The Empire Builders (Stead): data towards insight into ancestral foibles

R. J. C. Stead. The Empire Builders (1908) Stead’s verses remind me of Kipling in their jingoism and Service in their rhymes and rhythm. They range from sentimentally heroic tales of pioneering homesteaders to abstract paeans on Man, Mother, Empire etc. Stead liked adjectives and Latinate diction, which I suppose he believed made his commonplace prejudices sound not only poetic but thoughtful and weighty. They must have seemed so to his readers in 1908, when he published this book, and which reached its fourth edition (this copy) by 1910.
     An online search reveals many editions in many different formats and price levels. Stead’s verses appealed to a large audience. They don’t appeal to me, except as awful examples of empire-worship in the Edwardian era. And of the wrong-headed belief that anything that rhymes must be poetry.
     A curiosity, data towards a better insight into the foibles of our ancestors, and thereby also a warning that much of what we consider to be proper sentiments will certainly appear wrongheaded to our descendants. *

Footnote: Stead wrote jingoistic novels as well. He worked for the CPR's immigration department, producing "reams of rose-hued prose extolling the clean, healthy vigour of life in the open spaces—spaces opened courtesy of the CPR and available at good prices. On his own time, he writes in the same vein...". The posters were also "rose-hued".  

Grand Old Man of the Theatre painted and murdered (Final Curtain, 1947)

Ngaio Marsh. Final Curtain (1947) Waiting for Roderick to return, Troy is persuaded to paint the portrait of Sir Henry Ancred, Grand Old Man of the Theatre. He’s infatuated with a chorus girl, which the Family of course does not like at all. Troy enjoys painting the old man. But several practical jokes, ascribed to Panty, Sir Henry’s youngest grandchild and favourite person, roil the household, and eventually there’s murder.

    Alleyn has just returned from duty in New Zealand, but he must investigate the crime. Troy being one of his witnesses, complicates their reunion. Marsh plays fair enough with the clues and rosy piscids, but the main interest is the Family. They’re a wonderfully awful collection of eccentrics, all but one carrying the theatrical genes that made Sir Henry an expert ham who could carry any role at whatever pitch of realism or fantasy the director wanted. Or so I infer. The solution involves distorted affection and money, as it often does in Marsh’s tales. Merely average for her, which means it’s very good. ***

 

Addams Family and Others (Night Crawlers, 1975)

Charles Addams. Nightcrawlers (1957) A re-read. I enjoy Addams’s cartoons. They work so well because they show the logical consequences of whatever assumption has created the scene he depicts. Such as a pedestrian noticing a broom leaning against a parking meter. Or four oars protruding from four holes in the hull of a yacht. Or one witch to another, We’re out of dwarf’s hair, dearie. Can we substitute? Or the scenes on the book’s covers. ****

 

Nazi Misrule (Grunberger: The 12-Year Reich)

Richard Grunberger The 12-Year Reich (1971) A carefully assembled and somewhat selective description of daily life under Nazi rule. With every fact property documented, there’s not enough data about ordinary people’s actual feelings. Still, it’s a good overview of how ideological fantasies distort government and everything it touches. The overall impression is how the growth of totalitarian Gleichschaltung (alignment) suppressed common sense and humane values in small increments until the frog was boiled. And of how the near universal desire for a quiet and orderly life can lead people into a ceding control to the tyrants.
    About the only cavil I have is Grunberger’s obvious reluctance to admit the good things that sometimes resulted from bad motives. For example, the concerts arranged for factory workers were prompted by a belief in the superiority of Aryan art, and had the aim of lifting the lower classes to the Aryan heights. The audience comments quoted show that the listeners liked the music and ignored the motivation for presenting it. But Grunberger is I think clearly correct when he suggests that the Germans’ pride in their culture was intricately mixed with a sense of its superiority, which made it easy for the Nazis to spread their cult.
     Recommended. ***

Lynn Truss on courtesy in speech and writing.

 

Lynn Truss Talk to the Hand (2005) Truss is seriously annoyed by rudeness. Not the rudeness of ignoring merely fashionable etiquette, but the rudeness of ignoring other people’s rights, especially the right to be treated with respect. Her reaction is to stay inside and bolt the door. Maybe escaping rudeness can make for a more peaceful life, but it will be lonely one.
Truss’s six reasons for staying inside are:
* Was That So Hard To Say? (about Please and Thank you)
* Why Am I The One Doing This? (about downloading customer service onto the customer, etc)
* My Bubble, My Rules (about being a good guest, among other things)
* The Universal Eff-Off Reflex
* Booing The Judges (about fake egalitarianism)
* Someone Else Will Clean It Up
Of course her remarks go beyond my simplistic summary phrases. She’s well worth reading, more than once, which I intend to do. ****

Lynn Truss. Eats, Shoots and Leaves (2003) Truss’s first book. Her defence of good punctuation has, I hope, done some good. But she doesn’t go far enough: Punctuation is the (inevitably inadequate) method for signalling syntactic structure. The title demonstrates this admirably. But Truss doesn’t follow through. She discusses the conventions very well, and provides wonderful examples of what happens when writers ignore them. But her explanations of the rationales are too often misleading. For example, her differentiation between ; : . These marks correspond to the subtle signals in speech that there’s more to come, with some hint as to how it’s related to what’s just been said. The apostrophe is not a punctuation mark, but a spelling mark, as are the diacritic and the hyphen.

      I guess I want more conceptual rigour. But that’s nit-picking. Truss has done us all a service, and she’s done it with grace, humour, and nuanced awareness of how we differ in our pointing preferences. Buy this book, follow its advice, and read it at least once a year. ****

Sam Drake, early version of Lew Archer: Trouble Follows Me

 

  Ross Macdonald Trouble Follows Me (1946) Trouble doesn’t follow Sam Drake, the narrator, he looks for it. This early Ross MacDonald (first credited to Keith Millar) already has all the ingredients we associate with him: the sleazy underworld, corruptions in high places, police subservient to money and politics, losers chasing the American Dream, and repeated confusion about what is and what is not important in life. And of course attempts to preserve self-respect by concealing or lying about crucial facts.
     Drake is on leave, attends a very boozy party, and is on scene when a woman’s body is found swinging at the end of a rope. He’s dissatisfied with the inference of suicide, and after many and mostly plausible plot twists as well as several dollops of violence, he discovers the truth: An evil female has murdered her friend to conceal her own crimes.
     It’s war-time, and as far as I can tell, MacDonald gets the ambience right. I don’t know how many unpublished novels or stories MacDonald wrote before this one, but he’s mastered characterisation well enough that we care about the principals and ignore the cardboardiness of the secondary players. The tough-guy style wobbles a bit here and there, but it’s as least as good as Hammett and Chandler. A good enough entertainment for the pulp fiction audience it was written for. **½

Hillerman's Memoir Doesn't Disappoint

 

Tony Hillerman. Seldom Disappointed: A Memoir (2001) Hillerman is one of my favourite writers. His police procedurals set in Navajo country integrate plot, character and setting better than most fictions. Because of them, I want to visit that part of America, but I doubt I will make it there.
     This memoir begins with his childhood on a hardscrabble farm in Oklahoma, where his mother taught him to have low expectations, because then he would be seldom disappointed. But the dominant attitude here is gratitude for all the breaks that came his way: his luck in surviving the war, benefitting from the GI Bill, learning how to tell a story as reporter, and a happy marriage and family life. The war damaged him both physically and psychologically, damage that he plays down. But that damage also encouraged his gift of imaginative empathy. The narrator of the novels has the same voice as the narrator of this memoir. I like this man.
     Footnote: Hillerman’s memories of his war add to its history in the best way: the point of view of those that actually fought it.
     Recommended. ****