Folio (Magazine of the Folio Society)

     Folio (Magazine of the Folio Society) Various dates. Pleasant and generally innocuous essays on the authors and books reprinted by the F. S. Here and there some interesting news; I’ve cut a few of them to put in books, but on the whole these are puff pieces for the books. Their tone is that of sophisticated nostalgia, and that tends to get rather stuffy and cloying at times. One can take only so much of the Good Old Days before one wants to toss the whole pompous mess into the crapper. * to ** (2003) This is the last of the reviews from 2003)

Edward E. Paramore. The Ballad of Yukon Jake (1928)

     Edward E. Paramore. The Ballad of Yukon Jake (1928). A pamphlet, so to speak, in which is reprinted the poem of the above name, originally published in Vanity Fair in 1921; there must have been some call for the reprint. Paramore (his name sounds suspiciously pseudonymous) satirises Service’s verse; the villain of the piece in fact succumbs to evil desires upon reading a ballad by Service, deflowers a local virgin, and goes off to the Yukon, where he becomes a Very Bad Hat. The girl follows him, intent on saving him from a life of debauchery and crime and restoring her own reputation, but old habits die hard, and Jake deflowers her again. Upon which the girl becomes a dance hall floozie, Jake continues on his merry bad way, and all is wrong with the world. A pleasant squib, and cheap at the price I bought it: $2. **½ (2003)

Carl Zimmer. Parasite Rex (2000)

     Carl Zimmer. Parasite Rex (2000) Zimmer’s description of the lives and times of parasites will raise the grue in most readers. There are passages that could make some people sick. But eventually, we begin to agree with the parasitologists: these creatures are fascinating, with their exquisite adaptations to their habitats, and the beautifully sequenced metamorphoses of their life cycles; and the title does not exaggerate their importance. Zimmer’s final conclusion, that humans are parasites on Gaia, is sobering, especially when we consider that unlike the other, successful parasites, we have apparently not learned how to tame our voraciousness to just the right level to guarantee that our host, and therefore we, will survive in its present form. If we don’t learn how to do this, we may change our host so drastically that it can no longer support us.
     A book that should be read, but I suspect many, perhaps most, readers will come away with a conviction that parasites should be eradicated. This would be a dangerously wrong inference, as Zimmer shows very clearly that without parasites ecosystems would be very different, that there is a fine line between symbiosis and parasitism, and that very likely we would not have evolved: we appear to be a collaboration of symbionts. Evolution of ever more complex creatures may in fact be a response to parasites: every trick that a parasite develops is countered by a trick developed by its host. This attack and counter-attack system will almost inevitably result in increasing complexity.
     But not only is our complexity merely the effect of our ancestors’ attempts to evade parasites, there is some evidence that much of the “junk DNA” may be parasitic, too. It’s pretty well established that cells are symbiotic systems: the mitochondria look too much like bacteria to be anything else. Now it looks like much of our DNA may be viruses that have permanently joined us, their hosts.
     From the beginning of life, in other words, some life forms survived by attaching themselves to others and using their food, their bodily substance, and their reproductive machinery for their own interests. What’s more, this has now become the dominant mode: all animals and fungi live by eating other life forms. Even plants depend on other living things: the remains of dead animals supply essential nutrients to almost every plant. Very few plants can subsist on nothing but water and minerals. Most bacteria and all viruses need living hosts for at least part of their life cycle. Life lives by devouring life. Gaia exists by cycling matter through complex webs of interdependence, the whole system driven by energy derived from the sun and released by the breakdown of molecules deep in the oceans and the crust. Tennyson, with his nature red in tooth and claw didn’t know the half of it. *** (2003)

Oliver Sacks. The Island of the Colorblind (1997)

     Oliver Sacks. The Island of the Colorblind (1997) Sacks can write about anything and interest you. Perhaps that’s because he writes about things that interest him, and that’s a lot more than his metier of neurologist. Neurology in this book forms the focus, but it’s the digressions that bring the most delight. There’s Sack’s love of cycads, and ancient order that has proliferated and populated every habitat except the far north. His ability to give us at least an impression of what colour blindness feels like, his interest in and affection for everyone he meets and befriends, his notes on ecological and economic effects of colonialism, all these make for a book that gives great pleasure.
     The episodic structure of the narrative, and the smorgasbord of mini-essays make it easy to read and leave and return to again. Somehow, one never loses the thread: what causes total colourblindness (a genetic mutation that has become concentrated in a few Pacific islands, and appears sporadically elsewhere in the world); and what causes bodig, a kind of Parkinsonism which may be caused by long term ingestion of minute amounts of the toxins in cycad seeds, which are carefully washed, pounded, cooked, and strained to remove those toxins.
     Bodig may be an example of a genetic flaw that causes disease only with environmental trigger; the family histories of the disease indicate some genetic susceptibility is involved. The younger generation doesn’t come down with bodig, which clearly shows that some lifestyle change has occurred. But there isn’t enough data to solve the puzzle, and as the older generation dies of the disease, the data dies with them. The kind of research effort required to solve the puzzle costs a lot of money; and since there is unlikely to be any commercial need or use for the answers, the money won’t be allocated. Pity. It’s worth having answers even if they are useless. Besides, no one knows what use some information may have in future. It could well be that the biochemistry or physiology of bodig would provide clues to understanding or treating similar neurological conditions.
     A good book. **** (2003)

Adam Hall. Knight Sinister (1951)

     Adam Hall. Knight Sinister (1951) Supposedly a crime story. The style stuns with its preciosity, the characters lack interest, the puzzle fails to convince. I read this book amazed that such piffle could find a publisher. (2003)

Martin Gardner. Are Universes Thicker Than Blackberries? (2003)

     Martin Gardner. Are Universes Thicker Than Blackberries? (2003) Collection of occasional pieces for die-hard Gardner fans, drawn from The Skeptical Inquirer to The Encyclopedia of the Paranormal. Gardner as always writes lucidly, with an occasional, very rare, snort of derision. Most of the time, he merely reports what’s known, and lets the reader draw his own conclusions about the vagaries of human gullibility. He also reveals an odd affection for the Oz books, and has contributed to a fanzine published for such folk. This book was not worth what I paid for it, but was pleasant enough. ** (2003)

P G Wodehouse. The World of Jeeves (1931; repr. 1988)

     P G Wodehouse. The World of Jeeves (1931; repr. 1988) Thirty-four stories of the inimitable Jeeves and his efforts to get Bertie Wooster out of the scrapes his gormlessness constantly land him in. The narrator in all but one is of course Bertie himself, and he is not nearly as much of chump as he appears to be. True, he doesn’t foresee the consequences of his schemes, or confuses wishful thinking with planning, and Jeeves has to intervene to ensure the happy e., as Bertie would say. But Bertie’s narrative style, his skill at presenting the plot points in just the right order so that we see what will happen, his comments on life and its vicissitudes, all these bespeak a much more lively, if misdirected, intelligence than Aunts Agatha and Dahlia give him credit for. As Jeeves comments in the story he tells, Mr Wooster is unable to deal with the Unusual Situation; it paralyses him; it turns him into a goggle eyed rabbit.
     The lightness of touch misleads in another direction, I think. Many people believe that farce is not a serious form of literature, and by serious they mean one given to proffering great insights and moral guidance. I disagree. Farce depends for its effects on a well-defined moral world view. Without such a world view, the farcical elements would be merely puzzling, or even silly; consider the datedness of the sex farces of the 40s and 50s, for example. We laugh because the characters in farce violate the morality and etiquette of their time. Thus farce is an infallible guide to the expectations of the society in which it is set and for which it written. It provides us with a critique of both manners and morals.
     The world of Wooster did not exist in real life; it is abstracted and simplified in much the same way as the Art Deco posters of the time abstracted and simplified the visual world. But like those posters, it shows us an ideal existence that is worth striving for. Bertie, with all his faults, stands for decency, good manners, kindness, loyalty, modesty, humour, and the innocent pleasures of food, drink, and sports. Not a bad ideal, in my opinion. Besides, the stories are great fun. *** (2003)