Toni Morrison, at the age of 88, has died after a short illness.
She was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1993:
"who in novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality."-Nobel Prize Committee.
To her family this blog acknowledges their loss and wishes them well as they cope.
The Book Spy
Me and My Collection
Friday, 9 August 2019
Wednesday, 10 July 2019
A Possibility of Something: A Case for Howard Barker to be Awarded the Nobel Prize by George Jones
“Beauty is a thing
seized on a landing
While ugliness is
halfway up the stairs.”
Howard Barker, Dead
Hands
For most of the last
three decades1,
Howard Barker has been Britain’s greatest living dramatist. Over
the fifty years since his first radioplay, Barker has produced a body
of work both wide and deep, ranging over poetry, drama, film,
painting, and criticism. Whenever possible, he does his own lighting,
costume design, sound design, and directs his own work, and despite
the breadth of his talents, he manages to be extraordinarily
prolific. To date, he has written sixty-three plays, two marionette
plays, eleven teleplays, six books of poetry, an opera, and three
collections of writings on theatre, in addition to numerous radio
plays, short film scripts, and paintings. Still - prolificity alone
does not make a writer worthy of the Nobel Prize. In this essay, I’ll
be examining what makes Barker unique as a playwright and poet, and
making the argument that he should be the next Nobel laureate for
literature.
One of the most
immediate ways in which Howard Barker stands out from the rest of
British theatre is his refusal of realism. Of course, there are other
playwrights who set their plays somewhere other than the world we
know, like Bryony Lavery or Howard Brenton, but most of the time
those plays are still grounded in the principles of realism - the
characters talk and act in much the same way that you or I would talk
and act in their situation, and the setting is often a slightly
altered version of our reality. Barker takes it a step further,
setting each of his plays in its own self-contained universe, that
does not necessarily behave according to real-world logic. His
masterpiece Found In The Ground, which deals with the
collective trauma of World War Two, is perhaps the finest example of
this. The play works on a kind of associative, impressionistic level.
The audience is presented with dogs on wheels, a headless woman who
“perambulates” across the stage, a man who ritually
consumes the ashes of famous Nazis (although not Hitler - “We
never serve him here”) and is asked to draw their own
conclusions about the meaning of it all.
I Want to say
Without temper
If possible
without the least
sense of the heroic
Without even the
measured ambition
to speak the truth
which is only
another vulgarity
To say
I am not what I was
Indeed
I was nothing
and now I am at
least the possibility
of
something
and
this
I
will defend2
Barker is, as one
Guardian piece put it, “a champion of imagination, not
‘relevance’”3
- that is, he does not concern himself with passing comment on the
issues of the day. Rather, Barker’s plays attempt to imagine what
does not exist - to explore the possibilities of human
behaviour. In particular, Barker returns over and over again to the
theme of the perverse, in Poe’s sense of the term, to characters
who do the wrong thing. Barker’s characters are driven to rebel -
against society, against those who presume to judge them, even
against their own moral codes - by overwhelming desires.
Barker did not name
The Wrestling School - the theatre company dedicated to performing
his plays - but its name is appropriate. Barker’s characters are
constantly at war with themselves, torn between what is expected of
them (and often, what is beneficial for them) and what they are
driven towards. Barker’s conception of desire - both sexual and
otherwise - is of a force both destructive and revelatory. His
characters’ decisions often condemn them to suffering - and they
are usually aware of this when they make their choices - but no other
course of action would allow them to maintain their integrity.
Rather than seeking
material advantage, or some other motive common to conventional
drama, Barker’s characters are driven towards ecstasy. That word -
with its connotations both religious and sexual - is key to any
understanding of Barker’s art of theatre. The ecstasy Barker’s
characters endure is the culmination of their desires, but it is also
destructive, both to the characters themselves and on a personal
level. Ecstasy in Barker’s work is a force of social disruption -
something whose nature consists of the violent assertion of
individuality in opposition to the group.
Another important
aspect of Barker’s work is his approach to writing dialogue. Since
his dramatic career shift in the mid-eighties (which I’ll cover
another time, if you want to read about it), Howard Barker has
eschewed conventionally “realistic” dialogue in favour of his own
brand of grandly expressive, poetic speech. Barker has spoken of
seeing Edward Bond’s play Saved, and of being offended by
the inarticulacy of Bond’s working class characters. Barker - who
grew up in a similar area to where the play is set - resolved to give
his characters the same facility for language that he saw in the
people he knew. As his career went on, however, his approach to this
task changed. In his earlier, more social realist plays, Barker
writes dialogue much like any other playwright of the era, but after
his dramatic artistic shift in the eighties, he began to have his
characters speak more in the register of poetry. Poetry, after all,
is the art form which explores to the greatest extent language’s
capacity for meaning, so it makes sense that Barker would merge his
dramatic and poetic voices in the way that he has done.
Barker’s characters
speak in a kind of free verse, reminiscent of the linguistic
vortography of The Waste Land. They interrupt themselves
mid-sentence; they pause like a poet would pause when reading; there
are sudden eruptions of expression, as though characters’ deeper
selves are forcing their way to the surface. The words demand to be
heard; the characters often seem appalled by the truth that they
reveal, frightened by their own eloquence.
As important as what
the characters say is how they say it. In the jagged line breaks and
shattered phrases of his dialogue, Barker creates a language that
matches the chaotic and unstable environment of his stories. His
language is one of extremes, both in content and delivery, and is so
unlike anything else on stage today that Barkerian actors have had to
develop a style of acting unique to his material. If you go to see a
Barker play put on by the Wrestling School, or Lurking Truth, you
will be presented with a company of actors struggling to give
expression to works that defy the rules that much theatrical practice
is based on. This struggle is not due to a lack of ability - both
those companies are full of phenomenally talented actors - but rather
to the demands that Barker places upon anyone involved in producing
his work. His writing requires actors to push the limits of their
abilities. His stage directions are often deliberately vague or
difficult to express onstage (“an effect of light and sound,” “a
grief passes between them”) and this contributes to a sense that
these actors are fighting with the limitations of their art, just as
Barker’s words struggle against the limitations of language.
More than his facility
for language or the uniqueness of his plots, what makes Barker
important - important enough to be a worthy candidate for the Nobel -
is his profound and defiant uselessness. Barker’s work refuses to
educate or edify; he does not intend to spur social change, or give
the audience a glimpse into the lives of their neighbours; his plays
are no more useful to society than the sphinx or the Mona Lisa.
Barker’s philosophy is fundamentally opposed to the cult of
practicality that demands all art serve some social function - he
creates great plays that are designed simply to be great plays. In a
culture paralysed by the market, by the belief that nothing should
exist unless it can give a financial return on investment, Barker -
amoral, poetic, challenging, obscure Barker - is the necessary shock
to the system.
In conclusion, British
drama has no-one like Barker. The continent has produced a few who can
claim to be as original as him, to challenge the boundaries of
theatre the way he does (Handke, Muller, Grotowski of course) but the
English-speaking world has no-one who can touch him. His poetry is of
exceptional quality, and he brings his keen poetic ear to his plays;
the phrase, the conjunction of words, is the basic unit of all
aesthetic language, and Barker is the master of the phrase. Not only
is he unmatched in terms of the quality of his work, but he is a
unique and underappreciated artist who deserves to be brought to
wider attention.
1
With the exception of the seven hallowed years when Sarah Kane
walked among us
2
This quote is the source of my title, and a fine example of
Barkerian dialogue, and I wish I could remember what play it’s
from
3
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/theatreblog/2010/apr/29/howard-barker-playwright-relevance
Saturday, 25 May 2019
'The Old Man and the Sea' by Ernest Hemingway
A meditation on life and the meaning of struggle occupies the pages of 'The Old Man and the Sea' by Ernest Hemingway, his last full length piece of fiction which gained him popularity and helped cement his reputation as a writer by winning the Nobel Prize in Literature.
The 'old man' of the story is Santiago, an experienced fisherman who is on a run of bad luck. He has had eighty-four days without catching a single fish. Now determined to end the run he goes out fishing further than he has done and ends up luring a great marlin, which takes his bait and continues to pull the fisherman for two days. Santiago finally kills the beast but while he is trying to take the fish back with him to the market sharks come and eat the marlin, leaving him with only the skeleton. He returns to the village and, exhausted from the ordeal, is waited on by his devoted young assistant Manolin back to health.
The story is probably unlike most of his other fiction being that it has an allegorical aspect to it, more fable like then his other realistic narratives. For me this is a plus as I think it makes more of an impact relating a message, or meditation, on the human condition.
The struggle for Santiago is the struggle for, initially, success, and then a struggle for life where all his can do is hold on until his moment to strike opens to him. He lives but with nothing to show apart from a skeleton which the villages mistake for another fish, but somehow it has all been worth it as he managed to see another day.
No man loves life like an old man, so the saying goes and after his adventure you feel that Santiago loves life more than ever, or he will do when he recovers.
A darker interpretation of the story would be that for all his efforts the fisherman's escapade is futile, as man cannot, ultimately master the natural world but succumb to the forces of animals more adept to survive. Nature humbles man offering no meanings for it's existence but a struggle to reproduce and survive.
And yet the surviving is enough.
By living we gain the greatest gift that all of the universe can offer: life itself. To spend time smelling the roses and noticing the beauty of the world, the small moments of kindness, the unexpectant happiness and joy you might feel for no reason are reasons for living.
We may involve ourselves in great struggles that might feel to be life or death or end up in situations where you may have to prove yourself even if you think the odds are stacked then, Hemingway might be suggesting, the struggle is worthwhile as it proves something in yourself that you might not have known to be there before. And that's valuable.
I thought this was a great book and didn't need to be any longer than it already is but certainly had plenty to say about life.
Now this is where you hit a paywall- well not exactly a paywall more like a moat you can swim across- but what I'm saying is that if you enjoyed this blog and my previous work than you can help support me by going on Patreon.com and search for Alistair David Todd-Poet.
I only ask for the lowest possible donation ($1) so that you don't have to wake up in the middle of the night sweating about bills and tax. Two reasons I ask you of this is 1) It would mean a lot to me and 2) I can buy more Nobel Prize Winning books.
You can even message me with recommendations of books I should cover that I haven't already have (being that the canon is huge), I'd be really interested in what you have to offer me. In the meantime stay safe and all the best to you.
The 'old man' of the story is Santiago, an experienced fisherman who is on a run of bad luck. He has had eighty-four days without catching a single fish. Now determined to end the run he goes out fishing further than he has done and ends up luring a great marlin, which takes his bait and continues to pull the fisherman for two days. Santiago finally kills the beast but while he is trying to take the fish back with him to the market sharks come and eat the marlin, leaving him with only the skeleton. He returns to the village and, exhausted from the ordeal, is waited on by his devoted young assistant Manolin back to health.
The story is probably unlike most of his other fiction being that it has an allegorical aspect to it, more fable like then his other realistic narratives. For me this is a plus as I think it makes more of an impact relating a message, or meditation, on the human condition.
The struggle for Santiago is the struggle for, initially, success, and then a struggle for life where all his can do is hold on until his moment to strike opens to him. He lives but with nothing to show apart from a skeleton which the villages mistake for another fish, but somehow it has all been worth it as he managed to see another day.
No man loves life like an old man, so the saying goes and after his adventure you feel that Santiago loves life more than ever, or he will do when he recovers.
A darker interpretation of the story would be that for all his efforts the fisherman's escapade is futile, as man cannot, ultimately master the natural world but succumb to the forces of animals more adept to survive. Nature humbles man offering no meanings for it's existence but a struggle to reproduce and survive.
And yet the surviving is enough.
By living we gain the greatest gift that all of the universe can offer: life itself. To spend time smelling the roses and noticing the beauty of the world, the small moments of kindness, the unexpectant happiness and joy you might feel for no reason are reasons for living.
We may involve ourselves in great struggles that might feel to be life or death or end up in situations where you may have to prove yourself even if you think the odds are stacked then, Hemingway might be suggesting, the struggle is worthwhile as it proves something in yourself that you might not have known to be there before. And that's valuable.
I thought this was a great book and didn't need to be any longer than it already is but certainly had plenty to say about life.
Now this is where you hit a paywall- well not exactly a paywall more like a moat you can swim across- but what I'm saying is that if you enjoyed this blog and my previous work than you can help support me by going on Patreon.com and search for Alistair David Todd-Poet.
I only ask for the lowest possible donation ($1) so that you don't have to wake up in the middle of the night sweating about bills and tax. Two reasons I ask you of this is 1) It would mean a lot to me and 2) I can buy more Nobel Prize Winning books.
You can even message me with recommendations of books I should cover that I haven't already have (being that the canon is huge), I'd be really interested in what you have to offer me. In the meantime stay safe and all the best to you.
Friday, 17 May 2019
'The Glass Bead Game' by Herman Hesse
In Castalia a special game is played. A game for intellectuals, requiring years learning, practice and patience. This is 'The Glass Bead Game' by German author Herman Hesse.
In one of my earlier posts I had a look at 'Knulp' by the same writer and this is similar but far more complex, layered and, arguably, more significant.
It follows the life of Joseph Knecht, a man who starts at the bottom of Castalia's ordered society and works his way to Magister Ludi (the book's original title) which translates as Master of the Game.
The society is similar to a monastery in that these intellectuals do nothing but devote their lives to 'the game'. What is the game? Never explicitly described it is basically a game that encompasses every human subject including mathematics and music. It is an intricate and subtle game that requires years of studying and excludes all else in human life.
Throughout his life Hesse was interested in the opposing dynamics of human freedom and spirit to his need for order and ritual. Knulp was a definite free spirit but even he was prone to doubts about his ultimate purpose. In 'The Glass Bead Game' Knecht has found his purpose: to be the master of the game.
A book worth re-reading due to it being dense and knotty but one that can be found with incredible force of life, particular it's ending.
In this rigid and ordered society only some are allowed to even play the game. Half-way through the book a poor boy is brought to Knecht by his father asking him if he could be allowed to enter in Castalia. The boy is found wanting and is turned back to his life of poverty.
Knecht finds much joy in the game, he finds meaning and purpose and true beauty. This doesn't stop him to, towards the end of the book, to leave the society in pursuit of a life of exploration of the world, to tragic consequences.
I find that the use of an unspecified game as a metaphor for the intellect very enticing. In the end it's all meaningless, but for the people playing the game it is meaning. How much of humankind's culture could be described like that? It's taken seriously, almost religiously, yet the world will still take you and all you care about and piss all over it. The game doesn't save Knecht, it's a positive distraction in reaction to a meaningless world.
It doesn't mean that it's worthless either. As an end in itself it is beautiful, even with all the unfortunate snobbishness and privilege that the role of master of the games entails. It's a solution to the chaos of life and, for the most part, works pretty well for those who are involved in it.
I found this to be a very influential book, even colouring my own writing, and it's exploration of rule and order against feeling and expression positively invigorating.
I recommend this as good reading, even if it is a bit of a tome of a book, as it is one of those ones you can carry with you for the rest of your life, re-reading and reflecting on the issues it brings up. It wasn't originally published due to a Nazi government but thankfully it survived the book burnings and is availed for you to read, and if you are free you can do that.
Now this is where you hit a paywall- well not exactly a paywall more like a moat you can swim across- but what I'm saying is that if you enjoyed this blog and my previous work than you can help support me by going on Patreon.com and search for Alistair David Todd-Poet.
I only ask for the lowest possible donation ($1) so that you don't have to wake up in the middle of the night sweating about bills and tax. Two reasons I ask you of this is 1) It would mean a lot to me and 2) I can buy more Nobel Prize Winning books.
You can even message me with recommendations of books I should cover that I haven't already have (being that the canon is huge), I'd be really interested in what you have to offer me. In the meantime stay safe and all the best to you.
In one of my earlier posts I had a look at 'Knulp' by the same writer and this is similar but far more complex, layered and, arguably, more significant.
It follows the life of Joseph Knecht, a man who starts at the bottom of Castalia's ordered society and works his way to Magister Ludi (the book's original title) which translates as Master of the Game.
The society is similar to a monastery in that these intellectuals do nothing but devote their lives to 'the game'. What is the game? Never explicitly described it is basically a game that encompasses every human subject including mathematics and music. It is an intricate and subtle game that requires years of studying and excludes all else in human life.
Throughout his life Hesse was interested in the opposing dynamics of human freedom and spirit to his need for order and ritual. Knulp was a definite free spirit but even he was prone to doubts about his ultimate purpose. In 'The Glass Bead Game' Knecht has found his purpose: to be the master of the game.
A book worth re-reading due to it being dense and knotty but one that can be found with incredible force of life, particular it's ending.
In this rigid and ordered society only some are allowed to even play the game. Half-way through the book a poor boy is brought to Knecht by his father asking him if he could be allowed to enter in Castalia. The boy is found wanting and is turned back to his life of poverty.
Knecht finds much joy in the game, he finds meaning and purpose and true beauty. This doesn't stop him to, towards the end of the book, to leave the society in pursuit of a life of exploration of the world, to tragic consequences.
I find that the use of an unspecified game as a metaphor for the intellect very enticing. In the end it's all meaningless, but for the people playing the game it is meaning. How much of humankind's culture could be described like that? It's taken seriously, almost religiously, yet the world will still take you and all you care about and piss all over it. The game doesn't save Knecht, it's a positive distraction in reaction to a meaningless world.
It doesn't mean that it's worthless either. As an end in itself it is beautiful, even with all the unfortunate snobbishness and privilege that the role of master of the games entails. It's a solution to the chaos of life and, for the most part, works pretty well for those who are involved in it.
I found this to be a very influential book, even colouring my own writing, and it's exploration of rule and order against feeling and expression positively invigorating.
I recommend this as good reading, even if it is a bit of a tome of a book, as it is one of those ones you can carry with you for the rest of your life, re-reading and reflecting on the issues it brings up. It wasn't originally published due to a Nazi government but thankfully it survived the book burnings and is availed for you to read, and if you are free you can do that.
Now this is where you hit a paywall- well not exactly a paywall more like a moat you can swim across- but what I'm saying is that if you enjoyed this blog and my previous work than you can help support me by going on Patreon.com and search for Alistair David Todd-Poet.
I only ask for the lowest possible donation ($1) so that you don't have to wake up in the middle of the night sweating about bills and tax. Two reasons I ask you of this is 1) It would mean a lot to me and 2) I can buy more Nobel Prize Winning books.
You can even message me with recommendations of books I should cover that I haven't already have (being that the canon is huge), I'd be really interested in what you have to offer me. In the meantime stay safe and all the best to you.
Tuesday, 30 April 2019
'Seize the Day' by Saul Bellow
The Beatles sung about it and some of the best stories are based on it, it is the novel of a day in the life. 'Ulysses' by James Joyce, 'The Outsider' by Albert Camus are of this variety of story and so is Saul Bellow's 'Seize the Day', where a working man goes to his rich father for help and gets involved with a mysterious doctor who tries to help him overcome his difficulties.
Set in a hotel in New York, where the father is staying the main character, Tommy Wilhelm, tries to convince his father to help him out. His father is unwilling with the attitude that Tommy just needs to stand on his own two feet.
Having read this novella a while ago I remember it's shortness, it's bitter-sweetness as it is a hymn to failure and short-comings. Tommy tries to get a quick buck with the last of his savings and with the help of Dr. Tamkin, a questionable father figure, on the stock market.
The last scene of this book is powerfully moving with a character who has invested everything in other people and gets nothing back at a desperate point. In his 'day of reckoning' Tommy seems to have exhausted all possibilities of reconciling with his father, his ex-wife, even his children, and he mourns himself and his burdens.
Things aren't tied up yet the ending seems like a satisfying conclusion, poetically at least, and all we need to know of Tommy's life.
Interestingly Robin Williams has played Tommy in the film version of 'Seize the Day' and I didn't think it was too bad as it had the right tone.
These types of stories are great because they are like long poems written in breaking points for the characters undergoing their worst day. What it brings up is a depth of feeling, a brief exploration of extreme emotion and a short journey feeling like you've gone to the ends of the world.
Set in a hotel in New York, where the father is staying the main character, Tommy Wilhelm, tries to convince his father to help him out. His father is unwilling with the attitude that Tommy just needs to stand on his own two feet.
Having read this novella a while ago I remember it's shortness, it's bitter-sweetness as it is a hymn to failure and short-comings. Tommy tries to get a quick buck with the last of his savings and with the help of Dr. Tamkin, a questionable father figure, on the stock market.
The last scene of this book is powerfully moving with a character who has invested everything in other people and gets nothing back at a desperate point. In his 'day of reckoning' Tommy seems to have exhausted all possibilities of reconciling with his father, his ex-wife, even his children, and he mourns himself and his burdens.
Things aren't tied up yet the ending seems like a satisfying conclusion, poetically at least, and all we need to know of Tommy's life.
Interestingly Robin Williams has played Tommy in the film version of 'Seize the Day' and I didn't think it was too bad as it had the right tone.
These types of stories are great because they are like long poems written in breaking points for the characters undergoing their worst day. What it brings up is a depth of feeling, a brief exploration of extreme emotion and a short journey feeling like you've gone to the ends of the world.
Monday, 29 April 2019
Now on Patreon
Like many other writers trying to find their way in the world I have come to Patreon, the crowdsourcing website, in order to live from my writing.
Many of you know I have a passion for the Nobel Prize of Literature but some may not be aware that I am also a poet and writer of books myself, still in the early phase of his career.
I live in the South West of England working in a studio on the High Street and I have a self-published book out called 'The First Man In Space' on Lulu publishing.
At the moment I am trying to write more blogs on a regular basis, but since I have just moved house I haven't yet found my rhythm, yet the intention is there.
Currently I am supported by the welfare state because of my bi-polarity, and thankful I am too of it as it's allowed me to read and write as much as health allows.
But I would like to change this and live off my writing, which I hope you have enjoyed over the years. More work will appear and having a financial reason to do it might make me write more and with more consistency.
The money will also be very handy for buying more Nobel Prize Winning books that would feed back onto this site.
If you have enjoyed reading this blog then think to donate to my Patreon page and I will only every ask for the lowest amount ($1) as I don't want you to notice it's gone out of your account.
So thanks to everyone so far whose read this blog and with your help the future could be very interesting indeed.
https://www.patreon.com/alistairdavidtodd
Many of you know I have a passion for the Nobel Prize of Literature but some may not be aware that I am also a poet and writer of books myself, still in the early phase of his career.
I live in the South West of England working in a studio on the High Street and I have a self-published book out called 'The First Man In Space' on Lulu publishing.
At the moment I am trying to write more blogs on a regular basis, but since I have just moved house I haven't yet found my rhythm, yet the intention is there.
Currently I am supported by the welfare state because of my bi-polarity, and thankful I am too of it as it's allowed me to read and write as much as health allows.
But I would like to change this and live off my writing, which I hope you have enjoyed over the years. More work will appear and having a financial reason to do it might make me write more and with more consistency.
The money will also be very handy for buying more Nobel Prize Winning books that would feed back onto this site.
If you have enjoyed reading this blog then think to donate to my Patreon page and I will only every ask for the lowest amount ($1) as I don't want you to notice it's gone out of your account.
So thanks to everyone so far whose read this blog and with your help the future could be very interesting indeed.
https://www.patreon.com/alistairdavidtodd
Friday, 29 June 2018
A Historian for the Nobel Prize?
It is not always true that a novelist, poet or playwright are the only ones that get a Nobel Prize.
Sometimes a journalist gets one as well, such as Svetlana Alexievich, and sometimes a philosopher, such as Henri Bergson. Indeed, in theory, any type of writing may be awarded the Prize, though the Academy usually goes for the similar types.
Recently Richard Dawkins has asked why has scientists been left out of the circle, when a lot of them write with elegance and style (I think of Steven Pinker's clear prose). Presumably this is the case because most of the Nobel Prizes goes to scientists for their clearly defined and measurable achievements, why give any more to them?
I would like to ask a similar question but about historians, why have there been none for the Nobel Prize for Literature in it's own long history?
The reason I ask is that I have recently been reading a lot of history. It strikes me that the kind of writing necessary for requires huge efforts in skill, in assimilation, in precision that is worthy of the highest literature award for it all.
When you think that a sentence, for the historian, might have to comprise several years of lived life it asks a lot of that writer to write it accurately, to give a just presentation of that time and to do so vividly requires serious talents. For it is a lot harder to re-create a half-submerged world than to invent one. There is a lot riding on you to it sensibly, as politics in this age could be changed.
The Scottish philosopher David Hume was regarded more as a historian in his own time, and one would think that his studies of men and women of the past informed his own thought experiments, which possibly proves the value of studying history.
Reading two books on the histories of the world (History of the World by J.M. Roberts, and An Unfinished History of the World by Hugh Thomas) I am bowled over as to how they must have researched and collected all the information that they needed to write such books. And similarly with Yuval Noah Harari's Saipens it shows that history, and the way we look at them, changes. History is not so fixed in the past as it can be constantly re-interpenetrated.
For all that the Academy has not seen this value and continues to award the Prize to creators of new worlds.
So this year I will be looking around and taking suggestions for a possible living historian that may well be a contender to champion for the Nobel Prize. If anything I have leaned from history is that it is always in a process of change.
Sometimes a journalist gets one as well, such as Svetlana Alexievich, and sometimes a philosopher, such as Henri Bergson. Indeed, in theory, any type of writing may be awarded the Prize, though the Academy usually goes for the similar types.
Recently Richard Dawkins has asked why has scientists been left out of the circle, when a lot of them write with elegance and style (I think of Steven Pinker's clear prose). Presumably this is the case because most of the Nobel Prizes goes to scientists for their clearly defined and measurable achievements, why give any more to them?
I would like to ask a similar question but about historians, why have there been none for the Nobel Prize for Literature in it's own long history?
The reason I ask is that I have recently been reading a lot of history. It strikes me that the kind of writing necessary for requires huge efforts in skill, in assimilation, in precision that is worthy of the highest literature award for it all.
When you think that a sentence, for the historian, might have to comprise several years of lived life it asks a lot of that writer to write it accurately, to give a just presentation of that time and to do so vividly requires serious talents. For it is a lot harder to re-create a half-submerged world than to invent one. There is a lot riding on you to it sensibly, as politics in this age could be changed.
The Scottish philosopher David Hume was regarded more as a historian in his own time, and one would think that his studies of men and women of the past informed his own thought experiments, which possibly proves the value of studying history.
Reading two books on the histories of the world (History of the World by J.M. Roberts, and An Unfinished History of the World by Hugh Thomas) I am bowled over as to how they must have researched and collected all the information that they needed to write such books. And similarly with Yuval Noah Harari's Saipens it shows that history, and the way we look at them, changes. History is not so fixed in the past as it can be constantly re-interpenetrated.
For all that the Academy has not seen this value and continues to award the Prize to creators of new worlds.
So this year I will be looking around and taking suggestions for a possible living historian that may well be a contender to champion for the Nobel Prize. If anything I have leaned from history is that it is always in a process of change.
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