often you might encounter some nitwit who wants to tell you that f**k means “Found Under Carnal Knowledge” or other such recently fabricated acronyms. Acronyms – making words out of separate letters - are often made up by people who don’t know anything about the history of words [etymology]. That is why you will also have nitwits who want to tell you that the word “posh” originated by the P. and O. steamship company that was reputed to have given the best berths to the wealthier travellers who were to get the best sunlight when going to India and then going back to England. Hence “Port Out Starboard Home”, viz “posh”. Again this is nonsense. The word “posh” was around long before there were such arrangements – if they really existed, which they probably didn’t – and “posh” seems to have arisen in Cockney slang meaning the showy wealthy classes.

But to get back to this word f**k. What is its status now? Over the centuries it has become a curse word (“f**k you”) a term of despair (“oh f**k it”), an aggressive way of dismissing somebody (“f**k off”), an all-purpose utterance when annoyed, especially when things have gone wrong (“f**k!”), an amusing way of addressing a friend (“how are things going you old f**ker”) and many other variations too tedious to catalogue. But of course f**k and f**king are most often used as crude and derogatory ways of referring to sexual intercourse.

 The word was always freely used  by what were once referred to as the “lower classes”. Fun fact - recently [silent] newsreel films, of British Tommys in the First World War, were handed over to a lip-reader, who was able to show that they effed and blinded to their hearts desire. F**k in all the trenches.  Until very recently however, the dreaded word would never be printed in a newspaper, uttered in a court of law unless somebody wanted to be fined for using such language, used in a stage-play or film, or found in a novel [apart from under-the-counter pornography]. But censorship gradually eased over the 20th century. First came the novelists – with Ulysses and Lady Chatterley’s Lover and others that followed -  with court cases that decided they could be published. Then in the early 1960’s, Hollywood, realising that television was now taking away much of its audience, began to allow the dreaded word into their movies. Then f**k became everyday speech in movies, American and elsewhere. Then f**k was frequently heard on television, it became mainstream, and even middle and upper classes began to casually use the word at need. And [I’m not a hypocrite] I have sometimes shouted f**k when I’m caught in a traffic jam or frustrated by the workings and codes of the systems of my desktop.

But there’s a problem here. Having hitherto been a scandalous word, a word that had some power, f**k has really lost its sting. It is all over the place. Once people would have been shocked by protesters bearing placards saying “F**K THE GOVERNMENT”. Now people just yawn and see this as passe. No wonder protesters now have to lie down in front of cars, or throw paint over revered paintings, to get attention.

There are two stories that come to my mind.

When Norman Mailer’s first novel was published [in 1948] The Naked and the Dead, his publishers insisted that he could not use f**k, even though the novel was about soldiers in wartime who, obviously, swore and cussed on nearly every page. So Mailer had to turn every f**k to fug. The jaded actress Tallulah Bankhead addressed him at a party saying “So you’re the young man who doesn’t know how to spell f**k.”

In 1962 the mainly comical English author David Lodge [I’ve written about him on this blog] wrote a novel called Ginger, You’re Barmy, about English squaddies doing their national service and often swearing a blue streak. He dutifully made every f**k a fug without having to be told. But two years later the novel was re-published, and without controversy, he was able to turn all the fugs into f**ks… But then even later, when the novel was getting a third publishing, Lodge changed his mind and decided that it was out of key to have a novel written in the early 1960s to be filled f**k – so back came all the fugs.

So see how f**k can still be contentious? We know it’s a foul word, yet we use it casually and then wish we didn’t. We worry that f**k  is losing its force because of over-use, yet we are aware that we are partly responsible for that loss. We know that the word is often used by people who do not have a very broad vocabulary, yet we don’t want to become patronising about this. Really it’s hard to know what to do with this word. F**kit.