My Review of The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde

Source of book: My wife owns this book

I am at a bit of a loss to describe what this book actually is. It is a detective story of a sort. It also has elements of science fiction. It has really bad puns. It inhabits a very peculiar world that warrants exploration – but the book was too short to do it justice. It does, however, have sequels, which could be interesting.

The basic alternate reality that Fforde creates is one where the Crimean War never ended, Churchill died young, and Hitler was stopped by a powerful and ruthless corporation. England and Wales are separate countries with their own cold war. England itself has become a police state with secret agencies whose purposes are unknown, perhaps even to their agents. Yes, plural agencies, including one responsible for policing literature. In this universe, literature is taken extremely seriously. Imagine Raider fans, but with Shakespearean conspiracy theories.

The final piece of “reality” in this universe is that literature has its own literal world, and that it is possible to cross over to that world from the “real” world. If this were not already odd, it is apparently possible for mortals to alter literature if they are able to enter the world of a book through its original manuscript. Thus, if one were to kill a character of a novel, he would no longer exist in any copy of the novel thereafter.

The protagonist of this book and its sequels is Thursday Next, a rather hard boiled “LiteraTec” agent. As this description hints, this is a detective story rather in the tradition of “American” detective stories. In addition to the familiar heroine, the other elements are present. There is never really any question who committed the crime. The plot concerns the tracking and neutralization of the villain, not the solving of any mystery. This is an odd combination at first, the American detective story as written by an Englishman and set in an imaginary, dystopian England.

I try not to ruin carefully laid plots with spoilers, so I will not further describe the details of the story.

This book is the least serious book I have read this year, and I was due for a light read. Again, classification is difficult because this book doesn’t fit a well defined category. I originally argued to my wife that it also lacked a target category of reader. After all, it is best read by those who have an extensive knowledge of the English classics, a large vocabulary, and a good grasp of history. However, it also is too short and too fast paced to really be considered deep or anything more than a weekend paperback. My wife did point out that she and a few friends love Fforde, and they appear to sell reasonably well. Thus, there must be non-literary sorts that read these as well. Who knows?

I will admit that it is unfair to judge this book without reading the later books in the series, as my wife considers the sequels to be better written. What I found disappointing in this particular book is that there are a number of interesting ideas that are never developed. While we get to know Thursday Next fairly well, and get a bit of information about the villain, Acheron Hades, the rest of the characters are mere names without personalities in any true sense. Some are “expendable crewmen”, of course, but I found I could not remember most of the other characters. Okay, so the batty inventor uncle was memorable, but that’s it.

Fforde also hints at political commentary. Again, it is never truly developed, and is jettisoned as the plot picks up speed.

The strength of the book is the detective narrative itself. If Fforde had spent less time on back story, this might have been a memorable page turner for that alone. Alternately, had his word count allowed him to develop both characters and politics, this could have been a farce or satire. So, one can either sigh at what might have been, or enjoy what really is an enjoyable book that gets better as it goes on.

A caution: there is a good bit of violence and vulgarity in this book, including some rather unprintable puns. Nothing particularly shocking for the hard-boiled genre, and common in most modern novels. Fortunately, Fforde did not feel it necessary to add sex, which would have been irrelevant to the story. Don’t get me wrong: sex can be important to a narrative; but too often these days, it just distracts from a plot that was running right along fine without it.

This book was definitely not a waste of time, but also is unlikely to end up stuck in my memory like some of the others I have read recently. Take this one on vacation, or use it to escape from reality for a while. Sometimes we all need a light read.

The River War, by Winston Churchill

Source of book: I own this.

One of the interesting questions is whether Winston Churchill would have made his reputation as a man of letters, had he not chosen to serve his country as a statesman. He certainly made a significant fortune with his writings, and his later career certainly owes something to the fame and popularity brought by his books.

The River War was written in 1899, soon after the end of the conflict in the Sudan between Egypt and England, on the one side, and the forces of Abdullah Ibn-Mohammed. Churchill served in the cavalry during the conflict, and thus had personal experience of the decisive battle. However, his superiors were less than thrilled about the book, leading to a change in policy to forbid soldiers from writing about their service.

A bit of a summary of the conflict: Sudan was ruled by Egypt beginning in the early 1800s. Egypt was an ally of England, and was to a degree supported by the British military. The corrupt and oppressive Egyptian regime was resented by the Sudanese, leading to a revolt by “The Madhi”, a self proclaimed prophet of Islam, who promised independence and strict observance of Sharia Law. (This sounds vaguely familiar for some reason.) After the successful revolt and a siege of Khartoum, the Egyptians were evicted. The Madhi then died, and his successor proceeded to consolidate his power by slaughtering most of his rivals, and oppressing any other potential threats. Thus, the Egyptians were replaced by another corrupt and oppressive regime, which further had designs on “freeing” all of Egypt from the apostate form of Islam and foreign influence. Britain eventually decided that its interests were threatened by this, and supported the Egyptians in the reconquest. This occurred over the course of a few years which are the main subject of the book.

The version of the book I read is the abridged version, published in 1902. The original version was nearly twice as long. Many of Churchill’s personal experiences and nearly all of his editorializing was cut from the later version. While it would have been interesting to read these, the book remains a compelling narrative of the conflict.

First and foremost, Churchill was a simultaneously a vivid and a meticulous writer. He had a broad narrative sweep that draws the reader from one incident to another, never taking his eyes off of the destination. On the other hand, even at that young age, he had a remarkable eye for the key details of a military campaign. The ability he showed to comprehend the intricacies of the supply chain, the use of modern weapons and timeless tactics, and the psychology of a disciplined fighting force would later serve him well. Particularly excellent was his chapter on the building of the railroad that enabled the rapid transport of men, weapons, and even gunboats to the front.

In addition to the military details and narrative, Churchill was able to make the desert scenery of the Sudan come alive. The opening of the book sets the atmosphere, and throughout, it continues to add descriptions at key points.

I was also reminded again of how recently disease was a game-changing factor of basic human existence. At one point, five times as many men had died from cholera as from the wounds of war. Later, malaria renders an entire garrison (except for a handful of lucky souls) completely unfit for duty.

Churchill is also notable for his sportsman-like respect for his enemies. He has much good to say about Abdullah and his generals and other key figures on the other side. In contrast to many of his time, he views even the most “savage” of peoples to be human and have ordinary human motives. In this, he is perhaps one of the first to take the modern view of the largely rational motivations behind all except for the most depraved. Ordinary desires for freedom, power, money, glory drive all – some to their own destruction and those of thousands of others. In that sense, he is a critic of the much-abused fiction of the “Just War”. Churchill, of course, believed that it was morally acceptable to fight a war if it is of benefit to the country, without the necessity of ascribing actual evil to the other side. In fact, he believed that it would lead to casual atrocities. After all, if the other side consists of utterly vile vermin, why not torture them? The perhaps older-fashioned view of the enemy as human and even noble, even while misguided, would on the other hand lead to a more humane victory. One can only wonder at whether World War Two would have been as necessary had this view been followed in the aftermath of World War One.

Of the political opinions which survived the abridgment process are Churchill’s views on the aspirations and realities of both colonialism and religious fanaticism. Both can and often do start with noble goals, and both end in something substantially less than noble. An extended quote from the first chapter is worth the space.

What enterprise that an enlightened community may attempt is more noble and more profitable than the reclamation from barbarism of fertile regions and large populations? To give peace to warring tribes, to administer justice where all was violence, to strike the chains off the slave, to draw the richness from the soil, to plant the earliest seeds of commerce and learning, to increase in whole peoples their capacities for pleasure and diminish their chances of pain—what more beautiful ideal or more valuable reward can inspire human effort? The act is virtuous, the exercise invigorating, and the result often extremely profitable. Yet as the mind turns from the wonderful cloudland of aspiration to the ugly scaffolding of attempt and achievement, a succession of opposite ideas arises. Industrious races are displayed stinted and starved for the sake of an expensive Imperialism which they can only enjoy if they are well fed. Wild peoples, ignorant of their barbarism, callous of suffering, careless of life but tenacious of liberty, are seen to resist with fury the philanthropic invaders, and to perish in thousands before they are convinced of their mistake. The inevitable gap between conquest and dominion becomes filled with the figures of the greedy trader, the inopportune missionary, the ambitious soldier, and the lying speculator, who disquiet the minds of the conquered and excite the sordid appetites of the conquerors. And as the eye of thought rests on these sinister features, it hardly seems possible for us to believe that any fair prospect is approached by so foul a path.

The perspective of hindsight is perhaps even more bleak. After World War Two, the continent of Africa was largely freed from European domination, but the result has been brutal. In the Sudan, there has been ongoing civil war, predominantly between the Arab dominated Muslims in the north, and the Christian and Animist tribes, largely black, in the south. Sixty-five years of ongoing war, famine, and genocide. It really is depressing, and there are no easy solutions.

Perhaps then, the most lasting impression of this book is its relevance to the conflicts we face today. Is there a way to establish the rule of law in lawless and dangerous regions without become an oppressor ourselves? Is there hope for a country mired in corruption, oppression, and violence? Churchill reminds us that these issues are far from new, and are likely to continue to be an issue in the generations to come. 

A few minor related notes:

This book is remarkably brief for Churchill, at a mere 350 pages. I have previously read his 6 volume work on WWII (5000+ pages!) and The History of the English Speaking Peoples (4 volumes, 2000+ pages). Both of these are extensively available at used book stores. I found most of mine there, or in thrift stores and library sales. Both are worth reading, but are not for the faint at heart. If you do not care about wars and warfare, the WWII set will bore you to tears. However, if you are interested in that sort of thing, hearing it from the perspective of one of the main participants is priceless. Churchill was, even at that late stage, a soldier at heart, and he captures both the military and the diplomatic aspects of the war brilliantly.

The History of the English Speaking Peoples is, in my opinion, a far more interesting history of England that that found in most textbooks. While Churchill is prone to think in terms of kings and battles more than writers and ideas, his writing is so far from dull. Many a textbook writer should read this before compressing a vivid history into a dry biscuit. It’s also fun because he can’t resist giving his opinion of the military strategy of the American Civil War – a totally different view than we Americans get from our history books.

Thy Hand, Great Anarch by Nirad C. Chaudhuri

Source of book: Kern County Library

This book is the major reason I have posted fewer reviews as of late. Weighing in at nearly 1000 pages of smallish type, this is neither a light nor quick read. It is, however, a truly amazing work of non-fiction.

The best way I can find to classify this book is a hybrid of autobiography, history, and editorial. It goes even farther than Churchill’s works by digressing extensively from the narrative with commentary by the author.

Chaudhuri was born in 1897 in East Bengal, now part of Bangladesh, but then part of British India. He endured extensive bouts of poverty and unemployment as he followed his dream of earning his living through writing. He wrote for newspapers and magazines in both English and Bengali, spent a number of years as a secretary for Sarat Bose, a major figure in the Indian Nationalist movement, and later wrote for All India Radio. He burst upon the international scene with his first book, Autobiography of an Unknown Indian, in the 1950s. This book could be considered Volume One of his autobiography, with Thy Hand, Great Anarch serving as the second installment, covering his life from 1921 to 1951.

Thy Hand, Great Anarch took its title from a poem by Alexander Pope (The Dunciad) which satirizes cultural decay, ending with these lines:

            Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;

And universal Darkness buries All.

Chaudhuri wrote this book late in life – it was published in 1987 when he was nearly 90. He would live to 101, publishing his last book at age 100.

As a man, Chaudhuri makes an interesting study. He was in ill health for most of his life due to a series of childhood illnesses. He was a mere five feet tall, and freely admits his wife was bigger and stronger than he. A less imposing or less physically attractive person could hardly be imagined. However, he balanced his frail exterior with an unusually strong memory, a clear and brilliant mind which he kept to the end, a self confidence bordering on arrogance combined with a witty sense of self-deprecation.

This book is considered to be one of the best primary sources for the saga of the end of British rule in India. Chaudhuri lived through many of the important events, and knew the personalities. His portraits in this book of the poet Tagore, Sarat and Subhas Bose, Gandhi, Nehru, and others are brutally honest both as to strengths and failures. His analysis of the events and the disasters which followed were provocative at the time, and still challenge the conventional wisdom.

Uncompromising is perhaps the best word to describe Chaudhuri’s writing. He refused to even consider changing his views on anything to gain his own advantage. In reality, he was dismissed from his position with All India Radio, and even denied his pension, because of his first book. Even 35 years later in Anarch, he refused to pull punches, whether speaking about individuals, the Indian government, or even American culture. It is this quality of speaking the truth as he saw it that gives his writing its force. He states that he has rarely had to revise his opinions, because he has taken such care to never express any opinion on any subject unless he felt sure it would stand wear and tear.  Whether you agree or disagree with his conclusions, it is clear he thought them through and did his best to discard any personal bias that might have interfered.

With a book of this length and scope, it is difficult to pick only a few highlights.

First, from the introduction, he announces that much of what was written about Indian independence was blatantly partisan. Those connected with the Indian government sought to preserve their jobs and glorify the new regime. Those from Britain sought to make a saint of Gandhi and therefore forget their own failures. Neither acknowledged the catastrophe that India became in the wake of independence – the rampant corruption and prejudice that even now holds India back from her potential.

“I judge policies and actions by their results, and not by the intentions of the participants…The most extraordinary fact about the recent history of India is that none of those who, whether Indian or British, were in reality Agents of Evil, had any suspicion that they were that and not Children of Light…A true student of history knows that history does not forgive. In India she has not.”

Chaudhuri’s view was that Britain’s significant failure was their refusal to practice “cultural assimilation”. The British in India neither adopted the Indian culture nor spread their own. Rather, they viciously fought against those Indians who attempted to adopt British culture, considering them mere monkeys rather than equals. Thus, in the reaction against British arrogance, the culture of corruption and the prejudice of the caste system were elevated to the status of nationalistic icons, ruining the chance for India to rise above them. In this way, the Indian independence focused on being “not-British”, rather than having a clear idea of what good alternative to put in place of British rule.

In speaking of the Hindu-Muslim conflict which resulted first in the partition of India into Pakistan and Bangladesh, and to this day continues as a nuclear-armed standoff, he believed that lots of high-flown, but utterly irrelevant things had been said. “I came to the conclusion that the more well-intentioned people were, the more prone did they become to utter drivel.” He also became skeptical of humanitarianism after his dealings with Gandhi and others – it seemed to him to become a form of egoism. He also describes those who “draw satisfaction from self pity”, a description of continued relevance today.

Chaudhuri also disdained pacifism and “diplomacy”. I will admit he makes a great case for its failure in the case of India, and much of it rings doubly true today with the endless conflict in the Middle East. He correctly notes that pacifism has its root in fear. “The real emotion behind pacifism was and is fear of war, and there is no greater begetter of wars than this fear if it is allowed to make nations afraid to face wars. Ultimately, it really imposes war on them in the worst of circumstances.”  Regarding “diplomacy”, Chaudhuri uses an image that has stuck with me as ingenious and accurate. “This latter activity was seen in the summoning of conferences, creation of commissions, and sending of missions, whose purpose was to arrive at an agreed solution, but which achieved nothing. The strangest part of this activity was that the failure of each of these sessions of ‘dialogue’, as they would be called today, only inspired more desire for the same kind of ‘dialogue’, just as miscarriages produce immediate pregnancies.”

Lest it be thought that Chaudhuri is annoyingly self-assured, there are several passages throughout the book of brutally unflattering self assessment. He felt himself lacking in will to action, and content to let ill fortune and laziness combine to ruin him.

His account of his marriage is also humorous for his sense that he was not much of a catch. He begins the account, “In this part of the book I shall give an account of my marriage and of the first quinquennium of my married life. It would read like a madman’s tale. But since I have pulled off that bout of madness and succeeded in keeping my wife fifty-four years, it will perhaps be conceded that prudence has very little to do with happiness and unhappiness in the married state.”

In typical Bengali style, he went to his father and asked him to find a wife. His father attempted to get some idea from Nirad what he should look for, but Nirad was loath to make any demands about looks. He considered it to be brutal for a man to reject a girl because of her looks, and felt that his own looks would be a turn off for the girl in any case. His father wisely asked him, “Of the intellectual type?” He replied, “Enough for two.” As he later commented in paragraph, “In knew that if the girl I married did not have real intellectual ability but had its conceit I would make her life miserable.” I found myself nodding along at this point in my reading.

He also hilariously describes his experience with the pimps in Delhi when he lived there. They would make “alluring remarks” about girls whose “sizes and figures” would match his. He notes that he was five feet and under one hundred pounds at the time. However, his continued refusal eventually gave him a reputation, which he considered a prized certificate of his character.

Chaudhuri took a lot of criticism for his unabashed love of European culture. He loved classical music, particularly opera – a form much disdained by most Indians. He was no mere dabbler – his children learned violin and piano, and he mentions his love for Cecil Forsyth’s Orchestration, a work that graces my own bookshelf. He was fluent in English, French, and Latin, among other languages, and had an extensive knowledge of Western history. While this makes him a better writer, it did him no favors in his native land.

This book is an inspiring read both for its language and its ideas. Chaudhuri never thinks small, but always expansively, bringing in history, philosophy, and literature. This book is best enjoyed a chapter at a time, with Latin and French dictionaries handy for his use of quotations from these languages.

As a final note, Chaudhuri was an excellent example of an autodidact. Although he had a college education, he never pursued his graduate studies. He did, however, spend money he didn’t have on books, and educated himself over a vast range of topics. He even became, during World War II, the military expert for All India Radio due to his knowledge of strategy and weaponry. He firmly believed that every ten years or so, a person needs a new hobby or interest to keep him learning and truly alive. Perhaps this helped him keep his mind sharp throughout his long life.

This philosophy also served him well with his children, who he did not trust to the public schools in India. Instead, he taught them, particularly in their high school years. As he said, “So my educational theory and practice falsified the very fashionable theory that parents are the last persons to succeed in educating their children. Actually, who else is qualified to make them both educated and civilized?”