Category: Blog posts

I said in my introduction to my blog that this wasn’t going to be a blog of opinion and analysis pieces. This will be the exception. Working with my friends at Left Flank, over the next 6 weeks I am writing a series of blogs on the history of sex and the family (you can see the first blog linked at Left Flank here). This series will explore how our ideas of sex and family developed in modern society. How did the modern family evolve? How did the oppression of women and sexual minorities come about and why are these groups still oppressed? What do we need to do to challenge sexual oppression?

This forms part of a lot of work I am doing at the moment and I hope it will be interesting.

To start we need to understand the history of the our most common form of sexual expression: the family. That’s where we will begin today. 

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Mother duck, father duck, and all the little baby ducks. The family, ruled over and provided for by father, suckled and nurtured by mother seems to us inherent in the natural order.

—Germaine Greer, The Female Eunuch

We’ll start with what we can call the “standard narrative of human sexuality”. This narrative dominates our historical understand of sex and society and is based on one ideal: the nuclear family.

Think about how we picture ancient “cavemen”. We see Fred and Wilma Flintstone — a stable monogamous relationship built around a nuclear-style family. The man goes out to work, or hunt, while the woman stays at home. He is the head of the household and the breadwinner; she looks after the house and nurtures the children. Monogamy and the patriarchy are as old as society itself.

This picture is part of a larger social narrative largely based in biological assumptions about the “opposing genders”. On the one hand the standard narrative goes that women, who produce “unusually helpless and dependent offspring”, require the support of a man to bring up the family. On the other, men, who have an innate, biological need to dominate, are unwilling to provide that support unless they are assured a woman’s offspring is their own. Otherwise they are spending time and energy on the genes of another man. Men demand fidelity — an assurance their genetic line is being maintained. Monogamy and the patriarchy are a natural part of human society.

One element is missing from this story — other forms of sexuality. Apart from quiet discussions about the prevalence of homosexuality in ancient Greek and Roman societies, our history ignores other sexualities. We’ll just not that for this moment because we’ll discuss it a lot more in later blogs.

That is the dominant story. But there is another story — one that questions all of this. The most famous leaders of this alternate story is Friedrich Engels, who is best known for being Karl Marx’s right-hand man and a co-author of The Communist Manifesto. After Marx’s death Engels wrote his own masterpiece — The Origin of Family, Private Property and the State. The Origin draws primarily on the work of anthropologist Lewis Morgan, who studied the Iroquois Indians in upstate New York. Using Lewis’s work, as well as other examples from around the world, Engels argues that prehistoric societies lived in what he called “primitive communism”. Other anthropologists call this “fierce egalitarianism”. In primitive communism families were largely polyamorous and non-hierarchical. People lived in active equality (i.e. people worked hard to make sure everyone was equal) and women were given a high level of authority. Engels’s work has since been backed up by other anthropologists, who have found similar results around the world.

Let’s take a deeper look at these societies.

First, it is important to note that Engels did not argue that men and women had the same roles in these societies. In fact, quite the opposite: women were gatherers and carers of the home; while men largely hunted. However, in a system based on hunting and gathering, these roles had very different value to our societies today. Despite common pictures of the male heroically going out to provide all the food for the starving family, this was largely not the case. Hunting was a rather hit and miss game. It was women who provided the majority of the food — gathering berries, fruits, roots and other vegetables. It was the women who were the key breadwinners and providers and therefore importantly the “home” (which was very different to how we know it now) was the centre of economic and social activity. The home was the place of control. In 1724, Father Lafitau described the role of women when discussing the Iroquois Indians:

Nothing … is more real than this superiority of the women. It is essentially the women who embody the Nation, the nobility of blood, the genealogical tree, the sequence of generations and the continuity of families. It is in them that all real authority resides: the land, the fields and all their produce belongs to them: they are the soul of the councils, the arbiters of peace and war.

Women were not desperately in need of ‘support’ from a child’s father. In fact they were the ones who held much of the influence and power. This is where polyamory comes into play. Different societies engaged in polyamory in different ways and for different reasons. For example, numerous societies in South America believed that babies were formed through the collective spermatozoa of different men. Babies would gain qualities from the different sperm provided. Women therefore needed to ensure they had sex with the smart man, the strong man, the fast man and the tall man to ensure their baby had the greatest attributes possible. When babies are born these different men then all play a role in bringing up the child.

The Mosua in China do it differently. While men and women in the Mosua engage in “marriages”, these are very different to way we think of them. Both men and women are free to lead polyamorous lifestyles, with no shame associated with sexual promiscuity. Children are not raised by fathers — in fact the Mosua have no word for “father”. Instead they are raised by mothers and their immediate family. Men are collectively known as “uncles”, with there being absolutely no shame in children not knowing which uncle is their genetic father.

These are just two of many examples, but one theme runs throughout — the need for strong community. This makes sense — hunter-gatherer communities were generally small, and therefore the strength of the community was essential. Everyone knew each other and everyone looked after each other. Polyamory helped foster this. It created strong networks where it became everyone’s responsibility to look after children and provide for the greater community. As Christopher Ryan, co-author of the book Sex at Dawn states: “These overlapping, intersecting sexual relationships strengthened group cohesion and could offer a measure of security in an uncertain world.” This also meant societies were largely “matrilineal”, meaning the bloodline of the family passed on through mothers. In a world where there were no paternity tests, women were the only ones who could confirm the parenthood of their children. Women were the head of the family.

This is a very different story to the one we usually hear. Instead of the nuclear family we had families that were larger and were based on group marriages and polyamorous relationships. Women were given an equal or even higher status than men.

This does not describe all family systems in the prehistoric age, but it gives a broad understanding. While some societies still operate in this way, these systems, in reality, extinguished in most of the world many years ago. The monogamous patriarchy has reigned supreme since.

What these examples highlight, though, is that our narrative — that of sexual and family relationships based entirely on monogamy and patriarchy — is false. There is another story: one in which the oppression of women and other sexual minorities developed to suit particular economic needs. I will explore that story in my next piece.

Welcome welcome welcome!

It’s good to be blogging again and on this new website.

For those of you who know me you may know that I have blogged in the past at The Moonbat (and if you really know me you will be aware of http://polswatch.wordpress.com). I kept The Moonbat going for about a year and a half up until about this time last year when it finally lost steam. I’ve thought about reinvigorating it many times but recently finally decided to lay it to rest (don’t worry if you liked any of those pieces they have all been transferred onto here and will form the archive of this blog).

While I loved The Moonbat it was exhausting. It was basically a full opinion and analysis blog, which I eventually found became just too much. So, to disappoint some (maybe), this blog is going to b different.

While there is a chance I will be posting political and opinions pieces (with some actually coming as my first posts) this blog is going to be more personal. This will be more about my personal experience as someone who is writing and thinking a lot about different issues.

What does that mean? Well, I’m not really sure yet. But I have some ideas. The blog will follow me and the stuff I am working on. I aim to write personal reflections on my work, from the process of writing and my travels to reactions to books, lectures, articles and events I have been attending. It will hopefully be a space to explore ideas that will form parts of my greater projects in the future.

Hopefully there will be some interesting stuff for you, but if not I am sure there will be some interesting stuff for me.

So enjoy!

Simon

A new year and it’s time to get back into the book reviews. And today I want to start with a classic. Written almost 150 years ago, today I am writing part one of a review of Friedrich Engels’ The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State (The Origin for short). 

The Origin is Friedrich Engels most well-known and important solo piece of writing. Engels is probably best known for co-writing The Communist Manifesto with Karl Marx. Engels wrote The Origin shortly after Marx died, in turn outlining a very important space for himself, which has had a long impact in both political economy and the areas of sociology and anthropology.

I’m going to split this review in half (because the book is so dense with ideas); today looking at Engels ideas on the family, and next investigating how this links with private property and the state.

The Origin is based on a mixture of notes from Karl Marx, the work of Lewis Morgan in the book Ancient Society and Engels’ own work. The thesis Engels develops is simple. Looking back at the evolution of family units, he argues that the traditional monogamous family unit that we see today is in fact a relatively recent human construction. Pre the development of capitalism, Engels argues, humans lived in a range of different forms of relationship structures. It was only through the development of capitalism and private property that we saw the development of the monogamous family, and importantly the subjugation of women.

Let’s have a look at this argument in full.

So what is the issue that Engels is tackling? I think we all know the history and the story particularly well. It is one of a history of male oppression of women, one that historically many have argued is inherently based in evolution – or at least is based in the very early stages of human development. Whilst not part of the dominant narrative today (although an underlying element of it), the story is one in which the pairing of men and women in monogamous relationships largely because of the inherent need of the woman to have a man’s support – particularly in the process of child rearing. Chris Knight explains it like this:

The idea is that since the human female produces such unusually helpless and dependent offspring, she needs a man to provide long-term pair-bonding commitment and support. The catch is that no man should enter such a contract unless confident that his partner will be faithful to him in return.

This story makes monogamy an evolutionary trait within humans. In early human history women were unable to look after their young by themselves and therefore needed a man/husband to provide for them. Monogamy was therefore required to ensure the man’s confidence that the children were his. Secondly, as the ‘breadwinners’ of the family, families were designed around ‘patrilinial descent’ – family names passed down via the male line. This is a historical exertion of control by the male of the family line – a historical control that we now call the patriarchy.Whilst Engels does not deny the existence of a historical subjugation of women, he does argue however that the story of how it was develop – the story of the growth of the patriarchy – is very different to that.

As discussed, Engels bases his work on the anthropologist Lewis Henry Morgan. In 1877 Morgan published his research Ancient Society, in which he presented studies he completed through extensive contact with the Iroquois Indians in upstate New York. Morgan showed that the  Iroquois Indians, as well as other Native American Societies located thousands of miles from them, had kinship systems which took completely different forms that the modern nuclear family. Importantly, within the Iroquois, people lived in relative equality and women had a high level of authority.

This led Morgan to argue that human society has evolved through successive stages of ‘development’. These stages he (and Engels) calls savagery, which refers to the hunter-gatherer or foraging societies, barbarism, which developed when agriculture became prominent, and civilisation, which refers to the development of industrial and urban society.

Morgan continues, and Engels builds on this work to argue that as society developed, so did the shape of the family. There is significant detail provided here, but a few key elements are important. Engels argued that Morgan’s research showed the existence of “primitive communism”, which preceded class society. There are a few key elements of this society. First, Morgan showed that in this society women and men had a strict division of labor – women as gatherers and cares, men as hunters. Importantly however, this strict division did not mean inequality. Rather women were the equals of men, with complete autonomy over their decision making power within society as a whole.

In fact, it goes beyond that. Morgan and Engels both argued that prior to civilisation, human kinship was matrilineal. A key element here in primitive communism women and men did not live in monogamous relationships. Instead a range of different forms of relationships existed – with large group marriages being the dominant form of relationship in early society – a dominant form that was broken down as ideas of incest in particular developed. In these forms of societies however, mother-right – or matrilineal society was essential, as it was only through the mother that the descent of a child could be proven. This in turn gave the mother extra authority and power in society as the ‘head of the family’. Women were also given extra authority through being the managers of the home and the family – a management that unlike in today’s society was given a similar level of prominence of the work of men. So yes, there was a division of labour, but that, argued Engels, did not automatically mean a division of power.

This all changed however with the development of the class society. Engels pointed in particular to the growth of cattle-rearing as a key shift in social practices. Karen Sacks explains: 

Private property transformed the relations between men and women within the household only because it also radically changed the political and economic relations in the larger society. For Engels the new wealth in domesticated animals meant that there was a surplus of goods available for exchange between productive units. With time, production by men specifically for exchange purposes developed, expanded, and came to overshadow the household’s production for use… As production of exchange eclipsed production for use, it changed the nature of the household, the significance of women’s work within it, and consequently women’s position in society.

This led to the defeat of the matrilineal society. As male roles became more influential, so did the male role in the family. In turn, patrilineal descent was introduced, what Engels described as the major shift in gender relations:

“The overthrow of mother right was the world historic defeat of the female sex. The man took command in the home also; the woman was degraded and reduced to servitude; she became the slave of his lust and a mere instrument for the production of children. . . . In order to make certain of the wife’s fidelity and therefore the paternity of his children, she is delivered over unconditionally into the power of the husband; if he kills her, he is only exercising his rights.”

The Origins of Family, Private Property and the State therefore does not challenge the existence of a history of patriarchy. It does not challenge the realities of the male dominance in modern society. What it does do however is question the ‘natural’ nature of this dominance, and more importantly it challenges whether it has actually been the historical account.

For many, this sort of analysis denies a history of patriarchy before capitalism. In fact it could be read as arguing that women were the dominant force in our society before the growth of capitalism. Many, potentially rightfully, criticise this as an ignorance of the historical reality. I think there is a more nuanced approach possible however. Engels certainly does claim that our history of the family is far more complex than the stories we are told today – a claim that is more and more being backed up by anthropological researchers. Despite these claims however, Engels does not deny a historical split in work and functions between men and women. He acknowledges that women and men have played different roles in our society – men as the hunters, and women as the gatherers. It is not these roles that has changed, but rather the importance placed on them.

And that is where Engels’ historical economic analysis is extremely useful. And that’s what I want to explore next.

In The Origin Engels made a convincing argument that the subjugation of women through the monogamous nuclear family is not a natural of everlasting problem. Instead it is a recent development through the development of capitalism. The question is therefore how has economic circumstances changed the relationships between the genders, and does that mean a shift in economics is needed to change it back?

It’s very rare for me to feel emotional when a famous person dies. I am not much of a idoliser. But when Lou Reed died on Monday, I couldn’t help but feel a ping of real pain. Reed, the front man of the Velvet Underground who then pursued a successful solo career was a legend of rock and roll from the 60s and 70s, a legend whose influence continues unabated today, even as he died at the age of 71.

My relationship with Reed, when reflecting on it, is actually quite shallow. I don’t own any Velvet Underground albums and I’m pretty sure I haven’t listened to any of them in full (unless my parents played them when I didn’t realise it as a child). I initially came into contact with him through his solo album – Transformer – probably his most famous piece, which included his most famous single ‘Walk on the Wild Side’.

I came across Transformer as it was produced by my all time favourite artist – David Bowie. In my ongoing quest to listen and appreciate everything Bowie I bought Transformer to get a sense of his production skills. And in doing so I gained a true appreciation of Reed as an artist. Transformer is a picture of sexual exploits, an exploration in homosexuality, and one that does so in a brooding, thinking, deep manner – an exploration of the topic that asks the listener to explore it themselves rather than screaming it in your face. And that is the true brilliance of it (despite some calling it ‘artsyfarsty homo stuff’)

Yet, despite my love for Transformer, I still think of my relationship with Reed as being quite shallow. Transformer is just one album out of a huge collection, a snap shot in time that cannot create a true picture. Yet, for some reason I still feel a connection with Reed as an artist – a connection to a legend. I suspect I am not the only one who is like this. It seems as though the relationship with Reed, whether through The Velvet Underground or his solo work, doesn’t come necessarily for many through him individually, but rather through his influence and what he represented. Reed was bigger than the individual. He was (amongst many others) a representation of a time and a space and one that will live through history.

First, obviously his influence came through his music. As Brian Eno famously said, the first Velvet Underground album only sold 30,000 copies, but every one of the people who bought one of those albums started their own band. Reed was a musicians’ musician, and in many ways there’s nothing that could be more influential.

But it wasn’t just music. Reed represented a time and a place – a space in history. Guy Rundle explains it best:

“When Dylan, Cohen or Carole King die, the grief will be general and real, because they will have at some point connected to our hearts, and death will be not merely the end of music but of a relationship.

But by definition there was no relationship with Lou Reed. His words and music were the world turned away from us, lesser and diminished, drawled from the corner of a mouth. Riding in a studz bearcat, those were different times. That’s why there cant help but feel something ersatz about this mass outpouring. Mourning not the man, but the world that could make such life possible, something so raw and real and strange and true. We work our way now, through the dying heroes of late modernity, because we know something is dying with them, an illusion about what the world might offer, in terms of radical breach, other.”

When I think about Reed – his life, his time, his sexuality, his exploits, I, like I think many sometimes see a world that is passing that I wish I could have been part of. I see pure rock that skipped the commercial vibe – rock that was about the music first and the money second. I see music, parties, drugs and sex, that is for some painted through a lense of purity (the music) and excitement (the parties, drugs and sex) – a time when music, art and culture was at its best. I see a time of the legends – the Beatles, Rolling Stones, David Bowie etc. – the legends who shaped an explosion in art and culture that we have never seen since. I see a time that many of us seem to long for and a time that is dying out.

I’m not sure whether this is real, or a fake longing for a time past. Part of me suspects that this time  never really existed in the way we see it – that it wasn’t as exciting, or pure as we wish it to be. I suspect that the lives of people such as Bowie and Reed weren’t as great in many ways as we hold them up to be – the lives of drugs, sex, and alcohol were probably not as exciting as we paint them to be. In fact I suspect they were quite terrifying. I suspect as well that for many those sorts of lives – this sort of culture continues on. That’s not just about a culture of drugs, sex, rock and alcohol (although that does continue), but also one of creative expression that will live on for decades to come. Just as Reed was writing music and living a life that will influence society for decades to come, I suspect we are all doing the same today – in one way or another.

We seem to have developed a story about the past of rock and roll that we cannot and will never live up to. This was, we tell ourselves, the golden era of art and music , and it is now gone. No one will be able to live up to it, no one will ever be the same, our culture will never be as great. I don’t know why we tell this story – I suspect it may come from some for of dissatisfaction of the world in which we live today – a dissatisfaction that I truly feel. But I suspect the stories we are telling ourselves are myths – myths of the times that existed, and myths of the times that we live in today.

That doesn’t deny the real influence and value of Reed as a musician, or as a rock icon. Reed deserves his adulation – his music and life were truly influential. Albums like Transformer deserve ongoing critical acclaim – his art was exceptional.

But as we mourn him, we can also ask the question, as we look back on the time we are starting to lose, the time we are starting to mourn, was it all a myth? Have we truly lost something – or did it never really exist in the first place? Does it continue to exist today and we are just ignoring or shunning it or even more likely telling ourselves it has disappeared when it is right in front of our faces?

We tell ourselves stories of past. Stories of legends such as Reed and the times in which he existed. Stories of places, times and experiences we wish we could have been in. Reed was a legend in many senses of the word – a legend in music, a legend in time, and a legendary story.

Vale.

As part of my Masters Thesis looking at the debate on climate change (you can see the results of my thesis here) I decided to delve into some George Lakoff. For some reason however I skipped over his eminent ‘Don’t Think of the Elephant’ (which I now need to read) and went straight to The Political Mind: Why You Can’t Understand 21st-Century American Politics with an 18th-Century Brain.

Lakoff, a progressive Democrat, and cognitive linguist is famous for his work in discussing how progressives can change the nature of the debate in the United States and defeat conservative framing. Lakoff is a big proponent of the communications idea of ‘framing’, looking at how we frame debates to ensure victory.

In The Political Mind Lakoff looks at the brain, and how progressives have failed to understand the brain in political campaigns. He argues that progressive are stuck in an old way of thinking:

“Progressives have accepted an old view of reason, dating back to the Enlightenment, namely that reason is conscious, literal, logical, universal, unemotional, disembodied, and serves self-interest. As the cognitive and brain sciences have been showing, this is a false view of reason.”

Looking at American politics, Lakoff blames neoliberals within the Democratic party for its weaknesses. Through using an old enlightenment mentality, he argues that these neoliberals think they can win elections through a mixture of citing ‘facts’ and offering programs that serve particular voters’ interests. When they inevitably lose, they then see this as a failure of the program they have provided and then argue that the party needs to move further to the right, where voters are.

The basic argument here is that people are not rational beings in their political decision making. People do not make their decisions based on facts or reason, but rather through emotional responses based on values and morals. There is a lot of evidence to back this claim up (that link again goes to my master thesis which summarises a lot of this debate).

And in doing so, Lakoff argues that conservatives have been much better at understanding the brain and therefore pursuing their agenda. As he argues (this in an interview on the issue):

They’ve (conservatives) been working at it for over three decades. They understand the importance of morally-based framing, the importance of language, the importance of repeating language, the importance of not using the opposition’s language, and the importance of an extensive communication system that operates daily everywhere, election or no election.

So what are we to do? If progressives are losing so heavily (as one could easily argue we are) how do we change this? Simple:

“To change minds, you must change brains. You must make unconscious politics conscious.”

We need to change people’s minds. Lakoff argues that conservatives have been much better at using brain science to effectively pursue their agenda. Conservatives have framed debates with their own values, forcing progressives to play on their turf. In doing so they have ‘conditioned’  our brains better. And now it is time for progressives to fight back. It is time we gain a better understanding of how the brain works (science Lakoff aims to explain extensively in the book – although there is criticism of his work) to frame our message.

Many could see this as inherently anti-democratic, manipulative and deceitful. William Saletan for example argues:

“His proposal to re-engineer our heads is neither democratic nor scientifically warranted. It defies public accountability, the very principle he purports to serve. It also underestimates our intelligence.”

It is certainly not an unreasonable view to come to. In many ways, The Political Mind reads as a way to use science to manipulate people to our own ends.

But, it is not what the piece does. And this is where the core of Lakoff’s argument comes in. Lakoff’s book is not just an argument about progressives can people’s change minds, but also about how we understand the debate. For too long progressives have ignored the very central role values and morals have played in political decision making. We treat politics as a debate about facts, and if we are to present the facts in a clear and concise manner, then we will eventually win the argument. Look at issues like climate change for example, and the dominance of the facts based approach to campaigns around it. Whilst it sounds ideal, it is unfortunately not the way our political minds work. Not only are most ‘facts’ subjective , with the idea of reality constructed through social conditions (in other words, what I understand to be true may be different to what you understand to be true) even when many agree on the ‘facts’, values continue to come into play. Our decision making is dominated by values, and it is therefore through values that we must debate.

And when we talk about values we are inherently talking about how our minds work. Research shows that we all hold a range of values in our minds, and that our decision making processes are often determined by which value is dominant at any particular time. Values are essential to how we understand politics, much more than arguments around facts.

Lakoff’s book therefore isn’t just a call for progressive to change our language, but to understand the role of values and cognitive framing in our minds. And that isn’t anti-democratic, but rather simply understanding how we all understand the world, and in turn how we can make persuasive arguments in doing so. That is the power of Lakoff’s book. It provides a new direction, and one progressives would be smart to listen to.

In the end that is the value of Lakoff’s book. The unfortunate thing however is that that discussion is often lost within the science of the piece. Whilst it is extremely valuable and worthy of discussion, the book often gets bogged down in confusing neuroscience that can make it difficult to understand. Getting out the essence of the argument therefore can be tough. Get through that however and you have a piece every progressive should read.

A couple of months ago I started a new series of posts called ‘Weekend Reads’ – lighter pieces to take the edge off the weekend. With the craziness of the election, and then the holidays that followed it, I have neglected them for a while. The great thing about holidays though is that they allow for some time for reading, so I am back with a review of Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions (let’s see how this goes. I have been sick for the last 4 days, so this may be a bit jumbled, but that may actually fit Vonnegut’s style).

I’ve noticed I’ve taken a bit of a shine to modern cult literary figures recently, and Kurt Vonnegut is one of the best of the last fifty years (he died in 2007). Breakfast of Champions, the first Vonnegut I have read, was written in 1973 and is one of his best known pieces.

Breakfast of Champions follows the story of two main characters – Kilgore Trout and Dwayne Hoover – and the events that lead up and follow their meeting. Trout is a science-fiction writer, and one who believes his work to be completely unknown within the community. The book follows Trout after he receives an invitation to speak at the Midland City Arts Festival, an invitation he accepts with some scepticism (as he does not believe anyone knows who he is).

Hoover is a wealthy businessman in the Midlands area, and is slowly going insane. The book follows his decent into insanity, which includes terrifying an employee at his Pontiac agency and getting in a fight with his mistress and secretary who he accuses of wanting him to buy a KFC franchise. Hoover’s insanity culminates in the meeting with Trout. Meeting Trout, he reads one his novels, the story of Now It Can Be Told. This book describes a universe in which only one character has free will (the reader of the novel) and everyone else is a robot. Hoover interprets this as a message addressed to him from the Creator of the Universe, and goes on a violent rampage injuring many around him and putting himself into a mental hospital. The meeting is transformational for Trout as well, with the rampage setting of a chain of events that takes him from an unknown author to a winner of a Nobel Prize.

You’re all potentially screaming ‘spoilers’ at me, and I have basically just described the entire story. But don’t, the story is not the unique or hidden part of the book. In fact, even Vonnegut outlines many of the details of the story’s ending right from the beginning of the novel. And that’s because it’s not the story that makes Breakfast of Champions so remarkable; it is the way it is told and the themes that run throughout it. This is not the kind of book where you are desperate to keep reading because you want to find out what happens next to the characters, but rather because through his unique style, Vonnegut brings out issues and themes that you would not expect from such a bizarre story (which it truly is).

Breakfast of Champions is not written in the way you would expect from a normal book. Most authors write in either the first or third person – either from the perspective of one of the one of the characters, or from a narrator who is completely disconnected from the book. Vonnegut manages both. The story is told through a narrator, but as a narrator that is not just involved in the story, but has control over it. In other words, the book is narrated through an ‘author’, and one who directly inserts himself into the story. The narrator (Vonnegut) describes this control in the following way:

I could only guide their (the characters) movements approximately, since they were such big animals. There was inertia to overcome. It wasn’t as though I was connected to them by steel wires. It was more as though I was connected to them by stale rubberbands.

The book is told through a third person account, but that third person has direct influence in the book itself – much more literally towards the end of the piece.

This unique interaction between the narrator and the characters brings out an interesting exploration into the role story playing plays in our lives. Throughout the book, the narrator, who is himself a story-teller, explains that humans want to live their lives as if they are in a story. Our lives are told through a start, middle and end and we tell our life stories as if they are a novel. We connect through story-telling, and as the story-teller the narrator explores this idea throughout the book. In one of the most interesting ways, the narrator explores the lives of many minor characters throughout the book. With humans wanting to live their lives as if they are in a story-book, rulers, the narrator argues, have the capacity to discard the lives of ‘minor characters’. The narrator explains that he wishes he could explain the stories of the minor characters that appear through the books, but that he can’t. This is a lot like life, where in the history of our world, only the stories of a few – or the major characters – can easily be described. The others are tossed away.

If we are all destined to a role of major or minor characters therefore, a question arises – one which dominates the book – are we all just robots? We can see this theme in the story of Now It Can Be Told, the novel which sends Hoover insane. The theme is explored further when Hoover goes insane, in which the narrator excuses the people of the city for not recognising it because they act as machines:

Their imaginations insisted that nobody changed much from day to day. Their imaginations were flywheels on the ramshackle machinery of the awful truth.

Here, Vonnegut explores a cross-section of ideas. If our lives are just stories, we are all robots – a small part of story being told by someone else that we cannot control. We are not fully capable of controlling our world, with their being much greater forces – or ‘major characters’ at work.  Vonnegut takes this to the extreme, taking away almost all sense of control for the characters and putting them in the hands of the narrator. In doing so however he asks interesting questions, how much has society programmed us in particular ways and how can we change that course of action if we want to?

Here Vonnegut tackles the concept of resistance, a way to ‘change the story’.

“Ideas or the lack of them can cause disease!”

When Trout realises what impact his book has had on Hoover, this is what he declares. If we are all robots, then the potential ‘cure’ for this is the one of ideas. With their capacity to spread quickly, Vonnegut explores the through that ideas are diseases, plagues that can both hurt and help our society. One of the perfect examples in the book is that of mirrors. Throughout the book, Trout explains how he calls mirrors ‘leaks’. In one scene he explains to a truck driver this idea. This driver then explains this to his wife, who then tells it to all of her friends. The idea spreads like a disease.

Ideas it may seem are the anecdote to the issues Vonnegut is exploring – a way to challenge the stories that dominate our lives. This is where Trout is such a valuable character – a man who in his own quiet way transverses many of the themes Vonnegut explores. His books deal with the issues that Vonnegut aims to explore and as the only character who really interacts with the narrator transcends the world of major versus minor character.

The best way to explain Breakfast of Champions is ‘odd, but brilliant’. Throughout unique story-telling, Vonnegut manages to explore concepts central to the human experience; the idea of free will, the explanation of life, and the purpose and spread of ideas. Whilst I may not agree with a lot of the conclusions that the narrator comes up with in the piece, the way Vonnegut explores the themes is truly worth the experience. It is a piece worth reading.

Yesterday, the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) launched their election campaign; I am real.* It seems like apart from this, the environment movement is doing very little during the election (I believe AYCC are handing out how-to-votes and GetUp are doing reef stuff in QLD, but that seems to be it), so I think it is worth having a look at this campaign. As the major pitch to the community about the environment this election (not from parties) it is worth checking whether it will have an impact.

The basis of I am real is to pain a ‘real face’ to climate change during the election campaign. As the webpage states:

I am real. I am important.
I must be protected.

Climate change is harming the animals and places we love.
Climate change is harming our economy and us. It’s a real problem.

To make a difference Australia needs stronger pollution reduction targets.
We currently have a real and fair solution that’s working for our environment and our economy – that can meet stronger targets. It’s an emissions trading scheme.

BUT IT’S AT RISK

* I am involved in 350.org and 350 are providing some nominal support to this campaign. However, I have not been involved in any of the strategy decisions around the campaign, but I knew about it before it was launched.

For this week’s weekend reads I was hoping to be able to do a review of a documentary shown a couple of weeks ago on BBC/The ABC called ‘David Bowie: 5 years in the making of an icon’. I was deeply disappointed though to realise that I was too late, and that it had already been taken off ABC’s iView and I cannot seem to find it anywhere. So, I thought I would stick with the theme and instead do a delayed review Bowie’s latest album ‘The Next Day’. 

I have been a big fan of David Bowie for years. Even since my mother introduced me to his music whilst I was in high school I have been thoroughly obsessed. In fact, for my 24th Birthday I had a ‘David Bowie’ themed party (see pic).

 The thing about Bowie is not just that he had a catalogue of amazing music. Look through his 40 years of music and you cannot help but love what he has produced. From classic glam rock albums such as Ziggy Stardust, to more soulful pieces such as Young Americans, to great 80s pop such as Let’s Dance. Even his recent albums – the odd electronica of Outside, and the modern pop of Reality have been classics in their won way. Bar a couple there is something amazing about everything Bowie has done. But it’s not just his music. To love Bowie you also have to love his life – a trailblazer in gay music and identity, someone who broke down the barriers of gender presentation, and a versatile character. With Bowie you never knew what you’re going to get next. Every year is different, every decade he is something different. 

Starting to enjoy Bowie only in the mid naughties however I missed all of this. I had to catch up. By the time I started listening to him his latest album ‘Reality’ had already been released, and he had already completed his tour (finished early due to a heart attack). Bowie was staying out of the spotlight, and whilst everyone hoped he would produce more music, it seemed unlikely. The story seemed to be over. No more shocks. No more music. No more changes. And so I had to experience it through the past – after the characters had already been revealed.

I cannot explain how excited I was therefore when Bowie announced that he would be releasing a new album this year called ‘The Next Day’. For those of you who don’t remember, Bowie announced the album on his 66th birthday, simultaneously releasing his first single ‘Where Are We Now?’. 

The legend was back, and following a career of shocks and shifts, he continued that trend. You can’t really appreciate The Next Day without appreciated the circumstances in which it came about – in fact I could say that for most of Bowie’s albums. As with most of his work, the story and character behind the album is just as important as the music itself. 

And The Next Day produced a new character in Bowie, one that I think no one ever thought could exist again. Apparently Bowie, and his producer, Tony Visconti, had been working on The Next Day in studios for 2 years, yet no one had any clue of its release until the day it was announced. Since its announcement, Bowie has made basically no public appearances. Whilst Visconti has done interviews, I still haven’t found one for Bowie. No TV appearances, no magazine interviews, no radio shows, no concerts. An album without all the fanfare of modern music. 

In doing so Bowie has once again broken down barriers and created a new character that exists almost no where within the music industry. Whilst in the past he was challenging norms around gender and sexuality, with The Next Day, he has taken on the music industry, and more importantly a world in which nothing is private and fame is considered essential to success. Bowie, a legend in the music scene, someone who could make millions off interviews and concerts, has stayed back in the backgrounds and avoided the crowds. He has stayed as a recluse, allowing the music to do the talking. And boy has it done the talking.

You can see how this ‘character’ has played out in the music. In the early stages of his career, and in particular around his ‘Berlin phase’ of music (a phase in the later seventies that covered the albums Low, Lodger and Heroes), Bowie was certainly not the ‘superstar’ artist that he would be considered now. His music was critically acclaimed, but he was not a commercial superstar. It was not until the 80s that he managed this fate with Let’s Dance – after the seventies – the period most would argue was when he produced his most influential music. 

The Next Day feels as though it is aiming to return back to that time – both through his approach to the album and the music itself. The first release is the greatest tell-tale sign. ‘Where are we know?’ (see film clip below) is clearly a reflection on Bowie’s time in Berlin, both through the lyrics and the film clip. 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWtsV50_-p4&w=560&h=315]

I have to say I was surprised, and a little concerned, when ‘Where are we know?’ was released as the first single. The song is certainly not the best on the album, and I felt a fear that if it was the best Bowie could provide then ‘The Next Day’ would bomb. 

But again, ‘Where are we now?’ was part of the play of the album. With its most direct links to Berlin, ‘Where are we now?’ singled what the album was going to be like – a return to the Berlin roots in a modern day setting. You could see it in the film clip – Bowie’s face today traveling through the places he spent his time in the city – the modern man returning to the venue of some of his greatest work. We saw it again with the release of the album cover – a remake of the famous cover of ‘Heroes’, with a white square across the face with the words ‘The Next Day’ emblazened across it (see image).

And this is what Bowie has produced. A modern day version of his classic Berlin albums. With a little bit more of a rock theme, Bowie takes back on a journey to the late 70s. He leads in with ‘The Next Day’ (see film clip below), with what feels like a direct reflection on his drug filled times in Berlin. In the song, Bowie sings:

“Here I am
Not quite dying
My body left to rot in a hollow tree
Its branches throwing shadows
On the gallows for me
And the next day
And the next
And another day”

A direct reflection on his times in Berlin, but one that looks forward to the modern day. 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wL9NUZRZ4I&w=560&h=315]  

Bowie keeps the theme of drugs going in songs such as ‘I’d rather be high’, with obvious implications. 

In ‘The stars (are out tonight), (see film clip below), Bowie returns to issues around gender and sexuality, bringing in Tilda Swinton as the star in the film clip. In the clip, Bowie, and Swinton (who acts as Bowie’s partner) go about their normal days until two ‘celebrities’ invade their house and drug them. In doing so they go up against a character, who also happens to be played by Swinton (I believe – but I may be wrong on that), who looks very much like Bowie in his early years. It’s a clear reflection on Bowie’s early life, the role of drugs and sexuality, and a questioning of fame. 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gH7dMBcg-gE&w=560&h=315]

In Valentine’s Day, Bowie brings back a ‘strangeness’ (it’s the only word I can find) that was a strong part of his earlier work. In the film clip sits in what looks like an empty warehouse playing the guitar by himself, slowly building up the intensity in his face. It becomes quite spooky as his eyes grow darker and deeper and you can see the intensity build. It reminds heavily of the work in Heroes in particular – a darkness that can send shivers down your spine. (Interestingly some suggest that this song is about a shooting on Valentine’s Day and a direct attack on the NRA – bringing in politics that Bowie has never been scared to shy away from). I feel something similar in the last song of the album ‘Heat’ – a song that very much brings me back to Heroes. 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4R8HTIgHUU&w=560&h=315]

These are just some of the songs that make the album great. I find it hard to criticise any of the songs – there is nothing you want to skip, and most importantly nothing that you would want to take out of the album. 

And here is the thing that makes this album such genius. The themes that run throughout it – fame, gender, drugs, obscurity, challenging culture – they are the sorts of themes Bowie has played around with his entire life (among many others). In some ways I could see how people could think he has run out of ideas. 

But that’s not what happens here. Because whilst Bowie is re-examining the themes of the past he is doing so with a future focus. Tony Visconti said that the album is ‘of a piece’ with Bowie’s 1979 album Lodger. That is how I see it too – a unique mix of music that gets better with almost every listen. It is astonishing how much more you learn about it every time. But whilst it reflects heavily on Bowie’s Berlin works, he does so in the only way he can – through creating a new character – one that is of the past and the future at the same time. He plays with his vocal performance throughout. He builds songs slowly, and then hits you in the face. He creates music that is long lasting, rather an instant. He creates a modern album that also brings back everything good from his past.

In The Next Day, Bowie does what he has done well for decades. It is not an album full of number one hits. But that is never what Bowie has done. It is instead a classic that will grow on us all – even almost 6 months after its release. 

It’s election time! Are we all sick of it yet? I’m a political junky, but I am so happy about this announcement just because I want the election to be over. Only 5 weeks more now.

And in that spirit, let’s not talk about the election today. It’s a Sunday, I’m a bit hung over and I couldn’t be bothered writing about politics. ,So let’s talk about something really important – football!

Last night was the Super 15 final in Hamilton. And whilst I am bitterly disappointed to see the Brumbies lose in a nail biter, it was a great match to watch. A final worthy of the sport.

Over the past 6 – 8 months Rugby Union has quickly become my favourite sport. I have truly fallen in love.

I first started to get into union when I was a kid. My first real memory of the sport was heading to a pub in Murrumbatemen to watch the 2000 Super 12 (I forgot that it used to only be 12 teams) final. It was a miserable night. Freezing cold Canberra weather (it snowed the next day). Sitting inside a packed pub we watched the Brumbies lose by one bloody miserable point. I remember driving home, and it was sleeting, and feeling absolutely depressed.

A few years later, we managed to get tickets to the 2004 final (The Brumbies won the final in 2001 and lost in 2002, but for some reason I can’t remember those seasons), where we got our revenge. I will always remember watching Joe Roff score the final try to put the result out of any doubt. It was his final game and a great way to send off.

But in general, I’ve never really felt Rugby was a true love. I’ve enjoyed the game, but never really been obsessed. To be fair, I don’t get sports obsessed anyway. I used to be very AFL obsessed, but I’ve lost that over the past few years (maybe it will come back when my team starts to do well gain). I’ve never really felt the sport obsession.

But I reckon that has started to change now, and last night’s final cemented it for me.

At the start of this year I decided to join a rugby team – the Hustlers in Brisbane. The Hustlers is a gay-friendly team. I joined largely because I wanted to find a way into some community in Brisbane. Moving to a new city, I knew playing sport was a great way to meet people, and I felt like trying something different. I had always thought rugby would be fun to play as well – I have the build for it, and it would be a great way to get out any aggression I have.

And I have fallen in love.

I’ve struggled to really nail down exactly what it is about rugby that I love so much, but I think it is the variety. Last night you could see it. The tries scored by both teams were the result of great running play – a free flow in the sport that you can’t help but want to watch. Lealiifano’s try was a great example of it – a shift in play that came out of no where. A sudden burst of brilliance and the game was turned on it’s head.

But then at the other end, you can also see a slow, strategic, defensive game. If it wasn’t for the Brumbies defence last night I think it could have been a blow out (the same could be said for the week before). For phase after phase they managed to keep the Chiefs out – holding the ball up it tremendous fashion. The phases we slow, and to a naked eye could be seen as boring. But watching it close up you could see amazing skill, amazing patience and amazing strategy.

And I think that is what I love about the sport more than anything else. Rugby is also a really smart game. And you can see it with the Brumbies. Now, don’t get me wrong, the Brumbies squad is excellent. But it was only a couple of years ago that they were struggling to even win any games, let alone get so close to winning the final. And although their team has certainly improved, it is not necessarily through raw talent that they have made such a change. The Brumbies real change has been in direction and in strategy – the Jake White affect (I always think his name is Jack White – makes life very confusing). Last night you could see it in full swing – kicking for territory, strong defence, taking points wherever we could get them. It was the strategy that almost won it for the Brumbies last night, and I love that. You can’t just get away with buying the best team – you have to think about it.

Of course every sport has its strategy. But the thing about rugby is how integral it is. I often hear people complain about how confusing the rules of union are. But for me that is what makes it great. It is a technical game and you just can’t help but enjoy it. There is raw talent, matched with an intelligence that I just don’t think I see in many other sports.

And then of course, you get to smash some people. That’s the best bit.

Rugby. Last night proved how awesome it is. Amazing game.

ps. I get a terrible sense of awful rugby ‘fan-boyness’ happening in this post. Oh well.

Before I went to Istanbul I said I was going to start a new series of pieces called ‘Something Different’. It obviously wasn’t the best time to try something new as I got distracted by travels, but I’m going to back into it. After a reflection I’ve decided to change the name as well – and get going with ‘weekend reads’ – something lighter and different for the weekend.

For this Sunday evening, I’m going to get going with a review of J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye.

I came into Catcher in a Rye with quite a bit of scepticism. My mother-in-law lent me the book, with a warning that it certainly did deserve the label of ‘classic’. She wanted me to see if I agreed. After finishing it however, I have taken a different perspective. Catcher in the Rye is a fascinating study of human behaviour, and one that is certainly worth reading.

For those who don’t know the piece, Catcher in the Rye is told through the lens of Holden Caulfield. Caulfield is in fact not just the main character, but basically the only character. Caulfield tells the story largely as a flashback, only returning to the present every now and then to reflect on what happened. The story covers the three or four days after he has been kicked out of prep school in Pennsylvania. With his parents expecting him home a few days, Caulfield decides he doesn’t want to shock them with his expulsion, so spends his time wandering through New York.

In doing so The Catcher in the Rye is not one of those books with a classic beginning, middle and end structure. In many ways it reminds me of On the Road by Jack Kerouc, an ongoing story where nothing really happens, but a lot happens at the same time (although I think this is much better than One the Road – a book I have never managed to finish). In doing so, Salinger paints a picture of a character going through the depths of alienation, depression, anxiety and helplessness. Caulfield is self-centered and lost, a hopeless character who is still in many ways a child, but is searching for a way to become an adult.

And it is here where I can see the criticisms of the piece. The language in the piece is simple at best, frustrating at worst. And the story has no real moral to it – it is a depressing tale with in many ways no great message to come out of it.

As Eric Lomazoff states:

“One of the most widespread criticisms of The Catcher in the Rye deals with the adolescence and repetitive nature of the main character, Holden Caulfield. Anne Goodman commented that in the course of such a lengthy novel, the reader would weary of a character such as Holden. Goodman wrote “Holden was not quite so sensitive and perceptive as he, and his creator, thought he was” (20). She also remarked that Holden was so completely self-centered that any other characters who wandered through the book, with the exception of Holden’s sister, Phoebe, had no authenticity at all.”

James Stern of the New York Times, criticised the language in the book, imitating it to provide a punch to his criticisms (this will give it a sense of what it is like to read the book). He said:

“That’s the way it sounds to me, Hel said (a friend of the author), and away she went with this crazy book, The Catcher in the Rye. What did I tell ya, she said the next day. This Salinger, he’s a short story guy. And he knows how to write about kids. This book, though, it’s too long. Gets kinds of monotonous. And he should have cut out a lot about these jerks and all at that crumby school. They depress me. They really do. Salinger, he’s best with real children. I mean the ones like Phoebe, his kid sister. She’s a personality. Holden and little Phoebe, Hel said, they kill me. This last part about her and this Mr. Antolini, the only guy Holden ever thought he could trust, who ever took any interest in him, and who turned out queer — that’s terrific. I swear it is”

And I can understand these criticisms completely. The language in the book takes a while to get used to, and at face-value Catcher doesn’t really seem to have a purpose, or any positivity to it. It follows Caulfield as he isolates friends, drops out of school, gets caught in a fight when he is over-charged by a sex-worker, and worst of all, ruins himself as he struggles with a complete sense of hopelessness about his life and his relationships. Completely centered on Caulfield (with a strong cameo from his sister Phoebe) the books paints a picture of a generation of youth completely isolated in their lives. The only two characters Caulfield ever really talks about in a positive light (apart from Phoebe), his brother Allie (who is dead) and a love-interest Jane Gallagher never appear in the book – friends and hope that are not achievable. You don’t really come out with a positive picture, nor really any answers to what is happening and why.

But for me, that is what makes Catcher in the Rye such a great piece. And it is understanding Salinger himself where I will build this argument. Salinger was raised in Manhattan, starting his writing career whilst he was in secondary. He published a number of short stories, before serving in World War II from 1940. It was at the end of his service that Salinger started to write Catcher in the Rye, his real breakthrough piece – a novel that catapulted a relatively unknown story-teller into an international limelight.

Salinger describes the book as ‘autobiographical’, telling a reporter decades after it’s publication; “My boyhood was very much the same as that of the boy in the book.”  As Gish Jen explains:

He (Salinger) did, though, like Holden, flunk out of prep school, and he was also, like Holden, manager of his high school fencing team, in which capacity he really did, according to his daughter, Margaret, once lose the team gear en route to a meet. (this is a story told by Caulfield in the piece)

More important, Salinger seems to have shared Holden’s disaffection. Numerous youthful acquaintances remember him as sardonic, rant-prone, a loner. Margaret Salinger likewise traces the alienation in the book to him, though it does not reflect for her either her father’s innate temperament or difficult adolescence so much as his experiences of anti-Semitism and, as an adult, war.

Looking at his biography, it is easy to see the sharp connection between Caulfield and Salinger, and more importantly how it comes about. Disaffected by anti-semitism and war, as well as the realities of living in the 40s and 50s, and you can see the real life frustration that is played in the book.

What I’m trying to get here, is that whilst Catcher in the Rye is frustrating and without purpose, it does so in a way that honestly reflects a world that for so many is frustrating and without purpose. Yes, Caulfield is juvenile and self-centered, but that is simply based on a reality of a world where, in Salinger’s world, young people live feeling frustrated and feeling hopeless. And you can see how this disaffection plays out in real life. In one of the best passages of the book, Caulfield explains his desire to be a deaf-mute so he doesn’t have to interact with people:

“I figured that I could get a job at a filling station somewhere, putting gas and oil in people’s cars. I didn’t care what kind of job it was, though. Just so people didn’t know me and I didn’t know anybody. I thought what I’d do was, I’d pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes. That way I wouldn’t have to have any goddam stupid useless conversation with anybody. If anybody wanted to tell me something, they’d have to write it on a piece of paper and shove it over to me. They’d get bored as hell doing that after a while, and then I’d be through with having conversations for the rest of my life. Everybody’d think I was just a poor deaf-mute bastard and they’d leave me alone . . . I’d cook all my own food, and later on, if I wanted to get married or something, I’d meet this beautiful girl that was also a deaf-mute and we’d getmarried. She’d come and live in my cabin with me, and if she wanted to say anything to me, she’d have to write it on a piece of paper, like everybody else”

Whilst never becoming deaf-mute status, you can see Caulfield’s desired life played out in Salinger. After the success of Catcher in Rye Salinger effectively became a recluse. Unable, or unwilling to deal with the exposure and attention, Salinger wrote little after Catcher in the Rye and lived his life trying to avoid attention.

And it is here where you can see the real picture of Caulfield, and Salinger. This is not just a picture of self-centered kid who has flunked out of prep-school, but a picture of a young man who struggles to engage with life. As an autobiography, Salinger doesn’t just paint a picture of himself, he paints a picture of a struggle – one that many of us face. A struggle to interact, a struggle to survive, and a struggle to find purpose. Of course, for Salinger, a famous author, this struggle takes a different sort of turn, but the realities of Caulfield’s life can relate to so many.

Yes, the book doesn’t end anywhere. There is no climax. It is depressing. But in doing so it is far more honest than many other books I read. And that is where its genius lies.