Miyamoto Musashi The Book of Five Rings Translated by Victor Harris (1982).

     Miyamoto Musashi The Book of Five Rings Translated by Victor Harris (1982). I finally read this book; it’s been sitting on the shelf for about twenty years. I must have tried reading it once before; and reading it now, I see why I gave up on it. The introduction includes a brief life of Musashi; he was a killer, and in my opinion no amount of twaddle about sincerity, honesty, discipline and the Way will excuse that fact. It’s obvious that Harris admires Musashi and all that he stands for, and this affects his translation. I don’t know how opaque the original is, but the translation is riddled with vague abstractions and fuzzy language about the Way.

    Musashi does give some practical guidance, but he ends every short paragraph in which he describes some principle or strategy with an exhortation to study this deeply. Since he himself says he can’t describe his methods in detail, this exhortation amounts to nothing. Musashi clearly believes that if you want to succeed you must apply yourself and focus on your goal to the exclusion of pretty well all else. That’s a truism, and it doesn’t take a three-hundred-year old text to teach us that. More interesting is the assumption that the nature of the goal is irrelevant. Only the method of achieving it counts, and the only methods that count are the ones that lead to success.
     Musashi does not question the rights and wrongs of setting out on a life of murder; he questions only the rights and wrongs of achieving success in killing. Underlying this is apparently some creed of martial honour. Musashi duelled with anyone who came his way and offered to fight, and killed about 60 people by the time he quit. Whether he quit because he’d had enough, or because no one else would challenge him, is unclear. In any case, he never questioned the rights and wrongs of wanting to live this way.
     The closest thing to an excuse for his behaviour is the wretched political and social conditions of 17th century Japan. The samurai had essentially lost their place in society, and their only viable trade was as mercenaries for the few warlords who were left, and who during that century were subjugated by the Tokugawa clan. One can argue that when murder is the only way to survive, murder is condonable. But the very conditions that made the samurai unnecessary also made murder unnecessary. Musashi did take part in battles, but most of his killing was done in the course of duels. Duelling is a particularly stupid way of maintaining one’s honour, and the honour one gains by success in duelling is indeed Nothing, or the Void, as Musashi calls it. In the end, Musashi’s philosophy amounts to little more than a fancifully packaged nihilism.
     Eastwood’s The Unforgiven has the best comment on this lifestyle: “Right and wrong ain’t got nothing to do with it.” Exactly; and while that ethos makes for a certain thrill in certain kinds of fantasy, it is not one on which to base a life. If anything, not fighting takes more courage in the kind of society in which Musashi lived than fighting does; but that’s an answer to a question that Musashi did not conceive of, and perhaps could not understand if it were put to him. The fact that for a while this book enjoyed a vogue as a guide to corporate behaviour among American executives (who believed that the Japanese were beating them in the market by using Musashi as inspiration) merely confirms the lack of morality of the American Way of Business. We can understand, and I can empathise with, the boys of all ages who find the figure of the Warrior attractive. But the confusion of the killer with the Warrior is disturbing. A killer kills because he wants to. A Warrior kills because he has to. * (2003)
     Update 2020 06 20: Gordon Dickson's Dorsai stories are I think a definitive exploration of Warrior's ethos.
 

James Sandoe compiler. Dorothy Sayers: Lord Peter (1972)

      James Sandoe compiler. Dorothy Sayers: Lord Peter (1972) All the published Wimsey stories, plus “Tallboys”, an unpublished one. A delight for the Sayers fan, and a torture for those whose snobbishness balks at her frank admiration of Lord Peter. Sandoe’s introduction is competent if a trifle too admiring; and Carolyn Heilbrunn’s closing essay isn’t much better in tone, but it adds a few bits of necessary information, and reminds her fans that Sayers’ other career as translator, scholar, and theologian was as important as her command of detective fiction, and in her own eyes more so. E C Bentley’s “Greedy Night,” a wonderful and affectionate satire, rounds out the volume.
      Well, what can I say? I like Sayers’ books very much, including her theological writings, and unlike many (apparently) male readers, I like both Lord Peter and Harriet Vane. I suppose I admire Harriet’s unwillingness to let gratitude for her rescue by Lord Peter (Strong Poison) cloud her judgment of her own feelings, an attempt that actually prevents her from recognising that she loves Peter. It’s not until Gaudy Night, after all, that she comes to realise her feelings are not tainted by gratitude. Since this volume was compiled and the essays written, Sayers’ illegitimate son has been discovered; Thrones, Dominions has been completed by Jill Walsh; and Sayers’ academic reputation has been revived. But that has no effect on the pleasure of rereading these stories. **** (2003)

Bill Watterson Weirdos From Another Planet (1990)

     Bill Watterson Weirdos From Another Planet (1990) Another Calvin and Hobbes collection, and as always a pleasure. Watterson’s trick is to present adult insights from a child’s perspective, without losing either. Not many people can do this, and I think it’s Watterson’s wonderful drawing that does it. The newspaper comic strip is an underrated art form; Watterson shows what can be done with it. If you infer that Calvin and Hobbes are two of my favourite characters, you're right. **** (2003)

Morris Wolfe, ed. Aurora: New Canadian Writing 1978

     Morris Wolfe, ed. Aurora: New Canadian Writing 1978 Short stories and poems, the latter mostly unreadable; the influence of the West Coast school destroyed a lot of writers’ ears, and most of the rest don’t seem to realise that a poem must sound good. Still, Al Purdy and Miriam Waddington are in good form. The stories for the most part are narrator-focussed tales of some sensitive soul’s scarring by the awful indifference of the Universe, or worse.
     Rudy Wiebe’s straightforward telling of the tale of Broken Arm satisfies. He has the knack of telling a story neutrally, so that protagonist’s point of view appears undistorted and clear. A great story in my opinion. Guy Vanderhaeghe’s “Man Descending” is one the few stories about a gormless twit that not only convinces but also arouses compassion. But most of the rest are at best of “academic interest”, the sort of stories that some student of Canadian literature will read dutifully in order to produce an essay. They even seem written for that purpose, with their self-conscious “social relevance”. * to **** (2003)

Simon Brett. Crime Writers and Other Animals (1998)

     Simon Brett. Crime Writers and Other Animals (1998) A collection of short stories, all with the usual Brett twist, and mostly amusing in a macabre way; poetic justice of a sort is Brett’s favourite motif. However, some stories are darker, and the most disturbing is told by an emotionally retarded man accused of murdering a child, but it’s plain that he’s innocent, and that his father’s rigid and narrow upbringing has caused the miscarriage of justice. He’s unable to contradict the investigating detective’s assertions because he is reminded of his father; and one of his father’s tenets was that it’s bad behaviour to contradict his elders and betters. It’s clear the man will be murdered in prison, although he expects his father’s admonition to be always on his best behaviour to stand him in good stead. ** to *** (2003)

Ben Wicks. No Time to Say Goodbye (1988)

     Ben Wicks. No Time to Say Goodbye (1988) Ben Wicks was evacuated from his East London home in 1939 in order to escape the expected dangers of bombing. This marked him forever, as it did the thousands of other children who were moved into villages and country towns. Almost fifty years later, he decided to find as many evacuees as he could, and ask him to share their experiences. They range from very good to horrific.
     As might be expected, most children missed their families terribly. Their hosts ranged from grudging to welcoming, from kind to abusive. Some were strict, some were easy going. Some let their religious and other bigotries interfere.  Many children returned home as strangers, no longer comfortable in their own class; even those who were glad to be back often found themselves at odds with their families. Some found their host families an escape, others a model for future endeavours. Some told of their experiences for the first time in their lives. Most felt that their story had been ignored, and were glad to have chance to tell it. As a group, their discovery of how other people lived made them determined to change the social and political structure of England.
     Wicks narrates the story of the evacuation by connecting excerpts from the letters with brief links. It’s a combination of chronicle and theme, and works well. In each chapter he briefly recounts his own relevant experience, then gives us the letters. It adds up to a moving and detailed story, one that needs to be known. Worth reading. ***

Primo Levi. The Periodic Table (1984)

     Primo Levi. The Periodic Table (1984) Tr. Raymond Rosenthal Part memoir, but meditation, part fiction, part sketches, this is wonderful book. It’s one of those books whose style reveals a charming mind, a beautiful person. The memoir is sketchy, partly because Levi wrote about many of his chief life events in other books, which I will look for. Each reminiscence and story appears under the head of an element, but despite the title, their arrangement does not follow that of the periodic table. Levi always completes his tales, but his digressions, sometimes merely a word or phrase, give them a richness and complexity that the otherwise spare style might prevent. That spare style makes it hard to summarise the book. I won’t attempt it. But this is a book I’d like other people to read. In many ways it reminds me of Oliver Sacks’ books. It hews to its subject, yet finds so many connections between that subject and so many other things that one comes away with the impression not only of a whole person, but of the wholeness of the universe. **** (2003)