Service – A History of Modern Russia

History of RussaThe Next Russian Revolution

I read this book in preparation for a class I will take in August at the University of Arizona. Reading a course’s books before the lectures gives valuable context.

I also hoped the book would answer questions I’ve had for years about Russia. Is it really a threat to the U.S., Europe, and the world, or is its belligerence just bluster, mainly for domestic consumption? Belligerence is generally  a desperate attempt at compensation for painful deficiencies, but a bully can hurt you, so the two possibilities are not exclusive. I wanted to know what Russia is about today, and its recent history would seem to offer answers.

I also have had questions about the fall of the Soviet Union. I never understood that. Gorbachev had everything: all the power, all the jobs, all the money, all the guns.  What levers of power was he lacking?  Why did he let the edifice collapse?

I also had questions about Putin. Who is that guy and what makes him tick?  Unfortunately, this book doesn’t go that far. The title says this history extends into the twenty-first century, but after Yeltsin there is hardly anything, so that’s false marketing. As marketing tends to be.

There were many surprises along this historical journey, with confirmations of what I thought I already knew. My understanding of the Bolshevik revolution was fairly well-informed. Lenin and his band of merry men didn’t know the first thing about governance and were more surprised than anyone when they found themselves suddenly in power. Their “reign of terror” was  a panicked default reaction.

It was interesting to review the economic and social details of the Soviet Union during World War II and the Stalin years. Stalin wasn’t very bright and mostly reacted to events. The establishment of the Soviet Union with Eastern Europe more or less fell into his lap. His reign of terror, awful as it was, hardly rose to the level of strategy.  It was reactive and paranoid. He discovered, as Lenin had, that the vast country of Russia, now including a dozen satellite countries, was ungovernable.

No matter what decrees came down from all-powerful Moscow, ordinary people used passive aggression to ignore the leadership and look out for themselves. Not even the vast network of gulags, or concentration camps, helped Stalin get his way, except in providing plenty of slaves for the mines and forests of the north.

That theme, the basic ungovernability of the Soviet Union, continued through the Brezhnev years. At least the ordinary people finally had adequate food and shelter in post-war prosperity, and the Soviet military machine was developed.

Gorbachev is still an enigma to me. The author paints him as “confused” in his goals and his thinking, to explain his radical reversal of  central planning and control, but the book doesn’t present evidence for that and  I don’t buy it.  I remember hearing Gorby give a long speech (on TV) and being very impressed by his clear thinking and eloquence. So whatever drove him is still a mystery to me.

This book is long on verifiable historical facts (and there are a hundred pages of references),  such as economic outputs in each sector for each five-year plan and which leaders held which government posts and took which decisions, but there is really no attempt to understand the motivation or psychology of the players. I assume that would not be considered “scientific” history. I don’t want wild speculation – anybody can do that. But in the historical record, letters, diaries, speeches, and so on, there surely are clues about a person’s state of mind. I remember reading Richard Nixon’s post-presidential memoir and discovering with blinding clarity that he had a serious personality disorder. If I can do it, others can.

Putin is hardly covered in the book. I already knew he was a long-time thug from the KGB-FSB and a clever operative under Yeltsin. But I still wonder if his motivation today is mainly personal aggrandizement – to become Tsar Nicholas, or whether he has realized, as so many have before him, that the country is ungovernable and that the best he can hope for is to keep order (with an iron fist), and – why not? – skim a little cream off the top.

Ideology doesn’t play much role in this book. There is little discussion of what drove Lenin, for example.  Was he simply offended by the cruelty and injustice under Tsar Nicholas, or did he see something in Karl Marx that inspired him in a humanistic way?  His behavior didn’t reveal such motivation, but again, the book does not delve into psychology.

The author does tend to be disparaging of authoritarianism and kindly towards acts of “reform” in the direction of individual freedom. He’ll say for example (not a real quote) ‘Unfortunately, despite his wish to loosen the reins on agriculture, Stalin had no qualms about enlarging the prison camps.”  Well, why was that ‘unfortunate’?  Objectively speaking, the gulag was exactly the right thing, for Stalin to maintain control. He had few options and the alternative was a Yelstsin-like breakup. Perhaps subtle biases are unavoidable for a Western writer.

In the end, I came away from this book believing that the Soviet Union never was a union, was always ungovernable, as Russia today still is. You can’t put everybody in chains or the factories and farms won’t work, but at the same time, you can’t force workers and farmers to be enthusiastic about submitting their wills and their lives to arbitrary dictators. Passive resistance is an awesome force. I’ve seen it in the workplace in my career. Human motivation is not easily controllable.

The most effective tool of control Soviet and Russian leaders ever wielded was not terror, but propaganda. I think that is still true today. The people had been oppressed since the era of the Tsars and did whatever they could to stay fed and warm, regardless of what the government told them to think and believe.

Only now, in the last one or two decades, with the rise of global communications, do people  have a glimpse at alternative ways of living and I think that will ultimately be the downfall for all tyrannical governments. The Russian revolution hasn’t even started yet.

Service, Robert (1997/2009). A History of Modern Russia From Tsarism to the Twenty-first Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (736pp).

Getting Ready to Write Sentence One

Maltese-Falcon_BogartI finished drafting my android series of novels. The first is being shopped around by an agent (fingers crossed), and the last one needs another edit for voice. But they exist.

What next? I needed to rest.  Finishing a novel is like surviving a perilous journey. You can’t just start another one a day later.  For a few days afterward, I have tiny ideas occur to me at odd times of day, like “Wait. I can’t use that phrase – it’s a cliché.”

For example, I inadvertently had a character say, “No, not even a little bit.”  Then I heard some airhead pundit on TV use that phrase, “not even a little bit,” and it rang a bell and I understood that I’d written it in thoughtlessly.  A random element of the just-completed work rattling around in my head.

Worse, when I went in to search for “not even a little bit” I discovered a writing tic I hadn’t noticed, my overuse of “a little” as a modifier.  In dozens and dozens of places in the manuscript I’d written things like “He moved his head a little to the right.”  It’s not even very descriptive. How much  is “a little?”

I deleted about half the instances of “a little” and changed most others to more precise modifiers, like “a half-inch,” or “imperceptibly.” Or I’d simply have the character “edge” or “slide” or “inch” rather than generically “move.” Adverbs and adjectives are very often buttresses for weak, generic verbs and nouns, but it’s hard to write the novel if you get hung up on details like that.

After a week of such torment, the demons went quiet and I was ready for the Next Big Thing (NBT). I have a long NBT document filled with ideas that draw me, and I studied them. I settled on an idea that was not the most exciting or interesting, but something I could accomplish.  Again it would be an examination of human consciousness but this time, for a mirror, instead of an android, the contrast character would be a space alien. I know that’s been done a million times, but never to my satisfaction.

The typical space alien adopts “fish out of water” mode to highlight human contradictions, paradoxes, and idiocies. “Starman” is an example, as was “Mork and Mindy.”  “ET: The Extraterrestrial” was little more than an exercise in sentimentality. No interesting ideas going on there.  I want to focus on the deeper recesses of how the human mind works, not just spotlight cute anomalies in thinking and social interaction.

In particular, my ET would have insight into the function of the body, something that mystifies humans. We don’t understand our bodies and often feel alienated from them. The body does things we don’t intend, like fall down, hit a foul ball, strike a wrong note, twitch, get sick and old, and of course, it dies. Conversely, it does not do many of the things we do intend, like perform well, effortlessly, and without pain, relocate us quickly in space, perceive the world accurately, respond appropriately, sleep on command, accomplish reproduction and other social interactions. There’s no hope at all for flying, invisibility, or superpowers.

Would it be better not to have a body? What would that be like? What is the purpose of the body, after all?  Is it merely to reproduce then die like a mosquito or a salmon? If that’s the case then human consciousness in all its glory is superfluous. “We,” the self-aware conscious ones, are merely taking a biological ride like a bunch of sight-seers. Why bother with consciousness at all?  We’d be happier as unthinking insects who really know how to get the biological job done.

So that would be my topic, because I’ve given it some thought before, having self-published a book on the subject that nobody has read (The Purpose of the Body: bit.ly/Purpose-Body). I decided I should be writing novels that had something to say. Mere escapist stories are more fun but ultimately seem pointless. I’m not sure why I feel that way. But that’s just me, and I decided I should write what is uniquely me. The android series was didactic also, attempting to show up various aspects of human consciousness.

I struggled for a while with what to do with the ET because I couldn’t see how I could write a compelling character arc. He’s an alien, by definition. Where would the reader catharsis come from?  Sure, I could make him highly humanoid and let anthropomorphism take its course. He could fall in love, or want to become a human.  Aaaw!  But that wouldn’t accomplish what I want – for him to be a contrast character who could explain the function of the body.

Finally I realized he couldn’t be the main character.  I had to invent another main character, the physician who would discover him. The M.D. would take the hero’s journey and develop the character arc that readers could understand.  But where did that leave ET?  Certainly he’s not the antagonist.  (He comes in peace – really.)  So I invented an antagonist to MC, and then saw that ET is nothing more than the Maltese Falcon, the Hitchcockian MacGuffin.

With that settled, I easily generated thirty-five pages of preliminary notes on characters, plot and locations.  I still need to strengthen the MC’s journey because I don’t think the screws have been tightened on him enough. I can’t have him sailing through the adventure without staring into the abyss.  But as soon as I fix that, I’ll be ready to write that daunting first sentence on the first page of the first chapter.

2016 Election: The Real Crisis

Hilary from NBCThis morning I searched the news in vain for cogent political analysis. I find only reports of what happened. Donald Trump won Indiana and is indeed the presumptive Republican nominee now. Cruz is out, and Kasich too, according to early reports. I thought Kasich would hang in, on the chance that if the Republican convention dissolved into internecine conflict he would be the last rational man standing.  Now it looks like there will have to be a third-party candidate.

On the Democratic side, Bernie Sanders beat Hilary Clinton, although she will still win the nomination, but at least the win keeps him viable until the convention so if Clinton self-destructs, is indicted or otherwise blows up, Sanders will be the backstop.

Trump from NBCIn the general election, Clinton will slaughter Trump. We can only hope the effect trickles down-ticket. Sanders could also beat him. The third-party candidate will be someone splintering from the Republicans, because the party structure will be needed to deal with the formidable challenges of money and message. Some unknown independent selected by the moneyed class will never rise to the occasion.  Ideally, it will be somebody properly socialized; an anti-Trump who could pull the party and even the country back together. That would be the candidate’s mission, not winning in 2016.

Joan or John of Arc would have to understand what’s happened to the polity and work to mend it with the future in mind because the 2016 election is already owned by the Democrats.

Many people thought Obama would be that great unifier but he came in with two debilitating flaws, obvious in retrospect. One, he was too inexperienced to understand how badly Bush had broken the world. He was plunged immediately into the deep end of the pool with the financial crisis and two wars. He managed his way (and us) admirably to the edges of that swamp and will be remembered for that, but did not have the capacity or opportunity to do more.

In addition, Obama came in with his preconceived goal of establishing universal health care in the country, a laudable but arbitrary goal based on his FDR fixation, not on facts on the ground. It wasn’t the appropriate goal for the situation the country was in. If he’d instead focused on financial reform, we’d be in a different place today.

Which is not to say he could have been successful with radical financial reform even if he’d understood that was the country’s festering wound. He didn’t have the power or knowledge to go up against Geithner, Summers, Paulson, and the rest. He wasn’t the right person in the right place to lead a financial reform movement.

Because of his focus on health care instead of financial reform, the culture of resentment stewed on, seasoned with greed and envy, a culture that has now ripped the country and the political parties apart. Who saw that coming? Maybe Bernie. Maybe the Occupy Wall Street folks. Not Obama.

The underlying issue is injustice. Economic injustice resonates a very bass string in people, and it’s not about greed and envy. It’s about dignity and respect. It’s about “all men are created equal.” It’s about basic human rightness, compassion, respect and equality, and that has not been addressed.

The financial crisis was patched over, the status quo restored, and not much changed. Nobody went to jail, nobody was to blame, the same wealthy people still run the country, and corruption of the political system is even more blatant than it was before. The arrogance, impunity and fundamental injustice is what set off the tea-partiers and then the Trumpeters.  A patina of plain old greed and envy coats their protests, but the crisis runs much deeper than that.

The crisis of economic injustice is usually blamed on tangential causes: globalization of trade, technology, urbanization, terrorism, immigration, demographics, educational trends, and on and on. None of those address squarely the fact that America has become an oligarchy. Perhaps it always was so, but now the myth of the American Dream has worn so thin you can see right through it.

Could Obama have fixed it if he’d been aware and appropriately motivated?  Maybe not. Maybe oligarchy is an inevitable development of capitalism and can’t be stopped short of revolution, as history would suggest. I hope instead for a leader who sees the problem and has a vision for its solution. That leader is not Trump and it’s not Clinton.

Beatty – The Sellout

Sellout - Beatty

Ta-Nehisi Coates Meets Thomas Pynchon

“Who am I? And how can I be that person?” Those were the questions the main character’s father always asked and which the narrator, Bonbon Me, holds dear.  They’re also the meta-questions he poses about black identity in America. His father was gunned down in the street by police.

Bonbon says, “Now, if I had my druthers, I couldn’t care less about being black. To this day, when the census form arrives in the mail, under the RACE question I check the box marked ‘Some other race’ and proudly write in, ‘Californian.” Of course, two months later, a census worker shows up at my door, takes one look at me, and says, ‘You foul nigger. As a black man, what do you have to say for yourself?’ And as a black man, I never have anything to say for myself….So I mumble Sorry and scribble my initials next to the box marked ‘Black, African-American, Negro, coward” (p. 44).

That excerpt summarizes the theme and the tone of The Sellout.

The humor is complex. It’s satire, using wit and scorn to criticize black feelings of inferiority, white privilege, racism in America, government mendacity, and political correctness. It also depends on wonderful wordplay, often erudite, often just plain silly, with remote associations that consistently violate expectations. That’s the basis of my comparison to Thomas Pynchon’s writing. And Beatty’s writing is the kind of self-effacing humor that is the bread-and-butter of good stand-up comedians.

The novel reads like a stand-up routine, multiple vignettes loosely threaded. The through-line is that the  protagonist vows to reconstitute his lost childhood neighborhood of Dickens, an imaginary district somewhere in south or east Los Angeles. He paints boundaries on the street with white paint and puts up official-looking signs, “Welcome to Dickens.” Residents scorn his foolishness at first but eventually become proud. What kind of a town is Dickens?  Segregated, he decides, and goes about putting up appropriate signs, such as one on the local bus that reserves seats near the front for “The disabled, and whites.”

Improbably, Bonbon also owns and operates a stables and vegetable farm within the urban district, violating “hood” norms and making him a sellout, part of the landed gentry. Worse, he owns a slave, an old black man who wants to be a slave because he’s nostalgic for the simpler days of overt racism and segregation when black people knew their place. Oddly, there is no law in the U.S. against owning slaves, which Bonbon discovers when he has to defend himself in court.

In the end, Dickens is recognized, by the weatherman on TV at least, as a legitimate, named township, so the hero triumphs. But that plot line was extremely weak and not really the point of the novel anyway. It’s not a “story” kind of novel.

Toward the end, Beatty starts to spell out some of his themes more explicitly, as in this excerpt:

“… A giant photo of Michael Jordan shilling for Nike is projected on all four walls of the courtroom, but it’s quickly replaced by successive photos of Colin Powell sharing his recipe for yellowcake uranium before the United Nations General Assembly shortly before the potluck invasion of Iraq and Condoleezza Rice lying through the gap in her teeth. These are African-Americans meant to illustrate his point. Exemplars of how self-hatred can compel one to value mainstream acceptance over self-respect and morality” (p. 275).

Even when the author gets a little heavy-handed, as in the above excerpt, and even when his thematic outbursts about black identity get repetitive, I’m still with him because of delightful surprises like “lying through the gap in her teeth.” How does he consistently come up with stuff like that?

The rich humor never let up, in my opinion, and while the theme of black self-hatred became obvious and overdone early in the book, there are still larger themes to think about, such as whether political correctness has gone too far. Yes, racism is ugly and ever-present, but it’s a legitimate question to ask, how we will know when to declare that we’re “over” the great historical traumas? The society is never really going to be post-racial, because humans are tribal in their bones, but do we need to keep replaying old “Little Rascal” films forever?

 

Jiles – Rum and Karma-Kola

Rum and Karma-KolaThis little novella is a wonderful train story with a lot of claustrophobic atmosphere and terrific language. I will shelve it with my small collection of “prose poetry,” along with books like Duras’s The Lover, Winterson’s Art and Lies, and Ondaatje’s Coming Through Slaughter.

The narrator, a recently unemployed woman, flees Seattle after having maxed out a stack of credit cards to limits she knows she can never repay. She travels to Vancouver, B.C. and boards a train headed to Montreal. On board, she imagines she is a glamorous femme fatale in a 1940’s detective movie, or maybe in an Agatha Christie novel. A mysterious man boards the train and takes an uncommon interest in her. She is attracted. But is it a simple train romance, or is he a skip-tracer hunting her down?

What attracted me to the book was its use of language. The story is clever and fun but the language is stunning. Here is the sentence that hooked me, the first one of the book:

“She is entraining for the East somewhere, as Myrna Loy and Jean Arthur and Carole Lombard used to entrain on the Twentieth Century Limited, walking down the concrete apron beside the large cars – minor characters existing stage left and arriving stage right – with matching luggage and a hat with feathers and a porter reaching for her bags. “

I cannot resist one more quote, just a few pages further on, a description of the Vancouver train station:

“The Vancouver train station is a construction of 1890 dignities and recent decorative blunders. In the park outside there are great architectonic oak trees, and in one corner a catalpa tree hanging all over with green bean pods like syllables, eternally waving its fat round leaves at eternally arriving and departing trains.”

The poetic language does falter a bit as the pages progress, but it’s still a pleasure to read. The style of writing is consistently unexpected, erudite, precise, with wonderful wry humor and subtle historical allusion. I also liked the strong metafictional element, where the author inserts references to the fact that this is all a description in a novel (like the word, “syllables” in the previous quote.)

This would be a book to devour in one sitting, on a train perhaps, or more likely an airplane. Also, it’s a handsome book, a so-called “trade” paperback with a heavy, folded cardstock cover and a deckled edge, a literary object to be treasured in its own right.

Jiles, Paulette (1986). Sitting in the Club Car Drinking Rum and Karma-Kola: A Manual of Etiquette for Ladies Crossing Canada by Train. Toronto: Raincoast/Polestar. (108 pp.)

King – On Writing

King on Writing

King has written fifty best-sellers, many of which have become hit movies. It would be churlish therefore to deny him the mantle of greatness. Yet as a how-to book for writers, this one is pretty weak.

The book has only about 100 pages of writing advice. The first 100 pages and the last 50 are autobiography, not really memoir as the title claims. King fans will probably find the autobiography interesting in its own right, though I didn’t see how it connected to his writing. The question we would all like answered is, “What made you such a successful writer?” There are few answers. He always wanted to write, and he always wrote a lot. Well.

The middle section, which is advice for writers, is perhaps useful for a beginner. For grammatical advice, he recommends Strunk and White. Backstory? Keep it short and weave it in. Research? You don’t need much. Characters? Use composites of people you know. Adverbs? Minimize. And so on. Nothing here you wouldn’t get from any issue of Writers Digest.

At the end there’s a (very) short story: a draft and then another showing editorial marks against the first draft. This is mildly interesting until you realize that at least half of the edits are the replacement of a character’s name from “Ostermeyer” to “Olin,” something you would accomplish in a few keystrokes on a computer. It looks like more than it is, marked up in longhand.

Other changes are patently obvious, such as dropping the last two words from the phrase, “His heart sank a little.”  In all, I didn’t find much insight in the demonstration.

King is noted for his aversion to outlining. He is a strong advocate of seat-of-the-pants writing. Just start writing and see where the story takes you. That approach doesn’t work for me. It leads only to dead-ends and/or chaotic confusion. And maybe that’s why I don’t enjoy King’s fiction. Truth is, I don’t even enjoy the movies made from his fiction. They strike me as obvious and overwrought.

There’s enough literary space in the world for all kinds of writers and all points of view, so I allow that King’s fiction appeals to a whole lot of people. Those same people might like this nonfiction book as well.

King, Stephen (2000). On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. New York: Scribner (284 pp.)

 

 

Brain Muscles

Brain musclesI confess, I have recently fallen off the wagon of fiction. I published a brief (1000 word) nonfiction article on the mysteries of visual perception to NFReads.com. The site publishes short nonfiction articles by authors who hope to thereby publicize their nonfiction books.  The site is advertised to book buyers, so the whole thing is a kind of marketing ploy, but WTH, some of the articles are interesting in their own right. The marketing slogan is “Learn Something New Every Week.”

I decided to do it because my nonfiction books, four of them, are languishing; virtually derelict. The one that was commercially published is so old (2005) it has fallen into the “rare book” category and now costs over a hundred dollars in print version (which is ridiculous, given POD technology these days), but it’s still available as an ebook. The other three, still relatively fresh, were self-published ebooks, originally at $4.99, now a more realistic but very humbling $0.99.  I’m lucky to sell one a month these days. I’d give them away but that’s not possible on Amazon.

But I still believe in these books. They were written from passion, with passion, and they’re still good. I should rewrite them. They’re far too dense. The reasoning in them is impeccable, but I now realize that most people cannot track arguments that are packed that tightly. These books need to be double their current length, with a lot more “air.”  Not that they need redundant padding. I hate that. I like high information density. But they need more examples and more spelling out of assumptions and implications. And better layout with more whitespace.

So anyway, I wrote this short article on vision, called “Why Do We See Anything?” (www.nfreads.com/article/why-do-we-see-anything/ ) to make the point that there are very deep, fundamental mysteries of psychology lurking just below the surface of everyday experience.  I used that point to highlight my book, Scientific Introspection: A Method for Investigating the Mind. (bitl.y/scientific-introspection). The book is a methodological critique of standard science and presentation of an alternative, introspection-based empiricism. Does that sound interesting? No, it does not. I know that. So I tried instead to write something that connected a little more directly to everyday interests.

Bait and switch? Maybe. What else can I do? Nobody wants to read a book on philosophy of science. Well, I do, but no normal person does. That’s why my nonfiction doesn’t sell. I never did find a good way to connect the topics of interest to me with topics that would interest ordinary people.  Actually, that’s the main reason I gave up on nonfiction and turned to fiction.

My experience writing the nonfiction article was interesting. I was excited to be back in the swirling cauldron of ideas that I find so exciting, but writing nonfiction uses intellectual muscles I haven’t used in years.  It was a pleasingly familiar experience, but also strangely alien. It was very difficult, even painful, for me to learn how to write fiction with the right side of my brain and I fear I could easily backslide if I continue to write nonfiction. But it was so much fun. I’m torn.

Ogawa – The Housekeeper and the Professor

Housekeeper-Professor

This is a lovely slice-of-life tale involving a housekeeper in contemporary Japan who works for an eccentric and brilliant old mathematician who, because of a brain injury, has a working short-term memory of only 80 minutes. She and her preteen son who accompanies her to his cottage are drawn to the old man’s kindness and brilliance.

Because of his enthusiasm for numbers, they become interested in number theory, primes, Euler, Fermat, and various number games. He is delighted with their efforts and friendships are formed. Another subtheme is the old man’s obsession with baseball. Though he remembers only classic playoffs from twenty years ago, he shares with the young boy an enthusiasm for the game. Eventually the old man dies and the housekeeper and her son move on.

The main attraction of the story is the question of how a friendship can occur with someone who only has a memory span of 80 minutes. The housekeeper pins a drawing of herself to the old man’s suit so he can recognize who she is each day. How would that work in a relationship? It does work, at least as the tale is told from the housekeeper’s POV, and that is the main achievement of the novella. Just being in the immediate presence of each other is sufficient for friendship, perhaps all that friendship really is.

The mathematics theme is mildly interesting if idiosyncratic. I do not suffer from number phobia as so many Americans do, so I found the light digressions into math interesting. Narratively, they served as a ground of discourse through which the housekeeper and her son could quickly and  repeatedly renew their friendship with the professor each day. The baseball theme served a similar purpose, though that was less convincing and less interesting, I thought.

There is a bit of slippage on the 80-minute memory theme, as the professor often seems to remember more than he should, but it’s a literary device, not a neurological fact. None of the characters has names, so the story may be a metaphor for caregivers who deal with Alzheimer’s and other dementias.

Also compelling is the glimpse into ordinary Japanese life and character, which will be fascinating for any Westerner who has lived there. The quiet patience, thoughtfulness, and self-discipline of the characters are well-drawn and will be recognized by anyone familiar with contemporary Japanese fiction and poetry.

The language of this little tale is graceful and uplifting, a tribute to the translator’s skill. The book is like a poignant haiku in novella form.

Ogawa, Yoko (2003/2009). The Housekeeper and the Professor. Stephen Snyder, Translator. New York: Picador. (180 pp).

Helen Keller Meets Noam Chomsky

Chomsky on MergeNoam Chomsky, giant of contemporary thought and inventor of transformational grammar and computational linguistics, has a new book out and it’s mercifully on linguistics, not politics.

The core idea in his new monograph is that humans understand language hierarchically, an ability he and co-author Robert Berwick call “Merge.”  Two mental objects can be merged into one, and that new, compound object can be processed linguistically as if it were a single object.

According to a review in The Economist (March 26th, 2016), a cat wearing a “hat” can become a “cat in the hat,” a noun phrase that functions grammatically as a single mental object. It can be merged with “the” to become “the cat in the hat,” and with other elements to become “The cat in the hat on the mat.”  Whole sentences can in this way become single mental objects, as in “The cat in the hat on the mat came back.”  Such compound mental objects can then be merged with other sentences to produce complex systems of thought.

Thus, language and thought are joined by this single ability, called “Merge,” which allows humans to think hierarchically. The gene for this hierarchical ability allows advanced thought, which confers evolutionary advantage so is conserved over generations.

Birdsongs are also a form of communication, but they are linear, not hierarchical. A sequence of notes, however complex, is rehearsed start to finish without folding, compounding, or hierarchical embedding. That’s why, despite having a language, birds can’t think. They lack the Merge gene.

Leaving aside the presumptive genetics, for which there is little or no evidence, the hypothesis reduces to, “Humans think hierarchically because language is processed hierarchically.”  But we must allow that the causal arrow could run the other direction. Perhaps language is (or can be) processed hierarchically because we innately think and perceive hierarchically (e.g., due to Gestalt formation), not the reverse.

Those caveats aside, there is still a fundamental problem with the Merge hypothesis. “Cat” and “hat” are not free-standing mental objects, nor are any linguistic terms. Linguists, and most philosophers, labor under the illusion that there are such billiard balls of experience, each with attached linguistic label. My hypothesis is different: such mental objects are analytic products, generated post-experience, from social interaction.

My archetypal case study is Helen Keller learning the meaning of her first word, “water.”  In her autobiography (The Story of My Life, 1902), she describes how, as a deaf, blind and mute child, her teacher held one of her hands under the water flowing from a pump, and worked the fingers of her other hand into the sign for water. In a magical moment, she writes, she suddenly understood the connection between the sign and the sensation, and language was born for her. This account was written by Ms. Keller years after the experience and after her college education, and it invokes Hume’s association theory of learning, as, no doubt, she was taught in school.

My intuition says the process was something different. She already had a deeply intimate relationship with her teacher, Anne Sullivan, who was with her virtually every hour of every day, when, on the day of the pump experience, Helen understood for the first time that Anne too, must be having, or had had, the very sensation of water that she was having. That is, she allowed that her private mental experience was not, after all, entirely private. Rather, her teacher, Anne, could, and did, also experience water, the very same sensation she was having at the moment. That was part one of the fundamental insight.

Secondly, as if proof of the first part, Anne was manipulating Helen’s fingers into a sign, using her own (Anne’s own) fingers to do so. They both had fingers. They both had finger-folding sensations. They both had water-on-the-fingers sensations. Conclusion: they were intersubjective; they almost literally shared mental experience. That was part two of the great learning, the great insight. It was a social learning, the most profound one anyone can have.

On that day, Helen learned that we people,  you and I, with these experiences we now literally share, make this finger-sign whenever we have this other, watery finger-experience. The insight was realization of being a member of the club “we.” It was not the clang of Humean association. It was the thrill of realizing she was not alone.

Mental objects like “water” are differentiated out of prelinguistic social experience, and become compounded later through more complex social experience. Language is derivative of social interaction (as Wittgenstein convincingly argued). Words never stand as self-existent mental objects with their own reality the way numbers supposedly do.

The so-called Merge gene is thus not necessary. Humans do not have complex thought because they process language hierarchically. We process language hierarchically because our social interactions are fundamentally holistic from the beginning. Only later, with education, do we learn to analyze our complex, emotional, and prelinguistic social relationships into elements like words and conceptualized mental objects.

The nature of human creative thought is to project some aspect of experience out into the world, forget that we have done so, then “discover” that object and with an eerie sense of familiarity, say, “aha! I recognize this.”  That’s exactly what Chomsky and Berwick done. They’re exactly half right.

Chomsky, Noam, and Berwick, Robert C. (2015). Why Only Us: Language and Evolution. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press (224 pp).

 

Brown – Joe

Brown_JOE_PBK_jkt_Reprnt.inddWhen does a sequence of scenes not make a story? A good story is driven by causality: incident A causes incident B, either by the laws of physics, or by plausible character actions.

In Joe, much of the text is a series of episodic vignettes as the character is painted as an illiterate ex-con in 1970’s rural Mississippi. He smokes cigarettes, he drinks, he has sex, he drives around in his battered pickup, he goes to the store. We get a picture of an angry but listless Faulknerian lowlife living in whatever county is next to Yoknapatawpha. But these events add up to just one damn thing after another.

Brown is aware of the Faulkner legacy and imitates the master in evoking southern-gothic life, but since Brown’s characters are supposed to be more contemporary and realistic than Faulkner’s mythic subhumans, the imitation falls flat. Brown’s characters are simply stupid, disagreeable and uninteresting. Brown does play the pronoun game Faulkner loved so much, beginning chapters with illegitimate definite articles and vague pronouns so you don’t know what’s going on for a few paragraphs or pages. I hated that in Faulkner and it isn’t any better in the hands of Brown.

Joe may not be the main character of the book anyway. The only spark in the tale is in the story of the young boy, Gary, who Joe hires as a manual laborer on his forestry crew. Gary is utterly uneducated and unsocialized, feral, really, and yet inexplicably has a refined ethical sense. Joe becomes a kind of protector for the boy because Gary’s father is an unalloyed bad person who lacks only a mustache to twirl. As a cartoon bad guy he is far more annoying than interesting.

Finally, near the end of the book, Joe takes a decisive moral action, almost impulsively, against a mild antagonist, and that is supposed to be the cathartic climax, but by that point, this reader was in advanced “who cares” mode.

The writing in Joe is often poetic, although pointless descriptions of the landscape drag on for meaningless paragraphs. No matter how finely wrought, descriptions of landscape and weather do not propel a story, unless they are specifically designed to do so (e.g., in The Martian, to use an extreme example). There was a time when writing merely for the sake of fine writing was acceptable to readers. That time has passed.

I should add that the book was miraculously made into a decent movie starring Nicholas Cage, the only movie since Moonstruck in which Cage shows he really can act.

Brown, Larry (2003). Joe. North Carolina: Algonquin Books. (345 pp).