Monday 31 December 2012

Beyond Bhutan - Reflections Mostly Mental

I am writing this from a beach-side restaurant in Koh Tao, a red snapper on its way, a Beer Chang on the table. It's hot here. My BCF friends have all left me for their various homes over the last few weeks – Salt Spring, Toronto, Nebraska, a few to India, a couple up to Chiang Mai, a few to Africa via New York. The group has scattered and they're all taking a piece of Bhutan with them to their relevant places. Some of them are going back there, me possibly included. So perhaps it's time to figure out what this lingering sense of Bhutan looks like, how it feels, what it means to us. But to be honest, it's still only half formed.



What was the leaving like? Difficult and emotional, but good. Why good? Because the last few weeks brought home how much I enjoyed my time there, how close my friendships became and how much I achieved there in such a short time. As the departure date drew new and conversations became dominated by the impending break, I found plenty of time to reflect on the differences between my previous life and the one I found in Pakshikha – Bhutan, a country seemingly in the full flush of its teenage years of development, and the UK (and I guess, Europe) that has seemingly gone beyond the peak on the cost-benefit development curve and now counts more costs than it does benefits from its race for growth at any cost. I can't shed this sense of the UK that was growing before I left, that it is struggling through the cynical years of an not-quite-old-yet man, intractable, stuck in self-destructive ways, disappointed with the achievements its ambitions wrought.

Sanjay Pradhan
I saw a lecture recently by Sanjay Pradhan, Vice President of the World Bank Institute in which he drew great hope from (among other things) the fact that a seachange was occurring in the development/aid communities. The post-war institutions – the UN, the World Bank, the EMF – they were all laudably conceived in a spirit of hope that a better world could be fashioned from the spiritual, financial and ethical debris of one of the most humanity shattering of wars. The aim was simple – to not let history repeat as it so often does. They realised that wealth disparities play an important role in the harmony of nations and they sought to address them. The whole infrastructure of this change was predicated not only on the wealth of the Northern Hemisphere, but also on its expertise and economic history. When we see Europe fragmenting and read newspaper reports about 'nutrition poverty' in Yorkshire, and when we hear the politicians steadfastly clinging to their growth rhetoric as an escape from the madness the same ethos created, it's hardly surprising that eyebrows raise in alarm.

Sow what is the seachange that Mr Pradhan referred to? It comes from a change in perspective of the Southern Nations. They're no longer looking to the West and North for salvation from poverty and corruption, but to each other. They don't care how London made itself so massive and tied itself up in dodgy derivatives. They're more interested in how China miraculously lifted so many people out of poverty (despite the terrible costs), how Costa Rica disbanded its army and channelled all the cash into sustainable small business ventures, how Mexico lifted it's citizens higher up the index of happiness with its version of the new deal, how Bhutan defines the role of its government in relation to the welfare of its people and environment.

I'm not 'down' on the UK. I take heart from my friends in Bristol, almost all of whom are involved in one way or another in building something better from the ground up, not in response to Cameron's 'Big Society' speeches, but with a hearty and cynical two fingers up to them. I'm thinking of the Bristol Pound, the non-profit micro energy projects, the redevelopment of derelict buildings as community spaces for creativity and small businesses, the festivals run carbon neutral and designed not just for hedonism but for education, the attempt to found new schools that might just work for the children. Inspirational people – citizens (one would hope) of a New Britain, people who appreciate the redundancy of the archaic 'Great' prefix of Britain and are prepared to do something about it. The government seems too clunky and rusting at the seams to contribute in any meaningful way. Perhaps Cameron realises this. I doubt it.

So to whom does Bhutan look for inspiration? Many of the people look to China with distrust and India with a hesitancy that is entirely understandable given the harsh conditions that people live under there. One only needs to cross the border for five minutes to see what a apparently complete absence of welfare does for grass roots humanity and 'the social contract'. Spend a few weeks there like one of my friends recently did, and you have to adopt a shell hard enough to ignore destitution well beyond anything we might term 'nutritional poverty'. Bhutan is definitely doing something right compared with its nearest neighbours.

I noticed the new science curricula have been written with assistance from Oxford dons, which is disappointing. I had a precious opportunity to provide feedback to the Minister of Education with the other teachers and shared my view that there exists here a chance to do something radically different with the textbooks that are being written for Class IX and X, to make them work for teachers and students alike. Forget what we've done over there in the West – make a textbook that works! With AfL and differentiation and '21st century education' techniques embedded and integrated. Let them guide the teachers instead of telling us what to do at workshops that inspire us with an energy that trickles away in weeks. Many other things were discussed and it was refreshing, regardless of what was said, to find people in government listening to classroom teachers, albeit aliens from another world.

A common grumble that arose from conversations with my Bhutanese friends was that the government was too intoxicated with the aura of GNH and the spreading of it around the world and might perhaps do well to flex its muscles more at home and make the ideal of GNH a tangible reality for every one of its citizens. I think this is both fair and harsh. Bhutan needs to keep speaking as loud as it can so that the GNH ideal stays current and noticeable – the value of this small exemplar voice at the big conference tables of the world is self-evident. However, if the Bhutanese become cynical, it will become a house of cards and crumble from within once the next generation of Bhutanese find their democratic voices and make use of the internet to express them.

This is all very heady and mental stuff. I haven't touched upon the emotion jolt of leaving behind a place and people that have become very close to my heart. I half expect to become one of those Bhutanical volunteer comets that circle the country and periodically fly through its skies during my lifetime. There are many of them, and with good reason. I'm hoping to go back in March to see my friends and have some more conversations about possible work there, but who knows what will happen? Koh Tao is distracting my mind, various adventurers are on the horizon and my priority for the next few months is with my writing. I guess I'll have to wait a little longer for the more emotional reactions to settle in. Grist for another posting, which will, I imagine be full of pictures of farewells and friends.

Sanjay Pradhan's Lecture... http://www.ted.com/talks/sanjay_pradhan_how_open_data_is_changing_international_aid.html

Sunday 30 December 2012

Snorkeling in Koh Tao - Chasing Sharks

I know I haven't written anything for a long time, and there's much to be said about departing Bhutan, but in the meantime, here's a video that includes me chasing a shark!!!


Monday 24 December 2012

Tuesday 4 December 2012

Pa-pa-pa-pah-pe-PAKSHIKHA!!!!!!

The Song

Ok. Brace yourself. This is the school anthem for Pakshikha MSS. Borne out of a twanging fit of silliness on a Friday afternoon when the verse just went pooooomph, fell from the ether and landed on the guitar. Collaboration brought the rest out. It's a shame I didn't get a chance to record all the kids singing on the chorus. So here it is... played by yours truly for the school. And most of the village too :-)






The Lyrics

There's a place high up on a hill
Everybody's happy there and minds are being filled with potential
and new ideas
and a feeling that will carry through the years

Pakshikha MSS

There's a place everybody knows
Every time you visit there this feeling grows and grows
one of warmth and blooming
the 'perfect model's there for successful schooling' *

Pakshikha MSS

Everybody goes there just thinking they'll be schooled
but four years later on if they've done the best they can
they'll find to their surprise they've more than just moved on

Pakshikha MSS


* this is the school's 'official' abbreviation - pmss - perfect model for successful schooling

Monday 3 December 2012

Calling All Swedes...

This Swedish thing is getting serious! Here's the latest blog view data, and Swedes, it would appear are out-viewing my warblings by a somewhat phenomenal margin; almost 3 times more Swedish people are perusing than Blighty-folk. This is neither good nor bad, but it's certainly curious. If there's any Swedish people out there who feel inclined to do so, please send me a message and say Hi! I'd like to know who you are....

Sweden               124
United Kingdom     42
Germany               22
United States        22
France                 16
Bhutan                 12
Israel                   11
Canada                  8
Greece                  6
Netherlands           6


Saturday 1 December 2012

The Best Place for a Home to be ?






















I just had to post this picture, even if I haven't got much to say about it! It's my house. I often can't quite believe it, but there it is, perched up on the mountainside between rice paddies, overlooking the valley that just goes down and down and down and...This picture is taken from about two thirds of the way to school, on the way back in the afternoon. In the evenings the sun drives down the valley in  innumerable streaks through the mist, leaving wispy contrails of light that set the air to incandescence. The skies are now clear. You can see individual trees several mountains away. Going to and from school is one of my favourite things, either by day or by night. 

Something has happened here recently, something unexpected and stunning. It's gone quiet. A few nights ago, after an epic contest of Yahtzee down in the village(finally got them playing games!), I set off for home on the wrong side of midnight. Folk don't go out walking alone at the witching hour in these parts - superstitious, and I can see why. There I was trundling along the forest-side path listening to the crunch of gravel beneath my feet, the path silvered by the bluish light of a nearly-full moon, thoughts nee-nawing around my head when I found myself irked by a noise that seemed to be disturbing not just me but the whole forest. For a few moments I couldn't pin it down, but then it dawned on me... It was my down jacket! The arms were swishing against the torso. How could this noise be so LOUD! And then I realised as I stopped there beneath the trees.... the world had slipped and fallen into silence, and not just up to its knees, but right up to its head and beyond. 

S-i-l-e-n-c-e. 

It seems the forest has gone to sleep. Insects have given up their constant mwaa-de-mwaa and taken up some other means to pass the time. Birds are, I dunno, sleeping? On holiday? Even the dogs are reacting to the silence in kind. I can honestly say I have never stood in such complete and MASSIVE silence before. The forest loomed up on one side of me, giants leaning over hordes of bushes and shrubs, and behind me, the valley fell away and the mountains reared up beyond. So much life, so much stuff, and not a single chirp or twittle or trickle or pop. Eery. And remarkable. And peaceful beyond thought. How do they survive on the other side of the border where it is never quiet, ever? 

So I've taken to walking at night recently. The landscape's adopted stillness reminds me of a deserted stage where the theatre's drama still lingers in the air. It's a still photograph in 3D, a movie set, a museum almost. Nothing moves. Nothing breathes. My eyes can soak it all up raster style and record it deep and detailed for when I am gone from this place.     



Thursday 22 November 2012

Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet

My Blog is now twittering automatically - there's nothing I can do.. it just tweets!!! tweet tweet...

To hear these infernal twitterings, use this link...

https://twitter.com/scribblergreen

Happy tweeting.

Hello Sweden!

I'm still in Phuentsholing. I've been here now for 4 days. I came for 1 day, to work on the school magazine with KMT, a design company. The first day was beset by technological issues. 

The designer was working on InDesign by Adobe. I was creating pdf pages for him in Microsoft Word. The computer I was given had Word 2003. His computer had Word 2007. My laptop has got Open Office on it (a big mistake not putting Bill Gates on my computer). The result was bedlam. Adobe and Microsoft aren't the best of friends, but putting 2007, 2003 and Open Office in the same room is like running a kindergarten with too much synthetic orange juice. Somebody should have stern words with Bill Gates, and Microsoft Word should really not be quite as useless as it continues to be. The simple act of moving things around on the page should work by now, surely. 

Anyway, it's given me the unusual experience of working 9-5 in an air-conditioned windowless room on the edge of India and strolling to and fro work like any other commuter, except for the fact that I am clearly the only white man in this town. 

When I first came to Phuentsholing/Jaigaon, I really felt like I stuck out and people were paying me a lot of attention. How much of this was caused by or imagined by me. Yes, I'm still looked at, but I don't feel it much at all any more. A friend of mine once asked me if I thought Easton, Bristol was a racist area. Errr, no - it's a place where different nations mingle quite happily.  But you see, he carried a sort of cultural racist sensitivity, an inherent sense of difference, perhaps due to his out-in-the-stix Ozzy upbringing. I encountered a lot of this when I was in Australia, some of it pretty in your face stuff, compounded by an election that saw the victorious party making promises about keeping out refugees. This guy found it particularly difficult to walk back from the train station in his suit because everybody stared at him threateningly, he said. In truth I'd say they were either not staring at him at all, or they were looking at something other than the colour of skin - the colour of his character, you might say. They say people smell fear. I think they pick up on a projection of difference. Now I stroll happily through Phuentsholing and Jaigaon with a sense of belonging, and that is a good thing.


But I do wish I'd left this place by now. Time is ticking on my life in Pakshikha and I've got people there to spend time with, people I have affection for and have grown close to, people I will miss dearly, so being in this place of exciting craziness no longer holds the same allure. I thought I'd be out yesterday, but the working day stretched on til 6 again, and my lift home - a friend from Gedu - had some business to attend to this morning, so it was decided we'd stay another night. We passed the evening in the pleasant company of his soon to be ex-wife - the divorce is the business to attend to. It was a farewell meal, and surprisingly amicable, considering there's another ex-wife, and a current wife, and a current girlfriend. Does this sound bonkers? It probably should. They all know each other too. Imagine your ex-wife telephoning your current wife to tell her about your new girlfriend! Holy moly roly poly. 


But things are a little different here. In the East it's not unusual to find women with multiple husbands, and I've met many men with children from women other than who they are with. It's wise to hold off on kneejerk judgements about things like this, but I dunno, people still seem to get hurt even if they are generally far more pragmatic about life here. Because there aren't many major urban areas in Bhutan and the schools are all spread out on isolated hillsides, teachers have particular difficulty staying with their spouses, especially if both of them are teachers. Families become separated fairly commonly. I have one friend who teaches in Pakshikha. His wife is in Trongsa training to be a teacher. Their kid is in Thimphu with his grandma. This is life and, even though the ministry does its best to keep people together, there isn't a great deal that can be done about it.

"Hello Sweden" - I believe that was the title of this post. So, I was having a gander at my 'stats' and was surprised to see the following results from this week:    

EntryPageviews
Sweden
93
Canada
38
United Kingdom
37
United States
23
France
15
Germany
5
Bhutan
3
Russia
2
Switzerland
1
China
1



It appears I am almost 3 times more popular in Sweden than I am in the UK. I've never been to Sweden, though I hear it is a lovely place.So...


 Hello Sweden!!! 

Tuesday 13 November 2012

Grease is the Word

What can I reasonably say about this? I loved this song when I was a kid. I remember my Mum going round to my cousins house to pick up the album soundtrack after me and my sister had watched Grease for the first time. I think we were ill and needed occupying. We'd out-grown the home made cardboard box cars she used to make for us. This was my favourite song from the film, and it was only on the credits. The Gibb Brothers I believe, purveyors of unabashed pop, stupid hairdos, appalling videos and convention-defying chord structures. Admittedly, I never could get my head around the idea that grease in the hair could really be a statement of pre-punk teenage rebellion, but perhaps it was. It' hardly a blue mohican!  






Grease is the Word by David Green 21

Saturday 10 November 2012

Goodbye Lala, I'll See You in a Few Days

... when you're not so bonkers crazy, maybe you will have become sane...

So Lala was in my room and she was picking things up and claiming they were hers. Bumchu was nagging me for my computer to play some game I didn't even have. Chunku was being cute but demanding, scribbling on post it notes and then casting them into the air. So I hit record and started singing to shut them up and to try to get Lala out of the room. She was going nuts. Goodbye Lala...




Thursday 8 November 2012

Singing Superstar with Bumchu and Lala

So it was a Sunday afternoon. Nothing much was happening in the world. Bumchu and Lala came upstairs and proceeded to pick everything up they could find and say either 'Nga-gi' (its mine) or 'What is dis'. I had two choices. Either shout 'HANDS' every 30 seconds or occupy them otherwise. I opted for otherwise and this was the result. Up they got on to the table and danced like nutters. Instead of a conventional second verse, we opted for a spell of madness, in keeping with that Sunday afternoon vibe.





http://soundcloud.com/david-green-12/superstar

Tuesday 6 November 2012

The Big 10 000... Thought of Moving On...

It was noted by my Mother recently that my blog had notched up 10 000 views, and should I perhaps celebrate in some way? The thing to do would be to identify that 10 000th hit and ship out a gho or a kira to the lucky loyal reader, but on the one hand, it's impossible to find that information, and on the other, well, it's all a bit silly really.

But this is worth a small celebration. Why? Because it's called 'The Bhutanical Adventures of...', and this year has been just about the grandest adventure of my life so far. Some people back home thought I was mad to even consider it, and they weren't afraid to tell me so. My previous boss who I respect and have much affection for didn't speak to me for days. I guess he felt a little let down by my jumping ship. He worked his way back into dialogue with laconic reminders that I'd be eating with one hand and wiping my backside with the other. Well, he was right, and I'm sure I sometimes forget which hand is which.

My Mother thought I was a bit bonkers too. I'd finally carved myself a niche out of something that vaguely resembled comfort and security – good job, a car, almost a house, healthy hearty hobbies, good friends... “Why now?” Reasonable question, not easy to answer, but I could steal Jonas Jonassan's words for a simple and honest reply... “I think that if you've once asked yourself: 'Should I...' then the answer should be: 'Yes!' Otherwise, how would you ever know if you shouldn't?” Well said. My explanation was somewhat more long-winded and took place in The Full Moon in Bristol over a few pints of good ale (oh for a good ale). Ten minutes later, I think she understood. 3 weeks in Bhutan and I'm pretty sure it all made sense. Perhaps.

By my tone, it's perfectly obvious that I'm thinking now about an ending. I've not renewed my contract at Pakshikha MSS. I could easily have done so. I could easily have stayed here indefinitely, which is perhaps why I'm not staying here another year. Whenever a whiff of permanence arises in circumstances, it's good to have a quiet word with oneself. I'm not a Buddhist, but they are right on the moneybutton with their take on entropy – nothing lasts forever... life, love, pain, hunger, even architecture and place. You obviously never step into the same river twice, everything certainly changes, clinging is suffering and decay, but man oh man, moving on can be a bit brutal too. With only one life (as far as I am aware off), it seems that as long as the next thing is a different thing, then nothing is lost.

But I have made family here, and it's going to be really hard to leave the kids downstairs, with their constant 'what is this?', 'Mr Davidsir!', 'Nga-gi' and their general all-round cuteness and affection. The same goes for their wonderful mother Am-Kingha and their fun-time-frankie father, ST. I struggled with the social life for a while here – a lot of drinking goes on - but now I have a good set of mates around me and I'll miss them. The school kids are pretty much all wonderful – there's hardly a bad egg among them, and its great fun teaching them now that they've opened up a bit more and don't just sit in silence staring at me. As a teacher, you always leave a cohort behind. There's always an exam class at a vital stage that you feel bad for leaving, but it's impossible to avoid it by any other means than staying put. I'm not a staying-putter.

In school, I've achieved more than I ever thought I would, primarily because the school is still finding its feet in its first full year, so more opportunities present themselves than is reasonable. The first half of the year really was just too much, but now I know that I can handle 33 periods a week, Head of Science, Mentor Teacher, Timetabler, Results Coordinator, Literary in Charge and all the rest of it without collapsing in a burnt out heap of cinders (although I think that's what happened to me in the mid-term break).

In the second half of the year my timetable dropped back to normal but I had the rather unexpected opportunity to try living with chronic pain out for size, something I've never had the chance to do before. I wouldn't say it was fun, but I think it will be worth it afterwards (still with me I'm afraid, like a crummy friend). Oh and I had a boil! On my thigh. Now that was worth every wince and whine, just for the sheer medievalness of it. I was astounded when they pulled out the creamy nob to reveal a hole in my leg about the size of a twenty-pence piece and as deep as a finger nail, rimmed by raw gummy flesh. I laughed maniacally all the way through the procedure, much to the amusement of the nurse who clearly thought I was unhinged. I'm not a masochist, but boy did that make me laugh.

Where was I? Endings. So every morning I look out my window and find it hard to believe that I made this decision, that my choices led me to such an outstandingly beautiful place and such a marvellous experience. The prayer flags flutter in the foreground and behind them the mountains just fall away into the valley and rise up again to broccoli jungle peaks. The woods are always whirring with funny noises. The air is sweet and crisp. The autumnal sky is clear and full of stars, quite unlike the summer fug. My walk to school takes me through the forest. My feet crunch on gravel as I liberally scatter 'Kuzoozangpo la's to the villagers I pass on the way. At this time of year, Pakshikha is simply stunning. It always will be at this time of year, whether I'm here or not. Not as the case will be.

Of course, Thimphu is just 4 hours away, and now I've got a decent circle of friends there. I've finally started playing out - a few weeks ago I got up on the stage in Mojo Park and after 2 songs the house band joined me and we jammed for an hour or two. Definitely going back there! If time permits, I've also arranged to take some school kids into the studio to record a half hour live music show. When I get decent internet I'll put the rough version of the Pakshikha Anthem I wrote in a fit of silliness.

I will keep plugging away at trying to find the right job for me here next year, but despite encouraging noises from encouraging places, nothing concrete has yet materialised. So, Thailand for Christmas and possible Kerala in January to finish the two novels once and for all, followed by some trekking, either in Nepal where some voluntary work may be tagged on, or back in Bhutan if I can convince myself (and my irksome body) to do the Snowman trek. And then... home? Back to Bhutan as a UN Volunteer with BCMD, As a lecturer in Royal Thimphu College. Or a dream job in the Royal Education Council? China? Africa? Kazakhstan?? As long as its different. And one good aspect of the 'same river twice' idea is that you just can't lose - even going home will be an adventure! 

Sunday 4 November 2012

Books from 2012...


Books I've read this year and think were good...





The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared – Jonas Jonasson

I think I've already climbed out of the window a few times in life. My perspective is that we live only once, I cannot be sure but that is what I believe. I think that if you've once asked yourself: 'Should I...' then the answer should be: 'Yes!' Otherwise, how would you ever know if you shouldn't?” - The author on being asked if he would climb out of the window on his 100th birthday, and if so what adventure would he have?

A road-journey farcical comedy romp with Tom Holt-ish predicaments and a narrative style that recalls Forrest Gump but has Candide traipsing around as an archetype in the background somewhere. The 100 year old in question invented the atom bomb, accidentally gave the secret to the Russians, crossed the Himalaya with Iranian communists, survived the gulags, sat Kim Jong-il on his lap and was a personal friend to Truman, Mao, Stalin, Churchill. In an act of seemingly gratuitous cruelty, the author neutered the protagonist at an early age. Why? It seemed that liberation from the carnal drive to procreate was what facilitated the grand adventure of his life. That and his staunch refusal to adhere to any politics or religion. Funny book.



Gore Vidal – Live From Golgotha

Amazing bravado and chutzpah - the Gospel According to Timothy (St Paul's sidekick on his conversion tour of the Middle East). Brilliant parody of 'the greatest story never told' – better than Life of Brian! 'The Hacker' is wiping the history tapes, deleting the gospels one by one, so a TV Exec goes back in time as a hologram and gives Timothy a battery powered TV and a mission - to write the true gospel. What follows is pure satirical genius.





Aimee Bender – The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

Contemporary fiction of the Booker variety about a girl who can sense the buried emotions of people when she eats the food they cook. A bit weird – her brother 'becomes' a chair, but her father's fear of hospitals is a good touch and the writing is good.

God is Not Great – Christopher Hitchens

Violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism and tribalism and bigotry, invested in ignorance and hostile to free inquiry, contemptuous of women and coercive toward children: organized religion ought to have a great deal on its conscience.”

A fine critique of the more than often unpleasant outcomes of being too religious. It's obviously a little too easy a target sometimes (fish in a barrel spring to mind), but that's hardly his fault. He marshals his facts well and as a champion of critical/free thinking and enlightenment values, his sharp wit and laudable principles shine through.

To be an unbeliever is not to be merely “open-minded.” It is, rather, a decisive admission of uncertainty that is dialectically connected to the repudiation of the totalitarian principle, in the mind as well as in politics.”

Endurance – Shackletons Incredible Voyage – Alfred Lansing

"We also suffer from `Amenomania' [literally-wind-madness]. This disease may be exhibited in two forms: Either one is morbidly anxious about the wind direction and gibbers continually about it, or else a sort of lunacy is produced by listening to the other Amenomaniacs. The second form is more trying to hear. I have had both."

I read this whilst watching the acclaimed documentary over and over again to see what was happening in the parts I was reading. Remarkable adventure by any standards before or since, and the documentary evidence they managed to save is equally remarkable.

How to Be a Woman – Caitlin Moran

Women wear small pants because they think they’re sexy. But, in this respect, women have communally lost all reason. Ladies! On how many occasions in the last year have you needed to wear a tiny pair of skimpy pants? In other words, to break this right down, how many times have you suddenly, unexpectedly, had sex in a brightly lit room, with a hard-to-please erotic connoisseur? Exactly. On those kind of odds, you might just as well be keeping a backgammon board down there, to entertain a group of elderly ladies in the event of emergencies. It’s more likely to happen.”

Everybody should read this memoir by one of our smarter and funnier writers, for the giggles and the fun and to finally embrace the smarter sides of feminism. Stand up on your chair and shot it proud...

Prosperity Without Growth: Economics for a Finite Planet – Tim Jackson

An economy predicated on the perpetual expansion of debt-driven materialistic consumption is unsustainable ecologically, problematic socially and unstable economically.”

A sharp assessment of where we're at and how things might be a little better if we started making decisions based in the real world instead of economic fantasy land. The time of the ineffectual hippy-green idealist is thankfully over, clearing the way for common sense arguments, economic or social, that might win the day for change, presuming we can overcome the seemingly intractable problem of political short-termism. Thankfully while the politicians in Europe are grunting like dinosaurs about growth, people like Mr Jackson are working towards solutions that might actually work.

The Self Illusion: Why There Is No 'You' – Bruce Hood

When people queue up, they space themselves out equally from each other and often adopt the same postures. People in rocking chairs unintentionally end up rocking in synchrony when they watch each other.”

Starts great and some really interesting stuff about how our brains work, why we do some things without being aware of why, and why it's so hard to pin down a 'me' in there, with some bonkers experiments detailed, but wanders around a bit and gets fuzzy towards the end.

The Better Angels of Our Nature – Steven Pinker

In Titus Andronicus, two men kill another man, rape his bride, cut out her tongue, and amputate her hands. Her father kills the rapists, cooks them in a pie, and feeds them to their mother, whom he then kills before killing his own daughter for having gotten raped in the first place; then he is killed, and his killer is killed.”

TV tells us the world is full of violence. People regard the 20th century as the bloodiest of them all. This lengthy tome, replete with proper number-crunching (bit statty) makes the case incredibly clear – we're much nicer people now than we were before the Leviathon reared up and took us under its wing! Hitler never used chemical weapons in WW2, even though he had shed loads – the unexpected power of taboos. When Saddam used them, the world turned on him. His description of crucifixion and torture in the middle ages is a bit Urgh, but he does it to drive the truth about medieval times into the readers mind. If the graphs and numbers don't wear down your attention, it's a great book for countermanding occasional slides into cynicism. Comparative analysis of the content of fiction strikes me as a bit tenuous though.

Whoops! Why Everybody Owes Everybody Else But Nobody Can Afford to Pay – John Lancaster

Decent summary of the 'crisis' for anybody who still doesn't get the sub-prime derivatives debacle.

I read an article in The Guardian recently by a middle-aged woman who found herself reading a novel and thinking to herself 'This isn't real! A man went into a bar and... he's not there! The bar is not real!'. Non-fiction tends to become more compelling than fiction with age, and the real world is generally more bonkers than the made up one. The 'crisis' is no exception and this book makes the convoluted nonsense that led to the banks taking all of 'our' money into a readable narrative. Everybody should know this story.

What Makes You Not a Buddhist – Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse

One who desires unending praise and attention is like a butterfly trying to find the edge of the sky.”

Clever intro to Buddhism from the writer of Travellers and Magicians. Bhuddism in Bhutan is a strange beast, in so far as it has many Gods and many superstitions that would have Siddhartha turning in his wheel of life. The original man was a revolutionary atheist who turned his back on the inherent ills of of social religious structures, specifically Brahmin-controlled Hinduism with the repugnant caste system that condemns entire swathes of a population to a life of crap-sweeping from birth. And he told people not to believe him, that they should find their own path. But it seems we are programmed in some way to make edifices of belief, and up sprung Buddhism. But this book is clever in avoiding a definition of what a Buddhist is, and instead focussing on what a Buddhist is not, which is the right way to go about it.

Churchill – Ashley Jackson

On being advised his fly buttons were undone: ‘Dead birds don’t fall out of their nests.’

Gave up on this. Sorry Mr Jackson.

Letters to a Young Poet – Rilke

No one can advise and help you, no one. There is only one way. Withdraw into yourself. Explore the reason that bids you write, find out if it has spread out its roots in the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die, if writing should be denied to you. Above all, ask yourself in the stillest hour of the night, "Must I write?" Dig deep into yourself for an answer. And if this answer should be in the affirmative, if you can meet this solemn question with a simple strong "I must," then build up your life according to this necessity. Your life right down to its most indifferent and unimportant hour must be a token and a witness to this compulsion. Then approach nature. Try to express what you see and experience and love and lose as if you were the first man alive.”

This somehow passed me by in early life which is a terrible shame. What a thoughtful and considerate human being he was, clever too, and a great advocate of the value of solitude. If you can't be content alone, you aren't going to be much use in company. Too much can make you bonkers though ;-)




Hitch-22 – Christopher Hitchens

President Bush had evidently forewarned himself of the air piracy [of September 11th] in order that he should seize the chance to look like a craven, whey-faced ignoramus on worldwide TV.”

Memoir of Christopher Hitchens, tracing the well-trodden arc from reactionary, to revolutionary, to liberal to free-thinker, except he lived it... he was in Prague in '68, he was in Cuba, he was in Northern Ireland, he was with the Kurds... wherever totalitarianism was, he went as a witness and a writer. He's got his faults, but they pale in comparison to the achievement of the example he set in his writing and his life. RIP