The comparison with Catch-22 is warranted by the farcical outsized overdrawn dizzying exertions of a cast of warriors we observe together while out of combat and hoping to stay that way. Fug yes; now fuck yes. Yossarian’s days on ground, forlorn and scheming, between the always extended number of bombing runs over Germany he must total up for one war takes him about as far away as the heroic showcased star spangled bannering of Billy Lynn’s crew of Iraq War infantry during the halftime show, before Beyonce, at Cowboy stadium for the annual Dallas Thanksgiving Day Game, sixty years after Dresden, even as America’s Team, stoic executers— Landry of stone face, Staubach of the Navy sacrifice gone, has decayed. Like a Mission Accomplished or an Errand in the Wilderness. Did I say comparison? The template is there as well. Ben Fountain, a combat veteran of Iraq, if not of the rumble with Beyonce’s roadies and a near, quite innocently hot secret romantic tumble with a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader makes his nod to Joseph Heller— this love and theft— perfectly evident in the gut of the book. Billy’s sister— “what do you mean they are sending you back tomorrow!!??” She takes the lead and plays right up close to the “Catch” as she endeavors to keep her bro— he’s a 19 year old west Texas hill kid, home now, thank you very much. Billy does take some long walks — from the Cowboy’s owner and his flak-catchers, the stink of oilmen and their wives (think of Fountain thinking of Wolfe first then Mailer here) in a skybox hell to the half-time show to Hollywood producer pitches— the film version of the 3 minute iPhone captured attempt to save his platoon mate- KIA- and the White House meet and greet in between to wheels up 0500 back to country. Or maybe not.. read the book. My sense is that Billy Lynn’s walks, over a brief time— a flash in the field of fire… the three minute video a life time in comparison brought him the distance of Melville’s scribe Bartleby ready to take it all on in his own terms: “I would prefer not to.” We can’t be sure if Billy returns, gets on the plane, and following Tim O’Brien The Things They Carried and all the rest, as Fountain must, war stories are always true and never true.
“You’d seen the pattern before?”
“No, A different leaf pattern each time. But I can’t find the pattern to the patterns.”
“Age, sex, social status, mode of death, shape of the moon, position of the stars, birth order, role in the family.”
“No, they keep telling me there is no pattern.”
“Perhaps there isn’t.”
Novelist Lily King brings us three dialoging anthropologists in the Papua New Guinea bush circa 1930s as they endeavor to both understand what they are observing and each other.
King’s fictional anthropologists, Nell Stone, Andrew Bankson, and Schuyler Fenwick are stand-ins for the ethnographic trailblazers Margaret Mead, Gregory Bateson, and Reo Fortune. In life as in fiction these three are as interested in the people they come to know and “write up” as they are in finding their ways separately and together in danger and in love. The love triangle’s complexity, and uncertainty, is enchanted further by the distant powerful presence of Helen Benjamin as Ruth Benedict. The three are treated to an early draft for field review of her masterwork theorizing of “cultural relativism”: Arc of Culture as Patterns of Culture. Mind, body, and soul are stirred for Nell as her attraction to the slightly older, slightly more favored, other women of Franz Boas as Father Franz Boas of Columbia University— the “cultural determinist”— shapes the flavor of her memories, and what she will come to write about “her people.”
“I asked her if she believed you could ever truly understand another culture. I told her the longer I stayed, the more asinine the attempt seemed, and that what I’d become more interested in is how we believed we could be objective in any way at all, we who each came in with our personal definitions of kindness, strength, masculinity, femininity, God, civilization, right and wrong.”
As I read Euphoria and appreciated the overlapping genre innovations of King’s fiction, history, memoir, adventure, travel, geography, more.. jacket blurb offers so much on the “love story” that my bright teen daughter said “this is not a book for you!” “Well,” I said to her, “I think that the American pragmatist philosopher Richard Rorty lurks in the pre-war pacific jungles of Lily King’s mind! That’s exciting right?”
Ethnography may not pay off but is worth the effort. So is writing novels. Rorty can speak for himself. We need narratives that are “persuasive about” not “demonstrative of” truths about society. “Re-descriptions” not “inferences” and “vocabularies” not “propositions” are these “units of persuasion.” Rorty famously concludes in “Contingency, Irony, Solidarity” that “novels and ethnographies not philosophical and religious treatises are the intellectual route to moral progress.” Continue reading
Engrossing page-turner novel of contemporary political fiction allowing vivid insight to the critical sequence of recent history that unfolded on the world stage mid way through Reagan’s second term: Reykjavik, Gorbachev, Star Wars, Iran, Contras, AIDS, mid term elections. Ronny and Nancy and the movie stars by their sides, in their past, and in the astrologer’s sky. Sulking brilliant sideshow observations and manipulation by Richard Nixon. Terry Dolan and gay insiders of NCPAC, the NSA, the federal prison, and death by virus. Outsize roles, indeed part of Mallon’s method for character actors like Merv Griffin, Pamela Harriman, many many others. Christopher Hitchens. Hitch— Mallon’s and our authorial muse here—he swaggered in wherever he pleased and got the story. Who doesn’t remember following these events by his lights — “Minority Report” in The Nation every two weeks earning his pay in the “high two figures” for Victor Navasky and in the glossy rather more highly compensated scribing he did for Tina Brown every couple months for Vanity Fair , and other high brow mags in USA and UK. Mallon’s earlier book Watergate (2012) offered the same kind of appealing human level, simplifying pitch on events that have had so much written, and so much will remain to be written. Mallon’s project is that of an imaginative synthesizer. One can see that his research and writing agenda was to spend days with his own memory and journalistic timeframe of 1985-86 and the stacks and stacks of the mostly pathetic, limited, haunted published memoirs of each of these many hundreds of characters. Think of the related, but absolutely inferior, “real time” narratives that pass as and are sold in large number Continue reading
“What do you think your working on the Dreyfus Affair!” My first boss in faculty union grievance work cleverly chastised me for taking such a long and detailed and anguished approach to what now, twenty-five years later, appears a very simple interpretive matter of fact and contract language. Sid, union organizer and historian, was an Old Left Jew of a certain age— US Army junior officer stationed for the two years following D-Day in France as an interpreter with a medical and then displaced persons unit. He took a keen interest in my development as a union activist and a historian when, in those very early days of the 1990s, I was alone among the few dozen academic unionists in the room to belly laugh from his playfully distorted Thorstein Veblen reference to our frequent academic conferences as “leisure for the theory class.” Marx, Freud, and Marcuse, and their various probes into our worldly “determinations” were the stuff of his doctoral dissertation. Marx’s economy, Freud’s subconscious, and Marcuse’s attention to totalizing aspects of post-war US culture made for many colorful and challenging conversations. He turned me on, along with the thousands of community college students he taught over many years, to Emile Zola’s Germinal, the unmatched, near elemental, now epic, story of labor and capital in a French coal mining community. We never talked of Zola’s public defense of Dreyfus J’accuse, or of Dreyfus at all. His reference to Dreyfus and many other dozens of content free popular and political and historico-chronological references to “Dreyfus” signify, in general, anti-semitism, Franco-Prussion antagonisms, republican legitimacy, and somehow Devil’s Island (and Papillion, incorrectly) remained abstract, and I uninformed. Until now. Harris’s book is wonderful. I’m certain that many other wide ranging readers like myself will be very pleased to take this account, historical fiction, indeed it is, and a novelist so clearly possessing the scruples of the craft, and the imagination to render the difficult tale so meaningfully.