New Year Letter by W. H. Auden

Source of book: I own this

 

This long poem, in the form of a letter to a friend (Elizabeth Mayer), is a fascinating musing on the time it was written (1940, at the beginning of World War Two), and on the relationship of art, life, and politics. In a very real sense, it fits our own time - the rise of Facism and racial hatred, a flood of propaganda and lies, a left that lacks a real message or coherent vision, and all too many people content to live without thinking. 

 

I also must say that I am a bit of a kindred spirit to Auden. I too am conservative by temperament, but find myself accused of being a leftist because I oppose fascism, and support working for the common good of all. We perhaps differ due to nationality - we Americans don’t really support the British class system, whatever our obsession with the British royalty. There is no real movement for a hereditary system of titles here. We prefer to worship celebrities. 

W. H. Auden in 1940 

But I digress. The poem is a long ramble in a lot of ways, a venting of feelings. Auden describes his imposter syndrome, his debt to a whole gallery of past greats, his feeling that the world has come unmoored not merely from order and stability, but from truth and goodness itself. (Me too, W. H…) 

 

The entire work is written in rhymed couplets, with a loose iambic tetrameter. Reading it aloud can become a bit sing-song, but Auden is definitely working in an old tradition with the form. At 44 pages, it is not short, but it also flows quickly. It is divided into three sections, and I read each one in a single sitting. 

 

Throughout, there is a lot of name dropping, from Buxtehude to Rilke. These are in small caps each time, almost like a hyperlink of the internet era. At least that’s how it felt to me. 

 

There really is a lot of food for thought in the poem. I won’t even attempt to summarize it, but I will quote a few passages that I particularly loved. There are many more. While the poem doesn’t seem to have much written about it by professionals, many of us amateur bloggers have written about it, and quoted passages that spoke to us. 

 

Here is the opening: 

 

Under the familiar weight

Of winger, conscience and the State,

In loose formations of good cheer,

Love, language, loneliness and fear,

Towards the habits of next year,

Along the streets the people flow,

Singing or sighing as then go:

Exalte, piano, or in doubt,

All our reflections turn about 

A common meditative norm, 

Retrenchment, Sacrifice, Reform.

 

And this passage, which feels so relevant. In a very real way, MAGA is a shriek of existential terror, a failure to accept mortality, to accept reality, to accept that others exist as equally true humans to ourselves. 

 

How hard it is to set aside

Terror, concupiscence and pride,

Learn who and where and how we are,

The children of a modest star,

Frail, backward, clinging to the granite

Skirts of a sensible old planet,

Our placid and suburban nurse

In SITTER’S swelling universe,

 How hard to stretch imagination

To live according to our station.

For we aqree all insulted by

The mere suggestion that we die

Each moment and that each great I

Is but a process in a process

Within a field that never closes;

As proper people find it strange 

That we are changed by what we change,

That no event can happen twice

And that no two existences

Can every be alike; we’d rather

Be perfect copies of our father,

Prefer our idees fixes to be

True of a fixed Reality. 

 

There is a brief line that made me laugh a bit, as it actually is true. 

 

If she will look as if she were

A fascinated listener,

Since men will pay large sums to whores

For telling them they are not bores.

 

I also liked this passage, which cuts to the heart of the fundamentalist and fascist ideologies, while also rejecting full relativism. (Again, conservative by temperament, but humanist by ideology.)

 

For, if dualities exist,

What happens to the god? If there

Are any cultures anywhere

With other values than his own, 

How can it possibly be shown

That his are not subjective or

That all life is a state of war?

While, if the monist view be right,

How is it possible to fight?

If love has been annihilated

There’s only hate left to be hated. 

To say two different things at once,

To wage offensives on two frogs,

And yet to show complete conviction,

Requires the purpler kinds of diction

And none appreciate as he

Polysyllabic oratory.

All vague  idealistic art

That coddles the uneasy heart

Is up his alley, and his pigeon

The woozier species of religion,

Even a novel, play or song,

If loud, lugubrious and long;

He knows the bored will not unmask him

But that he’s lost if someone ask him

To come the hell in off the links

And say exactly what he thinks.

To win support of any kind

He has to hold before the mind

Amorphous shadows it can hate…

 

This one is also good:

 

Hell is the being of the lie

That we become if we deny

The laws of consciousness and claim

Becoming and Being are the same,

Being in time, and man discrete

In will, yet free and self-complete;

Its fire the pain to which we go

If we refused to suffer, though

The one unnecessary grief

Is the vain craving for relief,

When to the suffering we could bear

We add intolerable fear,

Absconding from remembrance, mocked

By our own partial senses, locked

Each in a stale uniqueness, lie

Time-conscious for eternity.

 

I also liked this passage:

 

Now in that fully alienated land,

An earth made common by the means

Of hunger, money, and machines,

Where each determined nature must

Regard that nature as a trust

That, being chosen, he must choose,

Determined to become of use;

For we are conscripts to our age

Simply by being born; we wage

The war we are, and may not die,

With POLYCARP’S despairing cry,

Desert or become ill: but how

To be the patriots of the Now? 

Here all, by rights, are volunteers,

And anyone who interferes 

With how another wills to fight

Must base his action, not on right,

But on the power to compel; 

Only the “Idiot” can tell

For which state office he should run,

Only the Many make the One. 

 

Hunger, money, and machines…

 

And how about the uselessness of war? And of tribalism and hate?

 

Whatever nonsense we believe,

Whomever we can still deceive,

Whatever language angers us,

Whoever seems the poisonous

Old dragon to be killed if men 

Are ever to be rich again,

We know no fuss or pain or lying

Can stop the moribund from dying.

 

Auden doesn’t spare modern soulless capitalism either. 

 

Out of the noise and horror, the

Opinions of artillery,

The barracks chatter and the yell

Of charging cavalry, the smell

Of poor opponents roasting, out

Of LUTHER’S faith and MONTAIGNE’S doubt,

The epidemic of translations,

The Councils and the navigation,

The confiscations and the suits,

The scholars’ scurrilous disputes

Over the freedom of the Will

And right of Princes to do ill,

Emerged a new Anthropos, an

Empiric Economic Man,

The urban, prudent, and inventive,

Profit his rational incentive

And Work his whole exercitus,

The individual let loose

To guard himself, at liberty 

To starve or be forgotten, free

To feel in splendid isolation

Or drive himself about creation

In the closed cab of Occupation. 

 

Free to starve - that’s pretty much the libertarian ethos, if you think about it. 

 

This next bit seems to apply to a certain Orange Narcissist:

 

He never won complete support;

However many votes he bought,

He could not silence all the cliques,

And no miraculous techniques 

Could sterilize all discontent

Or dazzle it into assent,

But at the very noon and arch

Of his immense triumphal march

Stood prophets pelting him with curses

And sermons and satiric verses…

 

I’ll end with this passage, an indictment of those who mistake good intentions for actual action.  

 

But wishes are not horses, this

Annus is not mirabilis;

Day breaks upon the world we know

Of war and wastefulness and woe; 

Ashamed civilians come to grief

In brotherhoods without belief,

Whose good intentions cannot cure

The actual evils they endure,

Nor smooth their practical career,

Nor bring the far horizon near. 

 

This problem is not really a left or right issue, but an ideology issue. It is the belief that good intentions plus an ideology is all you need to solve problems. In reality, problems are messy and difficult to solve, because they involve messy humans and human systems. Easy, pretty answers don’t fix things. And neither do good intentions. (Not that evil intentions are better, of course.) I feel that one reason my parents are unable to see the damage they have caused to me and other members of my birth family is this very thing: they had good intentions (or at least believe they had…I’m not so sure in some cases) so they cannot see the actual results of their choices as consequences.

 

There are so many other lines I could have featured. The poem is best seen as a conversation, an attempt to make sense of a senseless world, fallen into violence and hate and a war that should never have happened. Auden was a thoughtful writer, and his humble and introspective wrestling with the sorrow of existence truly resonates today. 

 

Passing by Nella Larsen

Source of book: Audiobook from the library, but I also own this. 

 

I probably should note at the outset that I realized that I cannot possibly discuss this book without giving spoilers, so I will start with a short summary of the idea, and then let the reader determine whether to proceed, or to read the book first. 

 

This classic of the Harlem Renaissance is about the practice of “passing” - light skinned African Americans who hid their black heritage and “passed” as white in society. This was more of a phenomenon back in the Jim Crow era than it is now, for obvious reasons. 

 

The protagonist, Irene, grew up with Clare, another light-skinned (and blonde haired) black girl, although they were not close friends. Later, she runs into Clare randomly, and realizes that she is “passing,” having married a rich white man who has no idea Clare is black. 

 

Clare feels isolated, with no one who shares her background to talk to, so she worms her way into Irene’s life, with eventually tragic results. 

 

This quick summary should suffice to say what the book is about, at least on the surface. But there is a lot more going on. Issues of colorism, class, gender, and sexuality are all barely below or at the surface. Complicated relationships, such as that between Clare and Irene, but also Irene and her husband Brian, are also crucial to the story, and in fact are every bit as interesting as the racial theme. 

 

It is these additional themes, and social complexity that elevate this book above a simple morality tale of “passing is bad and will end badly.” That, and Larsen’s excellent, taut writing. This is a relatively short book, and is a great example of writing that has everything necessary, and nothing that is not. Every detail matters, and every detail will eventually explain something else. 

 

My teens and I listened to this one on our recent camping trip, and my 17 year old in particular loved it. 

 

Nella Larsen was an interesting character. She was born to a Danish immigrant mother and an African American father. Her mother later remarried another Danish immigrant and had a second daughter. Nella therefore grew up black in a white family, isolated both from her peers at school and her greater African American community. This sense of alienation and lack of belonging informs Larsen’s fiction. 

 

Eventually, Larsen became a nurse, rising to a career as a public health nurse in New York City. After a period as a librarian, she returned to nursing until her death in her 70s. She only wrote a pair of novels and a handful of short stories, never relying on her writing to support herself. 

 

Larsen was married for a while to Elmer Imes, only the second African American to earn a doctorate degree in physics - he had quite the storied career. Unfortunately, his affair with a white woman ended the marriage. Larsen never remarried. 

 

All of these personal experiences make their way into her writing one way or another. 

 

Back to the book itself. As I noted, the book is a lot more complex than a simple morality tale. All of the characters are conflicted, complicated, and flawed. 

 

During their childhood, Irene and her family looked down on Clare. After all, her father was a janitor - and white - and also a notorious drunk and abuser who dies in a brawl. Irene’s family is part of the new black middle class in Chicago. 

 

This issue of class continues through the book. After Clare is raised by her white aunts (and treated like a servant), she elopes with her rich husband, Jack, and lives a wealthy lifestyle. She hasn’t forgotten her roots, however, which is apparent in the way that Irene - now married to a doctor - treats her dark-skinned servant Zulena compared to the ease in which Clare converses with her as an equal. 

 

Irene isn’t all that thrilled about Clare’s reappearance in her life. She is a disrupting force, a threat to Irene’s security. And security is what Irene craves most. That’s why she has married well, and keeps her husband well in line. That way she and her two sons have the security and stability she wants most. 

 

Clare, in contrast, perhaps because she grew up with a more difficult childhood, takes risks. She gets what she wants, as Irene puts it. But she feels isolated in white society. After all, she can tell no one about her childhood, her background, her history. It is all small talk and white lies. 

 

No surprise, then, that she seeks out Irene. Despite the class differences, they do have a lot in common. Irene too “passes” from time to time - she looks vaguely “Spanish” or “Gypsy,” and is thus able to dine in segregated establishments. She never actively conceals her blackness; she merely omits to say anything and lets others draw conclusions. 

 

Physically, Clare is able to pass well. The blond hair, the pale skin, and her endless self-confidence carry her through. 

 

There are weird cracks, however. Jack calls her “nig,” a joke about the fact that she has gotten darker over time. He is a raging and vicious racist, however, and he expresses his bigotry loudly and often. The scene where he rattles on about how much he hates n-----rs in front of his wife, Irene, and another friend who is passing, is horrifying and painful. 

 

There is an interesting subtext to this, though. Is he perhaps turned on by the fantasy that Clare is black? Certainly this has been a phenomenon since, well, forever. Both the exoticism of the foreign, and the forbidden crossing of the color line under slavery and Jim Crow. White men have always, it seems, been drawn to black women. 

 

Once Clare comes back into Irene’s life to stay, at great risk to Clare’s safety, I might add, new complications arise. 

 

Where to even start with this one. There is a lot of sexual tension, but it isn’t what Irene thinks it is. This book was written in 1929, so nothing is explicit. But. It is definitely there. 

 

Brian hates being a doctor - it is implied he went to medical school due to family pressure. He hates living in America, ostensibly because of the bigotry. 

 

To further complicate things, Irene and Brian’s marriage seems loveless - and sexless. Irene mentions at one point that she couldn’t think of Brian as anything more than her husband and the father of her children. (And her source of security.) They have separate rooms, and never, in the course of the book, seem to have any sexual connection. 

 

This is in contrast to how Irene talks about Clare, constantly focusing on her beauty, the details of her skin, face, figure, and more. Seriously, the language used is about as erotic as it can be without becoming explicit. It is never said outright, but Irene is both crushing hard on Clare even while jealous of her and in deep denial of her feelings. Her sexual attraction is buried deep and converted to irritation at Clare for coming back into her life. And into paranoia that Clare is having an affair with Brian. 

 

Where does Brian want to go? Well, he wants to go to Brazil. And sure, maybe Brazil is less bigoted - and racially mixed. But at the time the book was written, “going to Brazil” was also a veiled reference to homosexuality - Brazil was seen as more tolerant of LGBTQ people at the time. An analogue from my own era would be “moving to San Francisco.” So, yeah, complicated. 

 

The tragic ending is left ambiguous. What really happened in that split second? Was it suicide? Was it murder, and if so, who did it? Or was it simply, as the police decide, a tragic accident? 

 

Also left unexplored - the book ends with the death - are the feelings of the characters. It is implied that Jack is both furious at discovering his wife is black, and also still drawn to her. Irene seems to feel guilt about Clare’s death, but presumably is also relieved that her marriage to Brian is safe, at least for the time being. Either had a potential motive for murder. 

 

And what was Clare thinking? Did she decide to take her own life once her cover was blown? Or did she faint? We will never know. 

 

In some ways, this book seems a bit of an anachronism. Outside of the MAGA-verse, interracial marriages and relationships are commonplace and widely accepted. Nationwide in the United States, 1 in 12 marriages are interracial or interethnic. For new marriages, in 2019 nearly 1 in 5 was. Here in my home state of California, the rate is even higher - about 1 in 4 - and rising. For my kids’ generation, I swear there are more interracial relationships than that. 

 

As a fascinating coincidence, our next-site neighbors on our list night of camping included grandpa and grandma in a family - he was black, she was white - and the grandkids were climbing all over him. It’s just…normal. At least outside of the MAGA-verse, where segregation seems to be the goal and the fantasy. Sigh. 

 

For the majority of us Americans - 94% supposedly (although curious if Trump Era 2.0 has changed that) interracial marriage is something we approve of. After all, these are friends - and indeed family for many of us now. 

 

In an integrated society, there is no need to “pass.” That is the future I and so many others desire for our world.

 

I definitely recommend this book. It is far from formulaic, and has so many layers of complexity and humanity, and is well crafted. 

 

Our audiobook was narrated by Robin Miles, who is a regular audiobook reader across genres. I have nothing but good to say about her job here. Everything was professional, evocative, and transparent. I’m sure there are other versions out there, but this one was worth recommending. 

 

Company by Stephen Sondheim and George Furth (Empty Space 2025)

My wife and I have been collecting Sondheims the last few years. Company is one that she has seen - in a gender-swapped version in New York several years ago - but I had not. As is all too often the case, I played music from this musical years before I actually saw a production. (Ah, the life of a musician. I played “Marry Me A Little” at a wedding.) 

 

Over the years, local theater has put on a few of the less popular Sondheims - Assassins, Sunday in the Park with George - in addition to the usual warhorses. For others, we have had to travel to the big city. I’ll put the links for all my Sondheim reviews at the end of this post. 

 

While I have friends who are not Sondheim fans (to each their own, I guess…), his musicals appeal to musicians and poets. His scores are always top notch, with music that enhances the storytelling. His lyrics are fantastically witty and unexpected and emotionally resonant. The stories he chooses to tell are so varied, with no musical like an other. I mean, just look at the list of eight I have seen.

 

Company is in some ways an “anti-musical.” It defies the conventional plot. There is no couple that meets cute, goes through misunderstandings, and eventually ends up with a happy wedding. 

 

Instead, we get….Bobby. Yep, just Bobby. Just single, unattached, uncommitted Bobby. 

 

But also, the Bobby that has lots of friends, the Bobby everyone loves and confides in, the Bobby that, well, everyone would like to have as part of their friend group. 

 

And this is the paradox, and the subversive message of the musical. The five married couples are each dysfunctional in their own ways, although, as my wife noted, they all love each other - even the ones that get divorced. 

 

Are they happier than Bobby? Probably not, although they are as happy (and unhappy) as any other ordinary human couples tend to be. 

 

Just like Bobby is both as happy and unhappy, contented and discontented, as any normal human being. Would he prefer to be married? Maybe. It’s complicated. Does he prefer to be single? Maybe. It’s complicated. 

 

But what isn’t complicated is that he has friends. He’s not really lonely in that sense. Really, if you think about it (and I say this as a happily married man with a spouse of 24 years), as good as a good marriage is, we all still need friends. 

 

(Side note: even if I were inclined to cheat, it would never be with a friend. Friends are too valuable to risk.) 

 

The musical doesn’t really have a linear plot, but is a series of vignettes, each featuring one of the couples, with Bobby in the middle, observing and responding to the drama. 

 

It seems to me that there are a number of ways to envision this musical. It can certainly be played as a cynical expose of marriage and relationships. Taken the one way, it can be a bitter screed against the very idea of human happiness and connection. 

 

But it can also be seen as a gentle satire of relationships, a realistic look at the compromises and adaptations necessary to live with another person, to build a life together. And also as a paean to friendships, every bit as messy as romance, as filled with compromise and adaptation, but also with genuine connection and life lived together. 

 

The Empty Space leaned toward that second vision, with a less cynical and more generous and affectionate look at all of its characters. 

 

There were a lot of the usual local actors and singers - friends of mine included. From Karin Harmon in the iconic role of Joanne, to Liz B. Williams as the ditzy April. 

 (back row): David (Jake Wattenbarger), Jenny (Abigail Clippinger), Harry (Chris Bradford), Sarah (Elizabeth Heckathorn - we saw Victoria Olmos as the understudy), Amy (Bri Deras), Paul (Dillon Nunamaker), Susan (Julie Verrell), Peter (Adrian Francies), Joanne (Karin Harmon), Larry (Steve Evans)

(front row): Kathy (Natalie McGee), April (Liz B. Williams), Marta (Kelsey Morrow) 

 

A few special call outs are in order. Bri Deras was sensational in the “patter” aria, “Getting Married Today” - one of the more difficult musical moments. Karin Harmon as Joanne was perfect in the role. 

 Joanne (Karin Harmon)

Overall, the singing was excellent - as good as The Empty Space has ever been. Related to this was the perfect sound balance. Unlike larger theaters, The Empty Space does not mic its singers, and has no room for an orchestra. This means that singers have to project, and the sound engineer has to keep the backing track audible but not overpowering. This production was perfect. I never lost the lyrics, even though different singers had different volume levels. 

 

Finally, I have to mention Bobby. A combination of schedule and personal preference led me to choose the night when Shawn Rader played Bobby. He is officially the understudy, and only got the one night. But, wow. I have loved him in everything, including Sondheim, and he did not disappoint. The entire show was a clinic in physical acting, as Bobby has to silently comment on the drama between the other characters. 

 

And also, “Marry Me A Little” and “Being Alive” were so good. His singing was subtle and reflective. Despite letting his voice drop to a near whisper, he still projected the lyrics. As a musician, I was impressed. Bakersfield is fortunate to have many talented and dedicated thespians, and Rader is one of the best. 

 Bobby (Shawn Rader)

I thoroughly enjoyed this show, and was impressed by the high quality in every facet. The intimate venue added to the pleasure. 

 

Somebody hold me too close

Somebody hurt me too deep

Somebody sit in my chair

And ruin my sleep

And make me aware

Of being alive, being alive

 

Somebody need me too much

Somebody know me too well

Somebody pull me up short

And put me through hell

And give me support

For being alive

Make me alive

Make me alive

 

Make me confused

Mock me with praise

Let me be used

Vary my days

But alone is alone, not alive

 

Somebody crowd me with love

Somebody force me to care

Somebody make me come through

I'll always be there

As frightened as you

To help us survive

Being alive, being alive

Being alive!

 

Unfortunately, I caught the end of the run, and was unable to write before the show closed. So, you won’t be able to see this if you didn’t already. 

 

However, The Empty Space (and other local theaters) have other great shows coming up, and I recommend seeing them if you can. 

 

***

 

The Sondheim list:

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (Ovation Theater)

Assassins (The Empty Space)

A Little Night Music (Pasadena Playhouse)

Merrily We Roll Along (Broadway)

Pacific Overtures (East West Theater)

Sunday in the Park with George (Ovation Theater)

Sweeney Todd (Broadway)