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March 28, 2006

Comments

Steven Augustine

In any case, Stoppard's point dovetails neatly with the Irving 'controversy'...and goes right to the heart of the question of who 'we' are. Even the 'right' to bear arms wouldn't be problematic if 'we' were all the kind of people who could be trusted with guns...but we're clearly not all up to it (the paradox being that if we were, guns would be wonderfully pointless and vanish with a 'poof' from the face of the earth...same with the concept 'Free' Speech?). Stoppard isn't arguing to rescind the 'right'...I think he's being the Playfully Serious Rhetorician that he is and calling into question the unexamined default nobility of the phrase 'Free Speech,' ...the fuzzy thinking...pointing out that it's a morally neutral concept which is only as noble as the people practising it. Free Speech in the mouth of, say, Joan Didion becomes a Hate Crime in the mouth of David Irving...two demonstrably different things. Maybe 'we' need as many inflected forms for 'Free Speech' as the mythical number of Inuit forms for 'snow'.

Steven Augustine

PS even 'liberty'...even 'life' itself...are provisional rights on this planet.

goethe girl

Thanks for the link. Actually, I liked Stoppard's take on this issue a lot. At first I thought he was going to take a squishy point of view, as many liberals have done in the face of the Muslim cartoon protests. The Muslim protesters irritate me precisely because they (those in Denmark or elsewhere in Europe) want to enjoy the privileges of Western society but otherwise believe the "rules" of Western society shouldn't apply to them. That said, I have for a long time been weary of the invocation of "rights." For another interesting take on the issue, you might look at an essay by the Goethe scholar Nicholas Boyle in the March 18 issue of the English Catholic magazine The Tablet. (Don't worry, it's a "liberal" Catholic magazine, practically undistinguishable from the New York Times in its pieties.) The essay is called "Human Rights and Our God," and he gives a good overview of the development of ideas of rights: www. thetablet.co.uk. Enjoy.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."