Ineffable Riches

 

'The Serviceberry' by Robin Wall Kimmerer is one of those books that gets recommended on Bluesky, and it's so lovely and thoughtful and idealistic, but you can just hear the rightwing eyerolling from 100 miles away... because it assumes that human beings are basically decent and want to connect with other human beings. I have come to feel that it is the fundamental difference between left and right wing political ideology: the left is based on the basic assumption of human decency and cooperation, the right on the idea that 'other people' are out to take what they can get and so you should do so too. 

So Robin talks about the joy of giving, and trusting in your community. She never outright says 'the problem is capitalism' but that's the crux of it:

"Why then have we permitted the dominance of economic systems that commoditise everything? That create scarcity instead of abundance, that promote accumulation rather than sharing? We've surrendered our values to an economic system that actively harms what we love. Our metrics of economic value like GDP count only monetary value in the marketplace, of that which can be bought and sold. There is no room in these equations for the economic value of clean air and carbon sequestration and the ineffable riches of a forest filled with birdsong." (p.25)

This tiny book outlines the history of gift economies, where sharing is the norm and inter-reliance is not seen as weakness or failure. She talks about her own local community, where people share their surplus, pass on goods they no longer need and accept and give gifts freely. It's not transactional, it's simply living together as people, helping others and trusting others will help you. It happens all the time in times of crisis, people give and share when there is an urgent need without thought of repayment; this impulse is there, it just needs to be tapped into:

"The challenge is to cultivate our inherent capacity for gift economies without the catalyst of catastrophe. We have to believe in our neighbours, that our shared interests superseded the impulses of selfishness. There is a tragedy in believing the proffered narrative of our system, which turns us against each other in a zero-sum game." (p.44)

"If we think of the Earth as a big warehouse of commodities, as mere objects, we claim a kind of privilege to exploit what we believe that we own. In that property mindset, how we consume doesn't really matter because it's just stuff and the stuff all belongs to us. There is no moral constraint on consumption. And so, we find ourselves in a time of ecological and spiritual depletion.
But in the worldview of land as gift where the givers are 'someones' not 'somethings,' consumers confront a moral dilemma. We humans must consume, since we are animals to whom the gift of photosynthesis was not given. But our patterns of gross overconsumption have brought us to the brink of disaster. What would it be like to consume with the full awareness that we are the recipients of earthly gifts, which we have not earned? To consume with humility? We are called to harvest honourably, with restraint, respect, reverence, and reciprocity." (p.62-3)

I recall reading somewhere about a council planning to plant fruit trees in public spaces, a plan potentially scuppered by people worried that the fruit would be 'stolen', missing the point entirely. She acknowledges that her sharing of garden surpluses with her neighbours is not a replacement for the capitalist system, but something that runs alongside it, that encourages people to connect with their community. Public services like libraries being perfect examples, but also informal organisations like repair cafés, freecycle groups, charity shops, plant swaps and free little libraries exist and thrive in many places making contributions to the wellbeing of local communities. 

At a time where the world seems to be spiralling into despair this is a lovely uplifting book about human connection and an alternative way of looking at how we coexist.

Stay safe. Be kind. Give something away.

Never fear, spring is on the way

Life continues to be a bit weird since Tish and Lyra moved out. 

I like the quiet. It's weird.

I have not been outside much for months, but popped out on Friday to clean and feed the Julians (worms). Then potted up all the house plants with fresh compost.

Life is making itself felt, slowly and surely, as it does every year.

 

Bulbs showing their joy at the rising temperature.

And this little shrub, fresh pink and green leaves just beginning to emerge.

Delightful.

In the empty front bedroom I now have my 'office'. 

A big desk, lots of space, and fairy lights in boxes.

Also delightful.

The Japan countdown has reached 18 days. Flights, car, hotels, bikes, all booked, currency, and insurance purchased. Terrified and excited in equal measure.

Stay safe. Be kind. Go on an adventure.

 

Prophesies

I read 'What Alice Forgot' (frigging ages ago!) and very much enjoyed it, so here we have 'Here One Moment' by Liane Moriarty, an engaging tale of death foretold.

An elderly lady on a plane is having something of a bad day and the other passengers find themselves treated to what appears to be a personalised prophecy of their age and cause of death. The book follows Cherry (the fortune teller), one of the flight attendants and a half dozen or so of the passengers in the aftermath of their encounter. It is an entertaining tale of how people don't really believe in such things but are nevertheless caught up in the hysteria that ensues when a couple of the predicted deaths occur on schedule. The author tempts you to believe with the backstory of Cherry, whose mother used to read fortunes, though she herself has pursued a career based on a passion for mathematics. One woman with a pre-history of OCD becomes obsessed with protecting her son from the threatened drowning; a young couple nearly break up because the husband is terrified he will harm his wife in his sleep; an overworked civil engineer is forced by his wife to escape his all consuming job; another young man dies, but it turns out he was never on the plane and it was all faked for attention anyway; but it was Ethan who I bonded with the most. He is heading home from a friend's funeral and as we follow his story he finds himself grieving far more deeply than he anticipated, and mooning over his housemate, who is clearly out of his league. But what she did so cleverly was to ramp up the tension so that I kept anticipating something bad happening to each of the characters ... and I would curse her. The former passengers set up a social media page to try and track down the woman, who has of course just gone back to her life unaware of the impact she had. Threads are drawn together neatly at the end, with unexpected connections between the people involved. A very satisfying read.

Here is Cherry, reading someone's palm for the first time, she is under no illusions about neither herself nor her mother before her:

"Not believing had become an important part of my identity. After Dad died, I never asked Mum to read my tea-leaves. I swore allegiance to the sensible side of the family. The same side as Dad, Auntie Pat and Grandpa.

And yet here I was, with my hand out, waiting for her to give me hers, and Suzanne did, without hesitation, and I recognised the expression on her face because I had seen it on the faces of so many of my mother's customers: equal parts sceptical and hopeful, a non-believer desperate to believe.

I was strange how easily it came to me. It was strange, too, the sense of power I felt. My breathing slowed and my voice became deeper. Even as I had been scoffing, I had apparently been learning. There was no door to the back veranda where Mum saw her customers, just a purple curtain which she drew to give the illusion of privacy. I could hear every word, and in the first year after Dad died, I lay on the floor on my stomach and listened in, not because I was impressed with Mum's skills but because I was enthralled by the intimate, grown-up details her customers shared about their broken hearts, their disappointing sex lives, their pain, their dreams of something better, something more, something different.

I heard myself telling Suzanne, with absolute confidence, that her lifeline had nothing to do with the length of her life but with the richness of experiences that were in her future, and hers was deep, so there were many, many experiences ahead of her.

All of Mum's customers had rich experiences in their future.

I said her broken heart line suggested she would have multiple partners in her life.

Then I said those words I'd heard Mum say to some women, with more conviction than any of her other predictions.

I said, 'I see you leaving.'

I see you leaving. It's what my mother would say to women who cried into soggy balled-up handkerchiefs while they asked, 'Will I ever be happy, Madam Mae?'

She'd say it over and over, at every reading: I see you leaving, I see you leaving, I see you leaving. Until finally they saw themselves leaving too." (p.294-5)

Stay safe. Be Kind. Think about death occasionally.

The North Light

I have read 'The North Light' by Hideo Yokoyama for a book club this week at The House of Books and Friends and may pop back and edit if I find people there add something to my appreciation of the book. It is the story of Aose, an architect, who has designed a famous house, but who feels a bit stuck in his life, generally dissatisfied and unfulfilled. He is divorced and has a haphazard relationship with his daughter, seeming to spend time in coffee shops with her once a month. At work he seems to be doing mundane projects, just glad to have a job, after the much referenced economic bubble burst. When a new client asks him to reproduce his famous design for them he finds himself drawn back into the lives of his former clients, who appear to have left the famous Y residence unoccupied, apart from a single chair facing the north light window. 

Alongside his search for his elusive clients there is his relationship with his boss Okajima (usefully a list of dramatis personae is at the front of the book, though I did get accustomed to the Japanese names.) Okajima decides to enter a 'competition' to design a memorial gallery for a famous artist who has died, and this becomes a major subplot that introduces a lot of information about architecture. It was interesting because it's not often that the working life of the characters plays a significant part in a story. I have read so many novels about writers, or people with undefined occupations, or are in some kind of break from their normal working life. I guess it's because most people's jobs are quite boring. It wouldn't make much of a story to write about being a postie.

So Haruko Fujimiya, the dead painter is invented, but Bruno Taut, the designer of the chair, is a real German architect; I just love it when books have real people in them. Taut escaped Nazi Germany and spent a couple of years in Japan before the war, writing extensively about Japanese design and became very influential on modernist architecture. He only completed one project while he lived there but did teach and design and sell furniture. So the presence of the chair at the Y residence becomes some kind of symbol of his influence, but it is also linked to Aose's own story. 

The story is full of questions; who were the people, and why had they built a house and not moved in? and why did it now seem as if they had disappeared from the face of the planet? As Aose is forced to try and make sense of it, he is also forced to step outside his mundane concerns and think about who he is, why he is so perturbed by the house standing empty, and why he never built the house that he and his wife Yukari talked about. 

I have read quite a few Japanese books in the last year or so, and talking to Monkey sensei about life in Japan, I feel I am learning something about Japanese society and the cultural differences, which sometimes feel significant, and at other times remind you that the human experience is universal. It is about the yearning for connection, particularly in his relationship with his daughter. And I loved the description of the house, and its environment, and I found myself longing for the tranquility that it evoked.

I only noted one quote. In it Aose is travelling to visit the Y residence and on hearing a familiar birdsong is transported back to his childhood (an itinerant one with a father who worked in dam building):

"Tsu-tsu-pi, tsu-pi, tsu-pi ...
He couldn't see it, but it was probably a coal tit. The great tit had a similar call, but the tempo was faster and it sounded more like 'teacher, teacher, teacher'.
As he moved off again, he lowered the driver's side window slightly. The chill air caressed his cheek. He could hear more birdsong coming from a forest of silver birch trees. A winter bird, the Eurasian siskin. They stayed up there in the countryside until late spring, but their migration season was fast approaching. The call was higher pitched than usual, more urgent sounding, as if the bird was anxious to get on its way.
Aose felt his mind being hijacked by memories of birds and their songs. It was different from nostalgia. It overlapped with Aose's own family's pattern of migration. On his way to and from school, the chorus of birdsong overheard had been like rain falling, sometimes a comforting mist, sometimes pelting him with its malicious chant, 'Damn Kids! Damn Kids!' As he approached the temporary accommodation, the voices would fade away into the distance. As they neared completion, the giant dams that now loomed above the mountains had already swallowed up the woods and forests that had been sanctuaries for all kinds of wild birds." (p.56)

Stay safe. Be kind. Read some translation.

Holocaust Memorial Day

The word Nazism is being bandied about a lot at the moment. Today it is important to remember what it really means and where it leads. We must remember the millions of Jews who were murdered. The world must stand fast against ideas that dehumanise any group of people. The richest man on the planet stood up and made a nazi salute a few days ago ... and the world's press tried to pretend it didn't mean anything. Even the Guardian. I was so angry I wrote a letter, which they chopped right down before they published it. 

"It was a nazi salute. It did not ‘appear’ to be. It was not ‘fascist-style’. He knew exactly what he was doing. Even the Guardian, somehow, could not bring themselves to call it like it is. We must not normalise or excuse this behaviour. We must challenge it at every turn."

Stay safe. Be kind. Never forget.

16 year Blogiversary

I have forgotten about my blogiversary mostly over the last few years but was reminded this year because of the upcoming event in the US; my third post was about Obama's inauguration and how positive the mood was generally at the time, compared to the dread and horror that will accompany the ceremony tomorrow.

Anyway, not wanting to dwell on the bad shit I was thinking about a post that I wrote when I reached 1000 posts back in 2016, and I decided I would do another little recap and list the top ten books, of the now 659 book review posts, that I have loved since then.

Now, as then, in no particular order, because ranking favourite books is an impossible task; books are too different for such direct comparison:

A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving (from 2016)(no idea why this was not on the other list)

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (from 2021)

Bewilderment by Richard Powers (from 2022)

Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh (from 2024)

The Magician's Assistant by Ann Patchett (also 2024)

Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake (from 2017)

A Month in the Country by J.L. Carr (from 2018)

Drive Your Plough Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk (from 2022)

No One is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood (from2022)

All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr (from 2019, not a review, just a mention)

The Trick to Time by Kit De Waal (from 2018)

The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy (from 2017)

And OMG, how come Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien (from 2015) is also missing from the other list. What was I thinking.

I realise that's more than ten, but who's counting. And here is a little extra one, not included above since it is not fiction, but The Book of Delights gave me much joy, so I could not miss it out.

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay (from 2021)

I feel sad for 2023, so few books read that year, and nothing stood out and yelled 'pick me'. 

Stay safe. Be kind. Read some good books this year.

Artwork at the top by Hondartza Fraga, a print that I bought after seeing her art in the Manchester Art Gallery.

On Tyranny

After the American election lots of people started mentioning 'On Tyranny' by Timothy Snyder, written in 2017 during the first Trump administration, many of them quoting the first lesson: "Do not obey in advance. Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. In times like these, individuals think ahead about what a more repressive government will want, and then offer themselves without being asked. A citizen who adapts in this way is teaching power what it can do." 

I have been listening to Lord of the Rings on Youtube (for the third time) and at one point Frodo laments that the task has fallen to him, how hard it is to be living in such dark times. Monkey is currently on Okinawa and went today to the memorial to the 200,000 people who died in the Battle of Okinawa in 1945. I found myself very moved by the photos she sent. I guess many people never realise at the time that they are part of a dark time in history, nor the role they may have played. 

Timothy Snyder ends his lessons with this one and it left me feeling overwhelmed but also heartened to think that throughout history people have been prepared to die for their freedom, and wondering about my own courage:

"Be as courageous as you can. If none of us is prepared to die for freedom, then all of us will die under tyranny."