{Early} Summer Reading List, Part One

I am quite aware that not even the month of May is over, but I could not resist posting five book selections to slowly usher in the summer reading experience.  So, here goes! (In no particular order).

 1. An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness by Kay Redfield Jamison.

In this book, Jamison deals with bipolar disorder (or manic-depression is its other name).  She looks at it from the perspective of a doctor and a patient.  Jamison, a clinical psychologist, is one of the experts on this awful mental illness, as well as someone who has it.  What's interesting is that she brings a human face to the table as she describes her childhood and adulthood with bipolar disorder as her constant companion.  There is no self-pity in this memoir, and yet, Jamison writes about herself with compassion.  It is deeply honest without being what I consider "raw" - an airing of very dirty laundry in an effort to shock and choke the reader.  Despite its serious subject matter and the possibility of the book coming off as an exercise in total darkness, it is actually hopeful without ever denying the "black moods," and the reality of what it means to be in deep despair, nothingness, and mania.  (An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness, New York: Vintage, 1996).

2. Gratitude by Oliver Sacks.

This short exploration of life lived when faced with death serves as the meditation on life and death.  You can read it quickly, in one sitting, or you can slowly explore Sacks' reflections.  Oliver Sacks died on August 30, 2015 at the age of 82.  In the last few months of his life, he wrote a few short essays, which are contained in this book.  It's not a morbid book.  How does one deal with death indeed?  Sacks does not mince words, and this does not come as a surprise.  He has always written with honesty, bringing difficult neurological and neuropsychiatric subjects to life for the "common" reader, for those of us who are not doctors.  All of his life, his main goal was to bring out the face of the human being that suffers and to continuously humanize the patients he has dealt with.  In Gratitude, he explores his Jewish roots and early rejection of them, which lasted most of his life, until he experiences a return to Israel.  He also explores his homosexuality, his mother's utter rejection of him, and a choice to live a celibate life.  It is only later that Sacks encounters a man, who is to become his partner.  It's a life well lived, we might say.  Or to use that cliche, a life lived to the fullest.  (Gratitude, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2016).

3. The Lover by Marguerite Duras.

I may be a somewhat biased reviewer of this book, because it figures prominently into my dissertation.  But I still have to recommend it!  Duras has had a long writing and film making career, and she has a prominent place in the French literature and film.  The Lover is a short novel about an adolescent French girl's relationship with an older Chinese man.  It takes place during the last days of France's colonial empire in Vietnam.  It is speculated that this novel is really Duras' memoir.  But I don't find this to be either helpful or a hindrance to the reading experience.  A reader should be able to enjoy Duras' beautiful exploration of the erotic relation, be it true or not.  The novel is deeply honest about our erotic relationships and experiences.  And yet, it is not pornography.  Rather, it is about an elevation of human erotic experience, despite the fact that it deals with a controversial subject. It's about seeing the face and not only the body of another human being and recognizing a nudity of interiority, rather then the physical nudity.  It delineates between nudity and nakedness, and most of all, it explores the meaning of love.  (The Lover, New York: Random House, 1985).

4. The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr.

If you have read The Liars' Club  or Lit, you know that athletic, sacred, and profane prose that Karr is famous for.  She is a spiritual badass.  She has only written memoirs, but they are literature, they are novels, they are poetry, they are comedy and tragedy.  In The Art of Memoir, Karr looks at the craft of writing itself.  She infuses it with autobiography (in a similar vein as Stephen King does in On Writing).  The result is a portrait of a woman as a writer, whose life is inextricably connected to her writing.  What Karr affirms, and what most writers will say, is that writing life is inevitably connected to the life itself.  Whether she explores her struggle with alcohol, or her perhaps reluctant and mischievous and rebelious conversion to Catholicism, or her totally nutty family, Karr brings out the "rules" of writing to the writers new and old.  As it is to be expected from a Karr work, she is relentlessly honest and authentic about herself and others.  (New York: Harper Collins, 2015).

5. All the Living by C. E. Morgan.

C. E. Morgan has just come out with a new novel, titled The Sport of Kings, and I am very much looking forward to reading it.  But before I am able to comment on her new novel, I highly recommend her debut work, All the Living.  She wrote this book in a very short time, while she was working on her Master's degree at the Harvard Divinity School.  It is a beautiful book; and almost an instant classic, precisely because it is completely free of any ideology.  It is a novel about people (imagine that!) and their struggle to live authentic and meaningful lives.  It focuses on a young woman, Aloma, who moves to a farm that is inherited by her lover.  She deeply struggles with the loneliness of a farm life, and she befriends a young preacher in town.  Of course, things become complicated: her relationship with her lover, Orren, grows distant, while her relation to the preacher grows more and more erotic as the days go by.  But this is not just some "Madam Bovary," or "Lady Chatterley" experience.  Far from it!  The eros in this novel is subtle, implied, and far more complex than a simple corporeal relation.  The novel, despite how short it is, has Biblical overtones, and it is a deeply American work.  In the similar vein to Willa Cather, Morgan explores the earth landscape as well as the landscapes of human mind and body.  (All the Living, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2009).

What Would Saul Alinsky Do?, or How to Rule With Fear

Saul Alinsky, 1909-1972

The name Saul Alinsky was known in the past but it has gained a prominence in the public sphere thanks to President Obama.  At the beginning of Obama’s first campaign, commentators (mainly of conservative persuasion) have often wondered “who is Barack Obama?”  I would venture a guess that liberal counterparts have asked the same question but in an effort of “sticking with the group,” and defeating Republicans, they have remained silent. 

Where does Obama come from (metaphysically, that is)?  Who are his influences?  An answer to the second question, it would appear, is Saul Alinsky.  And so, in order to make any progress in trying to understand Obama, it stands to reason to first explore Alinsky’s thought.

I will admit that this exploration has been attempted before.  Many conservative commentators have “ripped apart” Alinsky, especially by the claim that Alinsky dedicated his book, Rules for Radicals, to Lucifer.  I most certainly believed it, and have dismissed Alinsky rather aggressively.  But, since my own intellectual integrity does not allow me to make conclusions on anything until I have a fair amount of evidence, I resolved to read Rules for Radicals.  (And by the way, the book is dedicated to his wife Irene.  The book itself contains an epigraph—a quote by Alinsky himself, calling Lucifer the very first radical).

At this point, I am not interested in Saul Alinsky’s personal life.  I will only be dealing with his book.  I was intrigued and curious what kind of philosophy Alinsky espouses, especially after I have learnt that famous French Catholic philosopher, Jacques Maritain had great admiration for Alinsky.  The two became close friends, and Maritain thanks Alinsky explicitly in one of his own books, Reflections on America.  Was Maritain duped by Alinsky or is there more to this man?  But, the unlikely friendship between Jacques Maritain and Saul Alinsky is a topic for another article.

Rules for Radicals: A Practical Primer for Realistic Radicals was published in 1971.*  Stylistically, it is a very dull book.  In the past two days of reading it, I really had to brace myself and remain patient (I found myself making some kind of exhaling noises, along with bouncing my leg, which is not what I generally do). 

It is also a repetitive book—Alinsky could have easily said everything in fifty pages (maybe even less), as opposed to 196 pages.  Philosophically, it is weak, and nihilistic.  And there is also a pervasive cynicism, which is usually typical of most manifestos.

This particular manifesto begins by stating clearly what the objective is: “What follows is for those who want to change the world from what it is to what they believe it should be.  The Prince  was written by Machiavelli for the Haves on how to hold power.  Rules for Radicals is written for the Have-Nots on how to take it away” (3).

This opening paragraph perfectly sums up Alinsky’s philosophy.  He recognizes one particular reality of society—the hunger for power—and bases his “rules” on such a reality.  I do not deny that man is fallible and that he wants to maintain power, whether in his ontology, economically, politically or in family dynamics.  But the weakness of Alinsky’s arguments (if one can call them such) lies in the fact that there is nothing beyond the appetite for power.  We may be fallen creatures, we may be selfish, but recognizing such potentials for humanity does not mean that we are not called to a higher moral plane.

Immediate issue with the power struggle between Haves and Have-Nots is that the moment Have-Nots take away the power from Haves, then they (Have-Nots) become the possessors of power, and it follows that there will be another group of Have-Nots who will target the previous Have-Nots, who have now, thanks to the usurpation of the power from the Haves, have become the new Haves.  It is quite exhausting.  The cycle of power continues.  But Alinsky, implicitly, sees nothing wrong with this. 

In his pessimism and cynicism (although he wants to be known for his optimism), he is similar to Hobbes.  But the stylistic similarity stops there.  Alinsky is not a precise thinker, nor does he claim to be.

Another component of Alinsky’s Rules is the complete rejection of dogma, and any type of past wisdom(s) that we have been given by philosophers, thinkers, leaders, etc.  As he writes: “The fear of change is, as discussed earlier, one of our deepest fears, and a new idea must be at the least couched in the language of the past ideas; often, it must be, at first, diluted with vestiges of the past” (108). 

At the heart of his musings is an image of a pragmatic organizer, who never sleeps, who is perpetually impatient, who demands fast action, who is always on call, and who is fully dedicated to change and agitation of the political structure.  At some point, Alinsky even advises celibacy in order for an organizer to devote himself fully to the cause at hand.

Alinsky does have an ethical system but his ethics are purely situational and relativist.  The moral codes change from one age to another, from one situation to another.  In other words, there is no such thing as universal principles.  In fact, a perfect organizer is someone who “detests dogma, defies any finite definition of morality, rebels against any repression of free, open search for ideas no matter where they may lead.  He is challenging, insulting, agitating, discrediting.  He stirs unrest” (73).

In this statement, Alinsky assumes that any universal principle lacks truth and freedom, and implies that such a principle is tyranny itself.  An organizer, given the description above, is not a pleasant person.  He is joyless, woefully lacking in a sense of humor, and most of all, a denier of an other’s inherent freedom.  An organizer decides what issues should be important to you as the victim of an injustice.  The organizer decides what the meaning of justice and injustice is.  And ironically, in an attempt to fight the tyranny of the Haves and the corrupt, inhumane political system, the organizer becomes the tyrant himself.

Along with the agitation, an organizer is a master at polarization, what Alinsky qualifies as “a well-integrated political schizoid.”  He writes: “The organizer must become schizoid, politically, in order not to slip into becoming a true believer.  Before men can act an issue must be polarized.  Men will act when they are convinced that their cause is 100 per cent on the side of the angels and that the opposition are 100 per cent on the side of the devil.  He knows that there can be no action until issues are polarized to this degree” (78).

Alinsky obviously accepts manipulation and dishonesty as an integral characteristic of an organizer.  He has no qualms about such moral corruption and inauthenticity of an encounter between human beings.  The point is to not only treat human beings as masses (not as unique individuals) but also to disorient them.  A successful organizer spreads the lie that one cannot stand alone, and that one voice of truth is irrelevant, or even worse—a societal impossibility.

Another significant aspect of an organizer is an acceptance of ego.  Alinsky makes a distinction between ego and egotism, the latter relating to vanity.  However, upon closer examination, Alinsky’s conception of ego is no different from vanity: “The organizer is in a true sense reaching for the highest level for which man can reach—to create, to be a ‘great creator,’ to play God (61).

It is interesting to note, that given the fact that all of society is based on the situational usurpations of power, Alinsky never once mentions what is the pay off that the organizer receives for inserting himself in different situations, which according to the organizer are deemed unjust. Is it the feeling of power?  If one “plays God,” does that not imply that one is interested in psychological reward of moral, intellectual, and even ontological superiority over the other? 

Even God gave us free will.  An organizer does not.

All this talk of justice in Rules for Radicals, and there is never any mention of being servants for one another.  Alinsky may speak of human dignity, however, there is no relationality, there is no dialogue.  An organizer manipulates the language and coerces his target into his own vision of a particular outcome.  An organizer, at its core, engages in the metaphysical takeover of the other.  The instant one lets another human being make decision for one, individual liberty is threatened.  An organizer depends on the quick, passing moment of weakness of the other in order to plant the seed of doubt of reality.  At its core, an organizer is Hobbesian in his pessimistic view of humanity (all is power based), Cartesian in his questioning of everything (universal doubt), and Rousseauian in the emotionalism (which is a way to appeal to the masses).

So, we do know what Alinsky thinks.  He has made it quite plain and obvious.  Do we know what President Obama thinks?  Do these descriptions of a community organizer according to Saul Alinsky apply to Barack Obama given his actions thus far as the President of United States?  You be the judge of that.  Make your own conclusions, arguments, counterarguments.  I have merely presented the evidence of Alinsky’s thought.

As for me, the answer to the question whether this describes Barack Obama, is a resounding yes.

 *All of the quotations and paginations from Rules for Radicals are to be found in this edition: New York: Random House, 1971.

The Burden and Conundrum of Reading Lolita

Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Lolita has been an object of derision and admiration for a long time now. Some have called it “the filthiest book I have ever read” and “sheer unrestrained pornography.” It was even banned in some countries. Some have praised it as one the best novels of the 20th century. Perhaps it is safe to say that the novel at this point has reached a recognition as a true literary work, and not just some collection of smutty words.

I have never read the book, and have always wondered about its nature. What was the fuss about? Is it bad or not? These were some of the questions on my mind.

I should say that I have read about a half of the novel. I was conflicted whether to even write about this since I have not finished reading. Is there even a point, I wondered. And yet, it seems to me that it is precisely this “inability” to finish the novel, which is at the heart of my discussion.

At the risk of sounding obvious, let me just give a brief summary of the book. The novel’s main protagonist and the narrator of the novel is an academic/literary scholar called interestingly Humbert Humbert. Humbert is of European heritage and arrives in the United States, after a divorce, to accept the post at Beardsley College. He rents a room in a house owned by a widowed woman named Charlotte Haze (as he calls her “the Haze woman”), who lives in the house with her teenage daughter, Dolores (Lolita).

From the first page of the book, Humbert is not secretive about his love of little girls, or as he calls them “nymphets.” Adult, mature women are repugnant to him. And he is entirely, with his whole being addicted to “loving” Lolita.

I should say that even not having finished the book, it is not pornographic or smutty. In fact, I would not even call it an erotic novel. Irony is the novel’s primary mover, if you will. At first, I was laughing at little snobby, sarcastic remarks made by Humbert as he experiences an American culture for the first time. He hates the “simple minded-ness” that he perceives in Americans, and this is executed with such verbal flawlessness by Nabokov. You truly forget that his first language was Russian.

While I don’t think that the book is “pornographic trash,” for some odd reason I am having trouble finishing it. I am convinced that it has something to do with Humbert’s narrative style. He is an unreliable narrator, and I have fallen into his trap. I believed him! As I said, at first I laughed and even pitied Humbert. Then I started to like him. When I realized that I liked him, I stopped myself.

Humbert often refers to the readers as a “jury” and asks us not to judge him. And I trusted him. Nabokov is brilliant in creating a character so perverse, so disordered that he (Humbert) sees it as a disorder but cannot do anything to prevent it from happening. Humbert wants to seduce the “jury” the same way he is seducing Lolita. He wants us to believe that we can feel safe with him, and accept his disorder no matter what the consequences.

So, this is where I am at. Half of the book read, the other half patiently waiting to be read. And yet, I feel that I need to cleanse myself from Humbert’s arrogance and plea that love he feels for Lolita is true and authentic. So, I am taking a break from Humbert’s verbose and dramatic musings. My sense of morality (and my senses in general!) seems to be stronger than a recognition of Nabokov’s artistic undertaking. And I think that I am fine with that.

Reading William Styron

Quite by chance, I stumbled upon William Styron recently. I haven’t read any of his novels but I did read his short memoir titled “Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness” (New York: Random House, 1990). In it, Styron reveals the utter alienating experience of depression, which has led him to almost commit suicide.

As I opened the book (it is quite short, just above 70 pages), I was saying to myself “why on Earth are you reading about depression and the possibilities of suicide? Shouldn’t you read something more FUN or relaxing?” Maybe it was my melancholic disposition but I ignored this self-imposed question and continued reading.

I was mesmerized by Styron’s words. They were flowing most perfectly: one word attached to another and another completely and fully meant for one another. I approached this book with caution, like any writer’s confession. Sometimes, writers can be either self-congratulatory or self-pitying and this characterization deters me from reading. But this was not the case with Styron’s memoir. His words were almost journalistic and factual, and yet they were also interlaced with the deep connection to his soul and his soul’s imprisonment by depression.

The prose (I call it prose because it reads that way) of this memoir is exceptional. Styron tells us that he does not live in a vacuum; his depression is not separate from everyday life and his literary life. He quotes Albert Camus who wrote that “judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.” Well, I perhaps would not go that far as to say that Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” is fundamental but it certainly maintains a great presence in the philosophical examination of our lives.

Styron’s constant companion was not only depression but its ugly attachments: dread and anxiety. Dread, which I have experienced on many occasions (and wish it happened less) is a strange experience. I do not consider dread to be an entity or to have a “being.” Like evil, I consider it an absence of being, and I think that it needs human soul in order to gain structure. So, how do you even speak of such ghostly attack? Of course, Kierkegaard is one of the first philosophers who truly looked at this reality of dread, so the reader may want to peruse his work on the subject. I have always wondered whether one should even spend time writing (talking) about depression or dread since at times, it can take one into a psychonanalytic dead end. I don’t particularly care for a constant psychologizing of our soul that is present in our society. But this is not what Styron has done. He has simply given voice to his pain and explored the phenomenology of dread in the most honest way.

It is true that he mentions different psychological aspects of depression that have plagued him but he never gives it power. As I read this book, I realized that one needs to truly stay in reality about everything, even if it means acknowledging that there is such thing as dread in one’s life. For instance, Walker Percy lived most of his life in fear that he might commit suicide (especially given his family history). But never did he compromise his faith.

Talk of God in Styron’s memoir is barely visible. It’s only slightly implied. In fact, I don’t even know if he believed in God. But it does strike me as quite interesting that he steers his mind and heart towards the Yes of life, despite the listlessness, the ever-present impending doom and fear of loss that he felt. He writes about the unknowability and blackness of depression and dread and uses the analogy he finds in Dante:

In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself in a dark wood,
For I had lost the right path.

Accepting reality of one’s pain does not mean accepting possible nihilistic outcomes. And Styron does not. He does overcome the plunge towards darkness that was leading him to the seemingly inevitable suicide. He says that “one need not sound the false or inspirational note to stress the truth that depression is not the soul’s annihilation. For those who have dwelt in depression’s dark wood, and known its inexplicable agony, their return from the abyss is not unlike the ascent of the poet, trudging upward and upward out of hell’s black depths and at last emerging into what he saw as the ‘shining world’.”

Styron ends the book with Dante: “And so we came forth, and once again beheld the stars.”

The Self-Indulgent Musings of a Writer and a Critic

A new book of diaries just resurfaced. This time, it is the diaries of English-American writer, Christopher Isherwood (1904-1986), simply titled The Sixties: Diaries, volume 2, 1960-1969. Every time something like this comes along, both the literary critics and fans alike line up (metaphorically speaking of course) to get the piece of a possible juicy gossip as they salivate from page to page.

I find this rather dull, uneventful. The “juicy gossip” part that is. Some things should remain private for everyone’s sake. Besides, writers’ power tends to diminish once we learn that they pick their noses or visit the toilet five times a day or eat one pea at a time or never use utensils…Ok, so I am exaggerating. This trivial stuff is well, trivial. But when I found out, for example, that one of my favorite writers, Iris Murdoch has led a rather sloppy and non-virtuous life, I was disappointed. It took me a few years to detach Iris Murdoch the writer from Iris Murdoch the woman in order to get back into her novels, which I enjoy very much. So, right from the beginning, I am always skeptical of the pseudo-confessional nature of writer’s work, which usually is more akin to Rousseau’s Confessions than St. Augustine’s.

James Fenton has written a review of Isherwood’s diaries for Times Literary Supplement . These diaries seem to be linked to Isherwood’s partner, Don Bachardy and as Fenton implies, the state of male homosexual relations in the 1960s. Isherwood and Bachardy met when Isherwood was forty-eight and Bachardy but a mere boy, eighteen years old. It would appear that they formed a relationship from that very meeting. I must say, this fact was rather disturbing: setting aside the fact that this was a homosexual relationship, one must a question what kind of connection did this start out to be with such tremendous age difference? Isherwood could have very easily been Bachardy’s father.

Fenton does not ask that question but he does wonder at the possibility that Isherwood was perhaps controlling:

“He [Isherwood] offers him [Bachardy], or seems to offer him, the right to burn the journal. Is he serious about this? Is the fate of the “old black book” a matter of indifference to him? Or is he daring the young man to destroy something infinitely precious? What is his tone of voice here? Angry, mocking, goading by any chance? Is he not saying: you may destroy my portrait of you, but at what price? Isn’t there something cruel at work here? And might there not have been something cruel at work at other times in their unequal relationship, something the reader misses because it has been cleverly concealed?”

There is something strange here. Something, which literary critics like Fenton (and others) always seem to miss when speaking about their “poetic gods,” whose deviance or abnormality ought not to be criticized. This “something” is the plain fact that Isherwood and Bachardy are incapable of being in a loving relationship. Is there love here at all? No. “Angry. Mocking. Goading.” No, this is not healthy nor balanced. And yet, we ought to keep going in celebration of the imbalanced mind, whose self-indulgence is the only “gift” given to the reader. No, thanks.

Using the description from Isherwood’s 1964 novel, A Single Man, Fenton wants to tell his readers that times have changed when it comes to homosexuality. In the novel, Isherwood writes about an adult man, who strips along side a twelve year old boy and begins to do to sit ups and they both end the exercise panting at the same “ecstatic” moment. The narrator in the novel calls this experience “delightful,” a “physical democracy.” Fenton tells us that Isherwood elevates this experience to a kind of physical ideal. He also tells us that there is no doubt that editor might be disturbed by such a passage, but he does not deny Isherwood striving towards “ideal” nor does he deem it to be false.

Disturbing indeed. What is missing from this review? Could it be the fact that Fenton never asks why it might be disturbing to the editor or anyone else? These are precisely the questions we are not asking today that deal with homosexuality: what is the experience of homosexuality? What does it entail? What is the biology, if you will (a word liberally minded critics tend to use a lot when reducing a human being to a cluster of cells) of (in this case, male) homosexual act?

Fenton takes an opportunity to use the review of Isherwood’s diaries to make the case for normalization of homosexuality in today’s age. Things were different in the 60s, he tells us. Monogamy in a homosexual relationship during the 60s was unheard of. “Gay promiscuity” was the result of societal anti-homosexual attitudes. Now, “we” have come so far, Fenton claims. These are quite simply silly statements.

What is really happening today is that the rhetoric about homosexuality has changed, which attempts in every way to normalize the behavior. The “nature” of male homosexual relationship has not changed. What we’re experiencing is a push of homosexual private lives into the homosexualization of public policies. In order to achieve such a goal, the rhetoric is bound to change and get sanitized. We will not be hearing about the nature of the actual physical homosexual act.

So, let’s be honest here, Mr. Fenton. Not many are asking the questions about homosexuality and those that are asking are quickly silenced or their words are labeled “hate speech.” Why is it so difficult to ask straight-forward and honest questions? And why is it, at the same time, so difficult to answer them? Without honesty, we are bound to live in the fake world of plastic smiles and cheap sentimentality. Somehow, I don’t see how that will resolve any questions.

Brookhiser's Complaint

We all have heroes or mentors that we admire. People that we find exceptional, people that we can go to and tell them what exactly is ailing us in hope that they will provide us with a solution or cure. In other words, people that are actually better than us. I picked up at the bookstore Richard Brookhiser’s Right Time, Right Place: Coming of Age with William F. Buckley Jr. and the Conservative Movement. A book, as the flap said, is about Mr. Brookhiser’s relationship with William F. Buckley, Jr. and the relationship’s ups and downs. Mr. Brookhiser was convinced that he will be the “heir” to the National Review Throne, and apparently Buckley had directly said that Brookhiser was indeed the chosen one. Then, suddenly, Brookhiser was informed that he no longer will be Buckley’s successor. I was convinced that the book will be about a mentor and his protégé, and the difficulty in meeting of the two intellects. It was not. In fact, the book was rather disappointing and misleading.

After reading the first thirty pages, I realized that this book will be about Richard Brookhiser. And not only that, it will be about Richard Brookhiser’s ego. In the Introduction, Mr. Brookhiser writes that he offers us his experiences as “stimulus and guidance.” Unfortunately, as a reader, I did not receive one or the other. Instead, I peered into the psyche of the man that reflected qualities of a jilted lover. Page after page, I found myself wrapped in reader’s frustration. Mr. Brookhiser may try to tell us that he is not angry over the fact that he was not chosen to be the Editor of National Review but the choice of words (especially those describing William F. Buckley, Jr.) reveals a lost man, who never shed youthful arrogance and pride.

Even when he first started to write for NR (at incredibly young age), Brookhiser saw himself as a replacement or some type of reincarnation of Buckley. That was the first mistake. As my very good friend had recently and clearly said: “Buckley is unrepeatable!” Indeed. This trip down the ego lane was quite nauseating, especially coming from an older man. What follows is a series of complaints that deal with parties, sailing, politics, Catholicism (in general and at NR), speechwriting, his own writing voice in relation to NR, his own life decisions in relation to William F. Buckley, Jr. And this is the heart of the matter. Life has been lived in relation to William F. Buckley, Jr. This should never have occurred. Buckley is/was not a god; he was, after all, a mere human being. The question that should come up for Mr. Brookhiser is am I living my life according to who I am called to be (in relation to God) or who I think I might be? It was as if he was conflicted and a captive of his own neurotic and self-loathing techniques (strangely enough, neuroticism and self-loathing are usually characteristics of the American Left).

The portrait of William F. Buckley, Jr. is cold (almost tyrannical), despite the fact that Mr. Brookhiser alerts us at the beginning this will be a portrait of a great man (as his website tells us as well). In Richard Brookhiser’s view, Buckley is not great: rather, he is strange, distant, and most of all, narcissistic. Obviously, I never knew Buckley personally; but even if Buckley did have some of those qualities, is one to write a WHOLE BOOK about it? It was as if Mr. Brookhiser was never able to step in front of Buckley and truly tell him what bothered him. Sadly, the book ends up being a kind of airing of dirty, intellectual laundry, and I am not sure whether this is good for the dignity of William F. Buckley, Jr. or Richard Brookhiser.

Me, me, me—it’s all about me. It isn’t. The book would have been far superior if Mr. Brookhiser had delved deeper into his own bitterness (which he admits throughout the book) and asked what kind of life has he lived thus far? Did his obsession with Buckley take him into the territories of captivity and suffocation? Any obsession usually does. We are not meant to live like that. At the beginning of the book, Richard Brookhiser writes that “finding your own place in the world is a neat trick.” I am not sure he ever did.