In Where I’m Reading From, Tim Parks chips away at some of literature’s loftier assumptions, including those regarding globalization, translation, writing professionally, and much more. I found plenty to disagree with, but Parks’s clear and welcoming approach makes the experience more akin to being a part of a dialog than reading a screed. And, oddly, in questioning literature’s function, Parks managed to rekindle my interest in reading fiction. Novels don’t change the world, he says, and that’s okay–the enjoyment derived from the experience of writing and reading them is sufficient reason to be glad they exist. It’s been a long time since I read literary criticism with such gusto. How refreshing.
A smart, eloquent, and deeply personal memoir, Hold Still’s prose is ornate in a manner befitting the fecund, gnarled landscape of the American South, which serves not merely as the setting but as a primary force in Sally Mann’s life. Utterly blunt, Mann thankfully doesn’t balk at addressing life’s complexities head on, though every confession and insight seems to inspire a whole new set of quandaries. It’s a text that’s at once revealing and opaque, a tension Mann seems to revel in–especially within her art–and despite her poise and intellectual rigor, Hold Still is quite messy in places. It regularly left me conflicted and unsettled, and the process of sorting out my responses–to Mann’s art, decisions, ideas, etc.–was an engaging, rigorous, and gratifying experience.
To my mind, The Legacy of Conquest is the single best volume on Western history, albeit I’m no historian but, rather, a mere kid from Colorado. It’s just such an engaging and succinct text, chock full of ideas that, at the time of writing in the 1980s, were groundbreaking and often controversial. A number of them still are, though, as proof of Patricia Nelson Limerick’s prowess and conviction, many have become far more commonplace in discussions of Western policy, history, and ways of life. For instance:
That’s a pretty impressive array of ideas, all of which bolster Limerick’s central thesis that, far from being a long lost, nostalgia-inducing era, the nineteenth-century West is, in many ways, very much alive in the present. Which is not to say that Limerick always gets it right, nor have many of her insights lead to tangible resolutions in the decades since The Legacy of Conquest was written. Sadly, as the West continues to grow, many of these issues continue to give rise to a strange mixture of denial and stubbornness which, in turn, often leads to more conflicts and more exploitative policies and ways of life.
Limerick, I suspect, would be the first to concede this. History, she tells us, is never resolved, nor should it be. It’s is a dialog, one that circles back on itself in light of new discoveries and modes of thought, always being reworked and, ideally, calibrated with each new generation of historians, readers, lawmakers, and Westerners. And the work is never done.
“The clashes and conflicts of Western history will always leave the serious individual emotionally and intellectually unsettled. In the nineteenth-century West, speaking out for the human dignity of all parties to the conflicts took considerable nerve. It still does.” (p. 221)
Jane Jacobs’s four recommendations for successful neighborhoods (p. 124):
In a place like Denver, Colorado–where I live, and which, at the moment, is growing by leaps and bounds, especially in the urban core–Jacobs’s recommendations are commonplace in discussions about what the city should look like, now and in the coming decades. But her ideas weren’t always a given, in fact they were initially viewed as crackpot, dangerous, and unfounded. Having a chance to glimpse of the origin of these ideas, and to examine their first major applications, is reason enough to pay Wrestling with Moses a visit.
Luckily, Anthony Flint’s text is also a lively biography of an astounding person: a woman without a college degree who, beginning in the 1950s, exposed political, financial, and intellectual fraud at the core of some incredibly powerful institutions and individuals. Most famously, Jane Jacobs defeated Robert Moses, New York City’s “master builder,” multiple times at a point in his career where he was more or less untouchable. It was a fight that was about as David versus Goliath as it gets.
But Jacobs’s legacy had a much larger impact than saving her community from the wrecking ball. In the process of battling Moses’s widespread brand of urban renewal, Jacobs pioneered public participation in urban planning, proved that ordinary citizens can successfully challenge authority, and exposed the democracy-undermining practice of funneling public money into private ventures. Echoes of her community activism would resonate broadly in the civil unrest of 60s.
However unwittingly, though, Jacobs’s approach did lend itself to gentrification–take look at Greenwich Village today–and Flint is careful not to gloss over this, and other, critiques. Likewise, he shows that, for all of Moses’s missteps and heavy handedness, he was very much a product of his era, and, even then, some of his projects have paid dividends (the creation of New York City’s extensive park system is one example). It’s this complexity that gives both Jacobs and Moses a well-roundedness and, in turn, renders their relationship–which provides the backbone of Wrestling with Moses–all the more intricate, substantive, and fascinating. So, while this is a biography about a humble visionary who took on a giant and won, it’s also a book about how we live now, and, with the majority of the world’s population now found in cities, how we will live.
In Wanderlust, the medium is a crucial part the message, as the text–like a long walk–digresses and meanders, exposing us to a vast array of ideas, experiences, and terrain. This rambling style, while hypnotic, often pulls away from a cohesive thesis, though I think that’s part of the point. Solnit seems to reject much of the tidy, virtual, and prescriptive ways of living that arose concurrently with walking’s decline, aiming to, if not wholly reclaim, at least remind us of the joys and necessities of moving, living, and thinking at three miles per hour. Whether it’s a hike in the mountains, a stroll down the Vegas strip, or a political march, Wanderlust is a compelling reminder of the role waking has played in our development–biologically, personally, culturally, artistically, and politically. Walking has gotten us this far, and, while its roles have frequently changed over the last few hundred years, it has persisted, though, in recent decades, just barely. Solnit brings a much needed awareness to what we’ll lose if we cast it aside entirely.