J. M. W. Turner

I don’t allow myself much free reading, as such. There is usually an agenda. Most of my reading falls in the general category of “work”: philosophy, history, etc. I guess trashing “Gatsby” was an indulgence, but it is after all a work of literature, and I need to stay sharp in that area, too.

Anthony Bailey’s biography of painter J. M. W. Turner is just something for fun. I’ve been wanting to do a Turner biography for some time. And now that I’m heading to London later this year to look at his and Constable’s paintings, it seemed worthwhile to get a Turner bio under my belt.

Bailey’s biography is a feat of scholarly investigation. I doubt we will be receive a more detailed biography on Turner ever. He seems to have read every receipt, letter, and ledger featuring Turner’s name. It is an unbelievable achievement.

One detail I learned that I simply relish is that the young Turner, whose brilliance emerged quite early, drew chickens and barnyard animals on walls in his youth. So, Turner was for a time a graffiti artist. I love this.

The Great Gatsby

As I suspected, the reputed great American novel, The Great Gatsby, gave me a headache. Beloved by readers for a hundred years and read by high school students the country over, this so-called literary masterpiece I found to be vapid at its best moments.

The characters are unlikable. They are, as a group, entitled, privileged, bigoted, self-indulgent, and intellectually inert. At one small gathering, one of the characters mentions a book, The Rise of the Colored Empires, which warns the White West about the rise of non-White cultures. White culture should be on its guard. Another character replies, “We’ve got to beat them down.” The White race, the thinking goes, needs to beat down the non-White races.

 
Speaking of beating people down, the character who enthuses about this “scientific” book later breaks his mistress’s nose. Think about that phrase. This happens like someone sipped a drink.

 
This character again (Tom), vents his White supremacy when he discovers his wife is having an affair—it’s hard to feel sorry for a fella who has a mistress (one whose nose he’s broken):

 

Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions and next they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.

These occurrences pass without comment. Are we supposed to look past them? Is Fitzgerald showing his hand? It’s art, and therefore it’s up to us? The artist gets a pass?

So, these are the kinds of people you encounter in The Great Gatsby. The narrator, Nick Carraway, doesn’t offend; he’s just blank. And Gatsby is remarkably unremarkable. I didn’t see anything great in him. He’s presented as this mysterious Dracula kind of character, but when you meet him, he’s normal to the point of boring.

 
This novel is supposed to invite analysis and/or discussion of capitalism and the American dream. It does neither. I do not see what this novel has to do with either one. Amassing a fortune—or inheriting one—is supposed to invite analysis? And the American dream was about the lower and middle classes moving up from where their parents resided on the social ladder. The American dream is not about whether you have cleaned your pool or not this season.

 
I think the attraction is Fitzgerald’s poetics—which I found mostly annoying—and the aesthetic of people in seersucker suits attending extravagant parties. When men were men. When people drank whiskey and smoked. And who doesn’t love the fetishization of wealth? Maybe this is why this novel is so popular: We just want to attend these stupid parties.

And what does the green light mean? I couldn't care less.

 

Turner and Constable

Kate hit me with this last night. Two of my favorite painters in one major exhibit. We might have to do this.

I said as long as we can have dinner (dinners) at Fergus Henderson’s St. John restaurant. I’m not crazy about traveling in my current state, but for my dudes, parsnip soup, and roasted bone marrow, I’ll get on an airplane. And an order of rabbit offal, thank you. I will be in heaven. Ooh, and the roast partridge!

https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/turner-and-constable

COVID and the Russian Revolution

If there is anything in the plus column for having COVID, it’s that you get a lot of downtime to yourself. This creates an ideal opportunity to get some quality reading in.

I have had seven vaccine shots for the Coronavirus; but they say this will stand me in good stead regarding symptoms. So far, it’s been a nasty cold: sore throat, painful coughing, etc.

Perhaps I was a war criminal in a previous life, and had entire villages exterminated. Thank you, Field Marshal Harms.

So, my friend Michael pulled through with a book suggestion on the Russian Revolution, by historian Sheila Fitzpatrick. It is the perfect level of detail I was looking for. I’m giving it a slow, careful read. (You’ve read it, McFerron??)

This chapter in history I find quite fascinating. It set up what became the Cold War, and it ratcheted into place the Adam Smith vs. Karl Marx nonsense. Noam Chomsky has pointed out that both dominant ideological centers agreed that what Russia was doing was communism. It was not. And when the Soviet system collapsed, Chomsky was quick to point out that it was a great victory for socialism. Agreed.

You have seen countless Cold War movies and spy thrillers. They are fun to watch; but they’re all wrong. Yes, the Cold War was real, but the way the Kremlin is painted, as this evil Mordor-type entity, is difficult to take seriously.

Lenin and company conducted more of a coup than a revolution. And it was not at all what Marx had in mind: an intellectual vanguard creating a single-party tyranny in feudal Russia? [wrong answer buzzer]

So, if you pray, could you put in a good word for me? I’ll be here, next to my space heater, book worming, and overdoing it on coughdrops.

2025 is off to a great start. If I see 2026, I shall be well impressed.

www.amazon.com/Russian-Revolution-Sheila-Fitzpatrick/dp/0198806701/

Russian Revolution

 

Malcolm X

I really enjoyed the Autobiography of Malcolm X; I would recommend it to anyone.

The first half is a rundown of his Boston and Harlem days, where he spent his time, um, questionably. He was involved in all manner of deviant and delinquent behaviors: numbers running, bootlegging, hustling, gun-toting, robbery, drug-dealing, and so on. He checks about every box. It’s a wonder he never killed anyone during these years—or vice-versa—but it got close a couple of times. The amount of booze, drugs, and smoking is staggering—for him literally.

Unsurprisingly, he ends up in prison. He notes that the justice system seemed more interested in the fact that he was keeping the company of White women than his actual crimes.

In prison, Malcolm rigorously educated himself. He copied the dictionary because he could not read the books he needed to for lack of vocabulary. So, he started with the A’s and did the whole dictionary. Now with his vocabulary sufficiently expanded, he took to reading books for about fifteen hours a day. I’m sorry, but that is hard core and has my immense respect.

The next number of chapters are about his involvement with the Nation of Islam and its leader, Elijah Muhammad. These chapters are somewhat tiresome. I have nicknamed the Nation of Islam the “Notion of Islam.” It’s not Islam. They pray to Allah and do not eat pork; the similarities basically stop there. The Nation was (is) basically a cult then led by Elijah Muhammad, with whom Malcolm X broke in 1963. Muhammad, it was revealed, had produced multiple children with two twenty-something secretaries. Malcolm felt and looked like a fool.

The Nation peddled absurd metaphysical theories such as a cosmic scientist who created the “white devil” race to sew global chaos. I wish to be clear: I am not offended or insulted or sensitive to the use of the term “white devil.” I get the sentiment and what drove it as I’m well familiar with what Black Americans have suffered in this country over the centuries—I get it. I just find such mysticism ridiculous. If your goal is to liberate people, peddling fantasies seems to be counterproductive.

The Nation did some good social works (e.g. working with addicts) and that must be acknowledged. But I cannot say I agree with their separatism. The Nation took the position that Black America should disassociate from White America, perhaps in their own territory. (This isn’t quite Garveyism, but it’s close.) I tend to side with Dr. King and view integration as more beneficial. Though, Malcolm’s critical thoughts on this in chapter 15 are compelling.

In spring 1964, Malcolm made his pilgrimage to Mecca. Called the Hajj, it was here that Malcolm encountered true Islam and was profoundly impacted by his experiences. When asked what impressed him most about the Hajj, Malcolm replied, “The brotherhood! The people of all races, colors from all over the world coming together as one! … My pilgrimage broadened my scope.” (p. 345, 369) 

In the last chapter, Malcolm captures his new mindset. I rather liked this:

The first thing I tell them [well-meaning Whites] is that at least where my own particular Black Nationalist organization, the Organization of Afro-American Unity, is concerned, they can’t join us. I have these very deep feelings that white people who want to join black organizations are really just taking the escapist way to salve their consciences. By visibly hovering near us. They are “proving” that they are “with” us. But the hard truth is this isn’t helping to solve America’s race problem. The Negroes aren’t the racists. Where the really sincere white people have got to do their “proving” of themselves is not among the black victims, but out on the battle lines of where America’s racism really is—and that’s in their own home communities; America’s racism is among their own fellow whites. That’s where the sincere Whites who really mean to accomplish something have got to work. (p. 383-4)

The end of the book is sad. He seems to know his days are numbered. The last chapter is titled “1965,” the same year he was assassinated. Malcolm X was a complex man with a complex history. He developed into an inspiring figure, one whose legacy deserves the long life he was denied.

Winter Wonderland

 WINTER WONDERLAND

So, this has been on my mind. I have a theory that the song Winter Wonderland, by Felix Bernard and Richard Bernhard Smith (1934), is about murder.

In the song, we are told:

“In the meadow we can build a snowman,

Then pretend that he is Parson Brown

He'll say: Are you married?

We'll say: No man.”

Parson Brown is a hit man. And code is exchanged, ordering the hit. He’ll say, “Are you married?” Here, Brown is inquiring about commitment level. We’ll say, “No man.” Pay particular attention to the lack of a comma in the response. “No man” is a call for the killing, resulting in “no man.”

And then Parson Brown is instructed, “You can do the job when you’re in town.” Do the job?? You tell me that means something else.

We are then told:

“Later on, we'll conspire,

As we dream by the fire

To face unafraid,

The plans that we've made.”

Here the conspirators are reflecting on their scheme, on the plans that they’ve made! And they are facing them without fear of getting caught. 

I feel the meaning here is clear. I hope this opens people’s eyes and invites a different listening experience. I felt someone should say something.

You’re welcome.