Showing posts with label New York Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Times. Show all posts

Friday, December 4, 2009

Being put in your place

No: Malcolm has not been idle these last few days.
All in all, it had been a good week ...
... until the New York Times published its list of 100 Notable Books of 2009.

And Malcolm had to recognise he had hit a new, all-time low ...
Two!

Just one fiftieth of the list.

For the record they are:
  • Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall (O.K., O.K. — it's still the Lady's side of the bed. But the spirit is willing, y'know);
  • Richard J. Evans's The Third Reich at War, which was not to be hurried, and has been a constant companion and friend for at least the last ten days.
As for the rest ...

Yawn.

However, Malcolm has to hand a small pile of the following:
and
So:
  • To finish the floor;
  • Three weeks to go before daughters and their spawn decide what Dad/Grandad would really like for Christmas,
  • including an extended Eurostar weekend among the Belgians.
No rest for the wicked. Sphere: Related Content

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Class and race in NYC

The graphics in the New York Times are, in a favoured word of Malcolm's Brooklyn-born son-in-law, "awesome".

So, today's effort, showing the distribution of votes in the City's Mayoral election, continues the standard of excellence. The legend to the piece reads:
The Vote for Mayor, Block by Block
Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg won re-election Tuesday, but voters were less enthusiastic about him than the last time he ran in 2005. The mayor did well in high-income white areas of Manhattan and Queens, and also in election districts dominated by immigrants, like Flushing and Brighton Beach. But his vote fell sharply in black neighborhoods, especially southeast Queens, where the black middle class has been hard-hit by foreclosure.
The related article, by David Chen and Michael Barbaro, ain't too dusty either.

Respec' !

Now, if only the UK media could match that, for depth and decency. Sphere: Related Content

Sunday, October 11, 2009

It's the rottweilers again ...

Malcolm has commented on this before. He's even, in extremis, exploited it (though, on that occasion, to make sure, he included Ms Blackman's cleavage).

For some inexplicable reason, any mention of rottweilers means an up-tick in the number of hits to his two blogs.

This started when he referred to a well-known UK broadcaster as the "Splott Rottweiler". Not just assonance: true by manner; true to origin.

Yet, he hasn't mentioned the breed for some while. So, he wondered, why the sudden up-tick in interest?

It took a bit of Googling, but Malcolm thinks he now knows the source. Well, well, thank you, New York Times, for the sympathetic magic. You can afford those hits, after all. Sphere: Related Content

Saturday, October 10, 2009

At last ... something worth reading from Dan Brown

Well, not quite: more, about Dan Brown.

All-comers should try Maureen Dowd's beautifully arch and barbed review of The Lost Symbol. It is a bit of revisiting, for Janet Maslin also did a cracker, no prisoners taken, for the New York Times, a month back:
Mr. Brown’s splendid ability to concoct 64-square grids outweighs what might otherwise be authorial shortcomings. Within this book’s hermetically sealed universe, characters’ motivations don’t really have to make sense; they just have to generate the nonstop momentum that makes The Lost Symbol impossible to put down. So Mal’akh’s story is best not dissected beyond the facts that he is bad, self-tattooed, self-castrated and not Langdon’s friend.

Also, the author uses so many italics that even brilliant experts wind up sounding like teenage girls. And Mr. Brown would face an interesting creative challenge if the phrases “What the hell ...?,” “Who the hell ... ?” and “Why the hell ... ?” were made unavailable to him. The surprises here are so fast and furious that those phrases get quite the workout.

Then again, Mr. Brown’s excitable, hyperbolic tone is one the guilty pleasures of his books. ( ‘Actually, Katherine, it’s not gibberish.’ His eyes brightened again with the thrill of discovery. ‘It’s ... Latin.’)
Then, in this week's New York Times Books section, or on line, along comes Mo with her acerbic re-take.

Your starter for ten (or more) good belly-laughs starts here:

The new Dan Brown puzzler is the scariest one yet.

It’s not so much the barbarous machinations of the villain, another one-dimensional, self-mortifying hulk, that sends chills down your spine. Or the plot, which is an Oedipal MacGuffin.

No, the terrifying thing about The Lost Symbol is that Brown — who did not flinch when the Vatican both condemned The Da Vinci Code and curtailed the filming of Angels & Demons in Rome — clearly got spooked by that other powerful, secretive ancient sect, the Masons.
Ah, yes: the Vatican!

On a diffferent note, Malcolm was taken by the spokesperson for the Birmingham Museum's exhibition of the Staffordshire Hoard. They only realised the interest unleashed by the find, he said, when they had a 'phone-call from ... the Vatican. Sphere: Related Content

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Athletic Dysfunctions

Today's New York Times:

Dementia Risk Seen in Players in N.F.L. Study

A study commissioned by the National Football League reports that Alzheimer’s disease or similar memory-related diseases appear to have been diagnosed in the league’s former players vastly more often than in the national population — including a rate of 19 times the no rmal rate for men ages 30 through 49.
No prizes for noting the link between that news item and the picture, above right, and deducing where Malcolm is going here.

The minor thesis


This is a matter of continued dissension in the extended Redfellow clan.

Number one daughter, now residing in the Garden State (though well away from the poison belt) has taken to referring to "Soccer". Number three daughter (Saracens supporter) recognises just two variations of the ball game: football (round stuff) and rugby (prolate spheroids). As for Malcolm, he just drools and mutters along the lines of:
Football: a game for gentlemen, played by gurriers;
Rugger: a game for gurriers, played by gentlemen;
Gaelic: a game for gurriers played by gurriers.
A Malcolmian aside

In passing, it is curious that "gurrier", a word well-known in Dublin, is totally absent from the Oxford English Dictionary. One suggestion, from elsewhere, is that it is derived from the French "warrior" (guerrier).

Malcolm would venture a connection to the good English word "gurry", which could be cognate with "slurry". For example, just as Montezuma's Revenge (which term is in the OED, with a citation from the Church Times of 21 June 1996, locating its prevalence in ... the Kalahari) is a well-known ailment in central America, so Cromwell's troops in Ireland justly suffered from "the gurry".

Back on the pitch

Among the cis-Atlantic side of the Redfellow tribe, nobody has a clue about the rules of "American football", but suspects it is to proper football as Americano is to real Italian coffee.

The major thesis

Once again we have conclusive proof of the wit and wisdom of the late Lyndon Baines Johnson (obviously that does not extend to his involvement in South-East Asian affairs).

He, it was, who diagnosed the mental capacity of the (uniquely unelected) 38th President, and his successor but one:
Gerald Ford played too much football without his helmet on.
Apparently untrue (though the picture, right, seems to confirm the observation), but acute and mordant. As was LBJ's other remark, often bowdlerised:
Gerald couldn't fart and chew gum at the same time.
Sphere: Related Content

Monday, September 21, 2009

The conservative cri-de-coeur

Let's hear it from the Billy Bennett memorial choir, all sub-prime mortgagors and all almost gentlemen:
I was rich but I was honest,
Then she came from 'umble stock,
And her greedy heart was beating
Underneath her tattered frock.

So I thought that she was needy,
I knew not her base design,
So I lent a sub-prime mortgage
To stop her constant whine.

It's the same the whole world over,
It's the rich what gets the blame,
It's the poor what wants the credit,
Ain't it all a blooming shame?
Thenkin' yaow, ladeez and genelmen, thenk yaow. We'll try and get them back again later on. Meanwhile ... on with the show!

But, first to more serious things.


The sinking of John McCain


There's a certain inevitability about what comes next. Nearly a year on from the McCain car-crash (it was in some large part the fault of that nagging woman in the back-seat) and history starts to be re-written.

Surely John McCain knew he had undertaken mission impossible: it was his turn eight years before, when the Bushies stitched him up for the first time. The power of money, the ingrained Bushie lack of principle and Karl Rove -- those last two are political synonyms -- defeated him. In 2008 McCain was again trounced by the same man and the same factors: the dire Bush legacy would surely have been too much for any Republican.

So Dubya slinks off into the shades of history?

Naah! No political movement can afford that round their necks. So, two possibilities:

1. Let's expect a rehabilitation.

Tim Montgomerie's been at this lark for months. In his view, Dubya was Africa's saviour and a great philanthropist, particularly in regard to child-welfare around the world. That last one surfaced in ConHome in recent days; don't tell the family-planners, they'd split their condoms laughing. Anyway, just think of all the Iraqi and Afghan infants he saved for Jesus [concept © Abbot Arnaud Amaury, 22nd July, 1209].

2. A Stalinist air-brushing, perhaps?

That's what Ross Douthat (right) implies in an opinion piece in yesterday's New York Times, extrapolating from a digest article in GQ:
Adding insult to injury, the umpteenth insider look at Bush administration’s dysfunction was unveiled last week as well, courtesy of an obscure second-term speechwriter named Matt Latimer. (Next up: Bush’s White House chef tells all!) Latimer’s memoir, excerpted in GQ, offers grist for Bush-whackers of both parties. For liberals, there’s Dubya the incurious frat boy, flubbing policy details and cracking wise about Hillary Clinton’s posterior. For conservatives eager to prove that the most unpopular president in 50 years was never really one of them, there’s Bush the crypto-liberal, who dismisses the conservative movement and boasts that he personally “redefined the Republican Party.”
Phew!

If there is life, breath, sanity and intellect left among conservative Republicans, Douthat is one of the vital organs. He is to "obscure second-term speechwriters" as Claude Monet to any Saturday dauber (all of whom are "impressionistic" at best). With Reihan Salam, formerly his colleague on Atlantic Monthly, he produced, last year, Grand New Party. The sub-title of that book spills most of the beans:
How Republicans Can Win the Working Class and Save the American Dream
Douthat and Salam retread an old path:
The interests of the working class--the common man, the hardworking but unexceptional citizen--have been at the heart of every great American political movement. From Jefferson to Lincoln to Roosevelt to Reagan, our most successful leaders have sought the democratization of wealth, competence, and social standing--not so that every American might be rich or famous, but so that we might all be independent and self-reliant and secure. In this sense, the American dream is ultimately a dream of home, of a place to call your own, earned and not inherited, and free from the petty tyrannies of landlords, bureaucrats, and bankers. It's a dream of a country in which ownership is available to everyone, provided that they are willing to work for it, rather than being handed out on the basis of wealth or caste, brains or beauty.
That provokes a couple of wry thoughts:
  • Doubhat's article, as we shall see, is about to nibble the mortgaging hand that fed just that property-owning dream.
  • It is curious how FDR is now being exhumed as the Right's holy relic and shibboleth. Time and again his name re-appears in conservative musings, inevitably in a tone between approval and adulation.
  • British Tories, or the few who can cope with anything more taxing than Cameron's dog-whistles, the Sun's grunted monosyllables and Iain Dale's over-simplifications, must be studying Douthat and Salam. Similar rhetoric, however, is denied them. The term "working-class" is being ruthlessly expunged from the contemporary British scene. That's not just the consequence of aspiration. It also reflects the post-industrial context of Britain (and the near-future for the United States): Thatcher effectively eliminated heavy industry and the class-loyalties and communities that went with it: she made "work", in the "working-class" sense, anathema to some, and merely a memory for others.
  • Douthat's and Salam's historical "analysis" (all of one paragraph in the opening chapter) is fatally flawed. The assumption is that American government has consistently been warm, cuddly and caring-sharing, while those snooty Europeans were oppressive and hostile:
The contrast with how Europe's governments treated the working class during the same period is instructive. Both continents extended the franchise, but Europe's nations did so out of fear ...
And, it seems, all other social benefits were opposed for similar reasons of social control:
The goal [of European régimes] was to create a docile working class, not an educated and ambitious one. America, in contrast, expanded schooling first and adopted social insurance programs only in the twentieth century. In each case, America's leaders wanted self-sufficiency and independence; Europe's wanted conformity and obedience.
Which, conveniently, ignores that, both sides of the Atlantic, basic rights had to be won -- at Peterloo via Dearborn to Selma and beyond -- with gutters running with working-class blood and guts. It also denies the status given by Scots Presbyterians to self-improvement: one of the prime motivators of schooling in colonial America.
Doubtat on Bush

A swift recursion to that New York Times article, and the original intended thrust of this entry, before Malcolm's usual over-complications, finds Douthat's best effort at rehabilitating Dubya going like this:

Bush-era bipartisanship did produce some defensible legislation (No Child Left Behind, for instance). But more often, it produced travesties like the failed attempt at “comprehensive” immigration reform, lobbyist feeding frenzies like the 2005 energy bill, and boondoggles like the Department of Homeland Security.

By contrast, Bush’s best initiatives often lacked a constituency outside the White House: His AIDS-in-Africa program; his insistence, vindicated by subsequent scientific breakthroughs, on seeking alternatives to embryo-destroying research; his failed second-term proposals for Social Security and tax reform.
Well, bless me:
  • Bone-headed blocking of bio-science was a good thing!
  • Dubya, single-handedly (there ought to be more of that around: there'd be less of an AIDS problem) saved a million in Africa!
  • Pumping out concessions to the mega-rich was a "tax-reform"!
So why not equally celebrate the environmental vision that thought global warming was a wimpy myth? That wanted drilling in the Alaskan reserve? That thought flogging off the forests and wildernesses to Big Business was as "green" as the dollars it would generate?

We can confidently expect all that, and more, to become the mantra of Dubya-deniers, Montgomerie's merry men and suchlike. Yet, were that quotation translated into the Saturday-afternoon performance of a Premier League striker, it would appear as seven attempts at goal, one almost on target, no score.

Douthat's "explanation" for Dubya's failure is equally intriguing. Try it:
it’s worth reassessing one of the major critiques of his presidency — that it was fatally insulated, by ideology and personality, from both the wisdom of the Washington elite and the desires of the broader public.

In reality, many of the Bush-era ventures that look worst in hindsight were either popular with the public at the time or blessed by the elite consensus. Voters liked the budget-busting tax cuts and entitlement expansions. The Iraq war’s cheering section included prominent Democrats and scores of liberal pundits. And save for a few prescient souls, everybody — right and left, on Wall Street and Main Street — was happy to board the real-estate express and ride it off an economic cliff.
At first taste there's a pleasant taste in that. What it means is the shambles of the Bush presidency was all our fault. We, the public, got it wrong. We misled the poor unfortunate Dubya into populist measures.

No: it doesn't work, does it? How can two hypothetical antinomies be reconciled? -- the disconnect of the Dubya government from its electorate versus unreasonable popular demands for sub-prime mortagages and federal bail-outs. No mention of Lehmann Brothers, which must count as the worst call in recent times.

So, welcome back the Billy Bennett memorial choir...

Led by their star soloist and Ricky Gervais lookalike, Mister Ross Gregory Dothat ...
Everybody knows me, Dr. Goosegrease, M.D.
All the best paying patients, I've got 'em.
Harley Street's my abode, No. 6 down the road,
No. 9 if you start from the bottom.

All your doctors are saps - all excepting me, p'raps,
And I speak without swank or bravado.
I've taken the place of the late Dr. Grace,
Doctor Crippen, and Doctor Barnardo ...

Sphere: Related Content

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Roarin’ out of Harlan,
Revvin’ up his mill
,
He shot the gap at Cumberland,
And screamed by Maynordsville


No, let's ignore Robert Mitchum from 1958, and start with 1624, and Captain John Smith, of Pocahontas fame. Smith was a devious and unreliable bugger. He got many things spot on, though, including:
... as Geography without History seemeth a carkasse without motion, so History without Geography, wandreth as a Vagrant without a certaine habitation.
That is a truism; and googling "influence of geography on history" will produce a thorough time-line of the concept, all the way back to Strabo and Claudius Ptolomy.

If there is one place in the modern United States where geography and history collide, it has to be 1600 feet up in the Appalachians, where Virginia debouches onto Tennessee and Kentucky. Nancy Kriplen is saying just that in this week's New York Times travel section. That article prompted these thoughts from Malcolm.

Across the second great divide

The width of the Atlantic was the first barrier, both physical and psychological. Then the English colonies found themselves chained in by the Appalachian mountains. In 1750 Doctor Thomas Walker followed an animal track and Indian path which opened a route across the mountains, which he named Cumberland Gap.

While one key moment in 1776 decided the former Colonies' political destiny, another in March 1775 was crucial in determining culture and ethos. That was when Daniel Boone led 30 pioneers across Cumberland Gap to establish a settlement at Boonesborough. It was when the former colonials broke the barrier of the Appalachians, and became set on a "manifest destiny'" stretching from "from sea to shining sea." Mountain-men set about moving the frontier ever westward, and French and Spanish, who coveted and claimed the interior, didn't stand a chance thereafter.

Boone (right, aged 70: the only image from life) had been recruited as a guide by Colonel Richard Henderson, founder of the Transylvania Company. The place-names alone tell a story. Dr Walker had named "Cumberland Gap", patriotically, for "Butcher" Cumberland, George II's younger son and Whig hero who had suppressed the Jacobite rebellion. "Boonesborough" is a clearly named on the pattern of all of those bawns the Presbyterian Scots established across Ulster, who transferred the coinage to their new plantations across the Appalachians. For, in Boone's footsteps, came between one and two hundred thousand Ulstermen and their womenfolk.

Daniel Boone, despite some claims to the contrary, was not of Ulster stock. Boones had arrived with a contingent of (mainly) Catholic gentry on board The Ark and the Dove in 1633, to provide one basis of the Maryland colony. Daniel Boone, though, was the fourth son (and sixth child) of Squire Boone (born near Exeter, Devon, who emigrated in 1717) and Sarah Morgan (of a Welsh Quaker family). Perhaps we should not tell the UDA of that, for Abbot Gardens in Newtownards, in the County Down, has (or, until recently, had) a fine mural of Daniel Boone, on horseback, with his monogrammed rifle, depicted as he:
Led the Ulster-Scots Pioneers into Kentucky.
The mural's concept, including the fetchingly-represented brown-and-white hound, is doubtless borrowed from George Caleb Bingham's version (at the head of this blog entry).

Among those early Scots-Irish pioneers would have been Partons. Their scion, born at Sevierville, Tennessee, is Dolly Rebecca, "the Queen of Country Music". She'll make a token appearance here in a moment.

Keep travelling

Take I-75 south from Boonesborough. After a couple of hours one is in Tennessee. Come off I-75 at exit 122, and head for Clinton. Not far beyond Clinton is Oak Ridge, Tennessee. 150 miles from Boonesborough.

Another bit of Appalachia where history and geography collide.

When France was occupied in 1940, 31 tons of uranium ore, from the Belgian Congo, property of Union Minière, was secreted in the arsenal at Toulouse. The American liberators, and in particular Lt-Col Boris T. Pash, sent it to Oak Ridge. By early 1945 the top-secret Clinton Engineer Works, which General Leslie Groves had built at Oak Ridge, as part of the Manhattan Project, was refining it into the 42kg of U-235 that would destroy Hiroshima. Oak Ridge (which didn't formally exist until post-war) remains a centre for US nuclear and security work. There, too, the American people crossed a great divide.

Pigeon Forge

And Dolly Parton? Definitely not "a carkasse without motion".

If you'd stayed on I-75, switched to TN-66, you'd have found Dollywood, Ms Parton's own theme-park.

And, according to some reports, nowhere near as tacky as it sounds.


Sphere: Related Content

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Dr Titania and sizism

The news-day started badly, all doom and gloom, with that previous post. Can the American judicial Right be that stupid? Have these great jurists (as designated by Republican Presidents and their Congress) never heard of Frédéric Bastiat, whose maxim was that the law was not there to ordain justice, but to prevent injustice? --
Can the law -- which necessarily requires the use of force -- rationally be used for anything except protecting the rights of everyone?
Yet, in the legal murder machine of the Great State of Texas, the law goes home for R&R at 4.45 each night. Two years on, the [London] Times catches up with it.

To more cheering matters

Home again, after a day travelling out to one of the nicest country pubs he's seen in a while (of which more anon, perhaps on the other channel), and back to the New York Times for something different and uplifting. How can anyone with a soul not be grabbed by this as an opener? -- :

During my recent trip to the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, I stopped for a while in front of a glass case of small mammals. I felt a pang as I looked at the “edible dormouse” — it’s got to be bad news to have “edible” as part of your name.

But the animal that really captivated me was the pygmy shrew. It was tiny! Smaller than my little finger. It weighs only a few grams (less than a quarter of an ounce), and is smaller than some insects.
Olivia Judson then proceeds to note that the tiny pygmy shrew and the blue whale (over 30m in length and well into three figures of tonnage) are both mammals. She then wonders:
While we know quite a bit about the forces that cause animals to change size, we know rather little about how an animal’s body “knows” what size it is supposed to be.
It is a nicely-written, intelligent piece. Even the subsequent 70-odd (and growing) list of comments are, on the whole, thoughtful and provocative. Sphere: Related Content
A dead cert and conservative "justice"
The Court's Duty
The Supreme Court should make clear that the Constitution prohibits the execution of death row inmates who can produce convincing evidence that they are innocent.
Addressing both sides of the argument, and using not more than one side of the page, discuss the statement above.

For more, see the source article at today's New York Times.

Ghouls, not wishing to undertake the main task, might consider, from the same source, the following:
Justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas dismissed the idea that the courts have a duty to ensure that they are not putting an innocent man to death.
Sphere: Related Content

Saturday, July 18, 2009

The Gray Lady goes on a pub crawl

Phone call from Number One daughter in the former Colony: had Malcolm seen today's New York Times? Yes, he had (on line, anyway), and he knew what had caught her attention.

A was a piece by Henry Shukman on the pubs of:
a corner of the northeast Cotswolds where I misspent my youth, an area littered with picturesque towns and villages, and studded — as I remembered it — with lovely pubs.
He then rattles off a sequence of pubs, mainly tied houses of the Hook Norton Brewery. They are (with Malcolm's passing thoughts):
  • the Chequers in Chipping Norton (that's a Fuller's house, so expect London Pride and ESB);
  • the Red Lion, also in Chipping Norton (it's in Albion Street, and a decent local);
  • the Sun (about which there are, ahem, mixed reports) and the Pear Tree (effectively, the brewery tap: good beer, good place) in Hook Norton itself;
  • the Plough in Kingham (a pretentious gastro-pub, boasting its Michelin star)
  • the Falkland Arms in Great Tew (thatched and be-creepered exterior; oak beams, flagstones and inglenook fireplace within -- a place that makes the effort, and is worth finding); and
  • the King's Head in Bledington (set back from the village green, another of those picture-postcard pubs).
Malcolm defers to nobody in his liking for Old Hooky (4.6% ABV), but he finds that choice of hostelries partly perverse. His would add alternatives:
  • in Chipping Norton, the Bell in West Street, and Stones in the Market Place;
  • the Masons Arms in Swerford (between Chipping Norton and Great Tew), a gastro-pub of distinction, and in glorious countryside;
  • the Red Lion in Bloxham, on the road to Banbury; another Fuller's house: in good weather, watch the stream run through the garden, else a two-bar interior;
  • the Tite Inn at Chadlington, another one with superb views and a decent restaurant, just a couple of miles out of Chipping Norton;
  • and so on.
Fortunately, in the Cotswolds there's enough back-roads, villages and pubs to allow one to avoid the sweltering hordes.

There is more than a grain of truth in Shukman's gloom:
Closing at something like a rate of more than three a day, pubs have become scarce enough that for the first time since the Domesday Book, more than half the villages in England no longer have one. It’s a rare pub that still thrives, or even limps on, by being what it was meant to be: a drinking establishment.
Well, we cannot be sure about the pub-density in 1086, but change is happening. We can blame that on cheap alcohol at the supermarket, on the changing social habits, or whatever we like. Many pubs are adapting (they always have): either by becoming "sports bars" (Murdoch's monopoly of big sporting events, especially football, being the main accelerator there) or by becoming much more family-friendly and food-orientated. The developments, then, may not be entirely negative.

One can still locate what is purely "a drinking establishment", if one must. That's one of those grim establishments where a handful of old sods, dog at feet, each sat in his own corner, chewing a pipe, silent and morose: only the death-watch beetle broke the silence. Malcolm's experience is that such places always were the exception rather than the rule. Sphere: Related Content

Friday, May 22, 2009

Welcome back, Jack McEvoy!

It's the art of serendipity. Pick up a book, get hooked.

That happened to Malcolm, over a decade ago, with Michael Connelly's The Poet. Fairly early on, Malcolm recognised he was not scanning through yet another teccie or thriller, but thoroughly reading a real honest-to-goodness Novel.

And The Poet (along with Connelly's "Harry Bosch" sequence) is as much of a respectable novel, worthily placed on those elevated shelves marked "Literature", as are the "teccies" of Charles Dickens (think Inspector Bucket's pursuit of Lady Dedlock in Bleak House) or of Wilkie Collins.

This weekend, Marilyn Stasio, for the the New York Times Sunday Book Review is noting the return of the protagonist, Jack McEvoy, from The Poet in Connelly's latest, The Scarecrow.

Stasio's preview suggests a wider dimension. McEvoy is about to be made redundant by the LA Times. He desperately needs to crack the new case to keep his job, and to keep his personal respect. There is the frequent plot-device in a Connelly work: the time limit. As Stasio has it:
Connelly, who has the nerve and timing of a whole SWAT team, gives Jack two weeks to find the creep who’s been raping and killing attractive long-legged women and dumping their remains in car trunks — if his young replacement doesn’t beat him to the story. But this ambitious upstart is too lovely and leggy for her own good, and the smart money’s on Jack. To make the story sexier, Jack picks up a partner — Rachel Walling, the supersmart FBI agent who jeopardized her career for him in “The Poet.” These two follow the Internet trail of identity theft, pornography Web sites, electronic surveillance and industrial sabotage right to its source, a vast data processing and storage operation known as “the farm” and protected by a certain mastermind known as the Scarecrow.
Malcolm notices this is not just a "story", a narrative, it is also a reflection on the days in which we live.

Newspapers are closing. The Seattle Post-Intelligencer died, at least in its printed form, last St Patrick's Day. The San Francisco Chronicle may yet go the same way. The LA Times is in a state of flux: last year 250 jobs were cut; and the paper lost 15% of its pages; this year the cover price rose by half. Yet this is one of the great newspapers of America, arguably about the only one capable of standing comparison with the Gray Lady and the WaPo.

So, as Stasio summarises:
... the damage done by this electronically savvy killer is nothing compared with the slaughter of the nation’s newspapers, which Connelly compresses into the grim fight for life going on at The Los Angeles Times. Once “the best place in the world to work” but now “an intellectual ghost town,” its ominously quiet newsroom is the harbinger of a time when there will be no eyes left to watch the nation or voices to sound an alarm. “In many ways,” Jack says in his chilling requiem for the industry, “I was relieved that I would not be around to see it.”
That review-column is poignantly entitled Mourning Paper.

Malcolm already has Connelly's book for collection tomorrow (it published in the UK on 12th May, but had not appeared in Malcolm's local book-shop last week-end).

But, first, to finish the Susanna Gregory, which has sat beside Malcolm's bed this last month. Sphere: Related Content

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Whodunnit?
W
ho do we finger for the Crisis?

The New York Times is more than a newspaper: it is a Tardis. It expands in all dimensions, particularly at the weekends.

One 0f its delights, much missed by Malcolm in London, is the Magazine section. It is what the Sunday Times in Britain would dearly aspire to; but still, even after the latest revamp, distinctly lacks. The Sunday Morning Moan, of course, is too obsessed with its own self-importance, being unremittingly snide and exploitative of suggestive images (today's gratuitous nude is in the Culture section, linked to a review of a book by -- wait for it! -- Cocks).

The original, all the way from Eighth and 40th, owes quite a bit of its DNA (though, fortunately, not its ideology) to the likes of Henry Luce's Life. It regularly contains pieces that are too long, too extensive, too cerebral, too dependent on illustration to fit neatly into the broadsheet.

To the point, Malcolm!

This week it contains an extensive essay, The Big Fix, by David Leonhardt, on the US government and financial crisis.

Malcolm has no intention here of doing a précis of its 7,800 words: everyone worth a grain of salt will read the original for themselves. They will be amply rewarded by some perceptive insights. For one example (and this, surely, is the answer to the Cameroonies and their infantile billboards):
When the war ended, the federal government’s debt equaled 120 percent of the gross domestic product (more than twice as high as its likely level by the end of next year). The rapid economic growth of the 1950s and ’60s — more than 4 percent a year, compared with 2.5 percent in this decade — quickly whittled that debt away. Over the coming 25 years, if growth could be lifted by just one-tenth of a percentage point a year, the extra tax revenue would completely pay for an $800 billion stimulus package.
And that's only from the first page.

But the finger, Malcolm! Where to point the finger!

Well, it's hidden toward the end of the second section of Leonhardt's essay:
A crisis changes the dynamic. It’s an opportunity to do things you could not do before.

England’s crisis was the Winter of Discontent, in 1978-79, when strikes paralyzed the country and many public services shut down. The resulting furor helped elect Margaret Thatcher as prime minister and allowed her to sweep away some of the old economic order. Her laissez-faire reforms were flawed in some important ways — taken to an extreme, they helped create the current financial crisis — and they weren’t the only reason for England’s turnaround. But they made a difference. In the 30 years since her election, England has grown faster than Germany or Japan.
Yeah, well: Leonhadt is stronger on economics than politically-correct geography.

You got that, didn't you, Iain Dale, Montgomerie and gutter-mouthed Staines?

It was she what done it.

Hilda Margaret Peacock, in the Treasury china-shop, with a sledge-hammer. Sphere: Related Content

Sunday, August 31, 2008


How convenient of Gustav

This, of course, is Gustav V (his four forebears were in 1984, 1990, 1996 and 2002: the coincidence with even -numbered years is because male and female names alternate in precedence). All Gustavs to date seems to have been mostly harmless.

Gustav V's prime achievement so far is denying George W Bush an opportunity to show up at St Paul's Xcel Energy Center for his successor's coronation. Probably that is to the relief of all persons concerned.

Peter Baker, for the magazine section of this weekend's New York Times (from where the telling cartoon above also came, one of a telling sequence by R. Kikuo Johnson) wrote a long piece which sets out the tortured relationship between Bush and McCain, claiming the two men have not spoken since May:
Eight years after their epic Republican primary battle of 2000, the first-place finisher desperately needs the second-place finisher to win in order to validate his own legacy. And the runner-up now finds himself saddled with the baggage of a man he never much liked to begin with, forced to live with a record he personally considers deeply lacking and portrayed as if he were a clone of his longtime adversary. As John Weaver, McCain’s former chief strategist told me, “I’m sure McCain is thinking, Is Bush going to beat me twice?"

Anxious denizens of Bushworld worry that McCain will beat himself and in the process take down their best chance for deliverance when it comes to the verdict of history.
The article then considers at length what Bush's legacy will be: about which Baker is surprisingly positive. Then he addresses McCain's problems with Bush, before winding up by considering how Bush is increasingly regarded as irrelevant: the media caravan has moved on; and the dogs are barking elsewhere.

The essay is worth the reading. Even if it offers little validation of what it purports to describe.

Far more fun is Maureen Dowd.

In today's Times she is going on "a vacuously spunky and generically sassy chick flick" fantasy, and using her stilettos to puncture Sarah Palin's "black go-go boots":

The legacy of Geraldine Ferraro was supposed to be that no one would ever go on a blind date with history again. But that crazy maverick and gambler McCain does it, and conservatives and evangelicals rally around him in admiration of his refreshingly cynical choice of Sarah, an evangelical Protestant and anti-abortion crusader who became a hero when she decided to have her baby, who has Down syndrome, and when she urged schools to debate creationism as well as that stuffy old evolution thing.

Palinistas, as they are called, love Sarah’s spunky, relentlessly quirky “Northern Exposure” story from being a Miss Alaska runner-up, and winning Miss Congeniality, to being mayor and hockey mom in Wasilla, a rural Alaskan town of 6,715, to being governor for two years to being the first woman ever to run on a national Republican ticket. (Why do men only pick women as running mates when they need a Hail Mary pass? It’s a little insulting.)

Now that's writing.

Sphere: Related Content

Monday, August 18, 2008

Of blogs and bosoms
Hear me now, oh, the bleak and unbearable world:
Thou art base and debauched as can be
And a knight with his banner all bravely unfurled
Now hurls down his gauntlet to thee!
His nearest-and-dearest mock him for it. Even the most "successful" (that is: brash, pushy, meretricious and mercenary) of the local blog-artists have taken the time vulgarly to abuse him for it.

He ploughs his solitary furrow regardless.

He has never, even to himself, fully described what he aims to do.
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go.
To dream, in hope of doing: that is the point. Entirely and only to his own satisfaction, for he is his own most demanding critic.

Then he sees an example and expostulates, as his sixth-form history-teacher would to a correct answer, like an Archimedes brought to Dublin: "That's it! That's it!".

And all is, for the moment, made clear.

Thus Malcolm, through a the end of a bottle of burgundy, darkly.

Item: Stanley Fish

Stanley has been at, with, and through half the American Universities of worth (sometimes, it seems, simultaneously): UPenn, Yale, Berkeley, Johns Hopkins, Duke, Chicago, to arrive at FIU. He is one of those scholars that other wannabes now write their theses about.

He has pulpits in
half the liberal trendy publications of North America; but, for Malcolm, chiefly via the New York Times.

Today, Stanley is lauding the great sex-symbols of his youth:
... two of the most erotic moments one can find on film feature no nudity and bodies just touching.
They are:
  • the 1951 A Place in the Sun, [which] pairs a ravishing 18-year-old Elizabeth Taylor with Montgomery Clift
and
  • 1955’s Picnic, [where] the sparks fly between Kim Novak, then 22, and William Holden.
Steady, Stanley!

Let's clear up any ... err ... ambiguities here:
  • A 30-odd year old bisexual (to be generous), hitting on teenage Liz?
  • A 37-year old Holden, who had been Ronnie Reagan's best man, appreciating Kim's impressive cleavage?
Yeah: well.

The rest of this worthy essay is a defence of Novak as an actress and zeitgeist. Fish's conclusion is:
“that kind of image” — of the inwardly fragile beauty dependent on the men who wish only to possess her — was no longer what the movie-going public was looking for after the early ‘60s, and that model of female behavior has not come into favor again (although Scarlett Johansson comes close to reviving it in some of her movies, especially Woody Allen’s “Match Point”). But however retrograde it may be, that role was performed to perfection by Kim Novak, who, after all these years, can still break your heart.
Ahem ... say no more.

Malcolm found this piece a fair example of what he, himself, would like regularly to achieve: a piece of candy-floss spun into something of substance. Here we have a good holiday frisk for a mid-August frolic, but with a hard edge to it.

Allowing for Stanley's more advanced age, Malcolm's own prejudice might tend to embrace those great Thespians, Tuesday Weld and the late Sandra Dee (which adjective makes Malcolm feel antique).

Oh dear, a preference for blondes.

Still, let's not tell Malcolm's dark lady of all these years.

There is a serious point lurking somewhere here.

A large number of our prejudices are formed very early in our lives, and that's not merely the (attributed) Jesuit dogma.

Our sporting allegiance is certainly likely to be cemented in our early teens (hence Malcolm's regular Sunday morning rendezvous with the doings of Norwich City). The fantasy female (or whatever way one wags) follows soon after.

So, where do we acquire our social idealism?
And the world will be better for this
That one man scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star.

Sphere: Related Content

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Economics? Not needed on voyage!

Malcolm suggests, swallow hard and read this:
White House Predicts $482 Billion Deficit
By ROBERT PEAR and DAVID M. HERSZENHORN
The White House predicted that President Bush would leave a
record $482 billion deficit to his successor, a turnabout
in the nation's fiscal condition from 2001.
..................

Candidates Return Focus to Economy and Jobs
By LARRY ROHTER
As the candidates emphasized bread-and-butter issues, John
McCain's surrogates attacked Barack Obama's meeting with
prominent economists.
Straight, two successive tasters, from the morning's email of New York Times headlines.

It will need a very large intake of coffee before Malcolm feels strong enough to read the small print. Doubtless the detail is not so contradictory as the headline.

Even for an economy the size of the US, a deficit of that size suggests counselling by trauma-therapists as well as mere economists.

It begins to look like déjà-vu all over again:
send for the liberal tax-and-spenders to clean up the mess left by the conservative balanced-budgeters
(as with the FDR, Carter and Clinton Presidencies; and the incoming Blair-Brown government in Britain).

Still, it raises the question:
Can conservatives be trusted with the economy?

Sphere: Related Content

Friday, September 14, 2007

Coming to terms: six years on
(and seventeen months of Bush still to go)

Malcolm freely admits he is still trying to get a perspective on the madness of these last six years.

The event

He arrived home mid-late afternoon, that Tuesday. Before he was into the house, his wife called out that his daughter was safe. Why? What?

All television channels were rolling the news feed: the smoke and horror of Manhattan, three thousand miles away and five hours time difference.

His daughter should have been going into work in one of the buildings which subsequently collapsed. She should have arrived at the World Trade Center by the PATH link from Hoboken. (Until now, Malcolm had thought that meant "Passage under the Hudson". He now sees it means "Port Authority Trans-Hudson" Corporation.)

What saved the daughter was the baby, just a few months old, and needing to be delivered to the day-care facility. He had filled his nappy, twice, so she had missed two trains. As a result, and somewhat flustered, she pulled in very late at Hoboken to be told that the PATH was not operating, and that everyone should go home. Hoboken station is right on the waterside, and the plume of black smoke just across the river was only too obvious.

Cell-phones were not working, partly because of the consumer overload, partly because of deliberate official intervention, and partly because the aerials on top of the WTC had been taken out. Her husband was in Dallas, Texas, at a conference. She could not contact him. By some strange dispensation she was able to phone London. So a strange bouncing of messages took place. She phoned London. London phoned the husband's sister in Los Angeles. She phoned Dallas. And vice versa. And for some time.

The husband, and three New York colleagues, rented a car (the only transportation available, remember) and drove, non-stop, from Dallas to New York: thirty hours, 1550 miles. They were not the only ones.

The daughter assumed that the rest of her team, for whom she felt responsible, could be under the rubble: in fact all were safe, but she would not know that for two days. Other members of her company, with whom she had worked, were on American Airlines flight 77.

That evening, the 9th September, she eventually arrived back at her hometown, and collected the baby from day-care. Later she discovered that the nursery helpers, way past their usual hours, were still caring for two uncollected children. Learning that, she says, was the moment it all closed in on her.

The consequences

Perhaps those subjective recollections were what clouded Malcolm's objective judgments. Or perhaps he merely went with the flow.

The deposing of a fascist dictator is a good thing, yes? And Saddam Hussein and his Baathist régime were a blood-bespattered lot, who had consciously moulded their structures and methods on the Nazi example.

There was, and is, clear and incontrovertible evidence that Saddam's Iraq was a military threat, that it had invaded its neighbours, and deliberately and earnestly sought weapons of mass destruction. Nay-sayers should refer to the Supergun Affair, and recognise that Saddam did initiate both nuclear weapons and biological weapons programmes. What the US and UK did not know (because the Iraqi totalitarianism was so opaque) was that these had not been sustainable.

So far, so ...

Malcolm is still not sure whether he would not repeat his acceptance of the military option.

Organising the aftermath

When the American and British forces crossed the Rhine in 1945, and brought about the collapse of the Third Reich, what happened next (at least in the Western Zones of Occupation) was well rehearsed.

The US Army had some practical experience: they had administered Mexico in 1847-8, the former Confederacy after 1865, the Philippines, Puerto Rico and Cuba after the Spanish-American War, and the Rhineland after World War I. From this experience, a committee in the War College in 1939-40 had actually produced a manual on administering occupied territory.

Nor were the British, having run an empire, any further behind.

As early as the beginning of 1941 the Intelligence Training Centre of the War Office began courses at St John's College, Cambridge, "to train officers in postwar reconstruction and other missions incident to military operations in foreign countries".

Some fifty months later the investment paid off. And three years after that, a new, dynamic and democratic Federal Republic of Germany was up-and-running. And after that came the Wirtschaftswunder.

Anyone who wants to get into this period, in Malcolm's view, should start with the fiction and romance, and then work back to the history. Leon Uris creamed the popular market with the near-weepie Armageddon, published in 1963, but covering the period from the mid-1940s to the Berlin Airlift. Still available (if only on the second-hand market), still as good as any other historical thriller. For a less emotive, more satisfying read, then it's John le Carré, including his impression of Bonn as A Small Town in Germany. In passing, for Malcolm, Len Deighton (especially the historical reconstructions Bomber and Fighter, and the marvellous Bernard Samson series) trumps le Carré every time. Philip Kerr's revived Bernie Gunther (of whom, doubtless, more anon) also catches the mood.

Au suivant!

And then ...

A briefing paper prepared for British Prime Minister Tony Blair and his top advisers eight months before the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq concluded that the U.S. military was not preparing adequately for what the British memo predicted would be a "protracted and costly" postwar occupation of that country.

... the memo "Iraq: Conditions for Military Action" notes that U.S. "military planning for action against Iraq is proceeding apace," but adds that "little thought" has been given to, among other things, "the aftermath and how to shape it."

Who is thereby seen to be derelict of their duty? Who should be held responsible?

Clearly the American authorities bulldozed their way through (and apparently without) any contingency planning. That implies we can no longer trust the Pentagon's forward planning (including that of General Petraeus, just this last week) until they prove themselves and their judgments to the contrary.

Equally, the UK systems, under the new Prime Minister, need to be more wary, more transparent, more credible and less credulous in their actions and interpretation of American initiatives.

And now...

A wholesale stream of "I told you so" confessions and self-exculpations are being loosed on the public. As token of that, by courtesy of the New York Times Book Update, Malcolm receives notice of The Terror Presidency (a nice, ambiguous title, that) by Jack Goldsmith. Malcolm regards the New York Times Sunday edition (which arrives in umpteen sections over two days), of which the book section is just one part, one of the journalistic delights of the world. It makes our domestic Sunday Times seem small beer.

Goldsmith was for just nine months, from the autumn of 2003, head of the Office of Legal Counsel (OLC) in the US Justice Department. As such he was, effectively, the main scrutineer of legal opinion on the actions of the Presidency.

Goldsmith was a conservative republican loyalist, and got his job on that basis. Even so he found the White House's shenanigans unacceptable. Here's he lays out his stall:
I was briefed on some of the most sensitive counterterrorism operations in the government. Each of these operations was supported by OLC opinions written by my predecessors. As I absorbed the opinions, I concluded that some were deeply flawed: sloppily written, overbroad, and incautious in asserting extraordinary constitutional authorities on behalf of the President. I was astonished, and immensely worried, to discover that some of our most important counterterrorism policies rested on severely damaged legal foundations.
Goldsmith puts that, and himself, in a very specific, significant and physical context: sitting under the framed photograph of a predecessor, Elliot Richardson. Richardson had been ordered by Nixon to sack the Special Prosecutor, Archibald Cox (and so frustrate further investigation into Watergate): Richardson had refused, and honourably resigned.

The New York Times reviewer, Michiko Kakutani, says:
The portrait of the Bush administration that Mr. Goldsmith — who resigned from the Office of Legal Counsel in June 2004, only nine months after assuming the post — draws in this book is a devastating one. It is a portrait of a highly insular White House obsessively focused on expanding presidential power and loathe to consult with Congress, a White House that frequently made up its mind about a course of action before consulting with experts, a White House that sidelined Congress in its policymaking and willfully pursued a “go-it-alone approach” based on “minimal deliberation, unilateral action, and legalistic defense.”
Malcolm sees a sad truth in that; it tells us nothing new. It reinforces all that we felt, and feared about the Bush/Cheney Administration.

For Malcolm, that leaves three areas of questions:
  • How many more of these "revelations" are to come from other White House defectors and discards? Can this Prsidency be besmirched any further? Will this one emerge as the most discredited Presidency of modern times? Or of all time?
  • How can the next Presidency clean the Augean stables, rebuild a relationship with the people (not just the American people, but those of the entire US sphere of influence) and live, like every previous President had to, eventually, within and under the Law? And when will the Supreme Court scent the wind, assert itself, and regain its pre-eminent position in the tripartite system?
  • Can we wait that long?
Sphere: Related Content
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