Saturday, February 20, 2016

Book Review: "Dreams and Delusions" by Fritz Stern

Dreams and Delusions: The Drama of German History (1987)
Fritz Stern (1926)


341 pages

Look back over the history of the 20th century, and Germany’s central role in European, and indeed world history invariably stands out: the rush to war in 1914, and its subsequent defeat at the hands of the Allies; the shaky attempt at democracy during the Weimar Republic, and its eventual dissolution as Adolf Hitler and the National Socialists attained and then quickly consolidated power; the dramatic military successes early in WWII, and the subsequent reversal into a crushing series of defeats culminating in the utter destruction of the country and its partition by the allies; the rapid evolution from enemy of the west into an important friend in the bulwark against communism, and the subsequent economic miracle that lifted Germany from the ashes of the war; the eventual shedding of post-war passivity, as an economically formidable, democratically strong Germany re-asserted itself on the European and world political stage; and finally the sudden, seemingly inconceivable reunification of the two German states as perhaps the signature event in the collapse of the Soviet Union and the iron curtain.

The what and the when and the how of these events have kept generations of historians busy; answering these important questions has served as the inspiration for countless volumes that describe and analyze the history of Germany in the 20th century from these perspectives.

But the why … is not the why the most fundamental question, the most critical to understand, not only to help us avoid repeating history but also to properly understand our present?

Why were Germans so susceptible to the National Socialist message in the late 1920’s and early 1930’s? Why did so many Germans, and most especially German Jews, not recognize the danger that National Socialists posed until it was too late? Why did the West Germans of the 1970’s begin to engage proactively and to a large extent unilaterally, with the Soviet Union and its Eastern European partners, moving out from under the shadow of the western partners who were guaranteeing German security?

In a series of engaging essays collected together as Dreams and Delusions: The Drama of German History, historian Fritz Stern examines these questions and others. He provides a thoughtful analysis, avoiding facile answers and sweeping generalizations, with an understanding that people make the decisions they do based on a complex combination of hopes, fears and experiences --- that what might at first glance be dismissed as people making irrational decisions and choices, can perhaps more effectively be understood as people making the decisions they do based on idiosyncratic justifications and expectations whose rationality requires a deeper understanding to recognize.

The eleven essays in the collection have been grouped into four sections. For several of the sections and individual essays Stern provides short introductions, describing how the pieces came about, and how they fit into the context of events that have occurred since they were originally written.

The essays of the opening section examine the struggles and challenges often faced by those hoping for a peaceful and prosperous German future. Three of these essays focus on individuals: the physicist Albert Einstein, the chemist Fritz Haber, and post-WWII politician Ernst Reuter; the fourth examines the history of German Jews. Through the lives of important figures in German history, or the historical development of the role and place of Jews in German society, Stern highlights Germany’s complex cultural history. In that context he then examines the social and political tendencies this history fostered, particularly in the critical period between German unification in 1871 and WWI. These essays lay the groundwork for understanding the torturous and ultimately calamitous path Germany took during the period between the two world wars.

The essays in the second section turn, then, to focus on that interwar period. Stern describes the inability of the Weimar Republic to gain sufficient support among Germans to enable it to impede the rise to power of the National Socialist party. Looking beyond the proximate causes that led to the failure of the Weimar government and the success of the National Socialists --- the often cited economic difficulties created by the crippling Treaty of Versailles and the hyper-inflation that followed --- Stern links the rise of National Socialism to deeper historical trends in German culture and society. He notes, for example, that although secularism took hold throughout Europe in the 19th century, many Germans were left with a deep, if hidden, spiritual void that, when combined with the lack of a stable political tradition to look back on amid the chaos of the interwar years, left Germans receptive to the rise of a strong political leader.

Stern also brings a nuanced view to the motivations of different groups in Germany during this time, and their culpability in what occurred. Whether discussing the nobility, the middle class, the proletariat or religious institutions, he forsakes simple generalizations, examining instead the cultural history that led each group to react to the rise of National Socialism as it did, how feelings about the regime may have evolved as it consolidated its power, and why recognition of the danger generally came too late. Even as he argues that some should have and could have known the danger early enough to push back, he notes that for complex reasons particular to their cultural upbringing and even to their class, they generally ignored the signs.

The third set of essays looks at the post-WWII period, in particular the 1970’s, as West Germany (the Federal Republic of Germany) moved from being a quietly compliant partner of the west, with especially close ties to the US, to taking a more assertive stance in its foreign relations. Stern links these developments to a growing focus within Germany at that time on economic interests, and also to what he refers to as Germany’s unique position as “a powerful state with the deepest national grievance” (229), due to its division into two countries. While this split appeared permanent and unalterable in the 1970’s (and for that matter even into the late 1980’s), West Germans, according to Stern, were unwilling to completely concede to the historical inevitability of a permanent separation.

These concerns led West Germany to look eastward, developing improved relations with the Soviet Union, as well as East Germany and the other countries beyond the iron curtain. As Stern points out, West Germany already had a significant and important trading relationships with these countries, and, perhaps as important, felt strong ties to the many millions of Germans in East Germany and through Eastern Europe. Though West Germany did not intentionally distance itself from the West, this focus toward the east did introduce tensions in the West German relationship with its western partners, as goals and priorities relative to policies such as détente began to diverge.

The fourth and final set of essays discuss Germany’s influence on the study of history, through both the work of its own historians, and the study of German history in particular. German historians, Stern notes, led the development of the scholarly study of history --- historiography --- in the mid-1800’s; by way of comparison, he describes the study of history in the US at that time as more a hobby done by amateurs. US historians made numerous trips to Germany during that period to study and learn from German historians, Stern writes, with the goal of introducing German techniques and formalism to the study of history at US universities.

Despite their frequent presence in Germany in the 1800’s, however, US historians were not applying the new techniques they learned to the study of German history according to Stern; Germany, as a minor actor on the world stage at that time, was not seen as worthy of examination. This changed dramatically as Germany became more active in foreign affairs around the turn of the century, becoming an economic power that other European countries perceived as a threat to their interests. In addition, as tensions built in the years leading to WWI, the study of history in general, and Germany in particular, took on increasing nationalistic tones, with historical analysis and writings in many countries influenced by a desire to support national policy. The events of the rest of the 20th century only intensified this frequent collusion between the study of history and national policy in countries around the world.

In a separate essay, Stern examines the evolution of Capitalism in the context of German history. He focuses in particular on how the conflict between the Marxist and Capitalist points of view brought additional tension to the existing social divisions in Germany.  These tensions --- between the proletariat, the Junkers and the newly rich middle class --- had grown, in part, out of the significant changes in the Jewish involvement in German society in the late 19th century. The themes are similar to several of the earlier essays, but focus here on the economic influences.

The book concludes with the text of a speech Stern made to the West German Bundestag (the lower house of parliament) on the 17th June, 1987, to mark the protest on that day in 1953 by East Germans against their government’s harsh policies. In the essay Stern describes that uprising as part of “the ever nascent demand of Germans for freedom,” (294) reviewing the cultural context of this and earlier protests and revolutions in German history, as well as the way in which the commemoration in West Germany of the 1953 East German revolution is colored by political and social motivations. He examines the cultural context of protests and uprisings among Germans going back to the early 19th century, as they moved toward both a new social order, and unification of their many states into a single nation.

Originally published in 1987, the essays were written near an unrecognized precipice of events that would lead, unimaginably, to German unification just two years later; in the late 1990’s a new edition was published, with an added Preface in which Stern addresses the historic changes since the original edition appeared. Despite the unforeseeable events that lay in their immediate future, the essays are not dated in any consequential sense, as in them Stern looks back on important figures and key moments and relationships in German history since its unification in 1871. And those few written in the context of re-unification as an uncertain possibility in some distant future provide an interesting look back at the other side of the dramatic historical divide of the fall of the Soviet Union.

Though the essays collected together in Dreams and Delusions do not form a comprehensive review of German history, they do provide a fascinating examination of critical questions that arise naturally as one looks to understand the reasons behind the dramatic events in Germany in the 20th century. In examining why German society followed the path that it did in the years during and after the two world wars, Stern avoids simple explanations and easy conclusions. Instead he looks back to the effects on German society of the cultural developments that swept across in Europe in the 19th century, and their subsequent impact on German behavior in the 20th. And, as we seek to understand our current world, these essays remind us of the importance of looking beyond popular and potentially self-serving explanations, to the deeper roots of conflicts and their participants.



A More Detailed Look at the Essays in this Collection

The four essays of the first section, THE DREAM OF POWER, examine the challenges faced by those hoping for a peaceful and prosperous German future. Three of these essays focus on individuals: Albert Einstein, Fritz Haber, and Ernst Reuter; the fourth examines the history of German Jews.

Stern opens his essay on Einstein with the statement: “There was nothing simple about Einstein, ever. His simplicity concealed an impenetrable complexity.” (26) His now famous contributions to the study of physics generally overshadow the complex relationship he had with Germany according to Stern, who focuses on his role as a “public figure … the first scientist-hero to appear in the Western world.” (27)

Einstein appeared to be alternately repelled and attracted to Germany, or, more precisely, to aspects of German culture and civilization. Stern notes that already in his teens, finding the German education system hostile and ineffective, Einstein left Germany to become a Swiss citizen. On the eve of WWI he returned to Germany, joining what had become a major center of the scientific world. A pacifist through and through, Einstein was, however, one of the few not swept up in the nationalist frenzy that gripped Germany (and much of Europe) at the start of WWI.

With the rise of Nazism in the early 1930’s, Einstein left Germany for the final time, going into exile in the US. Recognizing earlier than many the danger that Hitler and the Nazi regime represented to world peace, he attempted, largely unsuccessfully, to warn the West of what he saw coming. Then, in the post-war years Einstein demonstrated what Stern finds a surprisingly “deep and all-consuming … antipathy to Germany” (50) --- the horrors of what had occurred during the war irrevocably breaking any connection he felt to his homeland.

In the second essay Stern turns to the life of the chemist Fritz Haber, famous for having discovered a process for fixing Nitrogen, a key element in fertilizer, out of air. Like Einstein, Haber was a renowned scientist and a Jew, though his relationship to Germany could not have been more different. Haber embraced Germany fully, even converting to Protestantism; he passionately supported Germany’s entry into WWI, even putting the prestigious research laboratories he headed in Berlin at the service of the state to develop weapons including, infamously, poison gas. With Germany’s loss in WWI, and subsequent status as a pariah state on the world stage, Haber actively, and largely successfully, began to rebuild bridges between the German scientific community and that of the rest of the world.

Where Einstein, however, recognized early on the danger of the rising fascist wave in Germany, and its associated anti-Semitic violence, Haber remained blind to its implications, seeing it as a passing moment, unable to believe that Germany and Germans would carry it through. Thus the even more acute devastation for Haber in the early 1930’s when anti-Jewish policies began to be implemented, and the violence escalated. Eventually driven into exile, he died less than a year later, bitter and broken.

The third essay covers Ernst Reuter, best known as the steady and courageous mayor of Berlin during the 1948 Soviet blockade and resulting western airlift. Stern describes Reuter as having come from a conservative, bourgeois German family; already in his early 20’s, however, he self-identified as a Socialist, much to the disappointment of his parents. Throughout his life Reuter passionately pursued ways of helping the working class overcome the restraints placed on them by the economic elite to enable “the creation of a just and secure democracy.” (90) Stern notes that Reuter was most comfortable at the level of local politics; after having spent the Nazi years in exile in Turkey, he returned as mayor of West Berlin to lead the city through the early post-war years, becoming “the first post-war official … to impress the Western world.” (77)

In the final essay of the first section, Stern examines the evolution of the involvement and place of Jews in German society. He opens with general comments on the challenges of this kind of research, noting, for example, that “memories not only fade; they are rearranged as well, in accordance with some perceived need of the present. Historians abet --- and sometimes correct --- this rearrangement of the past so that a society can find a tolerable or livable past for itself ….” (97) (Historian Eric Foner wrote extensively on this same challenge in Who Owns History; follow the link to my review.)

More specific to the question of the history of German Jewry, Stern argues that it is a mistake to look at it from the perspective of 1945 backwards, that is, to see the Holocaust as an “inevitable consequence” (99) of German history. He notes that such a starting point for research and analysis only blinds a historian to critical aspects of the history that do not appear to make the Holocaust inevitable. A second, related assumption he states at the outset is the importance of not self-limiting the study by feeling constrained by the “many taboos that have always clung to the subject.” (99)

Stern notes that for centuries Jews lived isolated from Germans, tolerated for the specific roles they played in economic life, but restricted from many forms of work and generally seen as “separate and inferior … in some essential ways depraved.” (101) As European society changed in the face of the political, social and industrial revolutions of the 18th and 19th centuries, a new focus on wealth developed that coincided with a devaluation of moral-religious authority, and began breaking down earlier barriers, such as the Christian tendency to hold Jews at arm’s length, and the Jewish passion to remain apart.

These changes in attitudes proceeded slowly and fitfully, according to Stern, but by the late 1800’s many Jews, if not entirely freed from prejudice and animosity, had become much more deeply integrated into German society; many, in fact, felt themselves to be German, going so far as to convert to Christianity. The extent of this feeling of German-ness, and the self-recognition of their importance as a group to German industrial and scientific success and progress made the subsequent rise of virulent anti-Semitic attitudes in the 1920’s and 30’s all the more shocking and hard to fathom for German Jews. It also led in some cases to an inability to recognize the danger early enough.

The second section, THE LURE OF POWER, contains two complimentary essays in which Stern describes aspects of German history that set the stage for the rise to power of the National Socialist movement in early 1930’s.

In Germany 1933: Fifty Years Later he moves beyond the typical causes attributed to Hitler’s dramatic success, such as the economic instability of the interwar years and the weakness of the Weimar government, to look for deeper, more fundamental cultural aspects that pre-disposed German society to support Hitler’s rise. The first of these he identifies as the secularization that occurred in the 1800’s. While in the previous essay he notes the dramatic impact this secularization had on Jewish life in Germany, here he examines the impact on non-Jewish Germans. He argues that these Germans gradually withdrew from religious practice
discreetly --- and the very silence or concealment added to a sense of guilt … [and the resulting] sense of void, of infinite boredom and pervasive falsehood, oppressed some of the young … and they proclaimed their yearning for a life more natural, more honest, less humdrum, less materialistic. (138)

According to Stern, the Protestant church during this period of secularization remained staunchly conservative, and supportive of the institutions of power; out of the excitement of German unification in 1871 and the German victory in the Franco-Prussian war came a tight bond between the church and the nominally secular government, a feeling that God was on the German’s side. Though this may have filled the spiritual void for Germans in the late 1800’s, Stern argues that the debacle of the Great War shattered German’s belief in the power both of the church and the state, leaving only a gnawing void that Hitler and his National Socialist party exploited and filled with spectacular ease.

The second element he highlights in the essay turns on the short period of nationhood that Germany had behind it when faced with the destructive result of the Great War: “The Germans did not have a protracted or unifying course in politics or self-government.” (140) Stern argues that historically, Germans tended to be more focused on the private sphere --- family, friends, self-cultivation --- than public life. Beyond particular dramatic events, the political world remained at a distance for most Germans, uninteresting and unimportant. Thus nationalist frenzy and euphoria galvanized the German population at the start of the Great War, as it did the peoples of other European countries. But when the war became a horrific and destructive slog, and finally ended in Germany’s unconditional surrender and subsequent vindictive reparations, Germans lost faith in politics and the governing process --- unlike the citizens of other European countries, they had no past stable political history to fall back on --- and so the dysfunction of the Weimar Republic became a self-fulfilling prophecy: lack of faith in government meant the Republic had little support, and the lack of support crippled its effectiveness, in turn further eroding German’s faith in it.

Hitler, then, effectively manipulated the void created by the secularization of German society, and the frustration with the democratic Weimar government, providing the strong leadership that people craved.

In National Socialism as Temptation, Stern examines the attraction of the movement for various groups in Germany. He argues that
most Germans reacted to it in much more complicated, vacillating, unclear, and inconsistent ways than we ordinarily assume they did. There were, of course, zealous disciples and determined opponents; but then there were disciples who evolved into opponents, and the opponents were not without their doubts either. (151) 
The secularization he describes in the earlier essays was one aspect of this. Another was the important early role students played in the rise of the National Socialists, as they looked for a strong leader to end the chaos they had come of age in. For their part, the German elite had experienced a loss of status in the Weimar republic and also had concerns that the deteriorated economic situation brought on by the Versailles sanctions, and worsened by the depression, might lead to revolution, and so further threaten their position. Thus, with exception of principled opponents of National Socialism, many Germans saw the potential benefits to themselves and their class of a strong leader, and so were at first willing to overlook the darker side of the party’s actions.

Stern provides examples of people in these groups who experience the temptation of National Socialism. Their remarks and behavior make clear how this search for a solution to the perceived weakness of the German political situation led many to see only the aspects of Hitler and his cohorts that appealed to them. This hopeful, willful blindness to the accompanying violence gave Hitler the critical time he needed to consolidate his power. In the initial months after he took power in early 1933, when it was possible to still vocally and actively oppose the new regime’s direction, the majority hesitated, blinded by their hopes. Soon thereafter it become too dangerous to speak out, and only those willing to martyr themselves for their conscience did so.

The essay also addresses the activities of the church. For Protestants, Stern argues, there was a built-in belief in bowing before authority, in compensation for man’s sins; furthermore, many protestant leaders embraced a return to a more conservative politics, after the liberalization of the Weimar years. The Catholic Church, for its part, managed to sign a concordat with the new regime, in which the church was guaranteed a certain level of independence, in exchange for remaining outside of politics. Such an agreement had been long sought by the Catholic Church with the Weimar government, and so church leadership initially welcomed the transition to the new, more conservative --- and seemingly more supportive --- regime. When subsequent events demonstrated the true, adversarial position of the new regime to organized religion, church leadership split over whether to stand up to the National Socialists, or pursue a policy of accommodating them.

The third section, PEACE AND THE RELEASE FROM GREATNESS, consists of a pair of essays on West Germany’s transition in the 1970’s and early 1980’s away from a passive, compliant partner of the U.S. and NATO, and toward a more engaged role in Europe consistent with what it viewed as its own political and economic self-interest. Both essays were written in the early 80’s, before the dramatic events leading to German unification were even imaginable. Fascinating alone for the picture of a Germany in transition that they paint, the essays also provide a powerful illustration of how truly and utterly the world has changed in the two plus decades since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Both essays address the same topic, and Stern points out in his preface to them that some overlap exists. Germany in a Semi-Gaullist Europe examines the changes in West Germany that led to a shift from focusing principally on economic recovery and security within the context of the US-led alliance of the West, to taking a broader view of German interests that included building complimentary relationships in the east, with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Stern notes that though West Germany’s allies --- most especially the US --- felt betrayed by the West German’s increased focus toward the east, West Germans themselves did not feel they were making a choice between two camps, but rather understood their actions as a natural outgrowth of their own economic interests, and their ties with Germans beyond the iron curtain, both in East Germany as well as in other countries in the Soviet bloc. One consequence of this new political direction, was that West Germany placed much greater importance on détente, and so were caught in a political dilemma in the early 80’s, as they watched the US begin to abandon it.

(This irony of this view from the early 1980’s alone is worth the price of admission: the West Germans were frustrated that the US was abandoning détente, because West Germany saw it as a path to better support Germans in East Germany and other countries in the Soviet bloc. Little could they imagine that this abandonment of détente, and the US pursuit of a more aggressive policy toward the Soviet Union, would be a part of a series of events that would culminate in 1989 with the re-unification of Germany and the opening of borders throughout Eastern Europe.)

In Germany and the United States: Visions of a Declining Virtue, Stern examines in particular the changing relationship between West Germany and the US in the post-war years through to the early 1980’s. He recalls the dramatic shift in the immediate post-war period, as the two warring enemies suddenly became fast friends, Germany seen by the US as the key bulwark against the Soviet Union, and Germany viewing the US as its principal guarantor of security. Germans idealized the US in the post-war period, Stern argues, seeing it as the modern society to be emulated after the disastrous previous 50 years of mistakes German society had made. The US, for its part, also had an idealized view of the situation, viewing Germany as an eternally grateful and compliant state that would support whatever policies the US proposed. Stern points out that neither of these views could be sustained.

As new generations came of age in both countries, and the experiences in Vietnam, Iran and with Watergate colored views of the US moral standing and strength, Germans began to separate themselves from American policy on some points. Stern argues that although many Americans found this disturbing from a country they assumed would be “permanently compliant,” (235) this shift was in fact unavoidable, a natural development in the relationship. Also complicating West Germany’s relationship with its US partner and European neighbors, Stern points out, was a latent concern about growing West German assertiveness and independence given Germany’s role in the two world wars. That this concern existed even among some Germans only highlights the understandable wariness in reactions to West German political assertiveness on the world stage.

After recognizing this complexity, however, Stern concludes:
Our values and our interests demand that the remaining, embattled democracies hold together and learn to live with their differences; they must aid other nations who seek to escape the clutches of authoritarianism. Interest and sentiment should tell us that there is no escape from our friendship, that at present there is no alternative to an alliance that protects the future. (239)

The fourth and final section of essays, HISTORIANS AND THE GERMAN PAST, examine the study of German history, particularly over the past century and a half. The first of three essays, Americans and the German Past: A Century of American Scholarship focuses on the impact of German historians of the 19th century on the development of a formal, scholarly approach to studying history, in particular in the US, and how the early relationship between historians in the two countries evolved from an initial state of being roughly the German masters and the American students, to a much more complex and sometimes contentious one over the course of the 20th century.

Stern notes that many American students of history traveled to Germany in the 19th century, which was considered to be the leading center for the formal study of history. These American students
realized that history was a serious profession, to be taught in special course in universities. They sought to transplant the characteristic German institution, the seminar, to American universities …. Amateur history became academic history. (248)
Not surprisingly, after an initial period of American historians returning home to recreate at US universities the formalism and techniques they had learned in Germany, subsequent generations of historians began to develop their own approaches and views on proper historiography, and the relationship between the historians of the two counties evolved from the early one of teacher-pupil, to a more scholarly, competitive one; the World Wars then cemented these differences by introducing a nationalist, political aspect to the study of history.

Stern points out that the early American students who traveled to Germany were not generally studying German history itself. Studying the history of the German people came first later, seemingly spurred by the rise of Germany as an economic and political power in Europe, that is, the rise of Germany in the world’s consciousness as a state that must needs be understood. Stern concludes the essay with a review of how American historians’ approaches to German history have changed over the course of the 20th century, including brief biographies of some of the key American historians who have studied the history of the German people.

Written in 1976, the essay Capitalism and the Cultural Historian reflects to an extent the economic malaise of that period, a consequence of events such as the oil crisis and the then recently concluded Vietnam War. The opening lines of the essay are unequivocal: “Talk of capitalism is endemic and in most areas of the world contemptuous. The detractors of capitalism are legion, its defenders few and uncertain.” (275) Stern finds, however, that the “stereotypes” of capitalism provide a “simplified drama,” and that “paradoxical[ly] the longer we live in capitalism the less we seem to understand it.” (275) With these opening thoughts, he then looks back to the tension between capitalism and anti-capitalist ideas in the 19th century Germany, building off the understanding he developed during his research in preparation for writing Gold and Iron: Bismarck, Bleichröder and the Building of the German Empire.

Capitalism had few supporters in 19th century Germany in Stern’s estimation: the middle class benefited the most in the sense of increasing wealth, but struggled to shake off the stigma of “new money” that kept them from ascending to the status of nobility; the aristocrats, for their part, were contemptuous of the wanton, open pursuit of wealth, but found themselves forced to engage in it due to the strictures imposed on economic life by the rise of capitalism; the proletariat, meanwhile, largely understood that the new wealth was being built up on their backs, and thus were drawn to the newly spreading ideas of Marxism. The 19th century was also, as Stern describes in other essays in this collection, a time of growing secularism in Germany, and many drew a direct and condemning connection between this social development and the rise of capitalism.

All of the currents of distrust and fear over the new social order, and its associations with capitalism, led to increasing anti-Jewish sentiment in Germany according to Stern, and he uses he life of Bismarck’s Jewish banker Bleichröder as example.

He concludes with a call for further study of capitalism, particularly by historians, as opposed to economists who he feels focus more on the laws of the market and growth. He notes that
we might do well to ponder the paradox that one of the most valuable and insidious consequences of capitalism is anti-capitalism: valuable because of its reformist impulse, and insidious because beneath it often lurks a Utopian illusion that social evil springs from capitalism and that some, often nebulous, alternative would usher in a period of human brotherhood and goodness. (289)

The concluding essay, The Speech to the Bundestag, June 17, 1987, is perhaps the most personal of the pieces in the book. As Stern describes in a preface to the essay, West Germany had declared June 17th to be a holiday in commemoration of a violently subdued protest by East Germans against their government’s policies on that day in 1953, and the day was marked each year by a speech to the Bundestag; he was the first non-German to give that speech. Born in 1926, Stern and his family left Germany for the US in 1938, in the face of the violent anti-Jewish polices of the National Socialist regime. Not surprisingly given his personal and professional background, his remarks look back over German revolutions and uprisings of the 19th and 20th centuries.

He describes the revolutionary fervor that swept through the German states of the mid-19th century through the life of the poet Ferdinand Freiligrath, born in 1810, who became “the first German poet to address the working class, the class that had the courage to revolt on June 17, 1953.” (294) Freiligrath spent his life writing poetry on the plight of the proletariat, and experienced the hopes that came with the 1848 Revolution, and the frustration of its failure to succeed.

Through the events of Freiligrath’s life and lines from his poetry, Stern highlights a characteristic of Germans that he mentions in several of the essays in this book, “the tension between the life of the spirit and the life of politics.” (295) He refers here to Freiligrath in particular, but the statement can also be seen as applying more broadly; as he states in an earlier essay:
It has often been said that Germans were even more remote from reality, more wirklichkeitsfremd, than other people. In the nineteenth century, they made a virtue out of the private realm. The Idealist injunction of self-cultivation, the veneration of art and culture, the special place of the family and of friendships, the often sentimentalized domesticity of German life --- all these verities were remote from concern with public affairs. (141)

Stern argues that this tendency in Germans led, in the wake of the failure of the 1848 Revolution, to a withdrawal from politics: “The apolitical came to be venerated, and yet contributed to the uncritical servility toward the state … that burdened the country” (303) under Bismarck and on into the 20th century, becoming “during the Third Reich [what] many spoke of [as] an ‘inner emigration,’ of a withdrawal from poisoned public life.” (304) In this speech he calls for this fundamental mistake to not be repeated, say in the wake of the failed East German protests of 1953. He calls for educating the public to become engaged, to play “a challenging, critical, uncomfortable role” (304) in order for democracy to survive, in Germany, and more broadly in the West.


Read quotes from Fritz Stern's writings

Other reviews / information:

I have also review Fritz Stern's collection of essays  Das feine Schweigen (The Polite Silence).  From my review (which can be found here):
[Stern addresses] the silence of (especially) the intellectual elite on topics that are sensitive and safest not talked about in public. The essays have the connection of discussing the negative, permissive effect that 'polite silence' has on unhealthy developments in societies, and of describing several historical figures who resisted to varying degrees the pressure to stay silent.

Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Book Review: "Thirteen Ways of Looking" by Colum McCann

Thirteen Ways of Looking (2015)
Colum McCann (1965)










243 pages

In the novella and three short stories that make up Thirteen Ways of Looking, Colum McCann reprises the captivating style of his 2013 novel TransAtlantic. Just as in that earlier novel, the true wonders of these stories lie in the depth McCann brings to the main characters, his exploration of their hopes and fears, dreams and delusions. With a penetrating but empathetic eye, he reveals his characters’ humanity through moments of courage and frailty exposed by a world both movingly beautiful and shockingly cruel.

In the opening novella, which shares the book’s title, a retired judge goes through his morning routine with the help of his live-in nurse, neither of them aware that he has but a few hours to live. As the day begins, the challenges presented by his gradually failing body preoccupy his mind: “The years don’t so much arrive, they gatecrash, they breeze through the door and leave their devastation.” (9) Memories though, provide moments of consolation; some clear and crisp, others hazy and elusive, they deflect his focus off his physical struggles, and on to past times both joyful and bittersweet.

Divided into thirteen chapters, the novella alternates between the judge's perspective and that of the detectives investigating his death. The title and number of chapters come from a poem by Wallace Stevens named Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird; the poem’s thirteen stanzas appear as epigraphs for the chapters.

The investigation into the judge’s death focuses on video evidence obtained in and around his apartment, and in the vicinity of the place he was killed. For the detectives, the videotape images are often as enigmatic as the blackbirds of Stevens’ poem.  Of inconsistent quality and with important action sometimes just beyond the frame, their mute, purely visual testimony counterposes brilliantly with the chapters that reveal the judge’s thoughts as he goes through his last morning. On the one hand McCann gives the reader a window into the intimate, meandering thoughts of the judge as he deals with the twilight of a good life, while on the other we see his body language and actions, which only cryptically bespeak his thoughts.

In the short story What Time Is It Now, Where You Are, McCann imagines a writer who has “agreed in spring to write a short story for the New Year’s Eve edition of a newspaper magazine.” (147) Though his October deadline initially seems far off and easily met, the writer struggles for months to discover a satisfactory storyline. Then suddenly, as summer turns into fall, an image comes to him --- a character caught in a very specific time and place --- that seems to hold the promise of a story.

Starting from this scene that resembles a painting more than a plot, the writer gradually, fitfully, fleshes out a story of the character and moment he has imagined; from simple, vague beginnings, he builds an increasingly complex story. Wildly far from the notion of an author typing out a preconceived plot, McCann’s short story demonstrates a process of writing in which the author discovers the background and present situation of characters much as one might slowly, over time, learn about new acquaintances and friends.

In Sh’khol, a mother raises an adopted son who cannot speak and who suffers from learning disabilities; her challenges in communicating with the boy are compounded by her uncertainties about how much he truly understands of what she tells him. The two live alone on the Atlantic coast of Ireland, where the mother, an accomplished swimmer in her youth, has been teaching the thirteen year old to swim in a cove near their isolated home. When she gives him a wet suit of his own for Christmas, she suddenly finds herself confronting the frightening limits of her ability to control and keep safe a boy feeling his way tentatively toward manhood.

In the final short story, Treaty, horrific memories re-emerge for an aging nun, when she catches a glimpse on the TV news of a man she recognizes as having kidnapped her years before in the jungles of Columbia and repeatedly raped her over a period of more than a month. The man, now apparently reformed, appears in the news report as a member of a delegation at a peace conference in London. The sudden emergence of the painful memories she has tried a lifetime to escape, and the shock of seeing her assailant presented as an apparent peacemaker, spur the woman into action. Hoping to finally lay to rest the profound and long-lasting effects he has had on her life, and also to understand if and how this man could have shed his past crimes to now appear as a respected leader, she travels to London with a vague plan to find and confront him.

Together these stories demonstrate again McCann’s remarkable ability to reveal the complexity of the human experience in ways both heart-rending and hopeful. We discover characters who feel real and true to what we know about ourselves: that our words and actions do not always reveal the complicated mix of hopes and fears that fill our thoughts; that our inner world is an unruly place in which memories flare up unexpectedly, carrying our thoughts off in new directions so suddenly and completely that moments later we can barely, if at all, remember what we had been thinking and feeling just seconds before.


Other reviews / information:
Wallace Stevens’ poem Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird can be found at the Poetry Foundation website, here.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Book Review: "Snow" by Orhan Pamuk

Snow (2004)
Orhan Pamuk (1952)

Translated from the Turkish by Maureen Freely

 








464 pages

When considering a corner of the world far from our own it can be difficult to avoid falling into simplistic assumptions, such as lumping the people of that place together as being largely similar to one another, or feeling an air of superiority over their particular culture and customs. At the end of Orhan Pamuk’s novel Snow --- set in the far-eastern Turkish town of Kars --- one of the characters confronts the story’s narrator with exactly this concern, saying:
“If you write a book set in Kars and put me in it, I’d like to tell your readers not to believe anything you say about me, anything you say about any of us. No one could understand us from so far away.”

“But no one believes in that way what he reads in a novel,” I said.

“Oh, yes, they do,” he cried. “If only to see themselves as wise and superior and humanistic, they need to think of us as sweet and funny, and convince themselves that they sympathize with the way we are and even love us. But if you would put in what I’ve just said, at least your readers will keep a little room for doubt in their minds.” (462)
Other characters in the story express similar sentiments, as the townspeople of Kars recognize and repudiate the stereotypes, as well as condescension and pity, with which they feel they are viewed by the intellectual elite in the far-off capital of Istanbul, and, in a more amorphous, regional sense, by people in the West.

Pamuk addresses these quite reasonable fears by creating a wonderfully intricate and compelling view of the complexity of life in distant Kars. He refers to the book on a website dedicated to his work as his “first and last political novel,” and, befitting its setting near the eastern Turkish border, the story involves secular leftists, Turkish nationalists, Islamists, Kurdish separatists, and the haunting remnants of the past presence of Armenians and Russians.  In addition, there are all manner of citizens sympathizing to various degrees with one or another of these groups.

Few, if any, of the characters in the novel, however, present simple, easily stereotyped lives.  Even the most fundamentalist of these characters, be they secular or religious, find themselves at times besieged by doubts about their beliefs, or find their desire to hold to their convictions challenged by humanist concerns such as love and friendship.  In this way, the novel provides a compelling antidote to what can often be a facile stereotyping of fundamentalism, both its origins and its adherents.

Pamuk insinuates himself into the novel as the narrator named Orhan. He tells of the events of a three day visit to the town of Kars by his friend Ka, who has recently returned from a twelve year political exile in Germany, though his friend recalls him as more of a poet than someone deeply engaged in politics. Life in Germany weighed heavily on Ka, leaving him dispirited and unable to write poetry. Ostensibly travelling to Kars as a journalist to report on a rash of young women who have committed suicide in Kars and on the upcoming municipal elections, his true motive lies more in the realm of self-interest than politics: he hopes to win the heart of a beautiful former classmate, İpek, and convince her to go back to Germany with him to help fill the emptiness he feels living in a foreign land.

Ka arrives in Kars amid a winter blizzard, which continues for the first two days of his visit. The snow provides a beautiful white blanket that softens the poor and decaying state of the town, and, to Ka’s delight, helps him recover his muse; poems come to him so suddenly he seems to be taking dictation rather than consciously writing them. The heavy snowfall has, however, also shut off access to Kars, enabling an uncontrollable escalation in violence between political factions in the town. This violence occurs even as Ka’s public reasons for being in the city gradually entangle him into the dangerous political machinations of the various sides.

Generally wary of Ka, the people of Kars see him as an outsider and intellectual, with a hazy leftist political past that drove him into exile. In particular, neither the Turkish nationalists nor the Islamists treat him with much respect or trust, though this very status recommends him as an intermediary in the negotiations between the groups. For Ka, this access, like the snow that covers the city, has both good and bad implications: on the one hand it helps him at key points to make progress in his pursuit of the beautiful İpek; on the other, it puts him at grave risk at nearly every turn, as he becomes an expendable pawn between groups in a violent struggle for control not only of the local community, but of political and cultural developments nationally.

Complicating matters, Ka has returned from the long and dreary exile in Germany with a melancholy in his heart that leaves him flirting with a belief in God that he had lost during his youth in Istanbul. That he wears his religious confusion on his sleeve, however, only leaves his loyalties more suspect in the townspeople’s eyes. This again increases the risk to him personally as he moves among the competing faction in Kars.

When the long-simmering tensions in the town erupt into revolutionary violence, with the larger state security forces temporarily unable to reach the town through the snow-clogged roads, Ka’s search for meaning and an end to the deep melancholy that afflicts him turns into a tenuous, high-stakes struggle for love and survival.


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Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Book Review: "The Martian" by Andy Weir

The Martian (2014)
Andy Weir (1972)











369 pages

Left for dead on Mars by his crew-mates during a sandstorm that leads to an emergency evacuation, Mark Watney must find ways to survive on his own --- first moment-to-moment, then day-to-day. As he quickly adjusts to his shocking predicament, Watney explores ways to convert the equipment and habitat the crew had been using on Mars for their scientific mission into an oasis of survival in the barren and unforgiving Martian environment. Finally achieving some stability in his new, if highly circumscribed, world, he then turns his abilities to support the seemingly far-fetched hope of rescue.

Software engineer and first time author Andy Weir’s The Martian plays out like an extended episode of the old TV series MacGyver, as Watney demonstrates a keen ingenuity and resourcefulness in marshaling what tools he has available to survive both the sudden emergencies and the longer-term risks that threaten him. His education as a botanist helps him overcome what is perhaps his most fundamental problem --- expanding his food supply sufficiently to improve his chance of rescue. But it is his broader knowledge of science and engineering, and his ability to quickly engage that knowledge to his advantage that ultimately keeps him alive.

From a science-engineering-geek point of view, Weir’s story provides a fascinating series of challenges for Watney to solve, each reportedly fairly true to life in both their likelihood and the solutions he finds to address them. That very feature of the story, however, threatens at times to make the plot a bit monotonous, because the reader basically follows Watney from one emergency to the next for the length of the story --- he’s alone on Mars, after all, there is little else for him to do but fight to stay alive. Weir gives Watney a smart-ass manner, though, which both helps him psychologically to carry on in the face of the unrelenting tension of his situation, and provides the reader with some comic relief from what becomes otherwise a steady diet of engineering problem solving.

Weir builds much of the story around Watney’s log entries, though a part of it also takes place back on earth and in space, as a rescue attempt is eventually mounted. He captures well the varied voices of the scientists, technicians and astronauts that work to find ways to help Watney --- some thoughtful, some introverted, some just plain nerds.  He touches also on the political and social aspects of the situation: even as the costs mount, most people cannot help but support whatever efforts are necessary to try and bring back this one man.

For those who enjoy the science part of science fiction, The Martian provides a novel-full. But the action-adventure thrills are there too, as we root for Watney to find yet one more way to keep himself alive.


Other reviews / information:
I haven’t seen it yet, but a movie of the book has recently been released, starring Matt Damon.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Book Review: "Submission" by Michel Houellebecq

Submission (2015)
Michel Houellebecq (1956)

246 pages

The on-going conflicts between Western and Muslim societies have been characterized by some as a “clash of civilizations”. Though the most visible evidence for such a viewpoint has been a series of dramatic terror attacks and protracted wars, such violence tends to overshadow the unavoidable and no less important cultural impacts these two fundamentally different civilizations have had on one another, and the cultural changes that have occurred as a result. In his novel Submission (French, Sumission), French author Michel Houellebecq imagines a France in which liberal democratic values have led to a debilitating cultural malaise, leaving French society susceptible to being deeply and radically altered by just such outside influences.

The story opens in the spring of the year 2022, on the eve of national elections in France. The two principal centrist parties --- the Social Democrats on the left, and the Union for a Popular Movement (renamed since publication The Republicans) on the right --- find their dominant position in French politics deteriorating, as increasing street violence in the big cities and economic stagnation throughout the country drive support both to the far-right National Front party, and, critically, to the nascent, but rapidly growing Muslim Brotherhood party. The Brotherhood is
careful to take a moderate line. It soft-pedaled its support of the Palestinians and kept up good relations with the Jewish religious authorities. As with Muslim Brotherhood parties in the Arab world … the real political action was carried out through a network of youth groups, cultural institutions and charities. In a country gripped by ever more widespread unemployment, the strategy broadened the Brotherhood’s reach far beyond strictly observant Muslims. Its rise was nothing short of meteoric. (39)
When the subsequent election sets the stage for a run-off between the National Front and the Muslim Brotherhood, the two centrist parties suddenly find themselves on the outside looking in, and must decide to whom to throw their support in a coalition government.

These events play out through the eyes of our narrator, François, a professor of French Literature in Paris who, as a forty-four year old bachelor, finds himself increasingly pre-occupied by oppressive thoughts about encroaching middle age. Though he manages to seek out a young coed to date each school year, he is besieged by worries about his looks and his health, and by fears of having irrevocably passed the point of scholarly relevance. His self-indulgent introspection leaves him little time to give more than passing attention to the social and political developments unfolding around him.

When these events finally affect him personally, and so become too consequential to ignore, François filters his understanding of them through the prism of the late 19th century literary figures who have formed the focal point of his academic career. In particular he returns throughout the story to the life and work of novelist Joris-Karl Huysmans, who was the subject of his dissertation and the focus of his subsequent scholarly work. We learn that Huysmans’ early writing followed the Naturalist tradition, but that later in life it was considered part of the Decadent movement, a key aspect of which was a rejection of modern progress. Late in life Huysmans had turned to Christianity and taken monastic vows.

François seems to identify deeply with the writing of Huysmans’ Decadent period, turning it into a kind of rationalization for his own listless, unengaged existence. When the surprising changes happening outside his door leave him further isolated, however, he attempts to follow in the footsteps --- figuratively and literally --- of Huysmans’ search for religious meaning. This proves unsuccessful, as he finds himself uninspired by Christianity as an outlet from his forlorn and dispirited view of life. Finally forced to face the new world that has seemingly overnight sprung up around him, his lack of a solid, internal moral center leaves him easy prey for the tempting allures attached to embracing the new order.

In the novel, François appears to represent for Houellebecq the larger reaction of the broad, liberal center in France to the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood party. Unsettled by the French nativists of the far right, and reflexively sympathetic to the concept of cultural diversity, liberal, mainstream French society drifts uncritically into support of the Muslim Brotherhood party when faced with the alternative of the National Front.  Exploiting this lack of conviction, the Muslim Brotherhood party manages to implicate itself into political power in France, and through a thoughtful and careful strategy lead French society to gradually re-align itself around the Brotherhood’s far-reaching, longer-term goals.

In what was perhaps one of the more dramatic coincidences in the history of publishing, the original French version of the novel was published on the day of the Charlie Hebdo attack in Paris, the 7th January 2015. The English translation of the book was released just two months before the more recent attacks in Paris on November 13th. Rather than invalidate Houellebecq’s premise, these events in fact play into it, in the sense that a key element of his story is the ability of the Muslim Brotherhood party to quell the violence of extremists, and so ingratiate itself to a society desperately seeking security.

It seems perhaps far-fetched to imagine that a Muslim party could succeed in a Western country. Houellebecq paints, however, a damning view of Western society as weakened by its own liberal democratic values, and what he portrays as a moral relativism that prioritizes sensitivity to cultural differences and so has no firm basis for defending its own values and principles --- in fact, no concrete values and principles even to defend, in some sense. When these weaknesses combine with natural human desires for security --- economic, social and physical --- Houellebecq envisions a decadent Western society that is an easy target for a fundamentalist group with a patient, well thought-out agenda and strategy.


Other reviews / information:

In a larger article reviewing several works about Albert Camus, Historian Thomas Meaney discusses how the Algerian push for independence half a century ago tested the French belief that France provides "an exclusive, historically grounded identity for its citizens that it claimed was available to all its subjects"; in The Colonist of Good Will: On Albert Camus in the The Nation magazine, 16th September 2013.

Writing in the weeks after the day of the Charlie Hebdo attack and the coincident publication of Submission, Stéphane Delorme, editor-in-chief of Cahiers du Cinéma, derides Houellebecq's novel as "this fetid and incendiary book", in his article Insoumission, translated into English and re-printed in the The Nation magazine, 4th March 2015.


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Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf


Sunday, November 29, 2015

Book Review: "Who Owns History" by Eric Foner

Who Owns History? (2002)
Eric Foner (1943)










233 pages

In the Preface to Who Owns History?, Eric Foner notes that “each generation rewrites history to suit its own needs” (xi), and that: “In every country, versions of the past provide the raw material for nationalist ideologies and patriotic sentiments.” (xv)  Such “rewrites [of] history” can occur through intentional exaggeration and misrepresentation, or simply a genuine lack of understanding of the past, but, in either case, they often serve as rallying cries and debating points for political movements, in which groups attempt to define and promulgate a version of history that supports their particular agenda.

Foner goes on to argue that historians must enter into this fray, to deepen public understanding of the full story of the past. Who Owns History? collects nine essays in which he examines how people, consciously or unconsciously, bend history to suit their needs for the present and desires for the future. The earliest of these pieces was written in 1983, the most recent in 2001, and Foner includes short preface for each essay, to provide the original purpose, and context, within which it was written.  Several of the pieces included in the book touch on some of the more dramatic political transformations of the final two decades of the 20th century, while others examine the lives and work of historians themselves, as well as long-standing issues in American history that continue to resonate. Together they provide a fascinating review of the on-going struggle to settle on coherent and accurate interpretations of our particular and common histories.

The essays are grouped into three sections. Part I, entitled The Politics of History and Historians contains two essays; in the first, Foner describes how he came to be a historian, and more specifically how a powerful interest in the civil rights movement during his university years led him to the topic he has spent much of his career studying and writing about, and for which he is perhaps best known: the Reconstruction period after the Civil War. Relevant to the broader theme of the essays collected in the book, Foner notes that the history of Reconstruction represents an archetypal example of how the history of a period can be re-interpreted and misrepresented to serve the political and social interests of a particular moment.

In that opening essay, Foner recalls the important role played by his dissertation advisor, Richard Hofstadter, in his development as a historian. The second essay provides a sketch of Hofstadter’s life and work, summarizing his education and political development, then turning to focus on a series of books he wrote that Foner notes “propelled him to the very forefront of his profession.” (39) In these works Hofstadter examined and critiqued such political phenomena as the rise of Social Darwinism, which was characterized by “the growing use such Darwinian ideas as ‘natural selection,’ ‘survival of the fittest,’ and ‘the struggle for existence’ to reinforce conservative, laissez-faire individualism.” (31) More generally, he wrote a series of works that shed light on what he felt were widespread and yet disturbing elements of American history and political tradition, such as the belief that a fundamental consensus of opinion has historically existed in American society, as well as the development of “a deep-seated anti-intellectualism and provincialism in the American population.” (42) Thus Hofstadter directly examined what he found to be mistaken views in historical understanding, and the broader social situation that allowed them to flourish.

The four essays that make up Part II of the collection each touch on different examples of how history has been re-interpreted and re-imagined by subsequent generations in the context of their present situation. The first looks at the evolution of the American idea of freedom since the early days of the Revolution, when it reflected the simple desire for deliverance from what was seen as English tyranny; over time it developed into a vision of “America as a special place with a special mission,” though, as Foner points out: “This vision required a somewhat exaggerated negative image of the rest of the world.” (60). He goes on to trace the changes in the concept of freedom through the 19th century, particularly during the long years of the abolition movement, before focusing in particular on the dramatic transformation in the 20th century, precipitated by America’s increasingly active presence in and interaction with the world beyond its borders. World War II led to a significant broadening of the “perceptions of who was entitled to enjoy the blessing of liberty … [giving] birth to a powerful rhetoric, the division of the planet into a ‘free world’ and an unfree world.” (64) The economic globalization of recent decades has again caused a re-definition of the American concept of freedom, and Foner argues that it has
been largely appropriated by libertarians and conservatives of one kind or another… [with the] dominant constellation of definitions seem[ing] to consist of a series of negations --- of government, of social responsibility, of a common public culture, of restrains on individual self-definition and consumer choice. Once the rallying cry of the dispossessed, freedom is today commonly invoked by powerful economic institutions to justify many forms of authority, even as on the individual level it often seems to suggest the absence of authority altogether. (70)

Foner follows with an essay he wrote in 1980 after having spent four months in Russia. The far-reaching changes initiated by Mikhail Gorbachev were still playing out, and Russia was marked, he writes, by a period of optimism and openness about the future. Foner describes that this led to a sudden blossoming of interest in Russian history, as well as Russia’s relationship with to the west; this included a radical rethinking of Russian and Soviet history, including a nostalgia for the Czarist past. The essay is perhaps the book’s most dramatic example of the malleable and at times swiftly changing nature of the understanding of history in the face of present realities, for, as Foner writes in the lead-in to the essay, when he returned to Russian just four years later, the bloom was off: “Russia had been subjected to a dose of ‘shock therapy,’ and among the casualties were the utopian dreams I had encountered in 1990.” (75) The pain of the post-Glasnost years led to the earlier interest in history being “supplanted by the daily struggle for survival,” (76) and the Soviet years suddenly not seen in quite so negative a light.

In a similar vein, Foner visited South Africa in 1994, in the wake of an equally dramatic transformation in that society. He discovered that the fundamental and powerful changes that resulted from the end of apartheid led to a fundamental rethinking of South African history. Again, he encountered a country in a transition that precipitated new interpretations and re-interpretations of what had occurred in the past --- as well as what had been forgotten or ignored. In South Africa these discussions also led to a deep and emotionally fraught discussion about what should be intentionally forgotten, to allow the country to successfully move forward.

The second set of essays concludes with one whose topic continues to resonate today: Why Is There No Socialism in the United States?. Bernie Sanders campaign for president may be a long shot, but it has re-opened yet again the question of how Socialism is viewed by the US population. Foner argues that most theories proposed over the years for why socialism has failed to succeed in the U.S. tend to be either demonstrably simplistic and inadequate, or end up begging the question. For much of the essay he refutes explanations that have been put forward by historians since the second half of the 19th century, such as: the success of capitalism; the level of social mobility in the U.S.; the idea that Americans have a long history of consensus in their ideological outlook; and the diverse background of the American working class. Foner concludes the essay by arguing that the question itself in not appropriate, noting that what Americans consider to be the Socialist parties in Western Europe are actually more precisely engaged in “the equitable distribution of the products of capitalism,” and that the more appropriate question is: “Why has there been no socialist transformation in any advanced capitalist society?” (143) By changing the premise, Foner argues that the blinding fallacy of American exceptionalism is removed, and historians can focus on why socialist movements in the U.S. have failed to gain long-term traction. Left open is also the question of whether Socialism could, under certain circumstances, successfully develop in the future.

In the third and final set of essays, Foner includes three on The Enduring Civil War, the ground for which he is most well-known as an historian and writer. The first of these essays, Who is an American?, describes how the common answer to this question has changed since the writing of the Constitution, in which it was defined as “free white persons.” (153) Going beyond the simple facts, that “Blacks were added in 1870, but not until the 1940s did persons of Asian origin become eligible,” (153) Foner examines how attitudes on race evolved, a process that he demonstrates was anything but smooth, with periods of social and political progress followed by others of significant regression.

The civil war and its aftermath are the most obvious case in point, as the Emancipation proclamation, the Civil Rights Act of 1866, and the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments together formed a leap forward in the political definition of who was considered American, but were then, within a few short decades, largely curtailed and rejected in the post-Reconstruction period, thus offering a striking demonstration of the consequence of social attitudes not progressing as fast as public policy. Fonder notes that “the ‘failure’ of Reconstruction [i.e., its forced roll-back by southern Democrats] strongly reinforced the racialist thinking that reemerged to dominate American culture in the late nineteenth century, fueling the conviction that non-whites were unfit for self-government.” (160) A long, slow road followed, culminating in the civil rights movement of the 1960’s --- nearly a century later --- when attitudes shifted substantially in just a short period, both socially and politically. The definition of who is an American continues to be a touchstone of debate, as evidenced by debates in Congress and during the current Presidential primaries.

In a separate essay, from 1989, Foner focuses more specifically “on the long, complex constitutional history of African-Americans.” (167) Though he covers the entire period form the writing of the Constitution through to the Supreme Court cases of the 1980’s, the post-Civil War period of Reconstruction marks a dramatic turn in his analysis. Writing that
The Civil War and Reconstruction produced not simply three amendments but a fundamentally new Constitution. The Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments abolished slavery, established a national citizenship whose rights, enforced by the federal government, were to be enjoyed equally by all Americans, and protected the right to vote of black men. These measures altered the definition of American citizenship, transformed the federal system, and engrafted into the Constitution a principle of racial equality entirely unprecedented in both jurisprudence and political reality before 1860. (177)
Focusing specifically on the Civil Rights Act of 1866 and the 14th Amendment, Foner traces how these clear and broad measures would be circumscribed and circumvented in the decades after they were enacted, as successive local and national legislatures and judiciaries sought to limit their scope. He notes these battles continue into the modern era, in discussions such as those on discrimination and reverse-discrimination.

In the final essay, Foner presents a critique of Ken Burns’s documentary from the 1990’s, The Civil War. In particular he focuses on the final episode, covering the post-war period, in which, he argues, Burns glossed over the true gains made by Blacks during the Reconstruction period, and the subsequent significant set-backs that came as that period was brought to a harsh and bitter end. The topic provides a concise and telling example of the broader themes of the essays collected in this book, as Foner demonstrates how a simplified and ingenuous view of history can lead to fundamental misunderstandings about history that in turn make it more difficult, if not impossible, to clearly understand our present. To return to the quote from James Baldwin with which he open the Preface:
History … does not refer merely, or even principally, to the past. On the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously controlled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do. (ix)



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In an article in the New York Times, When Anger Trumped Progress, Jon Grinspan recalls the rapid decline of faith in government in the years after the Civil War due to wide ranging scandals and failures, and the resulting reversal of Reconstruction policies and progress less than a decade after their introduction.  He makes parallels in that essay to present day distrust of government and the difficulties it introduces into attempts to make progress in race relations.

An essay by Timothy Shenk, What Was Socialism, describing the history of Socialism, and its evolution in relation to Capitalism, appeared in The Nation magazine in May, 2014.  The article uses the historical summary as a starting off point to discuss recent books on Capitalism and in particular income inequality, among them the then newly published Capital in the Twenty-First Century, by Thomas Piketty. (The on-line title of the article is Thomas Piketty and Millennial Marxists on the Scourge of Inequality.)


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Book Review: "Hausfrau" by Jill Alexander Essbaum

Hausfrau (2015)
Jill Alexander Essbaum (1971)










351 pages

“Anna was a good wife, mostly,” serves as both the subtitle, and the opening line, of Jill Alexander Essbaum’s novel Hausfrau. The title translates from German as housewife, and to her family, friends and neighbors, Anna does appear to be “a good wife.” Within the first few pages, however, the “mostly” aspect becomes clear: for reasons she herself struggles to understand, Anna is desperately unsatisfied with her life, and is cheating on her husband, having sex with relative strangers. She drifts impetuously into these affairs, though she finds that they bring her little real pleasure, filling her instead with a melancholy and self-doubt that only exacerbate her depression.

Essbaum sets the story in Switzerland, where Anna lives as an American ex-patriate in a small town outside Zurich, with her Swiss husband and their three young children. Despite having spent the past nine years in Switzerland, Anna speaks only elementary German, and the local Schwiizerdütsch hardly at all. She has only a vague idea of what her husband does as a mid-level bank manager, and she has made little effort to either integrate herself into the local society or make any close friends. Her feelings of loneliness and isolation are compounded by her recognition that she plays a significant role in creating the conditions of her own unhappiness. This realization fails, however, to be sufficiently powerful to shake her out of her precarious behavior; it serves instead only to tighten her spiral of despair.

As the story opens, Anna has begun taking a German class, at the urging of a psychiatrist she has been seeing in the hopes of understanding and overcoming what her husband refers to as her “melancholy huffs.” Already on the first day of class she hooks up with a fellow student, beginning an affair with him that has them meeting after class, and even skipping class altogether, to have sex in his apartment. As she swings between a self-loathing that makes her what to stop the affair, and a rationalization that makes it seem acceptable and even justifiable, the risk of discovery from her erratic behavior mounts. When her world is suddenly turned upside down by a shocking and tragic event for which she feels complicit, Anna's carefully constructed, if wildly fragile web of fiction --- both in what she displays to those around her, as well as in what she tells herself --- begins to rapidly unravel, to a dramatic conclusion.

That conclusion, I will say, felt a bit improbably when it arrived, though admittedly upon reflection it was quite clearly foreshadowed in the opening pages of the story. Without giving too much away, the novel for me did not generate enough sympathy and empathy for Anna in its first half, to allow one to convincingly follow her to the eventual conclusion of the second half.

Essbaum splits the story into three sections, labeled September, October and November. Within that overarching, linear time-line, however, she moves freely between the past, present and future, even over the course of a single scene. Thus, moments when Ann is at a party, or in her German class, or cheating on her husband, will contain flashbacks to earlier events, and will also not necessarily play out in real-time --- we sometimes learn the outcome or some aspects of a scene before we find out earlier portions of it.

Interspersed throughout the story are snippets of appointments Anna has with her psychiatrist; these discussions serve as a view into Anna’s psyche, as she is forced to confront her true feelings, at least in her own thoughts, if not always what she tells the psychiatrist. Anna’s participation in the German class provides a window into her internal struggles, as she compares aspects of her feelings to vagaries of German grammar --- a minor plot point, but an intriguing one for readers who have learned German.

The pacing of Hausfrau has a bit of watching someone construct a house of cards, though the stakes are of course far greater. The first half of the novel develops gradually, almost languidly, as the reader watches Anna haphazardly pass through her life assembling a framework of lies. Long periods of her slowly piling casual, if conflicted, deceits one on top of another are interspersed with brief moments of terror as the rickety structure threatens to collapse from close brushes of discovery. The pace accelerates to a breakneck speed in the second half of the story, however, as Anna frantically tries to hold herself together in order to sustain the untenable fiction of a life that she has created.


Other reviews / information:
The blurb at the top of the cover of the paperback version reads
“In Hausfrau, Anna Karenina goes Fifty Shades with a side of Madame Bovary.” --- TIME 
Though there are bits of similarity to each of those novels, I find the quote more than a bit overdone in terms of the plot comparisons. Just taking, for example, the Fifty Shades reference: although there are a few paragraphs of explicit verbal foreplay --- indeed with quite ‘Grey-ish’ activities mentioned --- a few paragraphs in over 350 pages doesn’t seem to warrant the comparison.


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Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf