Politics, Oliver Sacks, Proust, Korea, Clutter, Levy, Psalms, Earnings, Status
The irregular review of reviews vol. XI
Politics pretending to be literature
In response to a reductive (but admirably enthusiastic) essay arguing that literature is apolitical (it was all over Substance but now I cannot find it) John Halbrooks responded by saying that literature very much is political. And that it can guide your vote in the upcoming US Presidential election…
Yes, obviously, literature is political. But, no, that doesn’t mean it has very much to do with election politics. Let’s put aside the fact that the original essay was more an objection to Literary Theory than politics per se… Halbrooks is wrong.
I hesitate to link to this essay because it is badly argued, but it is a useful demonstration of the way that so much of what so many literary people say is just politics—common-or-garden, same-as-the-man-on-the-bus, unphilosophical, newspaper-level politics—but wearing fancy clothes.
I can add this: careful, empathetic readings of the majority of our most accomplished writers will lead one to principles that will align with democratic (small “d”) values and that will reject fascism and oligarchy. And this year, that means that there is only one option on the ballot.
I’m not allowed to say this in a classroom setting, and I don’t. I let the texts speak for themselves. But I can write it here. And what’s more, I'll give you some examples. In the run up to the election, I will survey a few of my favorite writers in this way. While I generally don't like to reduce literary texts to a “message” (after all, what makes literature important is its ability to capture complexity and nuance), we can certainly discern overarching values in many cases.
I hope he gets round to explaining how reading Milton means we should vote centre-left in modern elections. (Remind me, who do I vote for if I favour Cromwell and the Army? How about putting Ireland to the sword?) What about Burke, Carlyle, and Austen? (Austen, though, is confusing, to be fair: she was pretty conservative but also seems to have been an abolitionist. Talking about splitting the ballot!) Tell me again what it is I should be inferring from Coriolanus and The Taming of the Shrew? And presumably we are not going to be reading Spenser? (Or is Kamala the new Fairy Queen?) Remember kids, it’s ok to read Jane Eyre and become a feminist, just so long as you become a low-Church Anglican feminist who admires St. John… And whatever you do, be careful reading Patricia Highsmith and Agatha Christie!
How far can we take this? If I read Donne and Herbert with “careful empathy”, will I become a good Anglican? How about Johnson? Maybe we shouldn’t let the young read William Morris and John Ruskin. Don’t want them getting the wrong ideas and voting for Bernie! Does reading Dickens make us sexist? Should we ban Walter Scott? What are we to make of the Bloomsbury group?
It’s easy to agree that reading eighteenth and nineteenth century feminists is an exercise in learning feminism, but such crass generalisations about literature should not be indulged in by professors in public.
Oliver Sacks was a late bloomer!
The popular conception of Oliver’s career as both a neurologist and a writer was one of tremendous success from the start. But this was not the case. Oliver was 52 when his fourth book, “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat,” became a wholly unexpected best seller in 1986. In his 20s, 30s and 40s, his life and career had been not only unorthodox, but by many means, a disaster.
Both compulsive and impulsive, driven by self-destructive behavior (especially in his yearslong addiction to amphetamines, and what Oliver himself called periods of intense “mania”), he moved from job to job — twice getting fired — searching to find his way as a neurologist, as a writer and as a closeted gay man. While he had published three books before “Hat,” none had been markedly successful. Even his best-known book from that period, “Awakenings” (1973), didn’t sell well at the time — that wouldn’t change until the film adaptation in 1990 — and was largely ignored by his neurological colleagues.
Also this.
…ultimately, one might say, Oliver was his own most challenging and important patient.
I very much want to read the new collection of letters.
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