R. D. Wingfield A Touch of Frost (1987)

 

R. D. Wingfield A Touch of Frost (1987) Frost, frowzy, rumpled, foul-mouthed, rebellious, stubborn, too fond of alcohol and cholesterol-laden food, perpetual ignorer of rules and regulations, hater of paperwork, but a detective who gets results, which frosts his Division Commander Mullet and his rival Inspector Allen. The novel begins with a dead drug addict floating in diluted piss in a public convenience. He didn’t drown, he was murdered, but only Frost (who knows all the most disreputable people in Denton) cares. There’s another murder, a string of burglaries, a couple of rapes, and finally a stand-off with a hostage taker, who’s shot just as Frost is about to disarm him. Frost solves all the cases, and wins the respect of the demoted former inspector who’s been unloaded on him. The vision is bleak, but Frost’s compassion for the weak and damaged, and his obsession with truth gives us some hope. Mullett is a right bastard; for him, policing is merely a means to gratify his social climbing ambitions. Wingfield savages Insp. Allen’s obsession with correct police methods. Every character’s back story reveals weaknesses and sometimes vices. Policing is a chaotic mess. In short, the novel has the ring of truth. **½

Brian Aldiss. Last Orders (1979)

     Brian Aldiss. Last Orders (1979) The title story tells of a police captain trying to persuade a couple of people to go to the ship that will take them off Earth to escape the breakup of the Moon. Instead, the three drift into a nostalgia sampling of whiskey and other good things, and semi-aimless conversation about the past. Most of the rest of the book consists of an interrelated group of stories about dreams, space faring, artificial planets, and other technical and scientific marvels, the setting for the make-work life of the characters. Technology gives them all the creature comforts they need. The question now is, what to do with all that leisure time, available because making stuff and providing services is no longer necessary. Perhaps dreams are an alternate and better reality; perhaps not.
     The stories have a dream-like logic, with occasional waking into some sort of reality, which may itself be a dream. Dream research of one kind or another figures in several stories, too. No matter: that’s a puzzle not worth solving, for these stories are really about purpose and meaning when necessity no longer makes the rules. Aldiss seems to think that without the constraints of reality we would all go mad. Or else only the mad recognise reality for what it is, a trap sprung by a mischievous universe. In the last story, the hero retreats into a dreamworld, and whether that is an alternate level of reality or merely a figment of a mad brain is left us to us to decide.
     An interesting book in many ways, but not a moving one. **

Jerome Charyn, ed. The New Mystery (1993)

     Jerome Charyn, ed. The New Mystery (1993) Sponsored by the The International Association of Crime Writers, this collection purports to showcase developments in crime writing. The subtitle refers to "essential crime writings", which is a wee bit of an exaggeration. What the book in fact showcases is gore-porn. Most of the stories describe gory and mean-spirited crimes with no mystery whatsoever about them, except perhaps the mystery of what kind of person wants to read this stuff. I don’t. In the 20 years since this collection was published a handful of the writers represented here have become reliable best sellers. The rest have sunk back into the obscurity from which this collection tried to extract them.

Ian Rankin. A Good Hanging (1992)

     Ian Rankin. A Good Hanging (1992) Rankin is good at what he does, the depiction of Edinburgh as a bleak, sleazy dystopia rife with assorted vice and crime. Detective Inspector John Rebus of the Edinburgh CID uses unorthodox methods, and wishes he could use more, especially of the violent illegal kind. He’s one of several fictional cops working outside the procedural box. Police procedure is essentially boring, the collection and sifting of massive amounts of data in the hope that someone will recognise the significant bits and create a plausible narrative that’s close enough to the truth that some justice will be done. But the fact is that the majority of crimes are not solved, which is the main reason for plea bargaining and withdrawn charges, not to mention cases that never come to trial for lack of evidence.
     The strength of these stories is Rebus, one of the most believable characters in crime or any other fiction. These stories are romances, adventure stories in which the hero must traverse a menacing wilderness, overcome all kinds of enemies, and defeat evil. The modern desire for superficial realism introduces ambiguities, ironies, and complexities different in content but not scope from those of their mediaeval prototypes. Romances satisfy our desire for some kind of metaphysical and moral order. No matter how bleak and sleazy Edinburgh appears to be, Rebus helps hold back chaos. Crooks are put away (or worse), the innocent are avenged, Rebus can sleep without too much nightmare dreaming. He has some hope, and so we too have some hope that evil will not triumph, however many skirmishes it wins.
     Well done. ***

Torkel Franzén. Gödel’s Theorem (2002)

     Torkel Franzén. Gödel’s Theorem (2002) A fairly technical but nevertheless reasonably accessible exposition of what GT is and is not. It deals mostly with the mathematical and logical consequences of GT, and explains why claims about the limits of math based on GT are almost all wrong. Franzén also makes references to the metaphorical uses of GT in philosophy, theology, and so on, but doesn’t spend much time on these, mostly because once one understands GT, one sees how absurd most of these metaphorical extensions are. A good book, but a difficult one. It cured me of some nonsense, which is a good thing. ***
    PS: Franzen died in late summer of this year (2006). A loss. His death sparked a flame war on several news groups, instigated by people who couldn’t take his accurately aimed zingers at their nonsense, and worse, his attack on their willful obtuseness. (2006)

S. D. Levitt, & S. J. Dubner. Freakonomics (2005)

     

S. D. Levitt,  & S. J. Dubner. Freakonomics (2005) Saw Levitt on TVO, talking with Allan Gregg, and decided I wanted to read the book. BR Pub Library bought it. The book originated in a profile of Levitt written by Dubner for the NY Times. Dubner is no doubt responsible for the clear style, and in many ways the book is an extended magazine article, but it contains actual data, and many references to original work. IOW, the book may be accessible in style and format, but it’s serious in scholarship. The title is unfortunate: Levitt’s examples aren’t freaky at all, but quite serious.
      In many ways, the book recalls Paulos’s attempts to increase numeracy. The authors claim they have no overarching theme, but do admit a consistent aim, to give the reader some of the tools needed to dissect conventional wisdom and ask the kinds of questions likely to produce good answers. In this they succeed as well as can be expected, considering that such criticism depends more on a change in attitude than on the acquisition of new tools. Good book, worth rereading just to ensure accurate recall of the data. *** (2006)

Maeve Binchy. This Year it will be Different (1996)

     Maeve Binchy. This Year it will be Different (1996) These are definitely “women’s magazine” stories. Most seem to have been written to fit a double-page spread, “A story complete in two pages”, as my mother's Woman’s Own used to describe them. They establish plot and character swiftly, mostly through displaced interior monologue, the kind where the narrator rather than the character presents the thoughts and reactions. Most deal with the healing power of Christmas. A few tell of single women entangled with married lovers; all are disentangled by the end of the story. The men are either paragons of male virtue, impossibly kind and sensitive, or else cads, that is, very much like real people. Pleasant but forgettable entertainment. It’s difficult to recall much of any of the stories. ** (2006)

John Keegan. Intelligence in War (2003)

     John Keegan. Intelligence in War (2003) Case studies focussing on the role of intelligence. As always, Keegan has found a variety of examples illustrating the full range of his subject. The case studies are exhaustive (and exhausting to a person with merely bystander’s interest in the history of warfare), but are presented clearly and precisely, so that one can follow the conduct of the battles easily. However, I did not like the monochrome maps. Colour would them easier to read.  Most of the photographs add little more than weekend magazine interest. The last chapter summarises Keegan’s take on the varying roles and value that intelligence has played, and his disapproval of the confusion of intelligence and subversion instigated by Churchill (a failure, as it turned out).

Keegan directs his book to the student and professional. The publishers seem to think the book also has appeal to the interested amateur, but in this they are mistaken. A good popular book lurks in these pages, at about half the length, with coloured maps, and chapter introductions to guide the reader. *** as a professional book, *½ as a popular book. (2006)

Alexander McCall Smith. Portuguese Irregular Verbs (2004)

     Alexander McCall Smith. Portuguese Irregular Verbs (2004) M-S calls this an “entertainment,” and so it is, a very mild one. Smith makes fun of German academia in the person of Prof. Dr. Moritz Maria von Igelfeld, but the joke wears thin fairly quickly. I read this in much the same mood as I eat potato chips, expecting the next one to be utterly satisfying. But the short tales that make up the narrative of v. Igelfeld’s life merely play variations on the same themes, the obtuseness of the professor who believes that his is a higher calling, and his incompetence in the ordinary matters of life. In the end, v. Igelfeld’s life held little interest for me. He’s a doofus, and despite Smith’s best efforts, his mishaps never attain the distinction of farce, and barely hover above the level of the shaggy dog story. *½ (2006)

Laurence Waters. Oxfordshire Railways (1991)

     Laurence Waters. Oxfordshire Railways (1991) Peter gave me this book, a collection of photographs covering the main and branch lines in the (present) Oxfordshire. Since most of the lines in Oxon were GWR, most of the photos show that line. The emphasis is on locomotives, with precious little rolling stock, but there are a few interesting shots of stations, junctions, and the like. The lower photo on page 85 shows a the Great Western Society excursion lined up in front of No 17 Sapper at the Bicester Ordnance Depot in 1973. Roger, UP and AR are easily recognisable. Cool!
     Photo reproduction is fair, considering when the book was printed. The map is too small, and is clearly drawn for someone already familiar with Oxfordshire and its railways. Like most books of its kind, it has little appeal outside the world of railway enthusiasts, however. Modellers will find some useful information here and there, but on the whole it doesn’t add to the typical modeller’s information. But I liked it. **½ (2006)

Arnold Bennett. A Man from the North (1912)

     Arnold Bennett. A Man from the North (1912) I’ve not read any Bennett before this, so I don’t know how characteristic this is. It tells, in a rather discursive style, the story of Richard Larch, a young man who arrives in London with dreams of literary and cultural success. He has the imagination, but lacks the application and obsessiveness needed for literary success.
     Essentially, he drifts, spending his money on mild amusements such as the theatre and good restaurants. But he does his work diligently and well, although with no apparent enthusiasm, and gets his reward. He is promoted to what amounts to the third-in-command at the law firm for which he works, a reward that moves him to accept his place in society: a solicitor’s clerk with good prospects. He courts an old acquaintance, Laura, the red-headed cashier at a vegetarian restaurant that he initially patronised to save money. The book ends with his imminent marriage to this good woman, one of his own class, whom he sees as providing pleasant physical company, a suitable number of children in due course, and the domestic comforts and support he needs for his work.
     Along the way to this settling for mediocrity, he almost makes a permanent liaison with Adeline, a woman of livelier disposition, whom he meets through her uncle, another dreamer with too much imagination and not enough persistence. But he then still expected the spark of desultory romance to flare into passion. Absent that bright flame, he lets her go. He attempts a novel, which he recognises as trash, a recognition that puts an end to his career as a writer. Yet even as he prepares for marriage to a good and decent woman, he imagines that his son will inherit his literary talents, and dreams of encouraging and nurturing the talents of an as yet unborn child.
     Apart from an amiable disposition, diligence at work, and a willingness to help others, Larch has no major virtues. One gets the impression that he is as incapable of great viciousness as he is of great art. Fundamentally lazy, terrified of failure, yet too often recognising its signs in himself, he is a man whose success consists of adapting himself to his circumstances. He experiences some happiness, and provides some for others, and may, in the end, become a contented man, but one with a faintly melancholy memory of the great ambitions of his youth. In other words, a very ordinary man. It’s Bennett’s talent to make us care about him. **½ (2006)

Michael Pollan. The Botany of Desire (2001)

     Michael Pollan. The Botany of Desire (2001) Pollan looks at the relationship between humans and four domesticated plants: the apple, the tulip, marijuana, and the potato. His begins with the thesis that these plants have become successful in the evolutionary sense by becoming domesticated. Just as bees and flowers have co-evolved, so have these domesticated plants and we humans. That is, we have adapted our social behaviour and technology to these plants. They supplied a human want; we reciprocated by cultivating them. We plant, water, fertilise and protect them. Not a bad bargain, for the plants. At least in the short term of a few millennia.
     Domestication works only when plants have sufficient genomic variability that they can produce variations that satisfy some human need or desire. That’s why trees, by and large, have not been domesticated, merely managed. The same principle holds true of domesticated animals, too, of course, as Jared Diamond has argued in Guns, Germs and Steel, a book that Pollan lists as one of his sources and influences. It’s helpful to take Pollan’s plant’s eye view, since it reminds us that we are not, after all, in control of nature. The Judeao-Christian take has been that God gave us the Earth to rule it. Fűllet die Erde, und machet.sie euch unterthan, it says in Luther’s version of Genesis: Fill the earth and make it subject to you. No doubt this view intertwines with the western notion that reason should rule over the passions of the body, and with the Christian suspicion of passion and bodiliness.
     Pollan begins with the thesis that domestication has been as much an advantage for plants as for humans. But when he has done tracing the history of the potato, it’s clear that the thesis needs a subtle refinement: we do not domesticate nature or any natural being. We can at best co-operate with them. His description of modern agribusiness, of monocultured crops growing (if that’s the word) in sterilised soil is terrifying. This business model is unsustainable, and will kill us. The hybris of thinking we can make nature do what we want will do us in. It’s part and parcel of the mindset that sees economics and ecology not only as disjoint but as in opposition. I think this mindset is insane. Genetic engineering will provide at most a short-term fix. Adding Bt-coding genes to potatoes, corn, and other crops will merely, eventually, produce beetles that are immune to Bt. It’s only a matter of time. Update 2013: this has already happened with corn.
     Although Pollan did not set out to write a tract against industrialised, corporate agriculture, that’s what his book morphed into. It’s to his credit that he didn’t rewrite the book as if that insight, stumbled on after many months of research and writing, had been his from the beginning, He takes the reader along the same path he took. What starts out as an entertaining survey of gardening and agriculture carried by a history of four emblematic plants becomes a plea for a truly ecological sense of economics. We should, I think, all know that the common root of these two words, eco-, is Greek for “house” or “home”. If we don’t keep our house in order, we will have no home.
     Not that the Earth will mind. One species more or less makes little difference. There is always something in the gene pool that will produce a creature to fill whatever niches are left empty by our disappearance. *** (2006)