Jane Ciabattari is a journalist and book critic based in New York and California who has written for The Boston Globe, The Daily Beast, NPR.org, The New York Times Book Review, The Guardian, The Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, Salon, and the Paris Review. She is a vice president of the National Book Critics Circle, having served as its president from 2008-11, and is the author of the short story collection Stealing the Fire.
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This 807-year-old Persian mystic and dervish has a massive following in the US and around the world. Jane Ciabattari explains his enduring influence.
The ecstatic poems of Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, a Persian poet and Sufi master born 807 years ago in 1207, have sold millions of copies in recent years, making him the most popular poet in the US. Globally, his fans are legion.
“He’s this compelling figure in all cultures,” says Brad Gooch, who is writing a biography of Rumi to follow his critically acclaimed books on Frank O’Hara and Flannery O’Connor. “The map of Rumi’s life covers 2,500 miles,” says Gooch, who has traveled from Rumi’s birthplace in Vakhsh, a small village in what is now Tajikistan, to Samarkand in Uzbekistan, to Iran and to Syria, where Rumi studied at Damascus and Aleppo in his twenties. His final stop was Konya, in Turkey, where Rumi spent the last 50 years of his life. Today Rumi’s tomb draws reverent followers and heads of state each year for a whirling dervish ceremony on 17 December, the anniversary of his death.
The transformative moment in Rumi’s life came in 1244, when he met a wandering mystic known as Shams of Tabriz. “Rumi was 37, a traditional Muslim preacher and scholar, as his father and grandfather had been,” says Gooch. “The two of them have this electric friendship for three years – lover and beloved [or] disciple and sheikh, it’s never clear.” Rumi became a mystic. After three years Shams disappeared – “possibly murdered by a jealous son of Rumi, possibly teaching Rumi an important lesson in separation.”
Rumi coped by writing poetry. “Most of the poetry we have comes from age 37 to 67. He wrote 3,000 [love songs] to Shams, the prophet Muhammad and God. He wrote 2,000 rubayat, four-line quatrains. He wrote in couplets a six-volume spiritual epic, The Masnavi.” During these years, Rumi incorporated poetry, music and dance into religious practice. “Rumi would whirl while he was meditating and while composing poetry, which he dictated,” said Gooch. “That was codified after his death into elegant meditative dance.” Or, as Rumi wrote, in Ghazal 2,351: “I used to recite prayers. Now I recite rhymes and poems and songs.” Centuries after his death, Rumi’s work is recited, chanted, set to music and used as inspiration for novels, poems, music, films, YouTube videos and tweets (Gooch tweets his translations @RumiSecrets). Why does Rumi’s work endure? The inward eye “He’s a poet of joy and of love,” says Gooch. “His work comes out of dealing with the separation from Shams and from love and the source of creation, and out of facing death. Rumi’s message cuts through and communicates. I saw a bumper sticker once, with a line from Rumi: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there.”
“Rumi is a very mysterious and provocative poet and figure for our time, as we grapple with understanding the Sufi tradition [and] understanding the nature of ecstasy and devotion and the power of poetry,” says the poet Anne Waldman, co-founder with Allen Ginsberg of the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University, where she is a professor of poetics. “And the homoerotic tradition as well, consummated or not. He is in a long tradition of ecstatic seers from Sappho to Walt Whitman.”
“Across time, place and culture, Rumi's poems articulate what it feels like to be alive,” says Lee Briccetti, executive director of Poets House, co-sponsor of a national library series in the US that features Rumi. (It’s currently in Detroit and Queens and heads to San Francisco, Houston, Atlanta and Columbus in 2015.) “And they help us understand our own search for love and the ecstatic in the coil of daily life.” She compares Rumi’s work to Shakespeare’s for its “resonance and beauty”.
Coleman Barks, the translator whose work sparked an American Rumi renaissance and made Rumi the best-selling poet in the US, ticks off the reasons Rumi endures: “His startling imaginative freshness. The deep longing that we feel coming through. His sense of humour. There's always a playfulness [mixed] in with the wisdom.”
In 1976 the poet Robert Bly handed Barks a copy of Cambridge don AJ Arberry’s translation of Rumi and said, “These poems need to be released from their cages” Barks transformed them from stiff academic language into American-style free verse. Since then, Barks’ translations have yielded 22 volumes in 33 years, including The Essential Rumi, A Year with Rumi, Rumi: The Big Red Book and Rumi’s father’s spiritual diary, The Drowned Book, all published by HarperOne. They have sold more than 2m copies worldwide and have been translated into 23 languages.
A new volume is due in autumn. Rumi: Soul-fury and Kindness, the Friendship of Rumi and Shams Tabriz features Barks’ new translations of Rumi’s short poems (rubai), and some work on the Notebooks of Shams Tabriz, sometimes called The Sayings of Shams Tabriz. “Like the Sayings of Jesus (The Gospel of Thomas), they have been hidden away for centuries,” Barks notes, “not in a red urn buried in Egypt, but in the dervish communities and libraries of Turkey and Iran. Over recent years scholars have begun to organise them and translate them into English.”
800 years ahead of the times “Just now,” Barks says, “I feel there is a strong global movement, an impulse that wants to dissolve the boundaries that religions have put up and end the sectarian violence. It is said that people of all religions came to Rumi's funeral in 1273. Because, they said, he deepens our faith wherever we are. This is a powerful element in his appeal now.”
“Rumi was an experimental innovator among the Persian poets and he was a Sufi master,” says Jawid Mojaddedi, a scholar of early and medieval Sufism at Rutgers Ubiversity and an award-winning Rumi translator. “This combination of mystical richness and bold adaptations of poetic forms is the key to his popularity today.”
The first of Rumi’s four main innovations is his direct address to readers in the rare second person, says Mojaddedi. “I think contemporary readers respond well to this directness.”
Second is his urge to teach: “Readers of ‘inspirational’ literature are drawn to Rumi’s poetry.” Third, “his use of everyday imagery.” And fourth, “his optimism of the attainment of union within his lyrical love ghazals. The convention in that form is to stress its unattainability and the cruel rebuffs of the beloved. Rumi celebrates union.”
Mojaddedi has completed his translation of three of the six volumes of Rumi’s masterwork, The Masnavi. It is, he said, “the longest single-authored emphatically mystical poem ever written at 26,000 couplets, making it a significant work in its own right. It is also arguably the second most influential text in the Islamic world after the Quar’an.” The original Persian text was so influential that in Ottoman times a network of institutions was devoted to its study.
As new translations come into print, and his work continues to resonate, Rumi’s influence will continue. His inspiring words remind us how poetry can be a sustaining part of everyday life.
Kissinger: A Biography by Walter Isaacson Faber, 893 pp, £25.00, September 1992, ISBN 0 571 16858 2
In a rather more judgmental time, history was sometimes written like this: ‘The evils produced by his wickedness were felt in lands where the name of Prussia was unknown; and in order that he might rob a neighbour whom he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men scalped each other by the Great Lakes of North America.’ ‘Evil’? ‘Wickedness’? The ability to employ these terms without awkwardness or embarrassment has declined, while the capacity of modern statesmen to live up to them has undergone an exponential rise since Lord Macaulay so crisply profiled Frederick ‘the Great’. Walter Isaacson’s new study of Kissinger shows beyond doubt that he rose to power by intriguing for and against an ally, the South Vietnamese military junta, whom he had sworn to defend, and that in the process of covering his tracks, consolidating and extending his power and justifying his original duplicity, he was knowingly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of non-combatants in lands where his name was hitherto unknown. He also played an immense part in the debauching of democracy in the North America of his adoption.
Walter Isaacson is one of the best magazine journalists in America, but he moves in a world where the worst that is often said of some near-genocidal policy is that it sends the wrong ‘signal’. He accordingly approaches the problem of evil with some circumspection. At one point he correctly characterises the Nixon regime as ‘pathological’, and he gives us a breathtaking passage in which Nixon conspires to have Kissinger put under the care of a psychiatrist – surely the great modern instance of what pop shrinks call ‘transference’. But there is a limit, imposed by the tradition of New York-Washington ‘objectivity’, on his willingness to call things by their right names. It became very plain to me, as I finished the book, that if I were to employ the argot of popular psychology I could say that I had been reading the profile of a serial murderer.
Isaacson is probably right to begin with young Henry’s abused German-Jewish boyhood. ‘My Jew-boy’, Nixon was later to call him – at least once on the White House tapes – and it’s clear that many of Kissinger’s traits were acquired early on in Fürth. His family was one of those which did not identify with the opposition in Bavaria, preferring to stress its patriotic character, its past loyalty to the Kaiser and its deep attachment to the Kleinburger class and only when this failed choosing the option of emigration. Once across the Atlantic, young Kissinger avoided political anti-Nazi circles and only found a mentor in the shape of one Fritz Kraemer, a Spenglerian Prussian who flourished in the US Army perhaps not least because he was one of the few German exiles to criticise Hitler from the right. Isaacson’s chapter on this man, who later disowned his famous junior for his total absence of any core of principle, is unusually interesting.
Reflecting on Nazism, Kissinger placed it in the category of revolution rather than counter-revolution. Though it contained the essential doctrine of ‘order’, he identified it with disorder. He remains fond of mangling a phrase of Goethe’s to make it appear that ‘order’ is to be preferred to justice, and has made this a rationale for more than one bloodbath. A mediocre dissertation that he wrote, seeking a place for himself in the conformist Harvard of the drear Fifties, was entitled Metternich: A World Restored. In it, Kissinger wrote: ‘The deviousness of Metternich’s diplomacy had been the reflection of a fundamental certainty: that liberty was inseparable from authority, that freedom was an attribute of order.’
What causes a Jewish exile to give admiring expression to the precepts of German reactionary statecraft? We can only surmise Kissinger’s mind, as revealed again in this letter home from Germany after the war. He conveys what he considers to be the lesson of the death camps:
The intellectuals, the idealists, the men of high morals had no chance ... Having once made up one’s mind to survive, it was a necessity to follow through with a singleness of purpose, inconceivable to you sheltered people in the States. Such singleness of purpose broached [sic] no stopping in front of accepted sets of values, it had to disregard ordinary standards of morality. One could only survive through lies, tricks ...
This is fascinating. Though we know from the memoirs of survivors what is obvious – that the business of survival was a ruthless one – we also know that forms of solidarity, morality, decency and conviction were also of help both in motivating and in organising survival and resistance. How else to explain the re-emergence of a leader like Kurt Schumacher, or the mere existence of a man like my friend Dr Israel Shahak? Of matters like this, Kissinger says nothing. Yet he presumes to write as if from experience, when in fact his war had been quite a cushy one.
More than this, he writes with something like relish, as if he enjoyed imparting the brute lesson that morality and solidarity were mere feeble sentiment. This identification with the sub-Darwinist depravity of those who worshipped only ‘strength’ is unpleasant, as is the opportunity seized by Kissinger to lecture those back home on how little they knew. How often, in later years, were we to be bullied by him and by Nixon, and told that ‘sheltered people in the States’ were to be despised when great enterprises of bombing, destabilisation and secret diplomacy were on foot. It’s the unchanging, minatory rhetoric of the reactionary veteran and Freikorps man; doubly objectionable in one who had seen so little service.
Kissinger’s fear of weakness and humiliation, and his pathetic adoration of the winning or the stronger side, has an interesting counterpart in much the same period. As he was working his way into Harvard, so we learn from Isaacson,
in late-night bull-sessions, Kissinger strongly opposed the creation of Israel. ‘He said it would alienate the Arabs and jeopardise US interests. I thought it was a strange view for someone who had been a refugee from Nazi Germany,’ Herbert Engelhardt, who lived downstairs, said. ‘I got the impression that Kissinger suffered less anti-semitism in his youth than I did as a kid in New Jersey.’
Mr Engelhardt is one of those simple souls who tends to blame American-Jewish paradox on self-hatred or, like Arthur Schlesinger who – having in his time administered some wet smackeroos to the buttocks of the powerful – might be expected to know, on the ‘refugee’s desire for approval’. This is too simple. In 1989, Kissinger told a private meeting of the American Jewish leadership that the American media should be forbidden to cover the Palestinian intifada and that the rebellion itself should be put down ‘overwhelmingly, brutally and rapidly’. From being a foe of Zionism when it looked like losing in 1948, to becoming an advocate of its most racialist and absolutist application when it was a power to be reckoned with, is not second nature to Kissinger. It is his nature. There are no ironies to ponder here, unless you consider Hannibal Lecter an ironist.
The desire, or the need, for the death of better men is probably the special property of two groups – the congenitally inferior and the incurably insecure. Kissinger belongs more to the second category. It took him a while to nerve himself, but having experienced the thrill of ordering and administering murder he was unable to get his fill of it. He grew sleek and satisfied, and more confident. He began to chafe at the status of number two. He began to slather his leaden monologues with heavy, fetid innuendo about power as ‘an aphrodisiac’. He began to be gay, to be clumsily elegant – even safely and silkily indiscreet – and to seek out the salon life. Isaacson tells the story without fully intending to do so.
Take, as Kissinger had to if he was going to cut himself a path, the question of nuclear annihilation. How he strove to get it right! How he laboured to achieve the right ‘mix’ of rigour and restraint. His first book on the topic, written in 1957 (Book-of-the-Month Club choice) spoke against the dogma of ‘massive retaliation’ and inclined to the oxymoronic concept, ‘limited nuclear war’, then in favour among anti-Communist liberals. This was published by the Council on Foreign Relations. Book the second was written for Nelson Rockefeller and called for ‘tactical’ nuclear weapons. Book the third, wisely entitled The Necessity for Choice, refined the case for massive conventional war with thermonuclear options only as ‘a last resort’. In office, of course, Kissinger flung aside the mere nuclear pornography with which he had been disturbing and teasing himself, and went straight for the MIRV – a flat-out first-strike system designed for global extermination. To try and guess his work from his works, as Mr Isaacson gamely but irrelevantly does, is like poring for clues over the crabbed, cretinous scrawl of Ian Brady. Such a man needs scope. Scope! And scope is what, by relentless fawning on impressionable creatures, Henry finally got.
It’s a tale well worth the telling. When the American élite divided over the war in Vietnam, Kissinger was in a quandary. He attended numerous private, blue-chip seminars and briefings in which the war was early on recognised as lost, and added his mite of conventional sapience to the pragmatic conclusions of the wise men of the tribe. But he also saw what they had not – that there was immense political capital to be raised by a candidate who exploited the resentment engendered by defeat. (He may have had in mind the efficacy of the ‘who lost China?’ fantasy of the Fifties, but I don’t think that the ‘stab in the back’ psychosis of his German boyhood can have been far from his mind either.) At all events, the year 1968 found him advising the ruling Democrats, who had long decided to cut the losses they had inflicted on both countries, while also covertly counselling Nixon’s Republicans, who thought that perhaps both Vietnam and the United States had some lessons still to learn in the uses of pain.
The accounts are basically congruent, whether you draw them from Clark Clifford’s memoirs, Seymour Hersh’s critique, Stephen Ambrose’s judicious biography of Nixon or the recollections of Averell Harriman, Richard Holbrooke or Daniel Davidson. Mr Isaacson has added some extra but exiguous detail to the story. By shopping on both sides of the street, and betraying the side he notionally worked for, Kissinger helped the Nixon campaign in its secret effort to destabilise the Paris peace conference. He got credit for his guile from the incoming Nixonites, the South Vietnamese clients got the appearance of a better offer made sub rosa by Nixon, and the Democrats had the main plank of their re-election ripped out, by illegal covert action, on the eve of the poll. (Unbelievably, Kissinger did himself some harm as well as a bit of good by this even-handed subversion of both the Vietnam accords and the democratic process: Isaacson has later White House tapes with the pant-wetting conspirators wondering if Henry would do to them what they alone knew he did to his former Democratic confidants. But this might be described as the price of the omelette.)
There were more broken eggs than omelettes in the years to come. Having got elected on a false surreptitious promise to the Saigon regime, the Nixon-Kissinger team had to find a way of breaking said promise ‘with honour’. As a matter purely of their own face, they instigated the secret bombing of Cambodia and followed that with a coup and an invasion; they rained bombs on the centre of Hanoi during the Christmas of 1972; they caused hundreds more American prisoners of (undeclared) war to be taken, thus furnishing the last hysterical pretext for continuing the fighting, and they presided over an additional 20,552 American battlefield deaths. Of the Vietnamese casualties, one might do better not to speak. All of this in order to accept the identical conditions for withdrawal, but under less shameful and deceitful circumstances, to which Johnson and even Humphrey had been ready to accede in 1968. Quite hardened men on Kissinger’s own staff were able to see the gruesome fallacy. ‘We bombed the North Vietnamese into accepting our concessions,’ drily remarked John Negroponte, a rough-stuff artist if ever there was one and a veteran of Cambodia and later of Honduras. (Mr Negroponte was to offer his resignation from Kissinger’s team a few years later over the Cyprus crisis. I once asked a close relative of his what had sickened such a strong stomach. ‘Because,’ he replied after a silence, ‘everything you suspected was true.’ But I’m moving ahead of the story.)
So many of the professional foreign policy establishment, and so many of their hangers-on among the lumpen academics and journalists, had become worried by the frenzy and paranoia of the Nixonian Vietnam policy that consensus itself was threatened. Ordinary intra-mural and extra-mural leaking, to such duly constituted bodies as Congress, was getting out of hand. It was Kissinger who inaugurated the second front or home front of the war; illegally wiretapping the telephones even of his own staff and of his journalistic clientele. (I still love to picture the face of Henry Brandon when he found out what his hero had done to his telephone.) This war against the enemy within was the genesis of Watergate; a nexus of high crime and misdemeanour for which Kissinger himself, as Isaacson wittily points out, largely evaded blame by taking to his ‘shuttle’ and staying airborne. Incredibly, he contrived to argue in public with some success that if it were not for democratic distempers like the impeachment process his own selfless, necessary statesmanship would have been easier to carry out. This is true, but not in the way that he got newspapers like Rees-Mogg’s Times to accept.
Of what had this diplomacy consisted? Mr Isaacson describes Kissinger as ‘an enabler for the dark side of Nixon’s personality, someone who joined in his backbiting, flattered his ideals and never pushed him into a corner’. ‘Enabler’ is a weak word in the contemporary language of shrinkery and dependency. I began by saying that Kissinger demonstrated the profile of a serial killer. Let me make that case, seriatim.
1. Bangladesh. Often forgotten, but actually marking the inauguration of the puerile term ‘tilt’ to describe an abrupt change of policy or allegiance. In 1971, while still engaged in a war for his own and Nixon’s faces in Indo-China, Kissinger overrode all advice in order to support the Pakistani generals in both their civilian massacre policy in East Bengal and their armed attack on India from West Pakistan. In both theatres, this led to a moral and political catastrophe the effects of which are still sorely felt. Kissinger’s undisclosed reason for the ‘tilt’ was the supposed but never materialised ‘brokerage’ offered by the dictator Yahya Khan in the course of secret diplomacy between Nixon and China. Often credited with that rapprochement, Nixon and Kissinger only acted, as in Vietnam, in the ways they accused their opponents and critics of being unpatriotic for recommending. (Also see under Tiananmen.) Of the new state of Bangladesh, Kissinger remarked coldly that it was ‘a basket case’ before turning his unsolicited expertise elsewhere.
2. Chile. As Isaacson reminds us (though in very lenient terms and mostly en passant), Kissinger had direct personal knowledge of the CIA’s plan to kidnap and murder General René Schneider, the head of the Chilean Armed Forces and a man who refused to countenance military intervention in politics. In his hatred for the Allende Government, Kissinger even outdid Richard Helms of the CIA, who warned him that a coup in such a stable democracy would be hard to procure. The murder of Schneider nonetheless went ahead, at Kissinger’s urging and with American financing, just between Allende’s election and his confirmation by the Chilean Congress. This was one of the relatively few times that Mr Kissinger (his success in getting people to call him ‘Doctor’ is greater than that of most PhDs) involved himself in the assassination of a single named individual rather than the slaughter of anonymous thousands. His jocular remark on this occasion – ‘I don’t see why we have to let a country go Marxist just because its people are irresponsible’ – suggests he may have been having the best of times. Another occasion of his intimate involvement in the minutiae of conspiracy took place in the case of:
3. Cyprus. Deplorably seconding Kissinger’s decision to omit discussion of this lethal episode from his own memoirs, Isaacson does not discuss the 1974 disaster at all. However, it can be and has been shown that Kissinger approved of the preparations by Greek Cypriot fascists for the murder of President Makarios, and sanctioned the coup which tried to extend the rule of the Athens junta (a favoured client of his) to the island. When despite great waste of life this coup failed in its objective, which was also Kissinger’s, of enforced partition, Kissinger promiscuously switched sides to support an even bloodier intervention by Turkey. Thomas Boyatt, who was then State Department Cyprus desk officer, has since told me that he went to Kissinger in advance of the anti-Makarios putsch and warned him that it could lead to a civil war. ‘Spare me the civics lecture,’ replied Kissinger, who as you can readily see had an aphorism for all occasions.
4. Kurdistan. Having endorsed the covert policy of supporting a Kurdish revolt in northern Iraq between 1974 and 1975, with ‘deniable’ assistance also provided by Israel and the Shah of Iran, Kissinger made it plain to his subordinates that the Kurds were not to be allowed to win, but were to be employed for their nuisance value alone. They were not to be told that this was the case, but soon found out when the Shah and Saddam Hussein composed their differences, and American aid to Kurdistan was cut off. Hardened CIA hands went to Kissinger and asked at least for an aid programme for the many thousands of Kurdish refugees who were thus abruptly created. On this occasion, the aperçu of the day was: ‘foreign policy should not he confused with missionary work.’ Saddam Hussein heartily concurred.
5. East Timor. The day after Kissinger left Djakarta in 1975, the Armed Forces of Indonesia employed American weapons to invade and subjugate the independent former Portuguese colony of East Timor. Isaacson gives a figure of 100,000 deaths resulting from the occupation, or one-seventh of the population, and there are good judges who put this estimate on the low side. Kissinger was furious when news of his own collusion was leaked, because as well as breaking international law the Indonesians were also violating an agreement with the United States. In the minutes, he is confronted by State Department legal adviser Monroe Leigh, who points out this awkward latter fact. Kissinger snapped: ‘The Israelis when they go into Lebanon – when was the last time we protested that?’ A good question, even if it did not and does not lie especially well in his mouth.
It goes on and on and on until one cannot eat enough to vomit enough. Angola: incite the Zaireans to invade and give a nod to South African intervention. Portugal: summon Mario Soares and bully him about being ‘a Kerensky’. The Iran-Iraq war: the policy of the United States should be that ‘we wish they could both lose’ – which meant sending arms and intelligence to both to keep the pot boiling. A striking recent instance, discussed in some detail by Isaacson, is Kissinger’s policy towards the dictatorship in Beijing. The day after the cleansing of Tiananmen Square in June 1989, Kissinger was respectfully interviewed for his response and surprised at least some people by counselling a policy of ‘do nothing’. When Congress voted some minor sanctions against Beijing, he became even more eloquent and ‘realistic’, saying that Deng’s regime had opened fire ‘in reaction to events entirely within its domestic jurisdiction’ (a condescension he had not extended to Allende) and adding, with the instinctive solidarity of one autocrat for another: ‘No government in the world would have tolerated having the main square of its capital occupied for eight weeks by tens of thousands of demonstrators.’ (Lucky he wasn’t retained by the East German or Czech authorities a few months later.)
It came out, of course, that Kissinger was at that time privily advising Atlantic Richfield, ITT, H.J. Heinz and others on their investments in China, and had succeeded in arranging many ‘facilitating’ meetings in Beijing for other like-minded American executives. When the Wall Street Journal printed this intelligence, there were two sorts of reaction. The first, unsubtle one was that our Henry was on the take. The second, expressed by that normally cynical gentleman Stephen Solarz, then Congressman from Brooklyn, was that Kissinger always supported dictatorship whether he stood to turn a buck or not. Obviously the second view was the deep one. Since leaving active politics, Kissinger had been looking bored and ill, as if cut off from his death-support machine. He had made the occasional foray; warning that nuclear vigilance was even more necessary in the face of Gorbachev, for example, and memorably confiding his ‘worry’ that the United States would shrink from bombing Iraq. He had helped in the lowly task of briefing Dan Quayle for his Vice-Presidential debate. So here was a small chance to take part in something not for the squeamish.
There have, of course, been brutal and cynical statesmen in the past. But they were generally statesmen – Talleyrand and Bismarck come to mind – who could show something for the exercise of realpolitik. Will anyone say what Kissinger’s achievement was? Will anyone point to a country, not excluding his own, which is in the slightest degree ameliorated by his attention? And the old ‘realists’, of Vienna and Locarno and Yalta, though they may have looked at nations and peoples and borders as disposable and dispensable, did not axiomatically confuse crudeness and brutality with strength and (a significant Kissinger favourite) ‘will’. They did not reach hungrily for the homicidal, self-destructive solution.
The masochism of the press in all this has been contemptible, and it forms a sort of repulsive minor theme of Isaacson’s book. There have been other war criminals, law-breakers, phoneys and pathological liars during the long decline of the Empire and the Cold War, but they haven’t had their memoirs ghost-written by Harold Evans, their consultancy retained by ABC News and their columns syndicated across the qualities. They haven’t been met, at every airport lounge, with an orgy of sycophancy and a chorus of toadying, complicit mirth at every callous, mendacious jest (Kissinger, I have noticed, loves and needs the sound of nervous laughter). This power-worship and celeb fetishism extends through the media into the dingy world of Oscar ‘de la’ Renta and the designer nonentities of New York and Hollywood with whom Kissinger likes to be seen and who – bored, listless drifters that they are – like to be seen with him. Airhead television presenters like Diane Sawyer, conceited media-traders like Mortimer Zuckerman, salon-voiders like the Podhoretzes – you would need to be a spaced-out Visconti to capture the sinister tackiness of it all. These types seek the same rush as did Kissinger in his search for contact with the authentic thrill of death, and they exhibit the same spoiled, narcissistic contempt for democracy as something weak and inadequate. I wasn’t surprised, though I was gratified, to have one of my old guesses confirmed by Isaacson, who is first-rate on Kissinger’s social register. He may have taken out a dozen or so starlets in order to boost ugly over-priced restaurants and provide a few photo-opportunities. But no business resulted. In his little nest in Rock Creek Park: ‘The only decorative elements, other than books piled about, were pictures of Kissinger with a wide variety of foreign officials ... The bare room had two twin beds, one of them used as a laundry dump. A woman who stole a glance later reported that socks and underwear were scattered about and the mess “had so repulsive an aspect that it was hard to imagine anyone living there ... ” The dirty little secret about Kissinger’s relationship with women was that there was no dirty little secret.’ Repress the pang of pity. Recall what was said by James Schlesinger, former Secretary of Defence and yet another betrayed colleague: ‘Henry enjoys the complexity of deviousness. Other people when they lie look ashamed. Henry does it with style.’
All over today’s Washington there are men – Robert McNamara, William Colby of the CIA, George Ball of the State Department – who have written memoirs and given interviews which try to atone for past crimes and blunders. Kissinger, no doubt, would regard even the smallest exercise in atonement as sickly. When criticised, as in this book or in earlier work by Seymour Hersh, he reacts with great displays of rage and petulance. It is evident that he cannot allow any reconsideration of his own monstrous greatness. This may be a sign of instability rather than arrogance. Should we then say that he is ‘in deep denial’? It would be more direct to say that Kissinger was the Albert Speer rather than the Adolf Eichmann of the crimes against humanity that he assisted in perpetrating, but that he lacked Speer’s readiness to apologise. Nor, it must be recorded, was any attempt made to exact such a reckoning. That’s not Isaacson’s fault, but he has nonetheless written the biography of a murderer and largely left out the standpoint of the victims. So here we are again, invited to consider Kissinger as an essay in chiaroscuro, and not to make ourselves ill with the reflection of how many good people had to die so that such a man might prosper, and complain about profiles and book reviews, and remain ‘controversially’ in our midst.
作者簡介 葛兆光，1950年生於上海，1984年北京大學研究生畢業，現為復旦大學文史研究院及歷史系特聘教授。歷任揚州師範學院歷史系副教授、清華大學歷史系教授，並曾任香港浸會大學、日本京都大學、香港城市大學、臺灣大學、比利時魯汶大學、日本關西大學、美國哈佛燕京學社、普林斯頓大學等校任客座教授及訪問學者。2009年被美國普林斯頓大學選為第一屆Princeton Global Scholar。主要研究領域是中國宗教、思想和文化史。
社運經驗、 還是： [ 我抗議 : 佔領華爾街...改變一切] This Changes Everything: Occupy Wall Street and the 99% Movement ＿http://hcbooks.blogspot.tw/2014/03/this-changes-everything-occupy-wall.html 還是：柄谷行人：不斷被重新理解的：「抗爭」《柄谷行人談政治》《倫理21》《世界史的構造》The Structure of World History : From Modes of Production to Modes of Exchange Books 書海微瀾: [ 我抗議 : 佔領華爾街...改變一切] This Changes Everything: Occupy Wall Street and the 99% Movement hcbooks.blogspot.com就算臺灣處於美中兩大強權的夾縫之間，因此就忽視其主體性的存在，這樣的觀點畢竟有所偏頗。當然，發自這個「主體」的聲音並非單一，也是我們應當銘記於心的。 ---若林 正丈Wakabayashi Masahiro《戰後臺灣政治史──中華民國臺灣化的歷程》，臺北：臺灣大學出版中心，2014，頁xiihttp://hcpeople.blogspot.tw/2014/03/wakabayashi-masahiro.html
This 1978 personal-finance article will make you feel like a pioneer, if you were alive then. It refers to a hot product — “so-called personal computers” — and has what we believe is the first mention of Apple ComputerAAPL+1.14% in the WSJ. Today in WSJ History, April 17, 1978: In celebration of the 125th anniversary of The Wall Street Journal, editors are combing the archives each day to see how the paper covered the biggest news. The first-ever paper July 8, 1889, was a single sheet, priced at two cents. (Subscribers in 1889 were offered an annual deal of just $5, though of course that didn’t include a digital edition.) Check out what’s been published so far.
When evil or corruption are the status quo, what is it that moves some individuals—defying the pressure to conform—to do good deeds? Eyal Press considers four case studies in "Beautiful Souls." Ruth Franklin reviews.
Warring Indians, greedy settlers, merciless rogues: These weren't characters from the Wild West, but rural Pennsylvania circa 1750. Alan Taylor reviews "The First Frontier."
The threat to online freedom may come from governments, of course, but also from private companies doing the state's dirty work. Luke Allnutt reviews "Consent of the Networked."
Can America learn from the demise of the British Empire, avoiding the paternalism and self-doubt that led to disastrous decline? Andrew Roberts reviews "Ghosts of Empire."
Booker prize-winning author A.S. Byatt blends myth and memoir in retelling the Norse legend about a massive battle that ends the world. Tom Shippey reviews.
You'll never catch a Parisian mother with a Ziploc bag of Cheerios, a snack that clutters the purse of every American toddler's mom. Clare McHugh reviews "Bringing Up Bébé."
In the scramble for money and prestige, colleges lose their focus on education. A business executive thinks he has a solution. Naomi Schaefer Riley reviews "Change.edu."
Making a case that it was the insolent tone of "Tropic of Cancer"—more than the now tame sex scenes—that incited the book-banners. Lee Sandlin reviews "Renegade."
"Coming Apart" argues that a large swath of America—poor and working-class whites—is turning away from traditional values and losing ground. W. Bradford Wilcox reviews.
A biography of Alfred Jarry, the French playwright who, at age 23, wrote what is now considered a precursor to surrealist theatre. Gabriel Josipovici reviews.
"A Natural History of the Piano" explains how composers and pianists have entrusted their innermost feelings to the piano—perhaps more than to any other instrument. James Penrose reviews.
From Solyndra to Bobber the Water Safety Dog, an epic spending program ran amok and then ran aground, its goals unmet. James Freeman reviews "Money Well Spent?"
Amid controversy over attempts to thwart online piracy, a Google lawyer proposes reforms to a system that satisfies no one. Robert Levine reviews "How to Fix Copyright."
An insider's guide to the world of hedge funds—how they work and why they are likely to do better early on. George Melloan reviews "The Hedge Fund Mirage."
Why did the Obama courtship of Iran go unrequited? One theory casts blame everywhere but Tehran and the White House. Sohrab Ahmari reviews "A Single Roll of the Dice."
In 1976, an earthquake devastated a populous Chinese city. China's political landscape shifted as well, with effects that are still visible today. Michael Fathers reviews "Heaven Cracks, Earth Shakes."
In "Standards: Recipes for Reality," Lawrence Busch examines the common protocols and practices that play a role in nearly every aspect of life—from consumer goods and shipping containers to scientific research and school curriculums.
In "Glock," Paul M. Barrett describes how an obscure Austrian tinkerer invented a new handgun that eventually, thanks to shrewd marketing and the gun's appealing design, became a favorite with the FBI, American police departments, Hollywood movie makers and gun owners world-wide.
In "King Larry," James D. Scurlock recounts the life of Larry Hillblom, who co-founded DHL, then spent his later years in hedonistic semi-retirement in the Pacific. Wayne Curtis reviews.
In "Marshall and His Generals," Stephen R. Taaffe examines Gen. George C. Marshall's role in selecting every major U.S. ground commander in World War II. Jonathan W. Jordan reviews.
In "The Orphan Master's Son," novelist Adam Johnson imagines North Koreans' bizarre, nightmarish life under the regime of Kim Jong Il—a plight that shows no sign of changing with the arrival of the late dictator's son and successor.
In "The Age of Austerity," Thomas Byrne Edsall argues that Republicans and Democrats are locked in a "death struggle" over dwindling resources, making Washington more and more gridlocked and dysfunctional.
Should we be fearful of novelty and change or embrace it readily and cheerfully? In "New," Winifred Gallagher describes what the latest brain research tells us about our responses to the new and describes different personality types, including "neophiliacs" and "neophobes."
In "The Tender Hour of Twilight," Richard Seaver, the legendary book publisher, recounts his early years in Paris, his dealings with great writers and his stint at the adventurous, even scandalous, Grove Press.
In "The Operators," Michael Hastings, the man whose Rolling Stone interview doomed the career of Gen. Stanley McChrystal, offers up dispatches from Afghanistan.
In Michel Houellebecq's latest novel, "The Map and the Territory," a serious and successful artist befriends a writer named Michel Houellebecq, a "tired old decadent" who once possessed a demonic literary fury.
Europe's gloomy prospects—cultural turmoil, shrinking populations, economic malaise—as diagnosed by a distinguished historian. Yascha Mounk reviews "After the Fall" by Walter Laqueur.
A passionate case for open immigration policies, and the recruiting and retaining of foreign-born talent. Katherine Mangu-Ward reviews "Borderless Economics."
In "A Brief History of Thought," Luc Ferry offers a survey of philosophical ideas over the centuries, arguing that philosophy can give us the resources to live "in a better and freer way." Gary Rosen reviews.
Germany is the traditional villain in the story of World War I's beginnings, but what if Russia played an even greater role? William Anthony Hay reviews "The Russian Origins of the First World War."
How did some of our most-loved novels come to be written? "Dancing With Mrs. Dalloway" tells stories of the inspiration behind fifty classic works of fiction. Elizabeth Lowry reviews.
The story of a family that included Mary Queen of Scots, Bonnie Prince Charlie and monarchs who elevated Britain to the status of world power. Allan Mallinson reviews "The Royal Stuarts."
"Hedy's Folly" chronicles important moments in the filmstar's life—from filming nude scenes for 'Ecstasy' in 1933 to devising radio-controlled torpedoes meant to foil German defenses in World War II. Henry Petroski reviews.
A sojourn in the Baltics—discovering much to admire but even more to complain about, with frustration mounting to fury. Andrew Stuttaford reviews "Estonia" by Alexander Theroux.
Creating financial models involving human behavior is like forcing 'the ugly stepsister's foot into Cinderella's pretty glass slipper.' Burton G. Malkiel reviews "Models Behaving Badly."
British novelists—including Walter Scott and George Eliot—played an outsize role in changing English hearts and minds about Jews. Steven Amarnick reviews "The People of the Book."
Kaiser Wilhelm's sickly father reigned for only 99 days. Had he lived, Germany's destiny might have been very different. Europe's too. Martin Rubin reviews "Our Fritz."
As we learn more about the American political tradition, we may see a shared commitment to freedom and equality behind partisan disputes. Peter Berkowitz reviews "Teaching America."
The eventful life and mysterious death of a Bangkok-based U.S. intelligence officer turned international textile trader. Rufus Phillips reviews "The Ideal Man."
People, leader, reading, revolution, disparity, copycat and bamboozle—some words that serve as a springboard for critiques of China. Melanie Kirkpatrick reviews "China in Ten Words."
"Almost President" is the story of the men who have run for the American presidency and lost but who—even in defeat—have had significant effect on the life of the nation. Robert K. Landers reviews.
Many companies that trumpet social responsibility have found it a useful tool for cutting costs and wooing customers. Alan Murray reviews "Masters of Management" by Adrian Wooldridge.
In one meal, Balzac was said to have put away a hundred oysters, four bottles of wine, a dozen lamb cutlets—and he was just getting started. Moira Hodgson reviews "Balzac's Omelette."
The first word recognized by most kids all over the world is 'McDonald's' or 'Ronald.' Really? That will be news to mama and papa. Eric Felten reviews "Brandwashed."
By all means, bring the full weight of the criminal justice system down on the most violent and incorrigible wrong-doers. The others? Tell them to stop. Daniel Horan reviews "Don't Shoot."
"The Craft We Chose" is Richard L. Holm's account of his 35 years in the CIA—from his time in Vietnam, Thailand and Laos, to the Congo, Hong Kong and Europe. Charles McCarry reviews.
It was probably John Dryden who started the ban on ending sentences with prepositions; Jonathan Swift couldn't stand contractions. Barton Swaim reviews "The Language Wars."
With "Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman," Robert K. Massie shows how a German princess, plucked from near obscurity, came to rule the vast Russian empire. Jennifer Siegel reviews.
"Conquered Into Liberty" describes how the hundreds of battles involving the British, French, Americans, Canadians, and Indians shaped the U.S.'s military practices.
Featuring astronauts, terrorists and travelers, Don DeLillo's collection of short stories, "The Angel Esmeralda," describes the condition of modern estrangement. Sam Sacks reviews.
BOOKSHELF By Ferdinand Mount "Prince Philip" tells the story of a brave, brusque naval officer—and the man who wooed a young Princess Elizabeth till she was smitten.
Max Egremont focuses on the stories of individual East Prussians to tell the larger story of, as the book's title has it, "a forgotten land." Andrew Stuttaford reviews.
"Dangerous Ambition" is the dual biography of Rebecca West and Dorothy Thompson—two influential writers and shrewd political thinkers unhappily attached to men who turned out to be miserable human beings. Arthur Herman reviews.
A former New Democrat known for his centrist economic policies, Bill Clinton now favors vast new government spending and higher taxes. Stephen Moore reviews "Back to Work."
"The Shakespeare Thefts" tells the story of the weird, greedy, obsessive men who risked fortunes to possess a coveted First Folio. Charles E. Pierce Jr. reviews.
Looking at genocide, ethnic cleansing and terrorism, "Political Evil" investigates, as the book's subtitle has it, "what it is and how to combat it." Peter Berkowitz reviews.
A memoir about her daughter's death, "Blue Nights" is also Joan Didion's exploration of her own role as a perennially busy (and famous) working mother. Clare McHugh reviews.
In "No Higher Honor," Condoleezza Rice reflects on her role as the chief advocate of the gentler foreign policy of the second Bush administration. Stephen Hayes reviews.
Eskimos don't have a 100 words for 'snow.' But see what happens when you walk into your local Starbucks and just order 'coffee.' Lee Sandlin reviews "Is That a Fish in Your Ear?"
Crime has fallen dramatically, but levels of violence remain higher than in 1950. Does the legal system share some of the blame? Paul G. Cassell reviews William J. Stuntz's "The Collapse of American Criminal Justice."
Free-love advocate Emma Goldman was an ideological bed-hopper too, romping with anarchism, feminism, communism and even anticommunism. Men might disappoint, but radicalism never lost its allure. Fred Siegel reviews the new Goldman biography by Vivian Gornick.
In 'The Three Musketeers,' Richelieu is a villain. In life, he was a pragmatic diplomat and nation builder, a shrewd adviser to a moody king. Henrik Bering reviews "Eminence."
Eisenhower was a political moderate often in search of a "middle way," a vigilant Cold Warrior aware of the strengths and limits of American power. Alonzo L. Hamby reviews.
Employers worry more about the effects of a bad hire than about the problems of hiring someone who is competent but not exceptional. David Shaywitz reviews "The Rare Find."
The story of a middle-aged Englishman coming to terms with his past, when memories of a friend's long-ago suicide are stirred afresh. Sam Sacks reviews "The Sense of an Ending."
Regarding the origins of language and music, history is silent. Early man was likely imitating something he heard—but what? Daniel J. Levitin reviews "Harnessed."
In "Great by Choice," Jim Collins (the author of "Good to Great") and Morten Hansen analyze how certain companies have achieved shareholder returns at least 10 times greater than their industry. Alan Murray reviews.
"American Nations" offers a history of the varied cultures of Greater Appalachia, the Midlands, the Deep South, New Netherland and the Germano-Scandinavian Midwest. Michael Barone reviews.
"Elizabeth and Hazel" is the story of an iconic photograph of the civil rights era—and how it forever haunted one of the women featured in it. Edward Kosner reviews.
"The Secret Life of Pronouns" shows how inconspicuous words like 'we' and 'the' betray our emotions and affect our audience's perceptions. Brian Christian reviews.
In his memoir, director Michael Lindsay-Hogg muses about working with the Beatles or Glenda Jackson or on 'Brideshead Revisited'—and wondering who his father really was. Moira Hodgson reviews.
Crazy as he was, Garfield's assassin was right to insist that the doctor who gravely mistreated the president was responsible for his death. Fergus Bordewich reviews.
"The Wrecking Crew" tells the story of the unsung studio musicians who contributed brilliant instrumentation to chart-topping songs, including those by the Beach Boys and Simon & Garfunkel.
The story of Gustav Klimt's masterpiece, "Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer"—and of the Jewish salon hostess who sat for it in turn-of-the-century Vienna. Hugh Eakin reviews.
"The Sports Show," a collection of candids, portraits and actions shots, brings us face to face with anonymous amateurs and world-famous athletes from across the past century.
Humans struggling to adapt to an Earth that has been denied access to the moon and other stars; a book about people who keep Britain safe from supernatural dangers; and a chilling mystery set in France, Cambodia and Bangkok. Tom Shippey reviews the latest in science fiction novels.
The author of "At the Jazz Band Ball" on books that capture the jazz world, including a biography of Thelonious Monk, a memoir by trumpet master Clark Terry and a portrait of the passionate producer and promoter Norman Granz
In Tupelo Hassman's debut novel, "Girlchild," a poor and emotionally damaged teenager balances precariously on the cusp of adulthood. Elliot Perlman's "The Street Sweeper" tells parallel modern-day stories with roots that reach inexorably back to Auschwitz. And in "Liebestod," Leslie Epstein sends the lust-crazed, flute-playing Lieb Goldkorn on his final picaresque adventure—at age 103.
In Gerald Seymour's "Timebomb," two aging Russian officials in a broken-down car scramble to get their plutonium cargo out of the country to a distant location. In Peter Robinson's "Before the Poison," a film-score composer buys an old estate in the English countryside and falls under the spell of the house, living a life reminiscent of the suspenseful classics he loves.
For readers ages 8 to 12, Kathryn Littlewood's novel "Bliss" revolves around a family of magical bakers in possession of an ancient Cookery Booke that is filled with bizarre recipes. Meghan Cox Gurdon reviews.
"Autumn in Heavenly Kingdom" tells the story of the Taiping Uprising, a widespread civil war in China not unlike the one taking place on the other side of the Pacific. Jeffrey Wasserstrom reviews.
Through the story of a young Hispano woman who died of breast cancer, "The Wandering Gene and the Indian Princess" explores the intersection of modern genetics and cultural history. Charles C. Mann reviews.
The author of "Almost President" nominates books on candidates whose White House bids failed but whose stories have much to tell us about politics and ambition.
Three new picture books that evoke the beauty of spring in varied and delightful ways, a young French boy's dreams of going to Paris, and a striking account of a demolition team taking down a derelict building. Meghan Cox Gurdon reviews the latest in children's literature.
"The Last Pre-Raphaelite" tells the story of Edward Burne-Jones, a painter and artistic figure who, along with William Morris, championed the power of art in Victorian England.
Is the human brain plastic enough to allow an adult without any apparent musical skill to learn an instrument and become a musician? In "Guitar Zero," cognitive psychologist Gary Marcus sets out to answer this question by using himself as a guinea pig.
Novelist Katie Ward's "Girl Reading" traverses seven centuries as it considers the stories behind images of women with books, from a Renaissance Annunciation scene to a snapshot on flickr.com. Sam Sacks reviews.
Deciphering how human thought works is mind-bendingly difficult, but at least researchers now know where to start. The goal: mapping the thousands of connections made by millions of neurons that encode all our hopes, desires, beliefs and memories.
Where does our propensity to blame others come from? One theory traces the habit to Eve, who reproached a talking snake for persuading her to pick the forbidden fruit. Dave Shiflett reviews "Scapegoat."
A novel that tells the story of the search for an entire month erased from official Chinese history. Howard W. French reviews "The Fat Years" by Chan Koonchung.
In "City of Fortune," Roger Crowley revisits Venice's imperial glory, arguing that no other city was so well organized for trade. William H. McNeill reviews.
Pulitzer Prize-winning biographer John Matteson on memorable portraits of Katharine Hepburn, Emily Brontë, newspaper publisher Katharine Graham, photographer Dorothea Lange and the Federalist-era women's rights advocate Judith Sargent Murray.
Why are we obsessed with the lives of our favorite authors? "Freud's Couch, Scott's Buttocks, Brontë's Grave" is Simon Goldhill's account of his visits to five literary shrines, including Wordsworth's cottage and Shakespeare's birthplace. Eric Ormsby reviews.
Travelogues by the protégés of Carl Linnaeus, the 18th-century natural historian whose plant and animal classification systems are still in use today. Jennie Erin Smith reviews.
Nathan Englander returns to the short story form with his new collection, "What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank." In another story collection, Dan Chaon's dread-suffused "Stay Awake," the dominant theme is the all-too-haunting legacy of a death in the family. Anthony Giardina's novel, "Norumbega Park," explores the intersection of ambition and the humbling forces of time and chance. Sam Sacks reviews.
Many Americans regard the war of 1812 as a second war of independence in which Britain recognized America's place in the world. John B. Hattendorf reviews.
The author selects books marked by poignant tales of homesickness, including the memoirs of a former slave and a collection of the journals and letters of a lonely prospector in the 1849 Gold Rush.
In reissues of several books that accompany the arrival of "At Last," Edward St. Aubyn transforms his harrowing life experiences into stunning fiction. Sam Sacks reviews.
A picture book about a dog's rapturous relationship with its red ball; a young boy's exhilarating summer in a 1960s western Pennsylvania town; orphan Earwig's unpredictable adventures after she grudgingly leaves the orphanage; and an unsentimental love story about two teenagers with cancer: Meghan Cox Gurdon reviews the latest in young-adult and children's literature.
"The Accidental Feminist" attempts to show how, as the book's subtitle has it, "Elizabeth Taylor raised our consciousness and we were too distracted by her beauty to notice." Clare McHugh reviews.
In "All I Did Was Shoot My Man," investigator Leonid McGill tries to redeem himself professionally just as his private life begins to unravel. In George Pelecanos's "What It Was," Derek Strange's search of a flashy ring leads him onto the trail of a notorious killer.
Subverting myths of national origin as few would dare, "Death of Kings," is Bernard Cornwell's latest novel centering on the battle between the Saxons and Danes.
What can history's greatest military strategists teach us about how best to live our lives? Philip Delves Broughton reviews "Atatürk,""Julius Caesar" and "Hannibal and Me."
The author of "A Quiet Vendetta" on French noir fiction, where the crimes might be committed by the chilly assassin of Jean-Patrick Manchette's "The Prone Gunman" or by the protagonist of Albert Camus's "The Stranger," who shoots a man, it seems, just to see whether committing violence will succeed in making him feel something.
A new biography of Margaret Fuller describes her life as a leading transcendentalist, feminist and occasional social misfit. Melanie Kirkpatrick reviews.
The second volume of English comedian Stephen Fry's memoirs recalls his university years—and the anxiety that accompanies fame. Alexandra Mullen reviews.
"Joseph Roth: A Life in Letters" documents the writer's youth in Austria-Hungary, his harrowing experiences in World War I and his eventually flourishing career as a journalist and novelist in Berlin and Paris during the 1920s and '30s. Tess Lewis reviews.
Documenting the abandoned hotel lobbies, office towers, schools and apartment buildings of Detroit, several recent books of photography show a ghost city existing alongside one still fighting for its life.
Two reimaginings and a literary evocation of a real-life horror: Margot Livesey transplants "Jane Eyre" from 19th-century England to 1960s Scotland; Alan Lightman takes inspiration from quantum physics to rework the Bible's creation account; and Naomi Benaron explores the 1994 Rwandan genocide by focusing on a Tutsi protagonist whose athletic fame insulates him, at first, from mounting Hutu enmity for his people. Sam Sacks reviews.
Margaret Powell's memoir of her life as a servant, "Below Stairs," puts the lie to the white-washed version seen in "Downton Abbey." Elizabeth Lowry reviews.
Henry James's posthumous reputation—with its jealous and conniving guardians—is a story as involved as one of his own, replete with complex characters and even a serious villain. Joseph Epstein reviews Michael Anesko's "Monopolizing the Master."
The author of "Justice and the Enemy" lauds these books about the Nuremberg trials, including works by members of the prosecution team that brought Nazi war criminals to justice and by writer Rebecca West, who covered the trial of Hermann Goering.
In "The Unintended Reformation," Brad S. Gregory finds that the West has lost its intellectual and moral bearings—and he traces the root cause to the 16th century. Barton Swaim reviews.
Shalom Auslander's novel "Hope: A Tragedy" is the comic tale of Solomon Kugel, who moves his family to upstate New York and finds that he has hardly left his troubles behind. Ben Marcus's "The Flame Alphabet" tells a darker story, about an epidemic caused by language itself. Sam Sacks reviews.
A deep strain of discrimination runs through the history of European humanism, Joanna Bourke argues in "What It Means to Be Human." Raymond Tallis reviews.
In "The Plots Against the President," Sally Denton examines right-wing opposition to Franklin D. Roosevelt and the New Deal. W. Barksdale Maynard reviews.
The concept of middle age is hardly a century old, and Patricia Cohen's "In Our Prime" suggests we're still not sure how best to spend our 40s and 50s. Kay Hymowitz reviews.
"All the Missing Souls" and "Justice and the Enemy" explore the question of whether international tribunals curb future atrocities or if powerful nations must intervene. John Yoo reviews.
Cultural historian Samuel Morris Brown says these titles, including a "reader's edition" of the Book of Mormon, will broaden understanding of the religion and its roots.
Pascal Mercier hit the best-seller lists with the philosophy-infused fiction of "Night Train to Lisbon." Now comes "Perlmann's Silence," the translation of an earlier novel, with similarly thoughtful concerns. Sam Sacks reviews.
In "Vanished Kingdoms," Norman Davies exhumes such obsolete realms as Burgundia and Aragon, telling us how they rose and fell—and reminding us that the modern world is not immune to the fleeting nature of all that man contrives. Henrik Bering reviews.
In this riveting anatomy of authoritarianism, acclaimed journalist William Dobson takes us inside the battle between dictators and those who would challenge their rule. Recent history has seen an incredible moment in the war between dictators and democracy—with waves of protests sweeping Syria and Yemen, and despots falling in Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya. But the Arab Spring is only the latest front in a global battle between freedom and repression, a battle that, until recently, dictators have been winning hands-down. The problem is that today’s authoritarians are not like the frozen-in-time, ready-to-crack regimes of Burma and North Korea. They are ever-morphing, technologically savvy, and internationally connected, and have replaced more brutal forms of intimidation with subtle coercion. The Dictator’s Learning Curve explains this historic moment and provides crucial insight into the fight for democracy.
《獨裁者的進化》小檔案
中文書名：獨裁者的進化：收編、分化、假民主
原著書名：The Dictator’s Learning Curve: Inside the Global Battle for Democracy作者：William Dobson（威廉‧道布森）
《老年之書：思我生命之旅》(The Oxford Book of Aging：Reflections on the Journey of Life) 梁永安譯頁302
勤勞超過智慧的人
Jeremiah 17:8
New King James Version (NKJV)
8 For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, Which spreads out its roots by the river, And will not fear[a] when heat comes; But its leaf will be green, And will not be anxious in the year of drought, Nor will cease from yielding fruit.
Editorial Reviews From Booklist Cole and Winkler's division of this work into nine chapters, each organized around an aspect of aging, brings some order and focus to what might have been either chaos or quotation-book deadliness. They have chosen from literatures throughout the world and from the beginning of literary times to the present "in a spirit of creative dialogue to encourage personal and cultural conversations about what it means to grow old." The selections range in length from a few lines of poetry to 16 or so pages of prose and come from authors as diverse as Emily Dickinson and Alois Alzheimer. Religious and nonreligious concepts appear. Pollyanna would find some pieces to keep her happy, but she would, in the process, stumble over some that are cynical, excoriating, or absolutely hopeless. This is one of those rare books that you can't read straight through. You will have to stop every few pages or paragraphs to visualize verbal pictures, to think about other viewpoints or meanings, or just to mull over or block out your own memories. William Beatty Review "Presents excerpts from the musings of some two hundred and fifty writers concerning the pains and triumphs of our (potentially) most magnificent years."--Francine du Plessix Gray, The New Yorker
"Very impressive....The editors' varied background in history, ethics, medicine, and art history shows in their often inspired choices. The pieces range across the centuries, countries, and cultures. The mix of male and female experience impressed me....The multicultural and multigenerational mix is equally good....One of the great strengths of this book is that it is informative and moving at the same time."--Anne Wyatt-Brown, author of Barbara Pym: A Critical Biography and co-editor of Aging and Gender in Literature, with Janice Rossen
"This collection offers inspiration, insight, humor, and wisdom. The selections are fresh and often moving. Readers of all ages will find enjoyment and enrichment in these pages."--John C. Rother, Director, Legislation and Public Policy Division, American Association of Retired Persons
"The choice of topics resonates beautifully with the editors' emphasis on meaning--from the opening section on "Stages/Journey of Life" to the final section on "Remembrance," which understands memory not only in terms of an older person thinking back through the past but also in terms of memorializing those who are older."--Kathleen Woodward, author of Aging and Its Discontents: Freud and other Fictions
"Old age is the fate of all of us, if we are lucky enough to get that far. Just what it means, and what place it has in the human condition, are questions as old as human life itself. The Oxford Book of Aging gives us access to the thoughts of people over the centuries, thus bringing us in touch with the past, and providing a way of making greater sense of the present. This is a lovely book, and one that all of us who age--which is all of us--can greatly learn from."--Daniel Callahan, President, The Hastings Center See all Editorial Reviews Product Details Hardcover: 432 pagesPublisher: Oxford University Press, USA; 1 edition (November 3, 1994)
7/9 的翻譯:老年之書：思我生命之旅 The Oxford Book of Aging： Reflections on the Journey of Life
内容： I. Stages / journey -- II. Change / Metamorphosis -- III. Generations -- IV. Solitude / Loneliness -- V. Works -- VI. Eros / Thanatos -- VII. Celebration / Lament -- VIII. Body / Spirit -- IX. Remembrance.
這是本豐富之(參考)書 可惜出版商為善不卒 讓讀者無法/困難查閱 各文章的作者的翻譯應更細心 譬如說 "卡來爾"通常指的是另外一人 作者的籍貫也是惱人的問題 譬如說W. H. Auden 是英-美人: The Anglo-American poet who wrote "The Age of Anxiety"
The doctors diagnosed it common change-of-life. (A portion of the poem "Midpoint" by Kathy Kozachenko, cited in De- laney et al. 237-38) The metaphors found ...
古代和中世紀都視年老為世間永恆秩序的一個神祕部分，但這觀念卻逐漸被一種世俗、科學和個人主義的年老觀所取代。 本書由英國牛津大學出版社出版，由兩位深具人文修養，以及長期關注老年議題的醫學院教授編選的文集。 其範圍深廣，在時間的長度上，可上溯到西元前二千六百多年前黃帝內經，西元四、五百年前的羅馬、中東、印度薄伽梵歌等古文明留下來的經典文學、詩歌、文 論。下可至20世紀各領域如文學、心理、社會、醫學等重要的、代表性人物如榮格、弗洛依德、赫塞、愛默生、馬奎斯、谷崎潤一郎等大文豪，大思想家的文字。 在空間的廣度上，從東半球、西半球、南半球、北半球重要的人類遺產經典，如小說、詩歌、回憶錄、散文、兒童故事，有哲學家、歷史學家和心理學家的反思， 有非洲與日本的傳說，有《聖經》與《古蘭經》的片段，也有選自科學與醫學小冊子的段落。都蒐羅在內，為顯示本書編選的權威性，特以牛津版老年之書名之。 人生的賽跑場是固定的，只有單一條路徑，而這條路徑只能跑一趟。生命的每一階段都分配著恰如其份的特質。──古羅馬哲學家西塞羅（Cicero ,BC106—43） 生與死都是我們獲得的大禮，但大多數人都只是打它們旁邊走過，不去打開這禮物。──德國詩人里爾克（Rainer Maria Rilke ,20世紀） 編者簡介 湯瑪斯．科爾 Thomas R. Cole 德州大學醫學院醫學人文學研究所教授，其著作《人生旅程：美國老年文化史》（The Journey of Life: A Cultural History of Aging in America）一書獲一九九二年普立茲獎提名。 瑪麗．溫克爾 Mary G. Winkler 德州大學醫學院醫學人文學研究所副教授，曾與人合編《好身體：當代文化的苦行主義》（The Good Body: Asceticism in Contemptorary Culture）。 譯者簡介 梁永安 台灣大學文化人類學學士、哲學碩士，東海大學哲學博士班肄業。目前為專業翻譯者，共完成約近百本的譯著，在立緒文化出版的有《文化與抵抗》 （Culture and Resistance / Edward W. Said）、《啟蒙運動》（The Enlightenment / Peter Gay）、《現代主義》（Modernism：The Lure of Heresy / Peter Gay）等。
Mr. García Márquez — who died on Thursday at his home in Mexico City, at the age of 87 — used his fecund imagination and sleight of hand to conjure the miraculous in his fiction.
魔幻現實主義的魔法師加夫列爾·加西亞·馬爾克斯(Gabriel García Márquez)星期四在墨西哥城家中逝世，享年87歲。他以豐沛的想像力與華麗狡黠的技法，在小說中營造出種種不可思議的奇景：失眠症與健忘症成為流行 疾疫、承載死亡秘密的魔法葡萄、無數黃色花朵整夜從天而降、大片滲出鮮血的百合花、被困在拉美叢林里的西班牙大型帆船，還有一出生就帶有主人烙印的牛犢。
這樣的畫面不僅顯示出他無窮盡的創作才思，也證明他包羅萬象的藝術 想像，能在庸常中捕捉特異之處，在奇幻中發現似曾相識。在《百年孤獨》(One Hundred Years of Solitude)、《族長的沒落》(The Autumn of the Patriarc)和《霍亂時期的愛情》(Love in the Time of Cholera)等小說中，加西亞·馬爾克斯把一整塊大陸的歷史書寫為神話，與此同時又為人類狀況勾勒出一幅拉伯雷式(Rabelaisian)的圖像， 展現出一個狂熱的夢，愛與痛苦乃至救贖無休止地循環往複，如同時光中的莫比烏斯環。
不過，加西亞·馬爾克斯在回憶錄《活着就是為了講故事》 (Living to Tell the Tale)中說得很清楚，他對這些夢幻場景的迷戀源自童年和家族史，當時正值他的祖國內戰與政治劇變。祖父把自家工坊的牆壁刷成白色，綽號蓋博 (Gabo)的小馬爾克斯可以用這個誘人的牆面隨手塗畫，肆意暢想；祖母每天都給他講自己經歷的那些幻相——沒人推動，搖椅自己搖來晃去；「花園裡茉莉的 香氣好像看不見的鬼魂一樣」。
就此而言，加西亞·馬爾克斯作品中的魔力始終建立在對現實的細心觀 察基礎之上——這種能力是他在早年的記者生涯中磨練出來的。從一開始，加西亞·馬爾克斯便慢慢發展出自己獨特的聲音，有着福克納與喬伊斯式的婉轉節奏、卡 夫卡式的隱喻手法，以及博爾赫斯式的夢幻想像。後來，《百年孤獨》和《族長的沒落》中特有的天馬行空的狂熱幻想漸漸變成了更溫和的魔法，一種對日常生活的 心領神會，認識到人類愛與痛苦的極端都可以在看似平凡的人生中找到——這些都體現在《霍亂時期的愛情》與《愛情和其他魔鬼》(Of Love and Other Demons)等作品之中。
《迷宮中的將軍》(The General in His Labyrinth)如同一種自由即興創作，描寫了19世紀革命家西蒙·玻利瓦爾(Simón Bolívar)的人生，在加西亞·馬爾克斯筆下，玻利瓦爾成了他小說中諸多虛構主人公的近親——一個被寵壞的夢想家，在殉道與享樂、宏大的野心與徹底的 幻滅之間掙扎。
歸根結底，加西亞·馬爾克斯小說中最核心的並不是政治，而是時間、 記憶與愛。大陸、國家與家族的歷史經常循環往複，回到起點；過去塑造着現在；激情可以改變人生的軌跡——這些旋律持續貫穿在馬爾克斯的小說之中，在一部部 長篇與短篇中迴響。在他晚年的作品，諸如《異鄉客》(Strange Pilgrims)里的短篇小說和中篇小說《我那些憂鬱婊子的回憶錄》(Memories of My Melancholy Whores)中，加西亞·馬爾克斯寫了若干籠罩在死亡陰影之下的年老人物，但死亡早在此前便是他作品中的焦點，可以追溯到他早年的中篇小說《葉子風暴》 (Leaf Storm)和《族長的沒落》等長篇。
Gabriel García Márquez, foreground, with Colombian journalist José Salgar in 2003. As a writer, Mr. García Márquez found the familiar in the fantastic.
Andres Reyes/FNPI, via Associated Press
The Magus of magical realism, Gabriel García Márquez — who died on Thursday at his home in Mexico City, at the age of 87 — used his fecund imagination and exuberant sleight of hand to conjure the miraculous in his fiction: plagues of insomnia and forgetfulness, a cluster of magical grapes containing the secret of death, an all-night rain of yellow blossoms, a swamp of lilies oozing blood, a Spanish galleon marooned in a Latin American jungle, cattle born bearing the brand of their owner.
Such images were not simply tokens of his endlessly inventive mind, but testaments to his all-embracing artistic vision, which recognized the extraordinary in the mundane, the familiar in the fantastic. In novels like “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” “The Autumn of the Patriarch” and “Love in the Time of Cholera,” Mr. García Márquez mythologized the history of an entire continent, while at the same time creating a Rabelaisian portrait of the human condition as a febrile dream in which love and suffering and redemption endlessly cycle back on themselves on a Möbius strip in time.
Transactions between the real and surreal, the ordinary and the fabulous, of course, are a signature device of the magical realism that flourished in the second half of the 20th century in places like Latin America, where the horrors and dislocations of history frequently exceeded the reach of logic, reason and conventional narrative techniques. What he called the “outsized reality” of Latin America’s history — including the period of civil strife in Colombia known as La Violencia, which claimed the lives of as many as 300,000 during the late 1940s and ’50s — demanded a means of expression beyond the rationalities of old-fashioned narrative realism.
As Mr. García Márquez’s memoir “Living to Tell the Tale” made clear, however, his fascination with the phantasmagorical was as rooted in his own childhood and family history as it was in the civil wars and political upheavals of his country. His grandfather painted the walls of his workshop white so that the young boy, nicknamed Gabo, would have an inviting surface on which to draw and fantasize; his grandmother spoke of the visions she experienced everyday — the rocking chair that rocked alone, “the scent of jasmines from the garden” that “was like an invisible ghost.”
His childhood home was in the remote town of Aracataca, a Wild West sort of place, subject to dry hurricanes, killing droughts, sudden floods, plagues of locusts and “a leaf storm” of fortune hunters, drawn by the so-called banana fever fomented there by the arrival of the United Fruit Company. Aracataca would provide the seeds for the imaginary town of Macondo in “Solitude,” just as Mr. García Márquez’s own sprawling family would help inspire the story of the prolific and amazing Buendía clan memorialized with such ardor in that novel. Macondo is a place where the miraculous and the monstrous are equally part of daily life, a place where the boundaries between reality and dreams are blurred. It is, at once, a state of mind, a mythologized version of Latin America and a reimagining of the author’s boyhood town through the prism of memory and nostalgia.
For that matter, the magic in Mr. García Márquez’s work always remained grounded in a carefully observed reality — a skill honed by his early years as a reporter. From that start, Mr. García Márquez slowly developed his own distinctive voice — a voice with the sinuous rhythms of Faulkner and Joyce, the metaphorical reach of Kafka, the dreamlike imagery of Borges. In later years, the fevered flights of fantasy that distinguished “Solitude” and “Patriarch” would give way to a somewhat more muted sorcery, an appreciation — demonstrated in works like “Love in the Time of Cholera” and “Of Love and Other Demons” — of the everyday, combined with a recognition that the extremes of human love and suffering could be found in the seemingly most ordinary of lives.
“Love in the Time of Cholera” was a sort of Proustian meditation on time and an anatomy of love in all its forms — giddy adolescent love, mature love, romantic love, sexual love, spiritual love, even love so virulent it resembles cholera in its capacity to inflict pain. At the same time, it was also a kind of tribute to his own parents’ courtship and marriage.
The personal gave way to the historical in some novels that dealt on an epic level with the tortuous history of Latin America. “The Autumn of the Patriarch” created a hallucinatory portrait of a tyrant who seems like a mythic composite of every dictator to strong-arm his way to power on that continent: a once-feted hero, who sells out his country to the gringos, murders his opponents, rewards himself with medals, unimaginable wealth and the modest title “General of the Universe,” and who ends up completely isolated, discovered dead in his palace, pecked at by vultures.
As for “The General in His Labyrinth,” it performed a kind of free-form improvisation on the life of the 19th-century revolutionary Simón Bolívar, who becomes in Mr. García Márquez’s telling, a close relative of many of his fictional heroes — a spoiled dreamer, torn between martyrdom and hedonism, extravagant ambitions and crashing disillusion.
In the end, it’s not politics, but time and memory and love that stand at the heart of Mr. García Márquez’s work. How the histories of continents and nations and families often loop back on themselves; how time past shapes time present; how passion can alter the trajectory of a life — these are the melodies that thread their way persistently through his fiction, reverberating in novel after novel, story after story. In later works, like the stories in “Strange Pilgrims” and the novella “Memories of My Melancholy Whores,” Mr. García Márquez wrote about older characters, falling under the shadow of mortality, but then, death had long been a focal point in his work, going back to his early novella “Leaf Storm,” and on through novels like “The Autumn of the Patriarch.”
Mr. García Márquez once wrote that, as a young man, he believed his bad luck with women and money was “congenital and irremediable,” but he did not care, “because I believed I did not need good luck to write well,” and “I did not care about glory, or money, or old age, because I was sure I was going to die very young, and in the street.” He learned, in reading the works of the masters like Faulkner and Joyce, he said, that “it was not necessary to demonstrate facts,” that it “was enough for the author to have written something for it to be true, with no proofs other than the power of his talent and the authority of his voice.”
Gabriel García Márquez, Nobel Prize-winning explorer of myth and reality, dies at 87
Gabriel García Márquez, the Nobel Prize-winning Colombian writer who immersed the world in the powerful currents of magic realism, creating a literary style that blended reality, myth, love and loss in a series of emotionally rich novels that made him one of the most revered and influential writers of the 20th century, died April 17 at his home in Mexico City. He was 87.
The Associated Press reported his death. In July 2012, his brother Jaime García Márquez announced that the author had dementia.
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The Nobel laureate and Colombian author who put magical realism on the literary map Gabriel Garcia Marquez has passed away Thursday at his home in Mexico City.
Mr. García Márquez, who was affectionately known throughout Latin America as “Gabo,” was a journalist, novelist, screenwriter, playwright, memoirist and student of political history and modernist literature. Through the strength of his writing, he became a cultural icon who commanded a vast public following and who sometimes drew fire for his unwavering support of Cuban leader Fidel Castro.
In his novels, novellas and short stories, Mr. García Márquez addressed the themes of love, loneliness, death and power. Critics generally rank “One Hundred Years of Solitude” (1967), “The Autumn of the Patriarch” (1975) and “Love in the Time of Cholera” (1985) as his masterpieces.
“The world has lost one of its greatest visionary writers — and one of my favorites from the time I was young,” President Obama said in a statement, calling the author “a representative and voice for the people of the Americas.”
Mr. García Márquez established his reputation with “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” an epic novel about multiple generations of the Buendía family in the fantastical town of Macondo, a lush settlement based on the author’s birthplace on the Caribbean coast of Colombia. The novel explored social, economic and political ideas in a way that captured the experience of an entire continent, but it also included supernatural elements, such as a scene in which a young woman ascends to heaven while folding the family sheets.
By fusing two seemingly disparate literary traditions — the realist and the fabulist — Mr. García Márquez advanced a dynamic literary form, magic realism, that seemed to capture both the mysterious and the mundane qualities of life in a decaying South American city. For many writers and readers, it opened up a new way of understanding their countries and themselves.
In awarding Mr. García Márquez the literature prize in 1982, the Nobel committee said he had created “a cosmos in which the human heart and the combined forces of history, time and again, burst the bounds of chaos.”
“One Hundred Years of Solitude” has been translated into more than 35 languages and has sold, by some accounts, more than 50 million copies. The Chilean poet and Nobel laureate Pablo Neruda described the book as “the greatest revelation in the Spanish language since the Don Quixote of Cervantes.”
Mr. García Márquez parlayed his literary triumphs into political influence, befriending international dignitaries such as President Bill Clinton and François Mitterrand, the late president of France. The celebration for Mr. García Márquez’s 80th birthday was attended by five Colombian presidents and the king and queen of Spain.
Yet few knew the penury the author endured before achieving fame. “Everyone’s my friend since ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude,’ ” Mr. García Márquez once told a brother, “but no one knows what it cost me to get there.”
From ‘the House’ to the world
Gabriel José García Márquez was born March 6, 1927, in Aracataca, a town near Colombia’s Caribbean coast. He was the eldest child of a local beauty and a telegraph-operator-turned-itinerant-pharmacist — some called him a “quack doctor” — but Mr. García Márquez was raised mostly by his maternal grandparents, the pragmatic Col. Nicolás Márquez Mejía and the superstitious Tranquilina Iguarán Cote.
Mr. García Márquez later called the colonel, a veteran of two civil wars, “the most important figure in my life” and “my umbilical cord with history and reality.” They lived in a rambling complex of rooms and terraces, which Mr. García Márquez would often call simply “the House.”
The author had a charmed yet melancholy childhood. Aracataca once flourished under the banana business of the U.S.-based United Fruit Co. but slowly declined after December 1928, when more than 1,000 striking banana workers in nearby Ciénaga were massacred by the Colombian army. Macondo, the town in “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” was named after a United Fruit plantation.
Eventually, Mr. García Márquez was reunited with his parents and siblings in Sucre, a river settlement in Colombia that became the setting for some of his darkest books.
He escaped by winning a scholarship to a secondary school near Bogotá, the capital of Colombia. After graduating in 1946, he enrolled in law school at the National University of Colombia. Poor and rail-thin, he asserted himself through his literary prowess. Neglecting his classes, he devoted himself to reading and writing, publishing short fiction in the Bogotá newspaper El Espectador.
His literary endeavors were interrupted when the populist leader Jorge Eliécer Gaitán was assassinated in 1948. The killing led to days of rioting in Bogotá and marked the beginning of a period of political repression known as “La Violencia.” Within about 10 years, between 200,000 and 300,000 Colombians were killed.
When the riots caused the law school to close, Mr. García Márquez moved to Cartagena, where he launched a career in journalism. Later he would say that the assassination greatly influenced his understanding of politics.
During these years, the author was often so poor that he had no place to live. In Barranquilla, just up the coast from Cartagena, he found his first apartment: a cheap room in a brothel nicknamed “the Skyscraper.” He said this was the perfect environment for a writer — quiet during the day, the scene of a party every night.
It was not until 1954, when he joined the staff of the El Espectador, that he gained financial stability. The next year, he published his first novel, “Leaf Storm,” a tale about the burial of a reclusive doctor in Macondo. It went virtually unnoticed.
In 1955, he became El Espectador’s European correspondent, visiting the Eastern Bloc and studying at the Experimental Film Center of Cinematography in Rome between deadlines. He was on assignment in Paris when his newspaper was closed by the Colombian government.
Rather than return home, Mr. García Márquez remained in the French capital for two years, living hand to mouth while completing “No One Writes to the Colonel,” a glittering short novel about a war veteran who would rather starve than sell his fighting rooster. The story, published in 1961, was influenced by Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea” and Italian director Vittorio De Sica’s neorealist films, such as “Umberto D.”
After returning to South America in 1957, Mr. García Márquez held a series of journalism jobs. He married his longtime fiancée, Mercedes Barcha, in 1958. He moved to Mexico in 1961, beginning one of the most disheartening and exhilarating periods of his life.
Mexican breakthrough
When he arrived in Mexico City, Mr. García Márquez had few friends and no prospects of work. He aimed for the movie industry, but when his family ran out of food, he took a job editing a women’s magazine and a crime magazine on the condition that his name would never appear in either. Later he landed jobs as a scriptwriter and as an advertising copywriter.
In his mid-30s, his ability to write fiction appeared to have dried up. His previous novel had been written in Paris, and he couldn’t seem to finish another. According to the Uruguayan critic Emir Rodríguez Monegal, who first met Mr. García Márquez around this time, he was “a tortured soul, an inhabitant of the most exquisite hell: that of literary sterility.”
Yet several important events occurred during his creative drought. First, Mr. García Márquez began reading the original magic realists: Mexican Juan Rulfo, Cuban Alejo Carpentier and Guatemalan Miguel Ángel Asturias, who would later win the Nobel Prize in literature. Next, he discovered the sophisticated Latin American novels that were being published in the movement known as “El Boom,” including those by the Mexican writer Carlos Fuentes, who embraced Mr. García Márquez as part of the group despite his lack of recent work.
One day in 1965, as Mr. García Márquez drove from Mexico City to Acapulco for a holiday weekend, everything changed. According to legend, he was navigating a twisting highway when the first sentence of “Solitude” suddenly formed in his mind:
“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”
In that line’s mix of past and present, military and miraculous, lay the germ of the entire book.
For the next year, Mr. García Márquez did nothing but write while his wife pawned almost all their possessions to feed the family. “I didn’t know what my wife was doing, and I didn’t ask any questions,” he told an interviewer. “But when I finished writing, my wife said: ‘Did you really finish it? We owe $12,000.’ ”
Their financial gamble paid off. A few weeks after the novel’s publication in Buenos Aires, the couple visited the Argentine capital’s most prestigious theater. As they looked for their seats, the entire audience gave them a spontaneous standing ovation.
In Gerald Martin’s biography of Mr. García Márquez, journalist Tomás Eloy Martínez recalled: “At that precise moment, I saw fame come down from the sky, wrapped in a dazzling flapping of sheets, like Remedios the Beautiful, and bathe García Márquez in one of those winds of light that are immune to the ravages of time.”
Although magic realism had existed long before “Solitude” appeared, Mr. García Márquez’s version of it captivated readers because it was informed by both a gritty engagement with Latin American politics (thanks to his years in journalism) and an intimate knowledge of folkloric beliefs (thanks to his grandmother in Aracataca).
Its characters include both the Colonel Aureliano Buendía (father of 17 sons by 17 women, perpetrator of 32 uprisings and survivor of 14 assassination attempts) and the gypsy Melquíades, who can see the future and cast spells. Its plot includes a massacre of banana workers and a rainstorm that lasts four years, 11 months and two days. And its prose was a revelation: luminous, opulent, ecstatic.
The result, William Deresiewicz wrote in the Nation, is that Mr. García Márquez’s “impossible fusion of subject and tone gives utterance to the Latin American soul: by fronting the continent’s tragic history with the unquenchable fiesta of his style.”
Politics, patriarch and punch
In the years after that Argentine ovation, Mr. García Márquez transformed into an international celebrity. He moved from Mexico to Barcelona, where he socialized with all the major writers of El Boom. He became particularly close to the Peruvian novelist Mario Vargas Llosa, who named Mr. García Márquez the godfather of his second son.
Yet rifts in the friendship emerged in 1968 when the Cuban dissident Heberto Padilla was awarded a major literary prize against Castro’s wishes. The event proved a watershed moment for Latin American intellectuals. Most, including Vargas Llosa, supported Padilla and free speech. Mr. García Márquez supported Castro. When Castro imprisoned Padilla in 1971, the writers’ alliance cooled further.
The final break came in 1976, at a movie premiere in Mexico City. When Mr. García Márquez approached with an effusive, open-armed greeting (“Brother!”), Vargas Llosa punched him in the face. After the incident, rumors spread that there had been some impropriety with Vargas Llosa’s wife. (According to Martin, Mr. García Márquez’s most thorough biographer, the truth has never been uncovered.)
By that point, Mr. García Márquez was used to scandal. After Chile’s democratically elected government was overthrown by a military coup in 1973, he declared a literary “strike” to involve himself more directly in leftist politics.
His first move was to return to political journalism by co-founding the Colombian magazine Alternativa. His debut contribution was titled “Chile, the Coup, and the Gringos.” (The magazine was bombed the next year.)
His second move was to court the friendship of Castro. He decided, for instance, to write an article about Cuba’s military involvement in Angola and to submit the article to Castro for editing and approval before publication. Although the author’s meetings with Castro occasionally led to the release of Cuban prisoners, the Cuban dissident Reinaldo Arenas called Mr. García Márquez an “unscrupulous propagandist for communism who, taking refuge in the guarantees and facilities which liberty provides, set out to undermine it.”
Appropriately, the only novel Mr. García Márquez published during this period — “The Autumn of the Patriarch” (1975) — was a stunning meditation on the psychology and stratagems of power. Completed before his strike, the book portrays an unnamed tyrant who has been in power so long that no one can remember any other ruler. He ends up surrounded by people who tell him what he wants to hear but make fun of him behind his back.
Told in flashbacks in only 100 sentences, the book ranks among Mr. García Márquez’s most complex works. The novel, he declared, was “almost a personal confession, a totally autobiographical book” — a statement that has perplexed literary critics.
The great change
In 1980, after years of government pressure, Alternativa closed. The event marked the end of Mr. García Márquez’s overt political activism and his turn toward diplomacy and backroom mediation. It also cleared the way for his most electrifying literary period.
In 1981, he published “Chronicle of a Death Foretold,” a suspenseful and technically dazzling interpretation of the honor killing of his friend Cayetano Gentile in Sucre. Its opening print run (2 million copies) was the largest in history for a work of literary fiction.
Four years later, he brought out “Love in the Time of Cholera.” Partly based on his parents’ courtship, it tells the story of a man who loses the love of his youth but wins her back a half-century later, after her husband dies rescuing a parrot in a mango tree.
Then, in 1989, at the age of 62, Mr. García Márquez published “The General in His Labyrinth,” a meticulously researched novel about Simon Bolívar, the liberator of South America.
Still thriving at 71, he bought Cambio magazine in Colombia with a group of investors and conducted an interview with Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez. In 1999, he received a diagnosis of lymphoma and was seldom seen in public in the last decade of his life.
Survivors include his wife, two sons, seven brothers and sisters, and a half sister.
As Mr. García Márquez’s health and memory faded, so, inevitably, did his literary muscle. His last four books — “Of Love and Other Demons” (1994), “News of a Kidnapping” (1996), “Living to Tell the Tale” (2001) and “Memories of My Melancholy Whores” (2004) — are generally considered his weakest.
Meanwhile, the next generation of Latin American writers turned him into a symbol of the fiction and the politics they rejected. A 1996 anthology called “McOndo” suggested that his vision of a tragi-miraculous Caribbean countryside had no relevance in a world dominated by McDonald’s. The region’s next rising star, the Chilean novelist Roberto Bolaño, scorned his cozy relationship with power.
Yet even those rebellions proved Mr. García Márquez’s enduring influence. Three decades after the publication of “Solitude,” he was still the titan with whom every serious Latin American writer needed to reckon.
He forged Latin America’s most contagious and original style. He wrote its most influential and popular books about the motives of tyrants and the endurance of love. And he explained what connects his perennial themes: “You know, old friend, the appetite for power is the result of an incapacity for love.”
Valdes is a writer specializing in Latin American literature.
In this exhaustive and enlightening biography—nearly two decades in the making—Gerald Martin dexterously traces the life and times of one of the twentieth century’s greatest literary titans, Nobel Prize-winner Gabriel García Márquez.
Martin chronicles the particulars of an extraordinary life, from his upbringing in backwater Columbia and early journalism career, to the publication of One Hundred Years of Solitude at age forty, and the wealth and fame that followed. Based on interviews with more than three hundred of Garcia Marquez’s closest friends, family members, fellow authors, and detractors—as well as the many hours Martin spent with ‘Gabo’ himself—the result is a revelation of both the writer and the man. It is as gripping as any of Gabriel García Márquez’s powerful journalism, as enthralling as any of his acclaimed and beloved fiction.
Gerald Martin is Andrew W. Mellon Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages at the University of Pittsburgh and Senior Research Professor in Caribbean Studies at London Metropolitan University. For twenty-five years he was the only English-speaking member of the “Archives” Association of Twentieth-Century Latin American Literature in Paris, and he is a recent president of the International Institute of Ibero-American Literature in the United States. Among his publications are Journeys Through the Labyrinth: Latin American Fiction in the Twentieth Century, a translation and critical edition of Miguel Angel Asturias's Men of Maize, and several contributions to the Cambridge History of Latin America. He lives in England.
Tadao Yanaihara(矢内原 忠雄Yanaihara Tadao?, January 27, 1893 – December 25, 1961) was a Japanese economist, educator and Christian pacifist. The first director of Shakai Kagaku Kenkyűjo (Institute of Social Science or Shaken) at the University of Tokyo.[1], studied at Toynbee Hall and School of Economics and Political Science (London School of Economics).
Born in Ehime Prefecture, Yanaihara became a Christian under the influence of Uchimura Kanzō's Mukyokai or Nonchurch Movement, while he was studying at the University of Tokyo. In the 1930s he was appointed to the chair of colonial studies at the University of Tokyo, formerly held by his teacher Nitobe Inazō. However, Yanaihara's pacifist views and emphasis on indigenousself-determination, which he partly inherited from Nitobe – a Quaker and founding member of the League of Nations– came into a full conflict with Japan's wartime government during the World War II. He was noted for his criticism of Japan's expansionist policies. As a result, Yanaihara was forced to resign from teaching under pressure by right-wing scholars in 1937. Yanaihara resumed his teaching after the war and taught international economics at the University of Tokyo. He served as the president of the University from 1951 to 1957. For critical studies of Yanaihara's legacy, see Yanaihara Tadao and Japanese Colonial Policy: Redeeming Empire, by Susan C. Townsend (Richmond: Curzon, 2000); and The Japanese Colonial Empire, 1895-1945, edited by Ramon H. Myers and Mark R. Peattie (Princeton: Princeton U.P., 1984).
第一例 I knew how easy it was to be " worlds away " ;
for, as Macaulay says about the writing of history, the details might
all be true and the total impression inadequate and misleading.
黑體字翻譯得極笨重 (這是在談歷史寫作的"見樹不見林"問題):"
因為我知道，編寫這種東西很容易失去原味。誠如英國著名的歷史兼評論家
麥考萊（Macaulay）在談到歷史的編寫時所說的，即使你所寫的每個細節都真確無誤，
但可能讓人讀後卻對事件未能有完整的概念，或產生偏差的認知。
第二例"mob"是集體名詞不是"一個" (中文版 xvii)
might be given to the public had been prepared, impressed upon him the duly of meeting tliis reasonable demand. To a man of his ardent temperament and active habits prolonged literary work is the most irksome drudgery. He would rather face a heathen mob than write a chapter for a book. But con- vinced of its importance, he undertook the task, receiving valuable assistance from the Rev. W. S. McTavish, B.D. For weeks together he did little else than ransack note-books and journals, and explore the stores of his capacious memory.
於是大家都催促他要盡早把他的工作與生活好好的記述下來，因為這事有它的迫切性。
但對於他這種慣於不停熱心工作的人，要他坐下來做長篇的記述，是一件厭煩的苦差事。
他寧願花時間去向一位凶暴的異教徒傳教，也不想坐下來為這本記述寫上一小篇。
第二例中文本第281頁
It was during my first furlough in Canada, in 1880, that the people of my native county, Oxford, Ontario, at the sugges- tion of the " Sentinel- Revie w " newspaper of Woodstock, undertook to raise funds sufficient for erecting a college building in Formosa. Ministers and other Christian friends ap- proved of the proposal, and it was carried out with enthusiasm and vigor. At an immense farewell meeting held in the Methodist church, Woodstock, on the eve of my return to Formosa, the sum of $6215 was presented to me; and with that money the college building at Tamsui was erected, and, as was fitting, it w^as called Oxford College. It is with gratitude and pleasure that I recall this and other tokens of regard on the part of my home friends ; and when I think of that farewell meeting in 1881 there stand out against the back- ground of loving memory the form and features of Oxford's greatest son, the late Rev. John Ross, of Brucefield, whose life of faith was to me an inspiration, and whose labor of love the Canadian church ought not to forget. pp 291- 292 FROM FAR FORMOSA
form and features 性格與特徵
labor of love Work done for one's satisfaction rather than monetary reward. For example, The research took three years but it was a labor of love. This expression appears twice in the New Testament (Hebrews 6:10, Thessalonians 1:3), referring to those who do God's work as a labor of love. [c. 1600]
King James Bible (Cambridge Ed.) Remembering without ceasing your work of faith, and labour of love, and patience of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ, in the sight of God and our Father;
創立人新島襄為了實現接受西方教育的夢想，於21歲時偷渡到美國。在1864年的時候，日本人到海外是違法的，新島為了實現夢想不惜付出萬一被捕將喪命的代價。新島於Philips Academy and Amherst大學學習，是第一位在海外取得學位的日本人。回到日本時，已經堅信了基於西方理想及基督教的論理教義設立高等教育機構的必要性。因此，新島於1875年創辦了同志社英學校。
馬偕去世後，其日記（稿本）自然就由嗣子偕叡廉（Rev. George William MacKay, 1882～1963）保存。偕叡廉在世期間，曾摘譯父親的日記為白話字，分訂三冊。何時譯出，他並沒有註明。翻查北部中會議事錄，得知偕叡廉於1934年2月廿0日第卅八屆中會受派為教會歷史地理部員之一，他或許是為了部會之需要而譯出。
《黑鬚番》初版，本文及索引，共307頁，附相片15張及地圖。除了加拿大長老教會海外宣教委員會在多倫多發行者外，由美加宣教教會運動（Missionary Education Movement of the United States and Canada）在紐約發行，也有紐約Eaton & Mains發行的版。因為需求旺，1930年再由McClelland & Stewart, Ltd出版了修正版。今由「谷騰堡計畫」（Project Gutenberg）的安排，在網路上也可閱讀及下載了，甚方便。
1871年12月29日，一艘來自廈門的英式帆船「金陵號」在狂風巨浪中抵達打狗港外，一只舢舨旋即前來會合。當舢舨回到港口停泊後，兩名盎格魯薩克遜人便緩緩的走下來，傳教士馬偕(George. L. Mackay)在經歷過其生平未曾如此巔簸的旅程後，由萬醫生(Dr.Manson)的引領陪同下，首次踏上這個他將奉獻一生的美麗島嶼。
2005年：回來讀「紐約時報雜誌」，注意到In ancient theater, a play began with a protasis, or introduction, and ended with a catastrophe, or conclusion, driven by some irresistible cause; in French, that finish was the ''denouement.'' 將它推薦給rl 。 今晨知道，這一denouement 數日前在問 Voltaire 的一句 « personne ne peut deviner le dénouement de cette tragédie » rl說過：「根據我的了解，這句的大意是： 沒人能料到這場悲劇的結局。」 rl再說：這denouement他每日一字專欄去年已介紹過」 查一下，為 「1. 【古】解結；解開 2. （戲劇、小說的）結局 3. （事情的）解決；結束 」 ----- Source: Aristotle: Poetics of Aristotle: XVIII. Further rules for the Tragic Poet XVIII. Further rules for the Tragic Poet. Every tragedy falls into two parts,--Complication and Unravelling or Denouement. Incidents extraneous to the action are frequently combined with a portion of the action proper, to form the…
根據『詩學』（陳中梅譯注，北京商務，1999）此翻譯為：「一部悲劇由結與解組成。」所以「解」為DENOUEMENT的真義。 《矇矓的七種類型》與《羅生門》(Rashomon) College is not only where you hit the books. It also should be where you learn not to judge a book by its cover.
It’s often said by Japanese painters that the most difficult subject of all is Mount Fuji. How is it possible to come up with an original take on a theme that has been painted so often and by so many talented artists? Yet for all their angst, artists clearly manage, as demonstrated by the sheer variety of beautiful images of Mount Fuji currently on display at the Yamatane Museum of Art.
Organized to commemorate the mountain’s designation in 2013 as a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage Site, “Mt. Fuji, Cherry Blossoms, and Flowers in Spring” opens with some three dozen images of the sacred mountain representing several centuries of Japanese art. The second half of the space is given over to works depicting cherry blossoms, peonies and other spring flowers, reviving an earlier Yamatane tradition of staging a flower-themed exhibition every spring.
Mount Fuji, an active volcano and the tallest peak in Japan, has been regarded through history as sacred and is ringed by temples and shrines devoted to its worship. Its power and beauty have inspired centuries of literature and art. Early paintings show the mountain with three even peaks, a stylized depiction that may have been influenced by esoteric beliefs about the power of the number three. By the Edo Period (1603-1867), when travel became less restricted and more people had the opportunity to actually see the mountain, depictions in art became more realistic.
Now in its final weeks, the exhibition showcases both paintings and ukiyo-e prints, including examples from Utagawa Hiroshige’s famous series, “Thirty-six Views of Mt. Fuji.” There are works by big-name artists such as Taikan Yokoyama (1868-1958), who created over 1,000 paintings of Mount Fuji during his lifetime, as well as painters who names might be less familiar. One is Tamako Kataoka (1905-2008), who painted Mount Fuji again and again, particularly in the later part of her career. Her 1991 painting, “Auspicious Mt. Fuji,” is one of the highlights of the exhibition and a good example of her unconventional style and bold use of color.
With so many different interpretations on the same theme grouped together, it’s interesting to observe how artists can take the same elements — say, Mount Fuji and pine branches, a classic pairing — yet produce startlingly different results by varying color and composition. Such comparison is also possible in the flower section of the exhibition, which is a veritable bouquet of variations on the cherry-blossom theme.
Clearly, the singular mountain and spring flowers are a source of endless inspiration for artists. Writing about Mount Fuji in particular, Kataoka explained this eloquently in a 1971 essay: “Fuji soaring above mountains, or glimpsed between mountain peaks; Fuji from a village; Fuji from the ocean, Fuji from a town,” she wrote. “Fuji from the garden of one’s own home; Fuji seen through willows; peonies and Fuji, mountain grasses and Fuji, old trees and Fuji; the sun and moon and stars all suit Fuji well. There is no limit to the possible themes to paint.”
“Mt. Fuji, Cherry Blossoms, and Flowers in Spring” at the Yamatane Museum of Art runs till May 11; 3-12-36 Hiroo, Shibuya-ku, Tokyo; Ebisu Stn. Open 10 a.m.-5 p.m. ¥1,200. Closed Mon. 03-5777-8600 www.yamatane-museum.jp
PHOTO: Mount Fuji shows off its charms
THE ASAHI SHIMBUN
2012/08/02
This glorious "Diamond Fuji," as seen from the Hojo coast in Tateyama, Chiba Prefecture, on July 30 (Tei Shimizu)
For those fortunate enough to be in the right spot at the right time on July 30, Mount Fuji rewarded them with a rare view: "Diamond Fuji," with the sun setting on its peak.
A Mount Fuji mosaic created with more than 20,000 "omusubi" rice balls in Gotenba, Shizuoka Prefecture (Tamotsu Sugao)
Gotenba, Shizuoka Prefecture--Hundreds of people got their hands sticky here in their quest to create the largest piece of "omusubi" rice-ball art--a huge mosaic of Mount Fuji. The mosaic was made on Mount Fuji Day, Feb. 23, and recognized by Guinness World Records. The glutinous mountain measured 74.09 square meters and was made up of 22,350 rice balls. The rice balls were crafted in five colors, including salt-sprinkled "white," seaweed-wrapped "black" and curried-rice "yellow." The project was the idea of Shizuoka-based "bento" box-lunch maker Tenjinya Co. After the rice ball Mount Fuji was commemorated for posterity by Guinness officials, about 2,000 participants and staff ate it.
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![[bkrvcondie]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QJ061_bkrvco_A_20111031145959.jpg)
![[bkrvkiller]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QI765_bkrvki_A_20111030151002.jpg)
![[bkrvsnyder]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QH414_bkrvsn_A_20111026132034.jpg)
![[bkrvbellos]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QD333_bkrvbe_A_20111017114252.jpg)
![[bkrvcriminal]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QG670_bkrvcr_A_20111025100446.jpg)
![[bkrvbligh]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QG386_bkrvbl_A_20111024142408.jpg)
![[bkrvemma]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QF813_bkrvem_A_20111021163506.jpg)
![[bkrvemeinence]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QE461_bkrvem_A_20111019161212.jpg)
![[bkrvike]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QE360_bkrvik_A_20111019122053.jpg)
![[bkrvanders]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QD839_bkrvan_A_20111018113243.jpg)
![[bkrvgun]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QD516_bkrvgu_A_20111017165411.jpg)
![[bkrvbarnes]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QC889_bkrvba_A_20111014171934.jpg)
![[bkrvthant]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QB873_bkrvth_A_20111012162407.jpg)
![[bkrvmadison]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QB486_bkrvma_A_20111011171953.jpg)
![[bkrvharnesses]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-QB074_bkrvha_A_20111010163040.jpg)
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![[bkrvbarone]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PZ854_bkrvba_A_20111006172940.jpg)
![[bkrvjimjones]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PZ663_bkrvji_A_20111006132457.jpg)
![[bkrvchiefs]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PZ190_bkrvch_A_20111005130506.jpg)
![[bkrvhazel]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PY735_bkrvha_A_20111004141737.jpg)
![[bkrvpronouns]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PY260_bkrvpr_A_20111003134158.jpg)
![[bkrvpower]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PW178_bkrvpo_A_20110928140023.jpg)
![[bkrvluck]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PW583_bkrvlu_A_20110929134056.jpg)
![[bkrvworm]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PV637_bkrvwo_A_20110927132243.jpg)
![[bkrvdestiny]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PV067_bkrvde_A_20110926111301.jpg)
![[bkrvtheswerve]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-PU755_bkrvth_A_20110925152823.jpg)
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![[KLIMT1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF977_KLIMT1_A_20120217020210.jpg)
![[AELIAN1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF980_AELIAN_A_20120217020412.jpg)
![[PhotoOp1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF896_PhotoO_A_20120217014927.jpg)
![[reade]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/OB-RW522_reade_A_20120217164100.jpg)
![[FIVEBEST2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF944_FIVEBE_A_20120217014953.jpg)
![[MYSTERYCHRON1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF949_MYSTER_A_20120217015429.jpg)
![[SCOUTS1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF887_SCOUTS_A_20120209234129.jpg)
![[TAIPING1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF893_TAIPIN_A_20120209234820.jpg)
![[GENE1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF900_GENE1_A_20120209235225.jpg)
![[FIVEBEST2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF905_FIVEBE_A_20120210000105.jpg)
![[KIDSCHRON1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF891_KIDSCH_A_20120209234345.jpg)
![[JONES1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF902_JONES1_A_20120209235305.jpg)
![[SEXBOMBS1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF903_SEXBOM_A_20120210000046.jpg)
![[PhotoOp2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF897_PhotoO_A_20120209235127.jpg)
![[BONNEFOY1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF898_BONNEF_A_20120209235201.jpg)
![[GUITAR]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF895_GUITAR_A_20120209235043.jpg)
![[FREEDOM1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF894_FREEDO_A_20120209235012.jpg)
![[CONNECT1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF794_CONNEC_A_20120203175347.jpg)
![[GOAT1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF801_GOAT1_A_20120202235512.jpg)
![[STANWYCK1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF797_STANWY_A_20120202235300.jpg)
![[FRENCH1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF799_FRENCH_A_20120202235343.jpg)
![[VENICE1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF800_VENICE_A_20120202235415.jpg)
![[MUMBAI1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF803_MUMBAI_A_20120202235539.jpg)
![[FIVEBEST2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF817_FIVEBE_A_20120203000119.jpg)
![[PhotoOp1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF808_PhotoO_A_20120202235832.jpg)
![[COUCH1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF796_COUCH1_A_20120202235213.jpg)
![[LINNAEUS1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF805_LINNAE_A_20120202235612.jpg)
![[FICTCHRON1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF804_FICTCH_A_20120203170750.jpg)
![[NAVALWAR1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF732_NAVALW_A_20120125235811.jpg)
![[PUZO2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF740A_PUZO2_A_20120125232724.jpg)
![[SODOKU1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF734_SODOKU_A_20120125232239.jpg)
![[FIVEBEST2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF747_FIVEBE_A_20120125234251.jpg)
![[STAUBYN]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF731_STAUBY_A_20120127165849.jpg)
![[MURPHY1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF741_MURPHY_A_20120126232752.jpg)
![[SOLO2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF744_SOLO2_A_20120125233938.jpg)
![[KIDCHRON1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF738_KIDCHR_A_20120125232625.jpg)
![[PhotoOp1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF745_PhotoO_A_20120125234020.jpg)
![[LIZ1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF743_LIZ1_A_20120125233824.jpg)
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![[BUSINESS]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF663A_BUSIN_A_20120119231401.jpg)
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![[SALER1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF677_SALER1_A_20120119232408.jpg)
![[FIVEBEST1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF689_FIVEBE_A_20120119233343.jpg)
![[FULLER1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF669A_FULLE_A_20120119231744.jpg)
![[FRY2]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF680_FRY2_A_20120119232539.jpg)
![[KIDSBRIEF1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF672_KIDSBR_A_20120119232203.jpg)
![[MOOCH1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF673_MOOCH1_A_20120119232127.jpg)
![[ROTH1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF686_ROTH1_A_20120119232908.jpg)
![[PhotoOp1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF682_PhotoO_A_20120119232605.jpg)
![[FICTION1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF671_FICTIO_A_20120119231838.jpg)
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![[PhotoOp1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF618_PhotoO_A_20120111234440.jpg)
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![[TRIBUNAL1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF550_TRIBUN_A_20120106001903.jpg)
![[GREENE1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF554_GREENE_A_20120106164614.jpg)
![[LOUVIN1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF564_LOUVIN_A_20120106002044.jpg)
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![[WHALE1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/RV-AF556_WHALE1_A_20120106164422.jpg)
![[item image]](http://ia600308.us.archive.org/11/items/fromfarformosais00mackrich/fromfarformosais00mackrich.gif?cnt=0 "[item image]")
![[item image]](http://ia700305.us.archive.org/34/items/blackbeardedbarb00macg/blackbeardedbarb00macg.gif?cnt=0 "[item image]")
This glorious "Diamond Fuji," as seen from the Hojo coast in Tateyama, Chiba Prefecture, on July 30 (Tei Shimizu)
A Mount Fuji mosaic created with more than 20,000 "omusubi" rice balls in Gotenba, Shizuoka Prefecture (Tamotsu Sugao)