Recently in Books Category

I've been meaning to write this for a while (or even blog something), but I've just been too busy. It is Nader Saiedi's Gate of the Heart: Understanding the Writings of the Báb, published by Wilfrid Laurier University Press. It weighs in at 375 pages, plus notes and references. Rhett Diessner (no, I don't know who he is either) said,

It is a compelling read - a must read - for anyone interested in the most amazing religious upheaval of the nineteenth century, or in the roots of the Baha'i Faith, or in my case, spiritual psychology.

The Báb is one of the Central Figures of the Baha'i Faith. A young Persian merchant, who in 1844, at the age of 25, declared himself to be the Báb or "gate", and announced the approach of a great spiritual teacher. We believe that the one the Báb fortold is none other than Baha'u'llah, who declared His mission 19 years after the Báb did. The Báb's message was not well received by the religious leaders of the time, and he was executed in 1850. So in terms of Baha'i history, the Báb occupies a position similar to John the Baptist in Christianity - however Baha'is believe that the Báb's position is more exalted than that of John the Baptist, seeing as He brought forth a new religion - albeit a short-lived one.

The book aims to be an "exploration of the creative and revolutionary ideas of the Báb through a study of some of His numerous writings." (p2) Saiedi frames the Báb's religion as a critique of Islamic fundamentalism and as a response to the crisis of modernity that was creeping up on the globe at the time. (You can tell that Saiedi is a sociology professor!) At the same time, Saiedi is a committed Baha'i, and is not afraid to show his reverence and respect for the Báb as a Holy Figure within his religion. An example of this is illustrated in the above quotation: capitalisation pronouns relating to the Báb. Saiedi does not allow his religious conviction to blur his judgement however, and gives a fair-handed account of the issues at stake.

Anyway, I'm jumping ahead of myself here. Saiedi acknowledges the vastness of the Báb's writings, and "attempts to understand the individual texts within the context of the totality of the Báb's works" (p2). He doesn't attempt a comparative or comprehensive coverage of the writings, nor does he look into the philosophical or theological aspects of the writings in great depth.

The book is organised in three parts. After the introduction (p1-28) and a short chronological list of the Báb's writings (p29-36), Part 1 (p39-159) is titled The Interpretive Revelation, followed by Part 2 (p163-236), called The Metaphysics of the Primal Will and Divine Action, and finishes off with Part 3 (p239-375), called The Primal Point and Progressive Revelation. Each part has four or five chapters each.

This is a complex book, yet Saiedi manages to write in a lucid style. He discusses previous academic work on the Báb, and finds most of it lacking. His claim is that most scholars have read the Báb's writings with an overly simplistic or literalist perspective - whereas Saiedi maintains that it needs to be taken holistically, as an exactingly planned unfoldment of various spiritual truths as appropriate to the Báb's audience. He further suggests that much of the Báb's writings are intended to recast and reinvigorate spiritual symbols and metaphors with a new and invigorating potency.

Perhaps one of the greatest strengths of this book is the valuable link that Saiedi provides the English-speaker with existing research on the Báb's writings. It's perhaps possible to count the number of English-speaking scholars of the Báb on two hands - many of Saiedi's sources are in Arabic or Persian. The majority of the quotations from the Báb Himself that he cites are his own personal translation of as-yet untranslated material.

The book has few shortcomings. There are a few typographical errors, but nothing that would seem to critically affect meaning. It's not a book that you can dip in and dip out of easily - however, the same could be said of most academic texts. In the latest UK Baha'i Journal (Autumn 2008) there is a review of this book by William P Collins. He notes that "the book would have benefited from a chart showing the Báb's schema of Divine Action and its relationship to various hierarchies of meaning in the Báb's Writings." I echo this suggestion.

I would recommend this book to anyone wanting to develop their understanding of the Báb or the origins of the Baha'i Faith. This book has also given me a greater personal insight into the Báb, His writings, and His mission. If you want to borrow my copy, please get in touch :-)

Strictly speaking, this wasn't a second hand book shop, but more of a stall, at a village fete. Regardless, I was able to nab Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, Swift's Gulliver's Travels, Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and, curiously, Experimental Design and Statistics by one Steve Miller. All paperback, all for fifty pence each. Two pounds for four books. A couple of them are a little tattered, but for 50p I can hardly complain!

I first read Lord of the Rings when I was 11, and I've been a big fan of the series ever since. Despite that, I've never owned my own copy (for shame!), and I'm glad to finally get it. It's a one-volume copy, with the all-important appendices and index. I was just flicking through it this morning, and I'm really looking forward to getting stuck into it again.

I've never read Gulliver's Travels, but I'm familiar with the story and many of the satirical themes in it. As such, I'll allude to it in conversations when I want to sound intelligent and educated. Which is a little hypocritical. So maybe I should read it. Which is why I got it. And it's a damn good book, or so I hear.

I'm even more unfamiliar with Conrad's Heart of Darkness, although I've seen Apocalypse Now. Which is the same thing, right?

Experimental Design and Statistics may seem like an odd choice, but that's almost exactly the name of a course I'm enrolled in at uni, so I figured it could be useful. Looks like it's mainly from a psychological perspective, which is alright - methodologically, experimental linguistics has a fair bit of overlap with psychology.

Four books for two pounds. Not bad, not bad at all.

I went into a second-hand bookshop on the way home from uni yesterday. (Pickerings Books, 30 Buccleuch Street (just on the corner with Buccleuch Place). It's closing down, unfortunately.) I usually look for books on Philosophy, Religion, and Language, although I'm open to all really. Sometimes you can get real gems.

Of course, everyone's definition of a gem differs. While my interest in language are mainly theoretical and phonological, I do have a penchant for language descriptions and obscure languages, and the idea of descriptive fieldwork seems very romantic and adventurous to me. (You'd be like Indiana Jones, but a linguist instead of an archaeologist!) So I stumble upon David Watters' A Grammar of Kham, a language spoken by roughly 45,000 people in western Nepal. How much? £5! You can't say no for that price. Especially when it's in such a good condition - hardback, no notable scuffs, paper practically as-new. I get home, and find out that Cambridge University Press, the publishers, expect £96 for the book, and that amazon.co.uk are charging £91.20.

Slightly less impressive, but still a good saving, I got Geoffrey Kimball's Koasati Dictionary (also known as Coushatta, a language spoken by around 400 people in Louisiana) for £4, when amazon.co.uk want £64, and the publishers $85.

Do I need these books? No. Do I want them? Yes. Will I use them, and find them useful? Probably. As I was explaining to my flatmate yesterday, I'm not buying them for any pragmatic value. I doubt I'll be stuck in western Nepal any time soon, or be asked to translate some Koasati myths. I got them because I find this stuff interesting. And because they were bargains!

Kimball, Geoffrey D. Koasati Dictionary. Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 1994.
Watters, David E. A Grammar of Kham. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

I don't like Garfield. It's a boring comic with no depth, no emotion, and most of the time it isn't even funny. However, I fell in love with Garfield after seeing some edits with all of Garfield's speech removed.

Since Garfield is a cat, he never technically speaks, he only thinks (with a thought bubble, à la Snoopy). Removing this from the strips make the comic's interactions appear as they would to a disconnected observer. Garfield becomes a real cat, rather than a smart-assed anthropomorphic feline. In the words of MvCRage, "It adds yet another depressing layer to the pathetic existence that is Jon" (Garfield's owner).

That's not all, however. About a month ago the blog garfield minus garfield started making the rounds. This version removes Garfield entirely. In the words of the site itself,

Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let's laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb.

Along the same lines, and much older, is the Garfield randomiser, which doesn't modify the panels themselves, but rather the ordering of panels themselves. Think of it as a Garfield collage. There were some copyright issues with it, so google it to find some links and information. One of the best comics ever created (in my opinion) with the randomiser is the death of garfield.

This modification of existing art (or whatever you want to call comics) reminds me a lot of Marmaduke Explained and Dysfunctional Family Circus, and even those artists a few years ago who bought classic paintings and modified them with paint all over the shop, I can't remember their names. It's the visual equivalent of a remix, almost. And I really like the transposition of Garfield (the character) from a smug lasagna-loving cultural icon, into an ordinary housecat, and then into... nothing at all.

[Edit: Looks like The Comic Strip Doctor has written something about this, and mentions all the stuff I mentioned, and more! It's a great read, especially with the Garfield analysis towards the end.]

I recently read Words Words Words, by David Crystal. It's a popular science book (or should that be "popular lingustics"?) inviting readers of all backgrounds to discover the magic of words, and lexical investigation in general. The book is split into six parts: the universe of words; the origins of words; the diversity of words; the evolution of words; the enjoyment of words; and becoming a word detective, with between four and seven chapters per part.

Crystal writes in an easy-going informal style, which makes it very easy to follow and read through. Crystal's deep passion for words, and the English langyage in particular, is evident in his prose, with the enthusiasm leaping out the page at you, in the form of diverse quotations from literature both classical and contemporary, pictures from around the world, and amusing anecdotes about words and word-usage. Crystal's passion is infectious. Although I study linguistics, I can't say I find the lexicon to be the most fascinating area of study, and I get quite annoyed when people think that I "study words". Yet this book has really opened my eyes to the vast panorama of lexical beauty available to us - to all of us. And with chapter headings like Wordsmithery, Wordmelodies, Worddeaths, and Wordworlds, who can say no?

Along the way, Crystal addresses the language critics, naysayers, and doom-mongers who "reflect gloomily on the present state of the language, make dire prophecies about its future, and wish things were like the earlier golden age they remember so well" (p156), noting that such comments are as old as the language itself. He notes the perfectly natural stages of semantic shift and of word death, while also pointing out that new coinages or borrowings can greatly enhance English's expressiveness.

If you're interested in words, and in the English language in particular, but don't want to have to deal with preachy, badly-researched books, nor wade through a dense academic text, this book is ideal. Crystal is filling a sorely-felt gap in the popular linguistics genre - books written by actual linguists! As influential as Melvyn Bragg or Lynn Truss may be, they have no formal linguistics training, and often serve only to give linguists a bad name.

One, very minor, criticism I have of this book is that the references are scattered throughout the text, and not collated at the end. Having said that, Crystal is very methodical in his reporting of sources, and encourages us to be likewise. You can read his blog here.

Crystal, David. Words Words Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. (UK Paperback edition.)

The other day I just finished Moojan Momen's Baha'u'llah: A Short Biography. I bought this book on the strength of a personal recommendation and a few reviews. One of the reviews I read (I cannot recall where) used the word "hagiography", a word that was new to me at the time. (It means the biography of the life of a saint, usually in gushingly praising terms.) The review was spelling out that this work is decidedly not a hagiography. I am compelled to agree. The book is undeniably Baha'i in its angle - it is written by a Baha'i, about the founder of the Baha'i Faith, and supports the Baha'i line on many aspects of the history of the early years of the religion. However, it is neither apologetic nor preachy, being decidedly academic in tone and objective in its treatment of sources.

After a short introduction, chapter one deals with the childhood and early life (1817-1844) of Baha'u'llah, born Mírzá Ḥusayn 'Alí. Chapter two covers 1844-1853, as Baha'u'llah becomes involved in the Cause of the Bab. His exile to Baghdad, and the next 10 years (1853-163), often called the "Baghdad period" for obvious reasons, is the subject of chapter three. The next chapter covers Baha'u'llah's time in Europe, namely Istanbul and Edirne (1863-1868). As is common in historical treatments of Baha'u'llah's life, the time from 1868 to his death (1892) is split into two - "The Early 'Akká Period" (1868-1877) and "The Later 'Akká Period" (1877-1892), detailing the time Baha'u'llah spent in the prison-city of 'Akká under the control of the Ottoman Empire. These form chapters five and six respectively. The book continues with three more chapters on more general themes: chapter seven is on Baha'u'llah's writings; chapter eight on his claims as to who he was and what he represented; and chapter nine on his teachings as a religious leader.

The history of the Baha'i Faith is something I'll readily admit to an incomplete knowledge of. As such, I found this book really helpful in both contextualising and understanding many of the events of Baha'i history, and also many of the writings of Baha'u'llah. It gave me a real sense of Baha'u'llah's humanity - he was a real person, with feelings and tragedies - and also a greater appreciation of his majesty and grace with which he endured his relentless sufferings.

The book is well-researched, and, as I'm coming to expect of Momen, referenced throughout, with helpful suggestions of further reading. While towards the end it gets a little heavy on quotations, it is excellent reading throughout. I'd recommend it to both Baha'is seeking a greater understanding of the founder of their faith, and to those who aren't Baha'is who simply want to know more about the origins of the religion, and the story of the personage behind it.

Momen, Moojan. Baha'u'llah: A Short Biography. Oxford: Oneworld, 2007.

I just finished Moojan Momen's Islam and the Bahá’í Faith, which is billed as "an attempt to present the Bahá’í Faith to Muslims" (vii), that is, from a Muslim perspective. The back cover also states that it "will also be useful to Bahá’ís who want to see how their religion relates to Islam," which is why I read it. I'd like to think I know more about Islam than your average Brit, but I wouldn't claim any sort of authority with my knowledge, especially with regards fields like Islamic jurispridence and history. This book has been greatly informative for me in three main areas: 1) my understanding of Islam, 2) my understanding of the Baha'i Faith, and 3) my understanding of how the Baha'i Faith views and relates to Islam. Given the title and aims of the book, that I learned things in those areas isn't particularly surprising, but it perhaps relays how effective Dr Momen has been in his 242-page (plus references and notes) account.

Momen takes us through the Baha'i teachings on Islam, particularly on the prophet Muhammad. He compares and contrasts the ethical and spiritual teachings of the Baha'i Faith with those of Islam. He then turns to Baha'u'llah's claim to be the promised one of all ages, and discusses this claim in relation to Islamic prophecies. The rest of the book is then about the Baha'i Faith in more depth, drawing parallels with Islam where appropriate. The final chapter, titled "Some Further Considerations", is essentially a miscellaneous section, discussing issues as diverse as miracles, the beauty of Baha'u'llah's writings, misrepresentations of the Baha'i Faith in the Arab world, and the state of Israel.

The book is very well researched, and extensively referenced throughout. Momen displays an in-depth knowledge of Islam, particularly of the ḥadíth and of the historical background of the Qur’án. It is perhaps worth noting that Momen has also written a whole book on Shi‘i Islam (Momen 1987). The arguments are reasoned, cogent, and comprehensive, and Momen never labours a point unnecessarily.

My only criticism, and it is a small one, is that the book is very apologetic and proof-based. Much of it seems to be aimed at addressing concerns and disagreements Muslims may have with the Baha'i Faith, and at proving the validity of Baha'u'llah's claims. However these are really minor points, and didn't spoil my enjoyment of the book. I'd recommend it to all, especially those with a connection to Islam.

Momen, Moojan. An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism. New Haven, Conn., London: Yale University Press, 1985.
Momen, Moojan. Islam and the Bahá’í Faith. Oxford: George Ronald, 2000.

Over the festive season I have been reading books, as I tend to do. But unusually for me, they're not been non-fiction (or "books of truth" as I term them), but rather fiction (AKA "books of lies")! I have finished not one, not two, but three books of fiction in the past few days. They are, in order, Yann Martel's Life of Pi, Jenny Downham's before I die, and Alan Bennett's The Uncommon Reader.

I've been an avid reader all my life - but in the past few years I've taken some time off and fallen out of the habit of reading fiction. Part of it is because my free time is limited, I try only to read books related to my course. Ultimately, however, academic books tend to be dry, and I can't resist the siren call of a well-written novel or short story. My desire to read has only been fuelled this year, with one of my flatmates being an English Lit student, as I realise my understanding of modernism is inadequate, that I've never read Conrad or Byron, and so on.

But that's not why I read these books. I read simply for pleasure, thankfully. Maybe I'll get around to understanding modernism or reading Conrad later. Maybe I won't. Either way, I've read some good books.

Life of Pi I intend to address in a later, fuller blog post. The second book, before I die, I bought for my mother as a birthday present after reading good reviews. It's the story of Tessa, a 16 year-old girl with terminal leukemia, and the last few months of her life. Like I said, I've read many rave reviews about this book, but I can't help coming away a little disappointed. It didn't connect me or engage me the way I felt it should have.

That said, it is a very well-written book. It's narrated by Tessa, in the present tense, which gives the book an immediacy, an urgency, and no sense of hindsight that the past tense would offer. It fixes the book firmly in the here-and-now, which make Tessa's thoughts, observations, and dreams seem all the more real. The characterisation is excellent, and Downham really manages to get across the distinctive nature of each of the characters. The writing manages a great lyrical beauty at times, weaving words and images around each other. Here's an example I enjoyed (p266), and also some of the little observations that make reading this book a joy rather than a chore:

I like it - the stall and shove of traffic, the deep thrum of a bus engine, an urgent siren in the distance. I like creeping so slowly down the High Street that I have time to notice Easter eggs still unbought in the newsagent's window, the cigarette butts swept into a neat pile outsde the Chicken Joint. I see children carrying the strangest things - a polar bear, an octopus.

Writing about sex is often tricky, and while this certainly wouldn't qualify for one of the Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Awards, some of the (many) sex scenes in the book feel a little awkward. While on the whole, the character of a 16 year-old was well-written, on occassion, Downham seemed to miss the mark considerably. A consistent example of this is her description of text messaging throughout the book, which seems ill-informed and as if Downham herself has never texted anyone. Maybe I'm being too picky, but that stuck out to me a lot.

The book raises some interesting questions about life and death, however I feel there are many more that it could, and perhaps should, have examined or expanded upon. We all have a limited time here on earth, so what makes Tessa's case different? Is it because we know she only has months, weeks, days to live? Aside from the length of time until death, what makes her different from us? Does ignorance of the length of time between now and our death make us somehow immune to it? What's the point in work, love, and friends when we're all going to die eventually?

In many ways the book felt trite and oversentimental at times. Due to her teenage, often childish perspective on the world, it was hard at times to take Tessa seriously, so at the points when she's being her most sincere, it's difficult to really connect with what she's saying. Which is a pity, as there are some real gems in this book.

The Uncommon Reader is a cheeky little book about Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and her blossoming, later expanding, love for literature and books of all sorts.

A chance encounter leads Her Majesty to discover a mobile library in Westminister, where, to be polite, she borrows a book. She reads it, returns it, and again, to be polite, she borrows another. Two turn into three, three into four, and soon enough she's borrowing and reading not out of etiquette or duty, but for pleasure. A young boy in the employ of the palace becomes her amanuensis, advising her in the way of what to read next, leading her to strange new lands, previously untouched.

The establishment are not pleased at their monarch's new hobby, especially when it is to the detriment of her state duties. Thus Bennett takes us on a journey of literary discovery, all the while battling off the assaults of those who seek to deprive the Queen of her new-found love.

The book is itself a defence of literature - in fact, no, not a defence, this is not literary apologetics. Rather, the book is an activist, crying defiantly in support of reading, of books, and of art. It is a rallying call against arrogance and ignorance, heralding people - all people - to the sheltering warmth of civilised art.

Despite my bold claims, the book is not loud, nor is it angry. The prose is, like Her Majesty, reserved, comforting, and refined. Perhaps even deceptive in both its message and its comedy. The book is physically attractive too - asethetically pleasing, with a soothing typeface and an appealing dust cover. I was thinking while reading it, "if I ever publish something, I'd love for it to be done like this".

The book raises important points too, concerning Monarchy (or really any figure constantly in the public eye): what is "natural", when most of your life is a performance? And on literature (or art in general), does it mirror life, or vice versa? Why is art more beautiful than "real life"? On duty and entitlement, to what extent does it affect our view of the world and of our place in it?

I'm glad I read these three books. They've given me a sense of perspective I wouldn't have otherwise. I hope this brief excursion into my literary journey has encouraged you to read, or at least consider some of the issues raised. It certainly has me.

Bennett, Adam. The Uncommon Reader. London: Faber and Faber, 2007.
Downham, Jenny. before I die. London: Transworld, 2007.
Martel, Yann. Life of Pi. Edinburgh: Canongate, 2002.

This blog post from the Hermenautic Circle discusses the re-publishing of Tintin in the Congo, an early Hergé comic that features stereotyped and frankly racist depictions of the Congoese and of Africans in general.

The question, the article raises, isn't so much about the book, but about whether the existence of this book affects one's enjoyment and appreciation of Hergé's other works.

This is a question asked in this BBC News Magazine article, which discusses Brian Daveys. Daveys was a respected music teacher and textbook writer, and also a paedophile. The article also mentions Eric Gill, famous sculptor and typographer, who after his death it was discovered that he regularly had sex with his daughters, his sister, and his dog.

Do the views or actions of these people degrade their creations? Do they change them? This question has further implications, for example do Chomsky's political leanings affect his linguistic theories?

Where this is concerned with intellectual pursuits it's generally easier to determine things. If someone believes that black people are racially inferior to white people, then we can feel justified in our rejection of their treatise on human diversity. If someone is a notorious career criminal, we can take their writings on moral philosophy with a pinch of salt.¹

But with art it's different. What about the racist's symphony? Is it also inherently racist? Or the criminal's paintings?

I propose what is perhaps an obvious answer. It only really matters if it's something directly related. So, for example, for Daveys to write a music textbook while being a paedophile is fine. It's not as if he's writing a children's story, or guidelines on how to run a creche. Gill blurs the boundaries a little. While I would suggest that the majority of his work, especially his typefaces, are essentially unaffected by his paraphilia, it would be naïve of me to claim that his nude sketches of his daughter are unsullied by his background.

This question goes deeper. How much does one's private life impact upon one's public life? I think an important example is the Monica Lewinsky affair - where President Bill Clinton was found to be having an extramarital affair. There was a media uproar, which lead to Bill lying to congress, which lead to his being impeached. Arguably, if the US media cared less about his private life, none of that would have happened. Did his lack of integrity as a husband affect his integrity as a world leader? Does it matter?

I'm good at asking questions. I'm not so good at answering them.

¹ That doesn't mean we should dismiss it out of hand, of course.

Of the past 36 hours, I've just spent 20 of them working on an assignment. Thirteen and a half of those hours were in the university library. I'd carved out quite a little den for myself. I was at a computer desk, surrounded by piles of books (at times I felt like I was in a fort), a bottle of orange juice (or cup of coffee) nearby. I'd be lounging with my shoes off (one needs to get comfortable), my fingers slowly drifting over the keys as I tried to make sense of the data before me.

The assignment was on English grammar, which admittedly isn't my favourite subject. It was in the form of three "short essay answers". There was no guideline as to length - I ended up with 14 pages (over 4,000 words), which I thought was more than enough. I suppose time will tell.

In the course of my research for the assignment, I was browsing through Bennet's Spatial and temporal uses of English prepositions and I found this piece of paper. It looks like a note that's been used as a bookmark. (Click the image to see a larger version.)

When I first saw it, and pulled it out to read it, I turned it upside down so I could read it, thinking for a brief second that it may be Greek. I quickly realised that this was not the case, and turned it around again, noticing that I could read some English words - ambiguous, vague, but most of everything else was very scrawly. It was at this point that I noticed that the 1, 2, and 3 of the list were on the right, not the left. A couple of the letterforms reminded me of something. And then it clicked - is this Hebrew?

I know very little of the Hebrew script, and even less of Hebrew itself, but it seems a reasonable reckoning. A little bit of internet searching for examples of handwritten Hebrew yield similar results.

The fluency of the handwriting makes me think it's a native speaker. Also, the English words that are there are written in a well-formed cursive script - a common feature of those who learn English as a second language. But here's the question - what does it actually say? Anyone know? Comments appreciated.

Bennett, D. C. (1975). Spatial and temporal uses of English prepositions - An essay in stratificational semantics. London: Longman.