Skip to main content

An intellectual is a man who takes more words than necessary to tell more than he knows.


Love is blindness. The bedroom, Geilston Bay. July 2012.

A Man of the People is a 1966 novel by Chinua Achebe that foreshadowed a coup in post-colonial Nigeria. It tells the story of a young and educated narrator and his conflict with his former teacher who has pursued a career. One represents the changing younger generation; the other the traditional customs of Nigeria.

An interesting novel graphically illustrates the challenges faced by African nations in the 1950s and 60s, it goes some way to explaining to outsiders why the continent has struggled in the aftermath of Western colonialism. Recommended.

Andreï Makine is a Russian novelist who writes in French. Like the protagonist in his more recent novel - The Life of an Unknown Man - Makine is a man without a country (the Soviet Union of his formative years no longer in existence).

This is a novel two very different, albeit related, parts. It is part meditation on finding autonomy even as when losing all control of one’s destiny and realising happiness even in the face of appalling suffering; part exploration of how those who live in prosperous, modern societies can be cursed by excessive choice and expectations.

Makine paints his picture using broad-brush strokes, and rockets through huge swathe of history in the second portion, but this remains a powerful and eloquent novel. I really liked how he has demonstrated at once his passionate attachment, but constant bewilderment, to Russia and the celebration of individual humanity within the oppressive politics of both a totalitarian state and vacuous and indifferent celebrity culture.

Comments

Leovi said…
I love this composition, delicious play of lines and lights, very creative. Fabulous.

Popular posts from this blog

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.