What Really Caused the Eurozone Crisis? (Part 1)

Krugman praised this analysis, which makes sense to me.
The Street Light: What Really Caused the Eurozone Crisis? (Part 1)

I can sign your Kindle!

I just added my book for signing your Kindle edition. Go to

Kindlegraph

and look for A Gift for the Sultan, and I can write you a personal dedication. Even with my hand-drawn signature (a bit shaky, because I have to do it with the cursor).

Oh, go ahead and panic if you want to

A 6-ton satellite is about to crash to Earth in hours or maybe days, no one can say where, and our whole planet is about to be destroyed by some unstoppable force called "the markets," but hey! — don't panic. It's only the destruction of the world we're talking about, it's not like this was a matter of life or death. Except yours and mine, of course, but what does that matter on the scale of the Universe?

And, as the pilots of the demolition ships keep reminding us, we have had ample warning, at least 4 years' worth, enough time for our leaders first to deny that anything serious was happening, then to blame one another as things got worse, and now in the final stage to run around frantically waving their arms and doing things — like spending huge sums on failing systems — that negate what other leaders are doing — like cutting back on social investment to the point of strangling all economic life as we know it.

And I'll bet you thought A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was fiction. Now we see that all Douglas Adams did was to change the names to protect … well, himself, I suppose. In that radio and then book series, he called the pilots of the demolition ships "Vogons," the incredibly stupid but technologically empowered beings who believe they need to destroy the Earth to clear a path for a new interstellar highway. See? Just like what is really happening, except we call those incredibly stupid and technologically empowered beings that are destroying our world  "markets." And just as in the Guide, we eventually learn that the world destroyed was an artificial planet commissioned by super-intelligent mice as a highly complex computer to discover the meaning of life, the universe and everything — not the answer, but the question. Well, maybe they weren't really mice in our case. Super-intelligent cockroaches, could be. Or something. Or nothing. More likely, some not especially intelligent or foresighted humans thinking no farther than their immediate advantage.

Because yes, we can now see that what is threatened with imminent destruction — just ask Christine Lagarde if you doubt me — is an artificial planet, though only a few centuries, not tens of millions of years old. It is what we used to call the First World, until the other two self-destructed. (The Second, piloted from Moscow, by enormous internal tensions and its stubborn and futile battering of itself against the First World; the Third World by allowing itself to be absorbed into the fringes of the First one, where its denizens are still hoping to wriggle their way higher in the ranking.)

Yes, fellow First Wordlings about to be hit in the head by a failed 6-ton satellite, our world of self-feeding, self-destroying capitalist construction and consumption is fast coming apart and about to disintegrate entirely under the repeated and ever fiercer attacks of the markets that feed on it.

Of course, just as on the planet Magrathea, the infinite improbability drive may come into operation and something may save us. Let's hope so, because the European Union, the European Central Bank, the US Fed and the IMF haven't a clue, or else have clues leading them all in opposite directions. Or maybe that 6-ton satellite will hit one of us in the head and we won't need to worry about life, the universe, or anything.

Don't panic!

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


This is the silliest thing I've read since 5th grade, which is when I should have read it — but alas, it wasn't published until several decades later. Even now, in my somewhat less silly maturity, there were moments when I had to laugh out loud at the improbability quotients and satire of the pretentious and powerful. Back then, I'll bet I would have become an ardent fan, because every kid knows some other kid as nutty and happily unaware as Zaphod Beeblebrox and sometimes feels like Arthur Dent or, on better days like traveling reporter Ford Prefect. My favorite character was Marvin the maniacally depressed robot (I've known some people like him, too). No need to say more — this has to be one of the most discussed books on the Internet, which was why I finally had to read it. If I feel myself in a silly mood again and ready for some goofy laughter, I may pick up one of the sequels.



View all my reviews

11 September

On 11 September 1973, I was in Chicago teaching sociology when news of the disaster in Chile reached us. The hemisphere’s most ambitious effort to construct a more just, egalitarian, “socialist” state by democratic means was being destroyed. 

This was before the Internet, when getting news unfiltered by the media conglomerates took ingenuity and patience with a shortwave radio. But those of us who had been working to advance “progressive” movements around the globe had our own decoder. Despite the slant of the Chicago Tribune, the Sun Times and the big three TV channels, we knew that army, navy and air force units had risen against the elected government only with the consent and the urging of the US Government, especially President Nixon and Secretary of State Henry Kissinger. For many Americans, those of us who were paying attention, the Chilean coup destroyed whatever vestige of faith we may have had in the commitment of the US Government to democracy beyond its borders. 

The massive destruction by bombs, firing squads, torture and the imposition of martial law preserved for the time being the hegemony of US and allied capital in its subject countries, but it also demonstrated how precarious that hegemony had become. The costs to Chile in lives and welfare were immense; we would learn the details only later.  But the wound to US influence and prestige was deep and possibly mortal.

On 11 September 2001, Susana and I were only a few blocks away when we heard the first plane crash into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I wrote about that only hours after it occurred, and then for the next few days — before weblogs — I posted my reactions and reflections on my regular webpage. You can see those reports here.

The young men who seized the four airplanes on that day were almost certainly not thinking of Chile, may not even have known where it was. But, whatever else may have motivated them, they were attacking that hegemony and superpower arrogance that had been on display there, and before that, in Iran in 1953, and in the Arab countries and many other places for decades.

But that was not the way to do it. The violence begot counterviolence, inflicting terrible costs but bringing no advantage either to Islamic terrorists or to the US and allied power brokers.  The Chile coup of 1973 and the WTC attack of 2001 were but episodes in a longer process of transformation whose underlying forces are economic, technological and — in response to those developments — social.  Chile has recovered despite the bombing of the Moneda palace and other atrocities. The Arab peoples are demanding democratic rights. Despite the violence and counterviolence of repressive forces, the grip of bankers and industrialists is slipping. The global hegemony of US capital has now almost disappeared, its power fragmented among many powers including China and the other “BRIC” —Brazil, Russia, India, China — and contested by ever more powerful popular revolts in, among other places, the Arab countries that have little or nothing to do with Al Qaeda and its strategies.  The new world that many of us want to form will be a peaceful construction or it just won’t happen.

Review & interview on "Sultan"

Thanks to Roger Lawrence for his good words about the book and his intelligent questions about how I wrote it. He read it in the Smashwords edition and also posted a review there. Take a look at his introductory remarks and the interview at:

Three Hoodies Save The World: This week's guest blogger

This is the second time a self-proclaimed science fiction fan has said he/she liked A Gift for the Sultan. As Jennifer Pertkus put it in her review (scroll down the Amazon review page to find her), it takes place in a a faraway time and place — but instead of a distant galaxy in the distant future, in Constantinople some 600 years ago — and, as in sci fi, the names will seem strange (except of course to Turks or Greeks). So, if sci fi is your thing, maybe you too will get a kick out of this novel.

And after you've read Roger's interview of me, you may want to look over some of the other entries on his blog.

Thanks for posting, Roger.

Great Hispanic Novels

Thanks to Larry Dignan for sharing this link. Since Facebook and Acción en Venezuela friend Jess Brodnax once asked me if there was such a list, I imagine that other visitors to this blog might also be interested:

50 Great Hispanic Novels Every Student Should Read | Online College Courses

Maybe I should try to get through all these books myself. I'll say just a word about the few that I have read.

1. Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quijote de la Mancha, ed. J.A. Franch, vol. 1981 (Barcelona: Bruguera, 1605). Actually, I've read only the first, original volume, and it had me rolling on the floor laughing, as we say. An odd thing about this edition is that its footnotes explain many archaic expressions that for me weren't archaic at all — some expressions that have long gone out of use in Spain are still heard commonly in Puerto Rico and other places. I hear that there are good translations available but if you really want to get all the jokes, you should do as Sigmund Freud did and take the trouble to learn Spanish. Cervantes wrote the second volume, a sequel, to protect himself after other authors started coming out with books about the character he had invented. I should read that, too — but I think that first I'll want to re-read Vol. I. It is really funny, and very sharply observed.
2. Carlos Ruiz Zafón, La sombra del viento (Barcelona: Planeta, 2002). I thought this was awful. You can read my review here.
3. Miguel Delibes, Los santos inocentes. Well, I didn't read the book, but I saw the movie in which Delibes collaborated. You can see my reviews of a couple of other novels by Delibes, El camino and La hoja roja, here.
4. Ildefonso Falcones, La catedral del mar. I started this, but it was just too ridiculous to continue. When I got to the part about ius primae noctis suffered by Falcones' simple caricatures, I felt like Oscar Wilde on reading Dickens' The Old Curiosity Shoppe: 'One would have to have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without dissolving into tears...of laughter.' But the book is on my shelves, and I may try again. Not out of literary interest, but just as a way to learn something about cathedral construction. 
5. Javier Cercas, Soldados de Salamina (Barcelona: Tusquets Editores, 2001). This is terrific. See my review here. I've become a fan of Cercas, especially his novel-journalism in  Anatomía de un instante (Barcelona: Mondadori, 2009). I wrote about that book on my Spanish-language blog Lecturas y lectores back in 13 noviembre 2009.
6. Antonio Muñoz Molina — I don't recognize the title listed here; what was it in Spanish? I don't think it was one of these, but I have read and reviewed two of his novels, El jinete polaco (which I loved) and Plenilunio, which is lighter but engaging. (Links are to my reviews.)
7. Quevedo, El buscón. I somehow got distracted before finishing it. The sharp, scabrous wit can be startling, even shocking. I'll go back and finish it one day soon and post a review.
8. Carmen Laforet, Nada (Madrid: El País, 1944). Wonderfully complex, closely observed story of post-war (Spanish civil war, 1936-39) Barcelona. Far superior to Ruiz Zafón's spooky comedy in supposedly the same setting. My review is here.

That's enough for today. I'll take a look at the other parts of the list, Spanish-language novels from countries other than Spain, some other day. 

Art meets politics in Istanbul and the Armenian diaspora

The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafak

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


A 19-year-old Turkish Istanbuli girl oblivious to the past and nearly suffocated by her overdevoted relatives, meets a 19-year-old Armenian-American girl obsessed by the past and nearly suffocated by her overdevoted relatives; the first discovers a past that has been suppressed, and the second learns to partially free herself from the past and savor the present.

This is an artfully constructed book with two contrary agendas, both essential, but not entirely comfortable with one another.

First, the literary agenda: The quirks, foibles and virtues of a large number of complex characters, understandable even when not exactly lovable, are described in rich and vivid language, their personal dramas interwoven and mostly resolving in surprising and satisfying ways. The literary ambition is signaled in the opening chapter — the sounds and sensations of rush hour in Istanbul in a rainstorm, and the furious and impious thoughts of young Zeliha as she hurries through the broken streets to a critical appointment, are delightful, frightening and hilarious, and will be unforgettable. And then we meet the other badly split family of the Armenian American girl, and then back to Zeliha and her three sisters, each eccentric in a different way, and her mother and grandmother living in sweet but comical confusion.

But there is another agenda, political and didactic: Elif Shafak wants us to face a terrible tragedy — the killings and deportations of Armenians in 1915 — and to help all of us, but especially Armenians and Turks, to come to mutual comprehension and forgiveness today.

The contemporary Turks of the novel (and, I think, in reality) have no problem whatever with their Armenian compatriots. None of Zeliha's friends thinks it remarkable that her lover, Arman, is Armenian; for them, "Armenian" is just another variety of Turk. But when Zeliha's now 19-year-old daughter Asya introduces her new friend Amy — or Armanoush — to her friends in the bar as an Armenian American, they are suddenly on the alert.

Now the word Armenian wouldn't surprise anyone at Café Kundera, but Armenian American was a different story. Armenian Armenian was no problem — similar culture, similar problems — but Armenian American meant someone who despised the Turks.

As Asya begins to tell the tragedy of Armanoush's Istanbulite family, the execution of her great grandfather because he was an intellectual, one of the drinkers at the table blurts out, "That didn't happen."

The problem is that Armenians in the diaspora cannot forget their terrible history, while Turks cannot remember it or, if they have even thought about it, accept a version where both sides did awful things and nobody now is to blame — 1915 was long before they were born, Turkey was a different country, and none of that has anything to do with them.

But Shafak insists that it does have to do with them, because until Turks recognize and acknowledge the pain of the Armenians they are in effect accomplices of a massive cover-up. But on the other side, would Armenians in the diaspora ever accept any reasonable concessions or admissions by the Turks?

When Armanoush gets Asya to take part in an on-line forum of Armenian Americans, one of them immediately demands that she as a Turk recognize the genocide. The young but well-read Asya writes back, "Genocide is a heavily loaded term… It implies a systematic, well-organized, and philosophized extermination. Honestly, I am not sure the Ottoman state at the time was of such a nature. But I do recognize the injustice that was done to the Armenians. I am not a historian. My knowledge is limited and tainted, but so is yours."

And then she asks, "Tell me, what can I as an ordinary Turk in this day and age do to ease your pain?" And the Armenian Americans, never before confronted by such a question, have no plausible answer. Apologize, says one after a long pause. For something she had no part of? Get the Turkish state to apologize, demands another. But how could she get the Turkish state to do anything?

But then another Armenian American forum member joins in, one who calls himself "Baron Baghdassarian" and whom we have been taught to expect to be wiser than the others, and surprises everyone by typing:

“Well, the truth is… some among the Armenians in the diaspora would never want the Turks to recognize the genocide. If they do so, they'll pull the rug out from under our feet and take the strongest bond that unites us. Just like the Turks have been in the habit of denying their wrongdoing, the Armenians have been in the habit of savoring the cocoon of victimhood. Apparently, there are some old habits tht need to be changed on both sides.”

And whether or not you believe that a real Armenian American might write that in an on-line forum, it is clearly the opinion of Elif Shafak.

The on-line forum allows Shafak to introduce political discourse by characters who have no existence beyond their cyber presence. And to describe events for which there is no human testimony, an ancient djinni who has been magically enslaved by Zeliha's eldest sister, the clairvoyant Banu, gives his eye-witness account.

In this literary tale all the decisive actors (actresses) are women and the men, whether comical, sympathetic or pathetic, are necessary but secondary figures like Poins or Bardolph in Henry IV, useful for displaying some aspect of the more complex (and always female) protagonists. That for me was one of the pleasures of the book, allowing me to enter the consciousness of so many and such complex girls and women.

The blatantly political segments interrupt the flow of the other, literary story, sometimes jarring the reader's willingness to believe. But they enable Shafak to describe that terrible history.

The book is charming, sometimes stunningly beautiful, often outrageously funny, sometimes deeply sad. And because of its political content, it is also a very brave book. Elif Shafak knew she was taking a major risk when she published the original version in Turkish, that she would offend powerful members of the state and risk imprisonment. And I imagine that her version of events will also greatly offend members of the Armenian diaspora, for the very reason "Baron Baghdassarian" expounded. And for all these reasons, it's a book we need to read.

View all my reviews

Armenians in Turkey - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The bankers are safe

Now isn't it good to know that?

Greg Palast — Hamptons Hurricane: A Bankers’ Katrina

Calling all authors; Red Room spiffs up its site

The Red Room is a lively gathering place for authors to talk shop, trade notes, promote books, or just hang out. And now it looks better than ever. I hadn't been spending a lot of time there, but a new team of editors (I think they're new, at least they've got some new ideas) has just made it more lively, and at their urging I've added some posts to my blog there. So if you are an author, you won't want to miss this forum. And check out Geoffrey Edmund Fox's blog to see what it looks like (mostly the same content you've seen here, but presented a little differently). The Red Room is probably the only place where you'll see my middle name — so you don't confuse me with all those other Geoffrey Foxes out there.