Monday, February 23, 2026

Where Do We Go From Here? by Martin Luther King Jr.

Source of book: I own this

 

This is one of my official reads for Black History Month this year. You can read the whole list here. You can read my thoughts on Black History Month here

 

I have been intentionally reading black authors this month for the past 16 years, and I have found that the eloquent voices of African-Americans have had a profound influence on my thinking. Many of the best writers of this century and the last and the one before that have indeed been black, and all of us would do well to listen to them. 

 

I also read black authors throughout the year, and have included them on my list, because I think it is important to read broadly and find authors who are all too often overlooked. 

 


 

My experience with Martin Luther King Jr. has been limited to his more famous shorter works - the “I have a Dream” speech, and the “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” both of which I have read to my children as part of their education. I had not, before this, read any of his full-length books.

 

Where Do We Go From Here? is his last book, published soon before he was murdered. It is a truly outstanding book, eloquent, profound, thoughtful, and concrete. Our world would be such a better place had his policies been put into full effect. 

 

In the light of the whitelash embodied in Trump, the book feels more relevant than ever. It also is so good-hearted and kind-spirited that I think it should serve well as an inspiration to us white folk who wish to be allies in the cause of anti-racism. This isn’t an anti-white book, but it is an anti-racism book and a bold call for true justice. 

 

I took an absolute ton of notes, so I will be quoting extensively from the book. In many ways, the book says everything far better than I could. I strongly recommend that everyone should read it, and take its words to heart. 

 

One thing that repeatedly came to mind is that this book is a far better writing of practical theology than the insipid spiritualization crap that white evangelicalism pushes. The Culture Wars™ were specifically created for racist purposes, of course, but they also are an intentional distraction from the cause of social justice - aka Christianity in action in our world. 

 

By distracting well-meaning white religious people with manufactured panics about sex and culture and change, the momentum that MLK and other civil rights activists created in white communities was largely deflected. That is a total shame, but it is also a criminal level of spiritual malpractice. 

 

If there is an afterlife, most American clergy are going to have a hell of a lot to answer for. 

 

Because the book was written after the long-awaited passage of the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act, it is forward-looking: what comes next? What do we need to do to create a truly just society? What steps need to be taken to actually create equality, now that the obvious need to end government-sponsored and tolerated active discrimination has resulted in legal change? 

 

The answer then and now is “a lot still needs to be done.” Exploring the facets of the continuing need for change is the subject of the book. 

 

Within it, MLK starts with the United States, but expands by the end to the need for global action, and a view of our world as inherently interconnected and interdependent. The future thriving of anyone is dependent on the thriving of everyone. 

 

With that, I will jump into the book, and the many quotes that I felt were necessary to explain its message. 

 

I’ll start at the beginning, with his description of the aftermath - the “whitelash” against the passage of civil rights laws. 

 

One year later, some of the people who had been brutalized in Selma and who were present at the Capitol ceremonies were leading marchers in the suburbs of Chicago amid a rain of rocks and bottles, among burning automobiles, to the thunder of jeering thousands, many of them waving Nazi flags. 

 

Um, does that sound familiar? In explaining one reason why all too many white “allies” abandoned the cause, he explains that for many, they were on board with ending the worst evils, but were not comfortable with true equality. 

 

But the absence of brutality and unregenerate evil is not the presence of justice. To stay murder is not the same thing as to ordain brotherhood. 

 

And this one:

 

The real cost lies ahead. The stiffening of white resistance is a recognition of that fact. The discount education given Negroes will in the future have to be purchased at full price if quality education is to be realized. Jobs are harder and costlier to create than voting rolls. The eradication of slums housing millions is complex far beyond integrating buses and lunch counters.

 

MLK favorably quotes Hyman Bookbinder, then the assistant director of the Office of Economic Opportunity, as to how all of this is to be paid for. Again, this sure seems relevant today, when marginal tax rates on the obscenely rich are far lower than in MLK’s time. 

 

“The poor can stop being poor if the rich are willing to become even richer at a slower rate.” 

 

And, as MLK also points out, civil unrest is costly. Poverty is costly. A concerted effort to eliminate poverty would benefit everyone, including the rich. 

 

After going through a list of areas in which black folk have significant economic disadvantages - jobs, wages, housing, mortality, unemployment, health care, military service - he tackles one of the favorite myths white people believe. 

 

Depressed living standards for Negroes are not simply the consequence of neglect. Nor can they be explained by the myth of the Negro’s innate incapacities, or by the more sophisticated rationalization of his acquired infirmities (family disorganization, poor education, etc.). They are a structural part of the economic system in the United States. Certain industries and enterprises are based on a supply of low-paid, under-skilled and immobile nonwhite labor. Hand-assembly factories, hospitals, service industries, housework, agricultural operations using itinerant labor would suffer economic trauma, if not disaster, with a rise in wage scales. 

 

This will be a theme throughout the book. Justice requires equal access to jobs with sufficient wages, and blaming the poor (and especially poor minorities) for the well-documented lack of access to these jobs is unfair, and indeed unjust. I’ll mention Albert Murray’s excellent takedown of this idea as well - that was a past BHM selection.

 

A significant factor in the change in my political views (which in turn drove changes in my religious views), was educating myself about the realities that people outside my subculture experience. MLK insists that this education is something that all white people owe others and themselves. 

 

Whites, it must frankly be said, are not putting in a similar mass effort to reeducate themselves out of their racial ignorance. It is an aspect of their sense of superiority that the white people of America believe they have so little to learn. The reality of substantial investment to assist Negroes into the twentieth century, adjusting to Negro neighbors and genuine school integration, is still a nightmare for all too many white Americans. 

 

There are so many amazing lines just in this first chapter. 

 

The line of progress is never straight. For a period a movement may follow a straight line and then it encounters obstacles and the path bends. It is like curving around a mountain when you are approaching a city. Often it feels as though you were moving backward, and you lose sight of your goal; but in fact you are moving ahead, and soon you will see the city again, closer by. 

 

This is the hope that many of us cherish during these dark and backward times. 

 

A final victory is an accumulation of many short-term encounters. To lightly dismiss a success because it does not usher in a complete order of justice is to fail to comprehend the process of achieving full victory. It underestimates the value of confrontation and dissolves the confidence born of a partial victory by which new efforts are powered. 

 

Another thing many of us white folk, unused to being activists, need to keep in mind. No victory is ever complete - the struggle for justice is eternal. But that doesn’t mean you don’t struggle, and celebrate incremental victories. 

 

There is a good passage at the end of the chapter about the way white people tend to fear “riots” and protest generally. I have seen this in so many friends and family. There is a visceral sense of discomfort at other people displaying anger. (Women and minorities are supposed to be positive at all times, right?) MLK notes that there is actually a cure for all this. 

 

Social justice and progress are the absolute guarantors of riot prevention. There is no other answer. Constructive social change will bring certain tranquility; evasions will merely encourage turmoil. 

 

If the first chapter is a general look at justice, the second is all about the inner disagreement over “black power” and the role of different forms of action within the civil rights movement. Here, MLK asserts his commitment to non-violence, in large part because he saw violence as counterproductive to the goal. 

 

I think he is correct here. In fact, the power of the protests against ICE has been in their non-violence, putting on full display the moral depravity of ICE and its actions. 

 

MLK does not dismiss the impetus behind the Black Power movement either - he assumes good and understandable motives, but pushes back on methods. He also notes that the movement itself is diverse, and many within it share his commitment to nonviolence, and to a multi-racial movement.

 

I should have been reminded that disappointment produces despair and despair produces bitterness, and that the one thing certain about bitterness is its blindness. Bitterness has not the capacity to make the distinction between some and all. When some members of the dominant group, particularly those in power, are racist in attitude and practice, bitterness accuses the whole group. 

 

This is also a great line:

 

Like life, racial understanding is not something that we find but something that we must create. What we find when we enter these mortal plains is existence; but existence is the raw material out of which all life must be created. A productive and happy life is not something that you find; it is something you make. And so the ability of Negroes and whites to work together, to understand each other, will not be found ready-made; it must be created by the fact of contact.

 

I mentioned that this book sure seems a hell of a lot more Christian than white evangelicalism. Here is a great line about that, and it expresses my feelings here in the Trump Era perfectly.  

 

All of this represents disappointment lifted to astronomical proportions. It is disappointment with timid white moderates who feel that they can set the timetable for the Negro’s freedom. It is disappointment with a federal administration that seems to be more concerned about winning an ill-considered war in Vietnam than about winning the war against poverty here at home. It is disappointment with white legislators who pass laws on behalf of Negro rights that they never intended to implement. It is disappointment with the Christian church that appears to be more white than Christian, and with many white clergymen who prefer to remain silent behind the security of stained-glass windows. It is disappointment with some Negro clergymen who are more concerned about the size of the wheel base on their automobile than about the quality of their service to the Negro community. 

 

The great trauma of my loss of religious community nearly a decade ago was the discovery that the core of the religion was whiteness, not Christ-following, and that white Evangelicals would gladly forsake even the pretense of Christian values in favor of racial hatred. 

 

One of the most powerful passages in this chapter is one about the subordination of slavery. It wasn’t merely physical subjugation, but the demand of intellectual and moral servitude. He quotes earlier works on slavery regarding the attitudes that enslavers attempted to impose on the enslaved - attitudes which still reverberate today. 

 

What caught my eye the most, however, were the quotes from enslavers that sounded eerily familiar, particularly these ones:

 

“Unconditional submission is the only footing upon which slavery should be placed.”

 

And:

 

“The slave must know that his master is to govern absolutely and he is to obey implicitly, that he is never, for a moment, to exercise either his will or judgment in opposition to a positive order.”

 

Ooof. That’s literally religious authoritarian parenting there, as taught by the unholy trinity of John MacArthur, James Dobson, and Bill Gothard. We children were to show unconditional submission. And we were never to exercise our own will or judgment. We were to outsource our morality and will to our parents. 

 

MLK was a master of the metaphor, and one of my favorites in this book is his use of the wind. In aviation (as he points out), winds make a huge difference. The Jet Stream, for example, makes it quicker to fly east than to fly west - a flight from Europe to North America takes longer than one the other way. He uses this to encourage activism even when the winds are unfavorable. 

 

In any social revolution there are times when the tail winds of triumph and fulfillment favor us, and other times when strong head winds of disappointment and setbacks beat against us relentlessly. We must not permit adverse winds to overwhelm us as we journey across life's mighty Atlantic; we must be sustained by our engines of courage in spite of the winds. This refusal to be stopped, this “courage to be,” this determination to go on “in spite of” is the hallmark of any great movement. 

 

In this chapter as well, he speaks of the need for white allies. For those of us who wish to do good in the world, and who want our white children to see themselves positively in the story of history, the way forward is not to whitewash history, as the MAGA movement seeks to do, but to encourage ourselves and our children to identify with the white people who have been on the side of justice, of right, of equality. 

 

Within the white majority there exists a substantial group who cherish democratic principles above privilege and who have demonstrated a will to fight side by side with the Negro against injustice. 

 

I want to be part of this group and raise my children to be part of this group. He also notes, though, that there is another group of potential allies as well: those whose lives would be better if we eliminated poverty. After all, there are a lot more poor white people than poor black people, and raising up the poor would benefit them a hell of a lot. 

 

(This is why the predator-capitalist class, both the enslavers of the past, and the billionaire oligarchs of today, are so intent on stirring up racism. If black and white united against the predator-capitalists, they would be forced out of existence.) 

 

(This is also a good time to recommend Dying of Whiteness, which really shows how people let their racism overpower their rationality, and in essence kill themselves rather than let minorities thrive.) 

 

There are several passages where MLK asserts the interconnectedness of the races in America (and around the world.) I believe he is spot on here. 

 

In the final analysis the weakness of Black Power is its failure to see that the black man needs the white man and the white man needs the black man. However much we may try to romanticize the slogan, there is no separate black path to power and fulfillment that does not intersect white paths, and there is no separate white path to power and fulfillment, short of social disaster, that does not share that power with black aspirations for freedom and human dignity. We are bound together in a single garment of destiny. The language, the cultural patterns, the music, the material prosperity and even the food of America are an amalgam of black and white.

 

Again, I should recommend Albert Murray’s wonderful The Omni-Americans for further discussion of how America isn’t separately black and white but instead blackandwhitetogether. 

 

Later in the book, MLK talks about the inescapable reality of a multi-racial America - something we have been since the first Europeans and Africans set foot here. 

 

But after reflection one has to face some inescapable facts about the Negro and American life. This is a multiracial nation where all groups are dependent on each other, whether they want to acknowledge it or not. In this vast interdependent nation no racial group can retreat to an island entire of itself.

 

This is a truth that MAGA refuses to understand. 

 

When it comes to the issue of violence, MLK is thoroughly pragmatic. 

 

In violent warfare one must be prepared to face the fact that there will be casualties by the thousands. Anyone leading a violent rebellion must be willing to make an honest assessment regarding the possible casualties to a minority population confronting a well-armed, wealthy majority with a fanatical right wing that would delight in exterminating thousands of black men, women and children. 

 

This is to a degree what all of us humans of good will face right now. The fanatical right wing of our country would delight in seeing millions of men, women, and children dead. And not merely brown and black people, but anyone who stands up to them. (See: Renee Good and “fucking bitch.”) 

 

Which is why, like MLK and the Civil Rights Movement, our power is not in starting a civil war, but in revealing the depravity of MAGA and thereby getting a large majority on our side. Which ICE thugs are certainly helping us with at this time. The history of revolutions and overthrow of tyranny demonstrate that creating that overwhelming majority is a key factor in toppling evil. 

 

Nonviolence is power, but it is the right and good use of power. Constructively it can save the white man as well as the Negro. Racial segregation is buttressed by such irrational fears as loss of preferred economic privilege, altered social status, intermarriage and adjustment to new situations. 

 

He then discusses the antisocial ways people are stirred up to address the fears in non-constructive ways. 

 

But how futile are all these remedies! Instead of eliminating fear, they instill deeper and more pathological fears. 

 

And this:

 

A guilt-ridden white minority fears that if the Negro attains power, he will without restraint or pity act to revenge the accumulated injustices and brutality of the years. 

 

Does that sound familiar now? It sure does. And, I think MLK is right that non-violence is the most effective way to prove those fears to be mere paranoia. 

 

There is also the central issue that we cannot kill our way out of hate and racism. 

 

Are we seeking power for power’s sake? Or are we seeking to make the world and our nation better places to live. If we seek the latter, violence can never provide the answer. The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence only increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

 

Yep, that quote is often used, sometimes out of context. But it is still in many ways the core of the book and MLK’s prescription for action. 

 

My favorite part of the idea is the truth that you cannot kill a lie by killing the liar. This is actually the big problem with the whole White Christian Nationalist project: it seeks to eliminate all those who have different points of view - and indeed all those brown skinned “contaminants” to our supposed national blood. But no amount of violence against “the other” will make a utopia. 

 

The chapter on racism and the white backlash - the “whitelash” - is excellent, and unfortunately prescient about the white response to the Obama presidency - the whitelash embodied by Trump. The opening is outstanding.

 

It is time for all of us to tell each other the truth about who and what have brought the Negro to the condition of deprivation against which he struggles today. In human relations the truth is hard to come by, because most groups are deceived about themselves. Rationalization and the incessant search for scapegoats are the psychological cataracts that blind us to our individual and collective sins. But the day has passed for bland euphemisms. He who lives with untruth lives in spiritual slavery. Freedom is still the bonus we receive for knowing truth. “Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.” 

 

He goes on:

 

It would be neither true nor honest to say that the Negro’s status is what it is because he is innately inferior or because he is basically lazy and listless or because he has not sought to lift himself by his own bootstraps. To find the origins of the Negro problem we must turn to the white man’s problem.

 

MLK notes that white America has always had a disconnect between its outward principles - the equality of humankind - and its determination to retain privilege and power. Which is why it has never made a true concerted effort toward righting the historic wrongs of slavery and segregation - undoing the damage done, making restitution. Instead, it is a step forward followed by a step back. 

 

The step backward has a new name today. It is called the “white backlash.” But the white backlash is nothing new. It is the surfacing of old prejudices, hostilities, and ambivalences that have always been there. 

 

Again, MLK is quick to note that white folk are not a unified bunch here. Rather the contrary. 

 

This does not imply that all white Americans are racists - far from it. Many white people have, through a deep moral compulsion, fought long and hard for racial justice. Nor does it mean that America has made no progress in her attempt to cure the body politic of the disease of racism, or that the dogma of racism has not been considerably modified in recent years. However, for the good of America, it is necessary to refute the idea that the dominant ideology in our country even today is freedom and equality while racism is just an occasional departure from the norm on the part of a few bigoted extremists. 

 

I think MLK’s definition of racism is spot on - it gets to the heart of things, and also demonstrates that mere racial prejudice of the kind more universal, is not the same as the systemic white supremacy that plagues the United States. 

 

If a man asserts that another man, because of his race, is not good enough to have a job equal to his, or to eat at a lunch counter next to him, or to have access to certain hotels, or to attend school with him, he is by implication affirming that the man does not deserve to exist. He does not deserve to exist because his existence is corrupt and defective. 

 

You can see this throughout MAGA and throughout Trump’s rhetoric. Brown people are corrupting us, so we need to do mass deportations. Jobs should be for white males. Your life sucks because undeserving brown people have stolen your job, your taxes, your healthcare, your housing. And on it goes. MLK will explore this in more depth throughout the chapter. The core idea is one he nails:

 

Racism is a philosophy based on a contempt for life. It is the arrogant assertion that one race is the center of value and object of devotion, before which other races must kneel in submission. It is the absurd dogma that one race is responsible for all the progress of history and alone can assure the progress of the future. Racism is total estrangement. It separates not only bodies but minds and spirits. Inevitably it descends to inflicting spiritual or physical homicide upon the out-group. 

 

That is so good. Again, it distills MAGA in a nutshell, from the lies about black accomplishments (which, like the accomplishments of women have often been stolen by white males) to the idea that only white males should be in leadership today. 

 

I have mentioned it in other posts in the past, because it is a recurring truth that every black writer has proclaimed, but it is worth saying again:

 

Racism was created to justify economic exploitation, not the other way around. 

 

It seems to be a fact of life that human beings cannot continue to do wrong without eventually reaching out for some rationalization to clothe their acts in the garments of righteousness. And so, with the growth of slavery, men had to convince themselves that a system which was so economically profitable was morally justifiable. The attempt to give moral sanction to a profitable system gave birth to the doctrine of white supremacy. 

 

This then led to an utter corruption of white religion. Realizing this was a significant factor in my decision to leave organized religion nine years ago. 

 

The greatest blasphemy of the whole ugly process was that the white man ended up making God his partner in the exploitation of the Negro. What greater heresy has religion known? Ethical Christianity vanished and the moral verve of religion was atrophied. This terrible distortion sullied the essential nature of Christianity. 

 

There is indeed no greater heresy than white nationalism. It is from the pit of hell. Realizing that my faith tradition was in fact based on this was devastating, although not quite as much so seeing people like my parents, who literally taught me anti-racism, forsake that faith and instead embrace this filth

 

I’ll also make a plug here for another excellent book, Reconstructing the Gospel by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

 

Later, MLK notes that even well-intentioned white people have to fight against what is in essence an emotional difficulty. Our culture has inculcated us into certain ways of thinking, and led us to take for granted a certain position of perceived superiority. Even Lincoln struggled with this - but at least he admitted it. 

 

Morally, Lincoln was for black emancipation, but emotionally, like most of his white contemporaries, he was for a long time unable to act in accordance with his conscience. 

 

Next, he examines that myth that Emancipation was the end of oppression. He illustrates this with the example of how my own family came to be middle class. Simply setting the enslaved free without giving them land to farm or jobs to support themselves was just another form of bondage. What was needed was restitution - making right the wrong. (We might call this reparations, which as a legal matter, is undeniably appropriate.) 

 

What greater injustice could society perpetrate? All the moral voices of the universe, all the codes of sound jurisprudence, would rise up with condemnation at such an act. Yet this is exactly what America did to the Negro. In 1863 the Negro was given abstract freedom expressed in luminous rhetoric. But in an agrarian economy he was given no land to make liberation concrete. After the war the government granted white settlers, without cost, millions of acres of land in the West, thus providing America’s new white peasants from Europe with an economic floor. But at the same time its oldest peasantry, the Negro, was denied everything but a legal status he could not use, could not consolidate, could not even defend. 

 

We still owe those enslaved who built our country just compensation for their labor - and indeed for 150 years of continued exclusion from the economic mainstream of our nation. It is in the resistance to this that white racism is most apparent. Notice the hostility to “DEI” and “Woke” or anything that might seek to improve the status of marginalized groups. Racism hasn’t gone away, and it is endemic. 

 

To live with the pretense that racism is a doctrine of a very few is to disarm us in fighting it frontally as scientifically unsound, morally repugnant and socially destructive. 

 

Brownie points to MLK for using the Parable of the Prodigal Son here - as an example to white America that it too can return to its purported values of equality and the common welfare. 

 

This chapter also has a clarion call to all of us humans of goodwill (now considered “liberals” in our current political climate):

 

When evil men plot, good men must plan. When evil men burn and bomb, good men must build and bind. When evil men conspire to preserve an unjust status quo, good men must unite to bring about the birth of a society undergirded by justice. Nothing can be more detrimental to the health of America at this time than for liberals to sink into a state of apathy and indifference. 

 

And also a reminder that “love” isn’t love at all, if it does not include justice as its core value. (Something I really wish my parents understood when it comes to family dynamics.) 

 

Love that does not satisfy justice is no love at all. It is merely a sentimental affection, little more than what one must have for a pet.

 

He goes on to explain what justice must look like, and I think this is the other core of the book. Justice has specific elements in our society, and they are not optional. 

 

The white liberal must affirm that absolute justice for the Negro simply means, in the Aristotleian sense, that the Negro must have “his due.” There is nothing abstract about this. It is as concrete as having a good job, a good education, a decent house, and a share of power. 

 

It isn’t enough for some abstract “equality of opportunity” - which does not and has never existed in the United States. What is needed is that floor of basic human needs. To the ones listed, I would add access to sufficient food and clothing, and healthcare. 

 

In addition to calling out white liberals, MLK also talks directly to the white church. 

 

Among the forces of white liberalism the church has a special obligation. It is the voice of moral and spiritual authority on earth. Yet no one observing the history of the church in America can deny the shameful fact that it has been an accomplice in structuring racism into the architecture of American society. The church, by and large, sanctioned slavery and surrounded it with the halo of moral respectability. It also cast the mangle of its sanctity over the system of segregation. 

 

It is encouraging to see the Catholic Church, as well as the mainline denominations - Episcopal particularly - step up on the side of justice lately. May it continue. White Evangelicalism, unfortunately, seems to be a completely lost cause. 

 

He ends the chapter with a note that while legal changes are indeed necessary and helpful, the ultimate change needs to come internally, in the hearts of men. (And this is where I feel that much of American white clergy has committed egregious spiritual malpractice during my lifetime, stirring up demonic impulses rather than exhorting people to good.) 

 

A vigorous enforcement of civil rights will bring an end to segregated public facilities, but it cannot bring an end to fears, prejudice, pride and irrationality, which are the barriers to a truly integrated society. These dark and demonic responses will be removed only as men are possessed by the invisible inner law which etches on their hearts the conviction that all men are brothers and that love is mankind’s most potent weapon for personal and social transformation. True integration will be achieved by men who are willingly obedient to unenforceable obligations. 

 

In stark contrast to the anti-christian rhetoric of all too many white theologians today, who claim that empathy is sinful, MLK notes that the root of goodness is in fact empathy. 

 

What is needed today on the part of white America is a committed altruism which recognizes the truth. True altruism is more than the capacity to pity; it is the capacity to empathize. Pity is feeling sorry for someone; empathy is feeling sorry with someone. Empathy is fellow feeling for the person in need - his pain, agony and burdens.

 

Pity comes from a place of superiority and self-righteousness. Empathy recognizes we are all in this together and the pain of one is the pain of all. 

 

The book then talks more directly to African Americans. To understand - to truly empathize - one needs to feel the suffering. MLK lays out the horrors of the slave trade, of slavery, of segregation. It’s painful but necessary. For this to have a positive result, however, the horror needs to be faced, and both blame and cure directed appropriately. 

 

As public awareness of the predicament of the Negro family increases, there will be danger and opportunity. The opportunity will be to deal fully rather than haphazardly with the problem as a whole - to see it as a social catastrophe brought on by long years of brutality and oppression and to meet it as other disasters are met, with an adequacy of resources. The danger will be that the problems will be attributed to innate Negro weaknesses and used to justify further neglect and to rationalize continued oppression. 

 

The most inspiring part of this chapter to me was MLK’s enthusiasm for diversity. To this end, he encourages black folk to stop trying to meet white cultural ideals, but to embrace themselves for who they are. 

 

Whether some men, black and white, realize it or not, black people are very beautiful. Life’s piano can only produce the melodies of brotherhood when it is recognized that the black keys are as basic, necessary and beautiful as the white keys. The Negro, through self-acceptance and self-appreciation, will one day case white America to see that integration is not an obstacle, but an opportunity to participate in the beauty of diversity.

 

Another great insight in this chapter is that inequality in income has the effect of making honest labor seem insignificant, when the kinds of jobs that are low wage are usually the most important ones we can do. Giving dignity - and just compensation - for these jobs is crucial to a just society. 

 

But no work is insignificant. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and worth and should be pursued with respect for excellence. 

 

He also calls for continued effort. It has been all too easy for me as a white guy to assume that things will continue to get better by inertia. In reality, the struggle against evil and injustice never ends. It must be fought and refought for every generation. 

 

We will be greatly misled if we feel that the problem will work itself out. Structures of evil do not crumble by passive waiting. If history teaches anything, it is that evil is recalcitrant and determined, and never voluntarily relinquishes its hold short of an almost fanatical resistance. Evil must be attacked by a counteracting persistence, by the day-to-day assault of the battering rams of justice. 

 

The next chapter, Where are We Going? takes a look at practical goals and policies, and it really does read like a road map for a society that is more just for all of us, black, white, and brown. 

 

One line that stood out is the observation that parties change. The Republican Party had (at that point) coasted on “the illustrious ghost of Abraham Lincoln” but had failed to “shrink the influence of its ultra-right wing. 

 

The book was written before Nixon’s “Southern Strategy” started the process of making the ultra-right wing the core of the GOP, a process which became complete with Trump. 

 

He likewise warns against taking coalitions for granted. 

 

The art of alliance politics is more complex and more intricate than it is generally pictured. It is easy to put exciting combinations on paper. It evokes happy memories to recall that our victories in the past decade were won with a broad coalition of organizations representing a wide variety of interests. 

 

Instead, it is important to build coalitions that share the same goals. This is something that the Democratic Party has forgotten too much lately. There is no point in trying to get the xenophobic crowd on board. You can never out-Trump Trump. Likewise, pandering to the transphobes will never end well. The coalition needs to consist of those who wish to make a more just society for all, not just their tribe. And those people are enough to win with and to create positive change. 

 

To that end, MLK notes that there are twice as many impoverished white people as impoverished black people. Addressing poverty - inequality, jobs, housing, healthcare - should be the goal, and getting those who are needy of any race on board is necessary.

 

Up to recently we have proceeded from a premise that poverty is a consequence of multiple evils: lack of education restricting job opportunities; poor housing which stultified home life and suppressed initiative; fragile family relationships which distorted personality development. The logic of this approach suggested that each of these causes be attacked one by one.

 

Instead, he argues that the common issue in all of these is a lack of income. Full stop. Yes, work on the other things, but money, while it cannot solve every problem, its lack causes most problems. 

 

Because of this, he argues for a universal basic income. 

 

I have come around to this idea, in no small part because jobs these days are mostly doled out at the whim of the oligarchs, who are working desperately to replace humans with technology. Because humans are needed, noisy, and demand things like living wages and humane work hours. A world in which most “work” is done by machines, and machines owned by the very few, is not a just world. Thus, maintaining the funds necessary to live needs to be the priority, not maximizing profits for the oligarchs. 

 

The last chapter takes the ideas global. The whole world is interconnected, and any true sense of justice needs to include the entire planet. 

 

Some years ago a famous novelist died. Among his papers was found a list of suggested plots for future stories, most prominently underscored being this one: “A widely separated family inherits a house in which they have to live together.” This is the great new problem of mankind. We have inherited a large house, a great “world house” in which we have to live together - black and white, Easterner and Westerner, Gentile and Jew, Catholic and Protestant, Muslim and Hindu - a family unduly separated in ideas, culture and interest, who, because we can never again live apart, must learn somehow to live with each other in peace. 

 

To illustrate this, he mentions the story of Rip Van Winkle. The point of the story isn’t that he fell asleep, but that the world had changed, and he had missed it. 

 

The most striking thing about this story is not that Rip slept twenty years, but that he slept through a revolution that would alter the course of human history. 

 

The point for us today?

 

One of the great liabilities of history is that all too many people fail to remain away through great periods of social change. Every society has its protectors of the status quo and its fraternities of the indifferent who are notorious for sleeping through revolutions. But today our very survival depends on our ability to stay awake, to adjust to new ideas, to remain vigilant and to face the challenge of change. The large house in which we live demands that we transform this worldwide neighborhood into a worldwide brotherhood. Together we must learn to live as brothers or together we will be forced to perish as fools. 

 

The term “woke” originated in the Civil Rights Movement, and MLK uses it here in that sense. We must stay away, vigilant, and committed to justice. This is why I take it as an honor to be accused of being “woke.” 

 

Obviously, the bait that Trump and MAGA dangle is that we do not have to be “woke,” that we do not have to adapt to a changing world. Everything will go back to the imaginary past, if we just brutalize enough immigrants and LGBTQ people and force the rest of the world to kow tow as they should. 

 

But it doesn’t work that way, and all we do is make things worse by trying to ignore the world as it is. And the thing is, white supremacy has always worked against our national interest. 

 

Nothing provides the Communists with a better climate for expansion and infiltration than the continued alliance of our nation with racism and exploitation throughout the world. And if we are not diligent in our determination to root out the last vestiges of racism in our dealings with the rest of the world, we may soon see the sins of our fathers visited upon ours and succeeding generations. 

 

This is coming true in our day, as Trump takes a bulldozer to our country’s reputation and further isolates us. We are all paying for the racism and hate of MAGA. 

 

I love his call to action, which actually echoes the words of Alexis de Tocqueville. 

 

The time has come for an all-out war against poverty. The rich nations must use their vast resources of wealth to develop the underdeveloped, school the unschooled and feed the unfed. The well-off and the secure have too often become indifferent and oblivious to the poverty and deprivation in their midst. The poor in our countries have been shut out of our minds, and driven from the mainstream of our societies, because we have allowed them to become invisible. Ultimately a great nation is a compassionate nation. No individual or nation can be great if it does not have a concern for “the least of these.”

 

Preach!  

 

We are all interconnected. 

 

From time immemorial men have lived by the principle that “self-preservation is the first law of life.” But this is a false assumption. I would say that other-preservation is the first law of life. IT is the first law of life precisely because we cannot preserve self without being concerned about preserving other selves. The universe is so structured that things go awry if men are not diligent in their cultivation of the other-regarding dimension. 

 

This goes double for the spiritual dimension. 

 

Deeply woven into the fiber of our religious tradition is the conviction that men are made in the image of God, and that they are souls of infinite metaphysical value. If we accept this as a profound moral fact, we cannot be content to see men hungry, to see men victimized with ill-health, when we have the means to help them. In the final analysis, the rich must not ignore the poor because both rich and poor are tied together. They entered the same mysterious gateway of human birth, into the same adventure of mortal life. 

 

This is how I was raised. And how I still believe. I was also raised to believe in the following:

 

We must rapidly begin the shift from a “thing”-oriented society to a “person”-oriented society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism and militarism are incapable of being conquered. A civilization can founder as readily in the face of moral and spiritual bankruptcy as it can through financial bankruptcy. 

 

So relevant today. MLK also notes that both capitalism and communism suffer from this same moral bankruptcy.

 

This revolution of values must go beyond traditional capitalism and communism. We must honestly admit that capitalism has often left a gulf between superfluous wealth and abject poverty, has created conditions permitting necessities to be taken from the many to give luxuries to the few, and has encouraged smallhearted men to become cold and conscienceless so that, like Dives before Lazarus, they are unmoved by suffering, poverty-stricken humanity. The profit motive, when it is the sole basis of an economic system, encourages a cutthroat competition and selfish ambition that inspire men to be more I-centered than thou-centered. Equally, Communism reduces men to a cog in the wheel of the state. 

 

True justice doesn’t come from ideologies on either side, but on a commitment to make sure everyone has what they need, and none are allowed to become obscenely rich. To that end, slogans are useless. 

 

The problems we now face must take us beyond slogans for their solution. In the final analysis, the right-wing slogans on “government control” and “creeping socialism” are as meaningless and adolescent as the Chinese Red Guard slogans against “bourgeois revisionism.” An intelligent approach to the problems of poverty and racism will cause us to see that the words of the Psalmist - “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof” - are still a judgment upon our use and abuse of the wealth and resources with which we have been endowed. 

 

This is one reason I stopped discussing politics and religion with my parents even before our estrangement. It devolved into their recycling the same right-wing slogans as if they were irrefutable arguments rather than campaign signs. We were never able to actually address the question of how we keep people from dying of starvation or disease due to lack of money. 

 

MLK argues that our approach to communism has been largely futile, because of this. Communism got a foothold because of a genuine problem. And even worse is calling everyone who disagrees a Communist. (Hello, Trump administration…) In reality, Communism is a symptom.

 

Communism is a judgment on our failure to make democracy real and to follow through on the revolutions that we initiated. Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world declaring eternal opposition to poverty, racism and militarism. With this powerful commitment we shall boldly challenge the status quo and unjust mores and thereby speed the day when “every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough places plain.” 

 

As the chapter - and the book - come to an end, MLK’s ideas rise to a crescendo of inspiration, a vision of a possible future that so many of us desire. One hinted at in the apocalyptic literature of the Bible. 

 

This call for a worldwide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one’s tribe, race, class and nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing and unconditional love for all men. 

 

MLK asserts - and I have come to understand over the last few decades - that this love transcends religious dogma, political ideology, and tribal affiliation. It is the love Christ taught - and humans of goodwill around the world have always embraced.

 

The book has a brief appendix where MLK discusses some specific issues, such as education and housing. I thought I might mention a point he makes in the section on employment. In his view, providing “job training” is misguided. It all too often means training for jobs that do not exist. (A great example is the Navajo program for training welders. There are literally only a handful of welding jobs on the reservation. What is needed are jobs.) MLK asserts that providing jobs first is the way to go. Training can be done on the job as needed. First employment and income, then additional training. I agree with this, particularly watching my children struggle to find employment while in college. There are too few to go around that work with class schedules and a lack of a car (which is expensive!) 

 

This book is truly excellent, and I highly recommend everyone read it. Particularly us white folk. MLK was more than just a historical figure, he was a true prophet of his time. Which is, of course, why he was murdered. The defenders of the status quo have always murdered the prophets. 

 

The book is thoughtful, inspiring, and shows a path for white people of good will to follow. Stay woke. 




Tuesday, February 17, 2026

Twist by Colum McCann

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

I have loved Colum McCann’s writing since I first experienced it in Let The Great World Spin, which I listened to on an excellent multi-cast audiobook back in 2017. Since then, I have read (in paper form), Trans Atlantic, and Thirteen Ways of Looking

 

McCann was born in Ireland, but later moved to New York. This “trans Atlantic” identity runs through all of his books that I have read, in some way or another. Twist is no exception. In fact, I would say that it is in a thematic way a spinoff from Trans Atlantic, examining another way the world is connected across oceans. 

 

In this case, the book is all about the transoceanic cable system, which carries far more of our international communications than satellites, even today. In researching for the book, McCann spent time aboard a cable repair ship, and this shows in his detailed and fascinating descriptions of life on board the ship. 

 

To be clear, this is a work of fiction - it is a story of a man who goes from a repair expert to a saboteur, a musing on connectedness and loss of connection, and quite a contemplative book. And a good story. McCann plotted this one tightly, with a great narrative arc and use of distinct sections that balance and echo each other. 

 

This particular audiobook was narrated by McCann himself, and he is actually an excellent reader. Since the book is written in the first person, and the narrator is a bit like the author, this works really well, and feels like a natural storytelling device. 

 

The narrator is Anthony Fennell, a playwright who hasn’t been successful, so he takes on journalistic assignments to pay the bills. He ends up going along as a passenger on an undersea cable repair ship based in South Africa, the guest of the head of the repair crew (as opposed to the captain and the ship’s crew), a man named John Conway. But is that really who he is? He comes from a remote Irish island, has some years missing (as do other characters), and seems to have a past. 

 

His partner is Zanele, a South African actress. Apparently, they met many years ago in Florida, and have had an on and off relationship for a long time - she has children from another relationship. 

 

Both of them are “free divers.” For those not familiar with the term, these are divers who do not use SCUBA equipment, but simply hold their breath for an insane amount of time, swim to absurd depths, and treat the whole thing as both a competition and a source of euphoria. 

 

To give an idea of this, an average person like me - or perhaps you as well - can hold a breath for at most a minute and a half. 

 

The current record for a free dive without oxygen is over 11 minutes. 

With the use of pure oxygen before the dive, the record is 29 minutes. Which is insanity. 

 

Free divers can either go down with “constant weight” - meaning they are essentially neutrally buoyant and propel themselves up or down, or with weights they jettison. For the former, the record depth is nearly 400 feet. Again, insanity. Recreational SCUBA divers are limited to 130 feet. 

 

I mention this, because free diving is a big part of the plot. Here too, McCann did his research and got the details right, even though I don’t see any indication he did more than a modest dive to research it - he and I are about the same in stamina, I would guess. 

 

The first part of the book is all about the preparation to go out to sea - Fennell meets Conway in South Africa, is invited to meet Zanele. And then they wait. After all, there needs to be a cable break first. This does eventually happen, off the west coast of Africa, and the ship embarks with a very seasick Fennell. (Who is also struggling with going cold turkey from his alcohol problem - no booze is allowed on board.) 

 

The cable is eventually found, repaired, and the ship is off to the next break - there are several caused by the same underwater event. 

 

But before things can be completed, Conway disappears from the ship just off the coast of Ghana, leaving Fennell without a host - or a ticket back. 

 

Is this connected to other happenings? 

 

Before the ship embarks, Zanele leaves for London, to direct a run of Samuel Beckett’s play, Waiting for Godot, with a climate change metaphor. During the run, a disturbed young man throws acid in her face, and the whole thing blows up on media, which reaches the ship via their slow satellite connection. 

 

This clearly shakes Conway, and is perhaps a reason he abandons the ship. 

 

From there, Fennell has to reconstruct events after the fact. It is a bit of a spoiler, but Conway is alive, although not living openly. And no one knows what his ultimate plan will be, or how it will end. 

 

The later sections of the book reveal as much as the narrator will eventually know, along with his speculation about other details. These are entirely plausible, and in line with the characters, but ultimately, we never get full answers.

 

The book is interesting in that the climax occurs about seven-eighths through the book, leaving a fairly long wind-down. It isn’t exactly a tying up of ends either, but a continuing exploration of the aftermath as it affects Fennell and Zanele. One might call this a bit old-school, a slow unfolding followed by a gentle letdown. I thought it was effective. 

The prose flows smoothly, the descriptions are clear but not overdone, the dialogue believable. I really do like McCann’s writing. 

 

I am still thinking about the various layers of meaning. There is definitely the modern issue of the problems that our mass media, including our internet connectedness raise. Is it better that we know so much? While we also do so poorly in discerning truth from propaganda? 

 

But also very personal things. Can relationships survive two people being drawn in different directions by their calling? How are our connections severed, and can we repair them? What is the cost of repair? 

 

When one loses a single connection, what other connections are compromised? In such an interconnected world - which we have always been - how do we maintain positive connections? 

 

There is also the role of alcohol in the book. Is it a source of connection? Of disconnection? Does it cloud one’s thinking, or enable a kind of clarity. And the book considers all of these as possible correct answers too. 

 

And that is before you get to the more global problems of colonialism and climate poisoning. Again, connections, whether we want them or not. 

 

As with all of McCann’s books, there is a lot to think about. This one is a compelling story, but so much more than that. I have enjoyed every one of his books that I have read, including this one. 

 

Monday, February 16, 2026

The Maestro Myth by Norman Lebrecht

Source of book: I own this

 

I first discovered Norman Lebrecht years ago when my wife brought home a copy of Why Mahler? years ago. I greatly enjoyed it, even if I didn’t always agree with Lebrecht - and in fact the book significantly heightened my appreciation of Mahler’s works, making him one of my favorites. Re-reading what I wrote about it, I think I may have underestimated the extent to which the book would influence me.

 

Since then, I have also followed Lebrecht’s SlippedDisc blog, which is a great source of news about the classical world. I recommend following it. 

 

More recently, I ran across a copy of The Maestro Myth, and snapped it up. Of course I wanted to read about Lebrecht’s opinion of conductors and conducting. Fortunately, this book was every bit as much fun (and enlightening) as I had hoped. 

 

Like Lebrecht’s other book, this one defies categorization. It isn’t really biography - although it does give a lot of information about the lives of various famous conductors. The stories are of limited scope. We might hear about the childhood of one conductor but not another; or we might hear about one part of a conductor’s career, but not all of it. And, in many cases, Lebrecht gives us a few incidents that fit his point he is trying to make, while the rest is left out. 

 

The book also isn’t just a book about what Lebrecht thinks about conductors, or the art of conduction - although, again, that is in this book. It isn’t just about the history of conducting, although it has some of that too. 

 

Really, this is a book Lebrecht wrote about conducting, conductors, the mythology surrounding conducting and conductors, and a lot of stuff about how music connects with politics and personality and money and art and everything else. 

 

I should also note that the title does not mean that Lebrecht is “debunking” myths about conductors. Rather, he explores the mythology of conducting, of the great conductors, of the “maestro” that sits atop the orchestra like a god and makes music happen. 

 

Lebrecht, as far as I can determine, has never been in an orchestra - he is a journalist and has been described as a “gossip columnist,” which isn’t entirely wrong, I suppose - but he has a pretty good handle on what makes a conductor good, bad, or indifferent. 

 

So, if you are into classical music, you will probably find this book a heck of a lot of fun. As long as you aren’t expecting it to fit any particular expectation. That’s how Lebrecht writes. 

 

The Maestro Myth was published in 1991, which is a lot longer ago than I think it should be - I’m apparently getting old - so some of the information is out of date. Many of the “living” conductors in the book are now deceased, and there is obviously nothing about the current generation of young maestros. 

 

I should note as well that it is a good idea to fact check anything Lebrecht writes before you cite it. Some of his books have had some errors of fact in them, and the sequel to this one landed him in a libel suit which was subsequently settled. The “gossip columnist” part is, as I noted, not entirely wrong, and some of what makes it into all of his books seems to be scuttlebutt, not proven fact. Keep that in mind if something seems a bit implausible, and dig a little deeper. 

 

I mention this regarding this book primarily because of the last chapter, in which he argues that the agents for top-name maestros are ruining the profession. You might take the specifics with a wee bit of salt. 

 

Lebrecht organizes the book sort-of in chronological order, starting with the person he sees as the first true “maestro,” the conductor who was a celebrity in his own right: Hans von Bulow. Ah yes, the guy whose wife was stolen by Wagner, but who arguably premiered more masterpieces than anyone before or since. And it is difficult to argue with Lebrecht’s choice of him as the first true celebrity conductor. 

 

From there, the book goes more or less through time, but also groups conductors in chapters based on themes. For example, chapter four is entitled “Facing the Dictators,” and examines how various maestros of the World War Two era pushed back - or not - against Hitler and Stalin. This means Toscanini (strongly anti-fascist, but possibly self-serving as well) and Furtwangler (a definite collaborator with the Nazis, but it was complicated), but also the communist ex-pats: Szell and Reiner. 

 

Karajan - who was even worse than Furtwangler, but never paid the same price in reputation - gets his own chapter. 

 

And so on through the present. Near the end, Lebrecht devotes a chapter to those fairly systemically excluded from the podium: women, black people, and gay people. To be clear here, Lebrecht even in 1991 thought this was a horrible scandal in the Classical world, and sought to elevate women and minorities, while noting that a lot of conductors were gay, but had to hide it or lose their careers. 

 

I should mention that Lebrecht is Jewish, and that fact is important in how he views the Nazis, antisemitism, and performative diversity. (In particular, his takedown of the Vienna Philharmonic and its performative embrace of Jewish conductors is pretty brutal. It was easier to celebrate Leonard Bernstein than actually acknowledge how many musicians the organization betrayed who then perished in the camps and gas chambers.) 

 

Another thing that I do want to note is that the book does have a few cringy things that are a product both of the time it was written in and the generation Lebrecht belongs to. 

 

One of these that most grated was his use of “girl” to describe grown women. Specifically, women who are of college age or early career - he would describe orchestras hiring “girls straight out of university.” Yeah, it grated badly. Older women are described as “women,” so it has to be an age thing. 

 

The sad thing is, it is clearly an affectation, a way of speaking, rather than a conscious diss of women. Throughout the book, he praises opportunities given to female instrumentalists, singers, and conductors. Even when he uses “girls” he is praising the orchestras for identifying previously overlooked talent and noting that this led to high musical quality. 

 

I can’t think of anywhere in the book that he expresses the view that women are in any way inferior to men, and in many cases, he correctly identifies the misogyny that has made musical careers difficult for women. 

 

So, I am going to just say that he sounds like an old man used to using certain words, rather than an actual sexist. And also, I fault his editor for leaving those in. Maybe 1991 was just like that, but it should have been better. 

 

I’m not going to summarize any of the chapters or list the conductors. Rather, I want to just highlight some things that particularly struck my fancy. And say that if you are a classical music fan - and especially if you are a musician - you should give this book a read. 

 

The opening is pretty darn good:

 

Every age invents heroes. The warrior, the lover and the saintly martyr captivated medieval minds. Romantics worshipped the poet and explorer; industrial and political upheavals set the scientist and social reformer on a pedestal. The advent of mass media enabled idols to be custom-made for separate consumer groups: pop stars for adolescents, screen goddesses for the lovelorn, cardboard soap-opera characters for couch potatoes, sports champions for the more energetic, terrorist hijackers for the world’s oppressed, pop-philosophers for the chattering classes. 

Heroes act as a safety valve in the social pressure cooker. They allow small men in spectacles to identify harmlessly with Sylvester Stallone instead of throwing a punch at the boos, and shy girls to fantasize away their chastity in the flaunted sexuality of Marilyn Monroe and Madonna. Such dreams are unrelated to any concrete reality. The once-ubiquitous bedroom-wall portraits of the South American guerrilla leader, Che Guevara, did not signify incipient juvenile revolution in suburbia. Guevara as a political force was a minor irritant to remote regimes. As an icon, however, he vented the frustrations and yearnings of affluent youngsters in the decadent West.

Such popular heroes are literally mythical, in the sense that they are either insubstantial or wholly fictitious. Cultural gods are no different. Andy Warhol and Jeff Koons have demonstrated that an artist need not be distinctly original in order to be celebrated; the name of Karlheinz Stockhausen is known to music-lovers who have never heard a note he composed. Their fame lies less in anything they invent, than in the myth they represent. 

The “great conductor” is a mythical hero of this kind, artificially created for a non-musical purpose and sustained by commercial necessity. “Orchestral conducting as a full-time occupation is an invention - a sociological not an artistic one - of the 20th century,” acknowledged Daniel Barenboim, an eminent practitioner. “There is no profession which an imposter could enter more easily,” wrote the astute and long-suffering violinist, Carl Flesch. The conductor exists because mankind demands a visible leader or, at the very least, an identifiable figurehead. His musical raison d’etre is altogether secondary to that function. 

He plays no instrument, produces no noise, yet conveys and image of music-making that is credible enough to let him take the rewards of applause away from those who actually created the sound.

 

This is good stuff. As Lebrecht later clarifies, the conductor does have a purpose, and is in a way necessary to the performance of more complex works, but the demands of the job are about far more than the musical needs - it is about being that hero, that god, that maestro who represents the orchestra. 

 

This is not to say that conductors are irrelevant either. A good conductor can get a good sound out of an orchestra, while a bad one, well…

 

A bad conductor is the bane of a musician’s daily life; and a good one is not much better. He gives orders that are redundant and offensive, demands a level of obedience unknown outside the army and can earn at a concert as much as his entire orchestra is paid. 

 

I can attest that this is largely true. I have known plenty of colleagues who quit otherwise good orchestras because the conductor was an asshole. And I can also attest, having played professionally for three decades, that even good conductors can be frustrating. Musicians do not make mistakes because they don’t care - we care a lot. Sometimes, the conductor is simply making things more difficult than necessary. 

 

Fortunately, below the top levels, there are many hard-working and collaborative maestros, and I have had the pleasure of being a part of those ensembles too. 

 

Great conductors can also be a force for art when they successfully premier new works. A perusal of the history of classical music shows that it is littered with failed premiers because of conductors who were ill-prepared, disliked the music, or otherwise sabotaged great works which succeeded later under more able batons. 

 

One measure by which a great conductor can be assessed is in the new music that he brought into being.

 

A conductor who believes in a work, and interprets it well, can make even a “difficult” work seem not just accessible but thrilling. (Special praise here to Esa-Pekka Salonen, who is the best conductor I have seen live in interpreting modern works.) 

 

The early history of the orchestra had two basic approaches. In smaller ensembles, the concertmaster or the soloist could conduct from the instrument. In larger groups, the composer would often conduct. 

 

This didn’t work well in the case of Beethoven, whose deafness and general lack of skill meant that orchestras had to ignore him when he conducted. Lebrecht notes that Tchaikovsky, for all of his genius as a composer and orchestrator, was pretty terrible at interpreting his own compositions - professional conductors would adjust everything from tempos to dynamics to make them sound great. 

 

The chapter centering on von Bulow is fascinating for many reasons, not least of which is the dynamics of his abusive family and the greater issues in 19th century Germany. These seem all too familiar for those of us who grew up under similar authoritarian beliefs about childrearing which resulted in similar political catastrophe. 

 

Bulow’s brutal upbringing, amounting to actual child abuse, was typical of child-rearing methods that today are acknowledged as having been a nursery for Nazism. German parents were encouraged to exercise total control over their children, who learned unthinkingly to obey and, when their turn came, coldly to command. Adolf Hitler was a product of this system, wielding unfettered power by day yet shrieking in his sleep at nightmare memories of childhood. 

 

Von Bulow is also notable for his ability to memorize scores - he conducted the entire four hours of Tristan und Isolde from memory at its premier - just before Cosima, pregnant with Wagner’s child, abandoned poor Hans. 

 

The figure of Toscanini is a complicated one. Yes, he was anti-fascist in very real ways - and he paid the price, being roughed up by blackshirts and being placed under house arrest by Mussolini. But he was also an asshole to his family and players. My favorite line about that is from an anonymous musical collaborator:

 

“Toscanini loves on-one. On his sleeve he wears not his heart but his spleen.”

 

But this was all a hell of a lot better than Furtwangler, who was a buddy of Goebbels and Hitler’s favorite conductor. God, I felt like taking a bath after reading that section. On the other hand, he did manage to protect a handful of Jewish musicians from the Holocaust, so I guess there is that. 

 

Also complicated is East German maestro Kurt Masur, who was beloved of the regime, but who also played a key and positive role in averting violence in the run-up to the fall of the Berlin Wall by opening his concert hall as a public forum - more openness than had been seen in decades. Afterward, when he was asked to run for office, he quipped, “Am I so bad a conductor that I have to become a politician?” 

 

In this chapter enters Caruso, who has a connection to my wife’s family. Apparently, he tried to hit on one of her great-something aunt or cousin (pardon me if I forget the exact degree), and she hit him with either an umbrella or a wine bottle. But he is mentioned in this chapter for, among other things, singing six concerts - and five different roles - in a single week. Damn. 

 

Also fun in this chapter is the feud between Toscanini and music critic (and composer) Virgil Thompson, who was prone to writing scathing reviews. 

 

The chapter on Karajan is quite fascinating. Lebrecht nails down some of the reasons I am not a particular fan of his recordings - I prefer Szell for Beethoven, and Ormandy for Romantic era works - but also exposes a lot of the Nazi shit. 

 

Lebrecht notes that if you were a non-Jewish musician, or indeed a skilled worker of any sort, you didn’t have to join the Nazi party to survive. You could still find work, and many did. Joining the party gave you perks, though. Even Richard Strauss, who is often condemned for remaining silent (in his old age, by the way) rather than condemning Hitler, never joined the party. But Karajan did. 

 

Whatever you think of Karajan as a person and as an artist, there is no doubt that he was the giant figure of his era, both as a live performer and as the first true superstar recording artist. Much of what came after was pioneered by him, from the guest conducting tours to the carefully perfect and lush recorded sound. 

 

As Generalmusikdirektor of all Europe, he demonstrated that it was technically possible in the jet age to be chief conductor in four places at once, earning four full salaries and the applause of an entire hemisphere. His immense fortune and flagrant ambition estranged him from orchestral musicians, whose resentment was compounded by his infrequent presence. 

 

Hating the conductor is a sport among musicians, of course. I had to laugh at Georg Solti’s nickname of “the screaming skull.” 

 

And this was hilarious too:

 

Composers dropped out of the music director bracket early in the century as the two occupations drifted inexorably apart. One was perceived as spiritual and other-worldly, the other belonged all too obviously to the material world of power and wealth. The priestly part of the podium function, inasmuch as it survived, resembled the posturing of Sunday-morning televangelists, who preached saintliness while reeking of riches and, periodically, of vice. 

 

The book, naturally, spends a good bit of time on Leonard Bernstein. One of the questions it examines a bit is whether Bernstein’s fantastic success on the podium negatively affected his career as a composer - Bernstein himself certainly thought so. I have played a number of his works, from symphonies to pop stuff, and I do have to wonder. West Side Story is his big hit, but his other works are pretty darn good too, in my opinion. 

 

Also fascinating is the back story to his career. 

 

Raised by the rigid hands of Reiner and Koussevitsky, he came onto the market during the McCarthy witch-hunt when his leftist sympathies, homoerotic inclinations and racial origins rendered him virtually unemployable. Kouseevitsky implored him to change his name, get baptized and married and clean up his act, but Bernstein went his own way, and his openness cost him any chance of inheriting the Boston Symphony, or advancing beyond his pupillage at the New York Philharmonic. 

 

Eventually, however, McCarthy left in disgrace, and Lenny was recognized as a true talent, a unique musician, and an inspiration to so many. One of his students at Tanglewood expressed a sentiment that even those of us who never got to see him live understand. 

 

“When he gets up on the podium, he makes me remember why I wanted to become a musician.”

 

Watching one of his classic videos, like Mahler 2, or his incomparable Young People’s Concerts, you do indeed feel the infectiousness of his love for music of all kinds, and remember why you love being a musician. 

 

There is another interesting quote from a musician regarding Klaus Tennstedt:

 

“Every player wonders sometimes what a conductor does. With Tennstedt you don’t wonder. You know.”

 

As I noted, despite some wince worthy language, the chapter on female, black, and gay conductors is actually really good. And perceptive. He notes that the fundraising for most American orchestras comes from committees dominated by upper-middle-class women. This is still very true. And this has some consequences.

 

The strain of sexual fantasy and sublimation in this relationship is undeniable, and sometimes encouraged. A macho maestro in the prime of life is a powerfully attractive figure. If he is homosexual, his appeal to the lady activists of middle America will diminish. 

 

I would like to think that this dynamic has changed a bit over the last three decades. The “gay best friend” is a bit more acceptable, perhaps - and even desirable. So there are more openly gay conductors. But I think the basic dynamic still has somewhat of an effect, particularly in “middle America.” 

 

Lebrecht also nails a particular dynamic when it comes to female conductors - indeed female bosses of any sort. Women were for a long time relegated to leading all-female ensembles because of it. 

 

Evrard felt a woman was innately inhibited from conducting an orchestra of men, “which often lacks discipline and resents receiving orders from anyone not of its own kind.” 

 

This too, I feel, is slowly changing. I have seen a good number of women conduct the LA Phil over the years - and opera orchestras and smaller orchestras - and have had women guest conduct our own group - and the vibe definitely feels like it is trending in the right direction. This is probably due in no small part to the increase in the percentage of female musicians in most orchestras. 

 

I also would be remiss if I failed to mention Ethel Smyth, composer and conductor - and badass suffragette who was jailed for a protest, and conducted her fellow prisoners in a march around the prison yard singing a hymn while she beat time with a toothbrush. (The story comes from Sir Thomas Beecham, who visited her in jail - he was a big supporter of her music and the suffrage movement.) 

 

(Smyth was also known for her series of relationships with women. Her unrequited love for Virginia Woolf led to Woolf quipping that it was “like being caught by a giant crab.” The two did become friends, however.) 

 

Finally, I will mention that since the book was written, African-Americans have taken more prominent roles on the podium. I have personally seen Thomas Wilkins - maestro of the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra - conduct numerous times, and he is a fine interpreter and great stage presence. In this day and age (as Lebrecht notes in the book) true superstars are becoming less and less common, with the younger generations consisting more of competent musicians rather than rock stars with batons - other than, say Dudamel, who else? So Wilkins will never have the name recognition of a Bernstein or Karajan, but I know that I can expect great music when he is conducting. 

 

One of the later chapters looks at the inherent contradictions in the smaller “throwback” ensembles that became popular in the 1980s. These smaller chamber orchestras often eschewed - or tried to - a regular conductor. However, it often happened that a personality would eventually take over the group, either intentionally, or by default. 

 

The OG, perhaps, is the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, which I will admit I adore. Sir Neville Marriner founded it, and eventually took a leading role. These days, it is led by virtuoso violinist Joshua Bell. I am a bit disappointed that I will not get to see them this year due to a conflict with one of my own concerts. Them's the breaks I guess. 

I also was glad to see a mention of the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, which is another favorite. Their recording of the Bartok Divertimento for Strings - which I have played a couple of times - is just thrilling. 

 

Finally, I will mention that two of the conductors that Lebrecht considers the last of their kind also happen to be two of my favorites. I saw Simon Rattle twice as a kid or teen, and despite his reputation as more of a modern music guy, his Eroica was mind-blowing. One of those where you walk out stunned and euphoric. 

 

The other is Salonen, who I try to see whenever he returns to the LA Phil. He is so clear as a conductor that I can see how he gets his crisp transparent textures, particularly in Sibelius or modern compositions. 

 

And perhaps that is the best way to end, with a quote from Salonen. As the anti-celebrity, he has always seemed more concerned with music than with showmanship. His advocacy for modern music - and his belief in its relevance and power - is infectious, and I find he truly does make even atonal stuff sound good and evoke emotion. (One of my kids is really into modern classical, and he got to experience Salonen’s Symphonia Concertante for Organ along with Bartok and Stravinsky with me a few years ago - Salonen’s work was his favorite.) 

 

Anyway, here is the quote: 

 

“Everyone keeps telling me that I programme such adventurous repertoire. Yet my relation timewise to Messiaen and Lutoslawski is almost exactly as Karajan’s was to Richard Strauss - and I don’t think anyone thought Karajan was an outrageous avant-gardist.” 

 

Exactly. And a lot of what is being written in this century is great music that really should be heard more often. 

 

Obviously, there is a whole lot more in this book. It’s fun, surprising, insightful, outrageous, and gossipy all at once. It is a look into not just the musical side, but the business side, the political side, and the cultural side of this business of conduction, and the mythology our society has created around the role. 













Wednesday, February 4, 2026

Tar Baby by Toni Morrison

Source of book: I own this

 

Sometimes, the reason I end up reading a book is a bit of luck or circumstance. I found a Franklin edition of Tar Baby used somewhere (I forget where) at a low price, so I grabbed it. Honestly, I hadn’t ever heard of it. Morrison’s other books are better known, including the ubiquitous high school/college assignment book, The Bluest Eye, which is the only book of hers I had previously read. 

 

This is a great selection to kick off Black History Month with, in my opinion. These days, more than ever, it is necessary for those of us human beings of good will to keep the faith when it comes to diversity and basic human decency. The current regime is already purging the truth from NPS sites, including the reality that our founding fathers enslaved people. 

 

One of the many ways to stand against white supremacy and fascism is to continue to read, talk about, and share books by black authors. Every year since I started this blog in 2011 I have chosen at least one book to ready for Black History Month. The list is here, and also includes other books by black authors, and a few books by white authors about black history. 


 

Tar Baby is not, however, one of this year’s selections. I is just a book by a black author that I wanted to read and got around to last month. Stay tuned for the official selections later. 

 

This book is a bit different than The Bluest Eye and Morrison’s other books. For one thing, it is set in modern times (meaning the 1970s in this case) rather than the past. It also is relatively free from racialized violence. The violence that does occur is also much more personal, if that makes sense. 

 

The book takes place mostly on a fictional private island in the Caribbean. The scene partially shifts to New York City, then a small black town in Florida. There are also references to Philadelphia and Paris, where some of the backstory took place. So it has a rather cosmopolitan feel to it. 

 

There is also the sense of the opening of a world, of an expansion from the intimate living-room drama to the larger stage, and an expansion from personal relationships to the greater culture, as the book progresses. 

 

I also think the book is fascinating because it focuses every bit as much on its white characters as its black ones. Everything is interconnected, and what we learn about each character reveals the others at the same time. 

 

There aren’t that many characters in the book. Valerian Street is an absurdly wealthy man. He took over the family candy business in his youth and grew it, selling out and retiring when it became apparent that his son Michael has no interest in it. Michael, as we later find out, hasn’t seen much of his parents in years. He has taken a different path, working in social work on the Navajo Reservation, and generally doing the liberal hippie thing in constructive ways. 

 

Michael is Valerian’s only child, and the child of Margaret, who was a much younger beauty queen sort who caught the rich guy. She is pretty shallow, but also in deep denial about many things, and many such women are. 

 

Working for the Streets are Sydney and Ondine, a black couple who have been with the Streets for decades, first in Philadelphia, and now on Isle des Chevaliers. The relationship is particularly strained between Margaret and Ondine, however. 

 

Also a part of the household is Jadine, Sydney and Ondine’s niece. She is extraordinarily beautiful, and somehow Valerian took an interest in her. And not in the creepy way of old rich white guys: he paid her way through college, enabling her to work as an artist and model in Paris. For the first part of the book, she is back on an extended visit. 

 

There are a couple of minor characters: Gideon (aka “Yardman”) and Therese (“Mary”) whose real names the Streets have never bothered to learn. 

 

And finally, there is the character who turns everything upside down: Son Green, an American black man who has stowed away on a ship, but ends up escaping to the island. 

 

He hides out for a while, before being discovered in Margaret’s closet, to the horror of everyone. Except Valerian, who does the least expected thing and invites Son to dinner. 

 

Christmas is approaching, and Margaret is sure that Michael will come to visit this time, and has invited an old professor of his to join them.

 

This sets the stage for a gradual unravelling of the various relationships, the revelation of some dark secrets, and the opportunity for Morrison to explore not only the minefield of race and class relations but also the question of authenticity. 

 

How does one “live authentically” as a black person? Is it to take Jadine’s path and succeed - indeed thrive - in the white world, playing by white rules? Or is it Son’s approach, to disdain the systems he is in, and refuse to live by the rules they impose? And, for that matter, where do Sydney and Ondine fit into this idea of “authenticity”? Are they less authentic because they have chosen to stay in their “place” because it keeps them fed and housed and has resulted in a tremendous advantage for their niece? 

 

Beyond that, there are a lot of twists and turns in the book, which I won’t reveal. 

 

Morrison’s writing is excellent as usual, and her use of dialogue to reveal her characters is a masterpiece. This is a book that I was thoroughly immersed in start to finish, enjoying the use of language while caring a great deal about each character. 

 

And that is the thing too: there are no true villains and no true heroes in this book. Margaret and Valerian are pretty horrible in the way of super-rich and privileged white people, but not uniquely horrible. And they are more complicated than that, and thus are somewhat sympathetic characters. 

 

This leads to the title. We all are familiar with Joel Chandler Harris’ story from his Uncle Remus books. The rabbit is taken in by a figure made of tar, and becomes furious when it refuses to answer him. So he punches the tar baby, getting stuck. 

 

Harris didn’t invent the folk tales, of course, and didn’t claim to. He was a journalist with a listening ear, and wrote down the folk tales he heard from black folk. As Tar Baby itself notes, another version of the story has the farmer create the tar baby, not the fox - there are multiple versions told. 

 

But the old tale raises a number of fascinating questions. Why was it that the lack of an answer infuriated Br’er Rabbit? What might that represent in the broader culture? What does the briar patch mean? One explanation is that Br’er Rabbit as the trickster represents black people, and the substandard habitations they have been all too often limited to are like a briar patch. Not a great place to be, but home enough, and not without advantages. 

 

I mention this because of the episode in the book where Son takes Jadine back to his hometown - which certainly seems a bit of a briar patch to her. 

 

In the context of Tar Baby, there is also another question: who is the Tar Baby in the story? Is it Jadine, entrapping Son? Or Son entrapping Jadine? Or something else altogether. Morrison’s introduction to the edition I own hints at some meaning, but coyly refuses to answer the question. Perhaps this is for the reader to find for themself. 

 

I noted a few lines in this book that I wanted to mention. First up is the issue of class. Sydney and Ondine take an instant dislike to Son, and even refer to him as a “swamp nigger.” Clearly they think they are a lot higher class than he is - they work as domestics, not manual labor. 

 

Son, on the other hand, sees the “higher class” black culture as essentially borrowed white culture. At one point, he calls Jadine a “white girl,” saying that she, like the white people, assume that he is a rapist. She becomes furious and flings back at him that he doesn’t get to determine who qualifies as a black woman. 

 

Later, Gideon talks with Son about Jadine. 

 

“Your first yalla? he asked. “Look out. It’s hard for them not to be white people. Hard, I’m telling you. Most never make it. Some try, but most don’t make it.”

 

There is another passage, where Son observes Yardman. It’s an interesting observation. 

 

He stared at his back. Yardman, she called him. That was Yardman’s back. He knew backs, studied them because backs told it all. Not eyes, not hands, not mouths either, but backs because they were simply there, all open, unprotected and unmanipulable as Yardman’s was, stretched like a smokehouse cot where hobos could spend the night. A back where the pain of every canker, every pinched neck nerve, every toothache, every missed train home, empty mailbox, closed bus depot, do-not-disturb and this-seat-taken sign since God made water came to rest. 

 

Another great observation is from Valerian. 

 

The unending problem of growing old was not how he changed, but how things did. A condition bearable only so long as there were others like him to share that knowledge. But his wife, twenty-two years younger and from another place, did not remember, and his friends were dead and dying. 

 

This is just one of many examples of how well Morrison writes characters. And I mean, she nails her white characters in a way that few white writers ever do with black characters. I felt I knew and know people like Valerian and Margaret, and can see myself in him at times. 

 

Valerian’s thoughts on Michael also resonate. This is a moment when Valerian sees how the members of his household look at Son at first, and realizes that when Michael called him and his servants “bourgeois” that this is what he meant. 

 

He had defended his servants vigorously to Michael then, with aphorisms about loyalty and decency and with shouts that the press was ruining with typical carelessness the concept of honor for a people who had a hard enough time achieving any. What he had said to Jade, he believed: that Michael was a purveyor of exotics, a typical anthropologist, a cultural orphan who sought other cultures he could love without risk or pain. Valerian hated them, not from any hatred of the minority or alien culture, but because of what he saw to be the falseness and fraudulence of the anthropological position. 

 

In our modern parlance, Valerian accuses Michael of “virtue signaling” - something my own parents have accused me of as well. As if any feeling of solidarity and empathy with those outside of one’s racial tribe exists only to make us feel better about ourselves. Which is horseshit. One look at Minneapolis and the way that white people have literally put their lives on the line to protect their immigrant neighbors is enough to indicate that maybe, just maybe, empathy and solidarity can and do exist across lines. And always have. 

 

I’ll end with an observation by Son, about the way race and wealth make a person blind to others. 

 

Son’s mouth went dry as he watched Valerian chewing a piece of ham, his head-of-a-coin profile content, approving even of the flavor in his mouth although he had been able dismiss with a flutter of the fingers the people whose sugar and cocoa had allowed him to grow old in regal comfort; although he had taken the sugar and cocoa and paid for it as though it had no value, as though the cutting of can and picking of beans was child’s play and had no value; but he turned it into candy, the invention of which really was child’s play, and sold it to other children and made a fortune in order to move near, but not in the midst of, the jungle where the sugar came from and build a palace with more of their labor and then hire them to do more of the work he was not capable of and pay them again according to some scale of value that would outrage Satan himself and when those people wanted a little of what he wanted, some apples for their Christmas, and took some, he dismissed them with a flutter of the fingers, because they were thieves, and nobody knew thieves and thievery better than he did and he probably thought he was a law-abiding man, they all did, and they all always did, because they had not the dignity of wild animals who did not eat where they defecated but they could defecate over a whole people and come there to live and defecate some more by tearing up the land and that is why they loved property so, because they had killed it soiled it defecated on it and they loved more than anything the places where they shit. 

 

Ouch. That’s a sick burn, but it is true. And if you aren’t picturing Trump and Musk’s faces - and those of so many more like them - you should be. Hey, one of them even used AI to generate a video of himself shitting on all of us. He’s just more honest than most of them.

 

I will mention that there is some domestic violence in this book, and another scene of two women hitting each other. Which, by the standards of a Morrison book is pretty tame fare. There is also a homicide that occurs offscreen, so to speak. 

 

But I think the real “trigger warning” this book may need is that it shines an ugly light on the assumptions that underlie our capitalist imperialism and the people whose exploitation our lifestyles depend on. Morrison doesn’t lecture, doesn’t preach really. (Although occasionally a character will.) She shows rather than tells, and the most uncomfortable part is that she sees all too clearly into the hearts of her characters. They aren’t exactly villains, but everyone has a huge blind spot or two. 

 

As a final thought on the book, I love that it does not offer easy answers. In fact, I don’t think it offers answers at all. 

 

Instead, it says “here is reality” and asks “what do you think should be done about it?” 

 

It’s good writing too, if I didn’t already make that clear. Morrison is one of the best writers of her era, a master of character and description and thoughtful exploration of important themes of our time. And perhaps all times. 

 

Monday, February 2, 2026

We Do Not Part by Han Kang

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

Han Kang won the Nobel Prize for literature in 2024, the first female Asian writer to do so. I previously read her book, The Vegetarian, back in 2020, and it became one of the favorite books of one of my kids. 

 

I had been meaning to read more of her books, and this one became available when I needed an audiobook for my commute for rehearsals and concert. 

 


We Do Not Part is definitely not quite as weird as The Vegetarian. It is also much more political, after a fashion. Like some of her previous books, it is partly about a traumatic violent episode in post-World War Two Korea, one that is fairly unknown to us in the United States, despite our complicity in it. 

 

For me, the book had some very good parts, and a lot of beautiful writing. However, it also suffered from a certain amount of inconsistency, and got bogged down in the historical accounts to an extent that it felt like she really wanted to write a non-fiction book just on the massacre, rather than a novel with episodes from the past. 

 

The massacre in question took place just before the Korean War broke out. For background, Korea was occupied and colonized by Japan for quite a long time before the war. You can read some of that history in Pachinko by Min Jin Lee, which I thought did a good job of integrating the history with the modern day story. 

 

When the war ended, and Japan was defeated by the allies, Korea was “freed.” Which meant they got ruled by a US military regime, then a US-backed dictatorship. 

 

In the run-up to the Korean War, various rebel groups, many of them communist or leftist, vied for control of the country. Eventually, the hostilities escalated from a civil war to a proxy war between the US and China, with the Korean populace considered mostly expendable. 

 

One of the most sordid episodes before the war took place on Jeju Island, a large volcanic island off the south coast of Korea. I had never heard of it, but it is apparently a big tourist destination due to its milder weather. 

 

In retaliation against the rebels, the government murdered tens of thousands of civilians - men women, children, and infants. These ended up in mass graves, the existence of which was brutally suppressed by the Korean government until decades later, when the dictatorship was replaced by a democracy, and the survivors were able to put enough pressure on the government. 

 

For this book, Han Kang weaves elements of autobiography with fiction and with the historical events. 

 

Kyungha is a woman who seems to be a stand-in for the author. Like the author, she suffers from migraines, and has developed vivid nightmares after researching a massacre for her latest book. 

 

She reconnects with her long-time friend from college, Inseon, who is an artist, carpenter, and filmmaker. The two of them decide to do an artistic film about the massacre, one that utilizes Kyungha’s nightmare of trees shaped like humans with snow falling on them. 

 

Then, Kyungha receives a text asking her to come immediately to the hospital, and discovers that Inseon has severed some fingers while working on the carved trees. She also needs a favor: her bird has been left alone at her remote home and needs water and food immediately. This will require Kyungha to drop everything and fly to Jeju Island, find her way to the remote property, and see if the bird is living or dead. 

 

And all this occurs in an unusually strong storm that has dropped snow all over the island. 

 

Essentially, this, with some history of both Kyungha and Inseon, their families, and their relationship, which is kind of ambiguous, makes up the first half of the story. 

 

We get some hints of what is to come. Inseon’s mother was a child who, along with her older sister, survived the Jeju Massacre, losing the rest of their family in what turns out to be highly traumatic and horrible ways. 

 

For the second half, which is divided into two further parts, the line between reality, history, and hallucination becomes seriously blurred. The ending is ambiguous - what really happened? Was any of it real? And that actually works okay, although I do think that kind of ending is a bit trendy right now. 

 

The bigger problem is that so much of the second half becomes Inseon and Kyungha sorting through all the old newspaper clippings and other research that Inseon’s late mother did to research the massacre and try to find out what happened to her brother. 

 

And what I mean by that is that the plot goes so off track into the past, with laborious detail, statistics, anecdotes that are unconnected to the actual characters of the story - it really becomes more like a nonfiction account of the massacre as it occurred in multiple places - that the momentum of the book is lost. I also think that the author gets bogged down in her outrage at the inhumanity of the US-sponsored dictatorship and its thugs that she ceases to write in an effective or compelling way. It feels self-indulgent. 

 

Now, I do understand that some of this may be because I was never the intended reader for this book. It was written in Korean, for Korean readers, who I presume are more likely to see the incidents the way we Americans might see our own Civil War, and find the details more personal and thus compelling. 

 

For me, it was enough to get a taste of things. I can understand that our own understanding of the Korean War (like the Vietnam War) is deeply flawed on multiple levels. Both came from the end of a colonialist occupation. Both ended up as proxy wars between the great powers. And in both cases, the great powers either slaughtered civilians themselves, or encouraged the local governments and armies to do so. Although equally true is that things would probably have gone pretty FUBAR even if the US had stayed out of Korea entirely. Humans are just shitty, no matter our ethnicity. 

 

It is a shame that the book felt this way, because, had the historical stuff been edited better, and the book shortened by a good hour or two, it could have been a tight, effective story. Nothing important would have been lost by summarizing the historical details rather than creating a documentary within a novel. 

 

That leads me back to the main story, the one of two women who are bonded in a fascinating way. They each have their family trauma, and it helps to know the background. 

 

The atmosphere of the snowstorm is amazing, and the language of the descriptions is gorgeous. How much is original and how much is the translation by Emily Yae Won and Paige Aniyah Morris is not clear to me, but the combination makes for truly beautiful writing. 

 

At its best, the book is luminous and evocative, terrifying and sublime, deeply emotional yet restrained. For much of the first half, and for the final moments, I was completely sucked in and immersed in the storytelling. 

 

And then, an hour would go by at a time, and I struggled to listen, as it got bogged down in the details. 

 

I wonder if the curse of being an award-winning author is that editors are afraid to tell you to make cuts. Because I really think that had there been better editing, a better focus on the essentials rather than detail, and a little less of a preachy outraged tone, this could have been a truly amazing book. 

 

It’s still worth a read, I would say, because the good is so good, and you can, at least on the printed version, skim a bit when it starts to feel like a documentary. 

 

The audiobook, read by Greta Jung is good. Jung does a good job overall of portraying the characters. My only quibble is that at times it is a bit difficult to pick up the switch from the voice of Kyungha and Inseon, and since the stories being told shift often, this can make it a bit difficult at times to keep straight whose family story is whose. It’s a tough one to do, of course, because you have two women who are fairly similar - you can’t rely on dialect here at all. Overall, though, a good listening experience.