The role of sheer idiocy should not be understated. As finance minister, Charlie McCreevy's credo was a textbook statement of macroeconomic illiteracy The role of sheer idiocy should not be understated. As finance minister, Charlie McCreevy's credo was a textbook statement of macroeconomic illiteracy: 'When I have the money, I spend it, when I don't have it, I don't spend it'. This childish mantra, ... obliterating at a stroke everything that governments worldwide had learned about the need to restrain a runaway economy by spending less and boost a flagging economy by spending more, was the economic equivalent of bulimia: binge and purge, binge and purge.
As the Celtic tiger lies puking feebly into the gutter, surrounded by the debris caused by the bursting of one of the worst real-estate bubbles on record, the Irish economic boom has come to a painful, screeching halt. By August 2009, the month when the Irish prime minister finally dropped his "Celtic tiger as a template for economic development" speech from his speaking portfolio, the level of debt among Irish households was the highest in the EU, GDP was predicted to shrink by 13.5 percent in 2009 and 2010, Government debt had almost doubled in the preceding year. With a fifth of its office spaces empty, Dublin had the highest vacancy rate of any European capital and was rated as having the worst development and investment potential of 27 European cities. The Irish stock exchange had fallen by 68% in 2008....
The litany of depressing statistics goes on. In this book, Fintan O'Toole, a political commentator and columnist for The Irish Times, sets out in chilling detail the particular combination of factors that led to such a catastrophic end to Ireland's economic boom. Chief among them are:
* the enduring failure of successive governments to enact anything even remotely resembling regulatory controls on the banking and financial sectors * a culture of cronyism and turning a blind eye to financial malfeasance of the most blatant kind - even when the taking of kickbacks by those in office was established beyond doubt by several investigative tribunals, penalties were nugatory to non-existent * the Ahern government's continued feeding of the construction bubble through the creation of ever-more ridiculous tax incentives * failure to invest profits during the boom years in areas that might provide long-term stability, such as infrastructure and higher education (probably the most depressing part of O'Toole's litany of governmental ineptness is the section that documents the abysmal ranking of Irish graduates in the areas of computer science and information technology)
Even though I've lived outside of the country for the last 30 years, I'm still an Irish citizen, and I found this book thoroughly depressing. O'Toole's jeremiad is not particularly well-written - one senses it was written in haste, and the editing is remarkably sloppy. Writing style may have fallen victim to his passion at times; nonetheless, he paints a picture which is quite clear and thoroughly depressing. I'd like to think that those shown to be particularly venal will pay the price -- I don't need Fintan O'Toole to tell me that this is altogether unlikely.
This will be of interest to anyone with some connection to Ireland, probably not all that interesting to anyone else....more
Reading "Stoner" gave me another one of those parallel universe experiences. In the goodreads universe, where everyone else lives, this is apparently Reading "Stoner" gave me another one of those parallel universe experiences. In the goodreads universe, where everyone else lives, this is apparently a much loved and lauded book. Heck, those good folks at the New York Review of Books tell us it's a classic. And has this to say about the main protagonist:
William Stoner emerges from it not only as an archetypal American, but as an unlikely existential hero, standing, like a figure in a painting by Edward Hopper, in stark relief against an unforgiving world
I'm sorry, but that's just a crock, even allowing for reviewer hyperbole. The very best that you could manage to say about Stoner is that he's a wraithlike nebbish who manages to glide through this dismal story without leaving an impression on anyone, least of all the reader. People seem to admire John Edward Williams's writing. The thing that baffled me is how any author can use so many words to write about a character and end up describing someone who is utterly devoid of a single distinguishing trait, or even a semblance of a personality.
Stoner is a stick figure who, over the course of the book, gets to interact with other stick figures (the resentful wife, the condescending academic colleagues, the college friend with a lust for life who gets mowed down before his prime in the Great War, etc etc ad bloody nauseam) as they act out standard plot #24*. Now I know the number of plots is finite, so it might seem unjust to fault an author for serving up the same story yet again. Fair enough. But it's considered good sport to mess with the template a little bit, to inject one's own authorial "spark", to add *something* to make the story rise above the generic template. Maybe you take the A.J. Cronin slant and stir in a little rage against the system. Or you might just add a big ladleful of chicken soup for the soul and give the story a Mr Chips vibe. What you can't do, and hope to keep the reader's interest and sympathy, is just trot out the bare-bones generic version of the tale, with no embellishment**. But this is exactly what Williams has done here. What's the point?
I wasn't looking for much. Hell, I'd have settled for the odd chunk of snappy dialog. A sense of humor. Anything at all, really. But even the most basic dialog seems to exceed Williams's capacity, and decent characterization eludes him completely.
Anyway, the bottom line is that, in my universe, this book was bleak, predictable, excruciatingly dull. Like one of those dreadful Thomas Hardy books where everyone is miserable all the time, but without the local color. One star, maximum. Though it isn't quite dreadful enough to earn a slot on the "intellectual con artist at work" shelf.
(Story #24: Intelligent {farmboy/kid from slums/juvenile delinquent/will be played by Matt Damon in the movie} transcends hardscrabble background to be first in the family to attend college. Lurches into an unfulfilling marriage that ends up making everyone miserable, teaches college, is left wondering if that's all there is. Alienation everywhere you look.)
**:Several authors have written intelligently within the framework of the "academic novel" (Francine Prose, Jane Smiley, James Hynes, Kingsley Amis, among others), even managing to be funny. But those are authors with, you know, discernible intelligence, an affliction which John Edward Williams has apparently been spared.
I just read David K's excellent review and realize that I am a hero, albeit a "Master and Margarita"-loving hero. So be it.
From the unassailable heights of the MORAL HIGH GROUND, the author manipulates the reader from the very first sentence. Though I have no doubt that atFrom the unassailable heights of the MORAL HIGH GROUND, the author manipulates the reader from the very first sentence. Though I have no doubt that atrocities were committed in El Salvador, it seems entirely probable that this happened on both sides, a complication that this book never even contemplates. I despise this kind of agitprop masquerading as literature, wherein the reader is manipulated to feel badly for not having the appropriate reaction to the author's button-pushing.
If you enjoy being played like a cheap violin, this shameless exercise in emotional manipulation may be for you. If you ask for a little more in your reading, then give it a miss....more
Dear God, the exercise in bleakness that was "A Map of the World" - what possible point was there in forcing us through the baby-drowning, the molest Dear God, the exercise in bleakness that was "A Map of the World" - what possible point was there in forcing us through the baby-drowning, the molestation accusations, time in jail, and so on? In the words of Dorothy Parker, a book that should be flung away with great force.
One can only imagine the conversation between Cormac McCarthy and Nevil Shute.
Written in 1957, at the height of t(Revisited after a 35-year interval)
One can only imagine the conversation between Cormac McCarthy and Nevil Shute.
Written in 1957, at the height of the Cold War, Shute also imagines a post-apocalyptic world. Nuclear war has annihilated the countries of the northern hemisphere* and the radioactive plume is working its way slowly down south, killing everyone in its path. By the luck of geography, Melbourne will be the last major city to survive.
An American submarine has made it intact to Melbourne, and is now charged with the grim business of travelling north to try to assess whether the destruction is complete. But, as the novel progresses, and the radioactive cloud moves inexorably farther south, all hope for survival vanishes.
In Shute's portrayal, his doomed protagonists move towards their end with dignity, calm, and a huge helping of denial. There's nary a spot of civil unrest, from Buenos Aires to Cape Town to Sydney. It defies belief, frankly, and though his writing is moving at times, the book is far more of a snooze than I had remembered. Plenty of grace notes in a minor key and an interesting reminder of how the world must have seemed at the height of the Cold War, the book now seems little more than an interesting footnote.
*: The initial aggressor was - Albania - which I suppose was a politically safe choice of bad guy back in 1957. Things get out of control when the U.S. bombs the Soviet Union by mistake. And so it went .......more
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