In Dubious Battle

Someone recommended Steinbeck's In Dubious Battle to us at the blog a few years ago, perhaps in 2018. Now, after three years, we finally read the novel and cannot even recall why exactly it was recommended. Perhaps due to our interest in Georges Sorel, labor radicalism, communism, and anarchism during the years of 2017, 2018, and 2019. Regardless of the uncertain reasons why it was suggested reading for us, it was a worthwhile read. Steinbeck's short novel about a doomed strike and the ways in which their dubious battle harms all parties remains a timeless tale of the deeply unequal American society of the 1930s. And despite the casual racism and, as expected, problematic gender roles of these working stiffs and the Communist agitators Jim and Mac, there is a charming quality to these beaten and downtrodden working fruit pickers in the fictional Torgas Valley. 

The novel also brings to mind our experience with the nefarious ways of various incarnations of communists who believe the ends justifies the means. And we see some truly reprenhensible behavior from Mac and Jim, True Believers who want to use the strike to agitate and push their socialist vision, even as they know the strike will fail. Steinbeck faced criticism for his depiction of the Party in this novel, but to us at the blog it rings true of so many types encountered in today's world. Sure, let's hope they don't assault high school children like Mac, and their heart is in the right place. 

But one cannot help but feel that Doc Burton is the most compelling character in the novel. He rightly calls to question the difference between group-man and individuals, and need for something besides blood to motivate the crowd (or, mob). Burton can see the totality of the problem, whereas Mac and Jim are so obsessed by their ideology and the requirement of "blood" for motivating the strikers to continue their doomed struggle against the Growers. Perhaps, like Sorel suggested, the strikers need that sense of heroic sacrifice, violence, and a 'myth' to rally their forces and continue their strike. But Burton serves as a voice of reason, pointing out how the violent tactics and repercussions of the strike will only result in more violence. We here at the blog will continue to ponder the question of the dangers of the crowd, doctrinaire Marxism, and the disastrous outcomes considered in Steinbeck's ouevre. 

Shanghai Shuffle

 

Fletcher Henderson's 1934 recording of "Shanghai Shuffle" is pure swing. Somehow I had forgotten about this number, which perfectly illustrates Henderson's perfection of the swing aesthetic of the 1930s. His earlier 1924 recording, featuring Louis Armstrong, also swings. Unfortunately, in a more dated 1920s style than the excellent later recording.

An Introduction to the Thought of Edmond Paul

 

Sometimes, the internet will surprise you. This short video does a nice job explaining the thought of one of the most important minds of 19th century Haiti. Edmond Paul's influence lingers into the present day, and the more we read of his work, the easier it becomes to spot his influence in various schools of thought in Haiti. While David Nicholls has written perhaps the most extensively in English on Paul's writings on political economy, this video is a great addition, particularly as it avoids the problematic or controversial "mulatto legend" theory associated with Nicholls. 

While perusing some of Paul's essays, one sees even more clearly how he diverged from others in the Liberal Party, agreed with people like Delorme on some issues (such as the need for an elite to guide the nation and the masses, but more of a technocratic elite), and influenced people like Alix Lamaute, Jacques Stephen Alexis, Etienne Charlier, Christian Beaulieu, Jacques Roumain, and various others in the annals of Haitian economic and social thought. For instance, already in the 1860s, Paul called attention to the caste or caste-like nature of Haitian society and the need for educational reforms, industrialization, and state intervention in the economy to protect local industries and sectors. It is due to this caste system and the wide cultural and educational gap that incapable "black" rulers and "mulatto" elites could not come together to govern effectively. This caste-like approach and its understanding of the role of class and color in Haitian society had its problems, but one can see how later writers like Christian Beaulieu and Jacques Roumain struggled with the question of a transition from caste to class and the eventuality of a fairer, more egalitarian society (at least that was what socialists and Marxists ultimately wanted). 

Paul also defended the prohibition of foreigners to owning land in Haiti, a measure which demonstrates his wisdom in understanding the threats of foreign economic penetration of the Haitian economy. As he predicted in the 19th century, the Haitian cultivator, converted to a serf of foreign capital during and after the US Occupation, endured an even worse fate as a "rural proletariat," migrant laborer in Cuba or the Dominican Republic, or a life in the burgeoning slums of Port-au-Prince. Paul even foresaw the continued racial component to economic imperialism. Some of the measures favored by Paul were also clearly of some appeal to artisans, laborers, local industrialists of a nationalist bent, and proponents of economic and educational reform. Artisans, beginning as early as the 1870s in Port-au-Prince, petitioned the government for protectionist measures to protect and expand local industries and workshops, a measure which would be repeated in later decades by various organizations, journalists, government officials and, in the 20th century, labor unions. 

Thus, one wonders if Paul served as one of the conduits of Saint-Simonianism in Haiti. It may explain the Saint-Simonian and socialist aspects of La patrie et les conspirations, published in 1890, which appears to be written by someone of less formal education than Paul but influenced by Saint-Simonian emphasis on industry, production, and improving the economy to prevent toilers and artisans from engaging in political violence. Paul's influence can be seen even more obviously with Blanchet, Hudicourt, Charlier, the PSP, and Lamaute in the 20th century, with various representatives openly embracing more socialist or Marxist variants of Paul's dream of an industrial Haiti. 

El montero

During a sojourn in Paris, Dominican intellectual Pedro Francisco Bonó wrote a short novel, El montero. This short novel, published in 1856, exalted the montero population of the countryside. In spite of its brevity, its detailed realism provides a window for the modern reader eager to envision the lives, habits, customs, landscape, cuisine, and entertainment of campesino populations of the Dominican Republic. As one of the earliest novels in the Dominican literary tradition, it's also an important text to consider in the larger development of the novel and possible trends within the larger Caribbean. For instance, comparisons with other precursors to the "peasant" novel in the Caribbean and Latin America may reveal parallels and continuities with other literatures. For this blog, one thinks of Ignace Nau's short story (or, novella) Isalina as the Haitian equivalent of an early "peasant novel" from the other side of Hispaniola. Nau even wrote a short story set in Los Llanos about monteros, which he defines as hunters of wild boar and cattle. While it is certainly likely and perhaps plausible that any similarities between the texts may derive from the mutual French literary influences on the two writers, it is tempting to consider possible influence from the 1830s Haitian Romantic conteurs on Bonó. 

El montero is a short novel centered on a family that subsists on conuco agriculture. They supplement their sustenance through hunting wild boars and cattle. The novel is particularly rich in detail on cultural and social habits of the Dominican countryside in the 19th century, including cuisine, bohío homes,  and romantic rivalry. Like the case of Isalina, a love triangle is the central cause of the drama, pitting two men against each other for a woman which leads to conflicts. Juan, a peon of Maria’s father who is in love with her, endeavors to kill Manuel because the latter will soon marry her. Long story short, Juan nearly succeeds in murdering Manuel. He later returns on the wedding day, killing Maria's father. The novel concludes with Juan’s death. Throughout the narrative, peasant customs such as the fandango, a site for many types of dances such as the guarapo or sarambo, appear in great detail. Bonó revels in the customs of the Dominican peasantry, showing their beauty and approach to life.

Unlike Manuel de Jesús Galván, whose later Enriquillo focused on the encounter of the Taino and the Spanish while elevating the latter's colonial legacy, Bonó’s novel is centered on the contemporary Dominican population, the predominantly mixed-race campesinos of the mountainous interior. And while he is largely silent on the "race" of the characters (except for a reference to the bronzed skin of Maria), it is clear these people are neither European nor Taino. They are, as in the case of the Haitian workers on the Digneron estate in Isalina, creoles. Moreover, an allusion is made to peasant resistance to the French in 1809, situating these monteros in the nationalist ethos as defenders of the patria. Bonó recycled this theme for En el cantón de Bermejo, where the montero is key to ousting the Spanish during the War of Restoration. Hence, the montero not only symbolizes the nation, but dies to protect it.

Yet Bonó avoids idealizing monteros. For example, some of their traditions represent a fundamental challenge to creating a modern nation-state. Alcohol, specifically consumption of aguardiente, is a vice that retards the progress of the countryside. Their taste for violence and squabbles also presents a problem. Case in point, the physical violence of Juan leads to the death of one person and attacks on Manuel and Maria. In short, their "natural" or "wild" habits have not yet been tamed by civilization.  The representatives of state authority likewise set negative examples for society, with the narrator referring to the titles of alcalde, comandante de armas, presidente, and congreso as a parodies in the Dominican Republic. Thus, the rural society of the free and idyllic montero is also one held back by their own traditions and the state, which mimics the political system of the civilized world but becomes a farce. Such attitudes can be found in Bonó's non-fiction essays as well, where he was critical of the role of the state in subverting the lifestyles of the peasantry while also critiquing peasant customs of communal labor like the convite or junta. The author's own interest in utopian socialism and later alternative ideas of progress put him at odds with positivism and dominant trends of Dominican liberalism, but this early novel might be more representative of how Dominican intellectuals wrestled with the dilemma of their largely rural population during the First Republic.

Due to the Dominican montero's similarities with the Haitian peasant, and a common heritage of marronage uniting the two populations, one cannot but think of the works of Ignace Nau and other Haitian authors of the 1830s. Indeed, Ignace Nau was undoubtedly a precursor of Haitian indigenist literature who incorporated Vodou, popular belief, the Creole language, and the history of the the Haitian Revolution into his works. These narratives are rooted in a form of cultural nationalism that sought to use Haiti's African, European, and indigenous pasts to develop a uniquely Haitian aesthetic. In Isalina, published in the 1830s, Nau did all of the aforementioned by bringing the reader to the world of rural Haiti, and their beliefs and customs. Their music, dances (calinda), belief in sorcery, proverbs, conflicts over women (the love triangle of Isalina, Jean-Julien, and Paul), and labor practices paint a vivid picture of the countryside on the Cul-de-Sac plain. While Isalina takes place on the Digneron sugar estate, the short tale hints at smallholder farmers who do not have to work at the mill (like Paul and Isalina, who "placer" at the conclusion of the story. 

Nau and his contemporaries also included the East (what is today the Dominican Republic) in their works, as the entire island was unified under Boyer. A nod to this can be found in the Spanish candles inside Galba's home, blessed by the Virgin of Higuey, where Haitian pilgrimage to the site was already underway by the 1830s. Nau's brother became a historian of the indigenous past of the island, finding commonality between the pre-colonial past and the independent, unified island of Haiti of his day. Nau's other works of fiction about the Haitian Revolution or rural life further cement this, including his Une anecdote set in the East, which takes the reader to Los Llanos, to the east of Santo Domingo, where uncouth monteros frighten the narrator, thinking them to be bandits. The Haitian narrator's description of the residents of the commune indicates a relatively underdeveloped state of agriculture but a thriving cattle industry where "wild" monteros exemplify some of the differences and commonalities between east and west rural populations. The rustic monteros are worthy of the narrator's son reading about their exploits, just as they were a worthy subject manner to Bonó. Like neighboring 19th century Romantic authors of Haiti, Dominican authors seemed to share the same anxieties and concerns about their respective national symbols.

Works Consulted

Bonó, Pedro F. El montero ; Epistolario. Santo Domingo, R.D.: Ediciones de la Fundación

Corripio, 2000.

Fischer, Sibylle. Modernity Disavowed: Haiti and the Cultures of Slavery in the Age of 

Revolution. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004.

Garcia, Francisco Antonio Avelino. “La interpretación de Bonó sobre la dominicanidad y la 

haitianidad.” CLIO 172 (2006): 197-222.

González, Raymundo. Bonó, un intelectual de los pobres, Santo Domingo, R.D.: Centro de Estudios Sociales P. Juan Montalvo, 1994.

Hoetink, H. The Dominican People, 1850-1900: Notes for a Historical Sociology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982.

Madhav & Kama: A Love Story from Ancient India

A.N.D. Haksar's translation of the short tale Madhav & Kama: A Love Story from Ancient India is an interesting read for those interested in prose (or mostly prose) writings from the Sanskrit language. While differing from the literary standards of Dandin or works like Kadambari for its simplistic plot structure and avoidance of the excessively descriptive passages, the author of the original manuscript must have been aware of the earlier romance narratives in Sanskrit literature. Madhavanala Kamakandala Katha, unfortunately, lacks the excitement or engaging stories of Dandin. Here, a brahmin and a courtesan fall in love, consummate their relationship, are separated after a king banishes Madhav, and reunited after King Vikramaditya defeats Kama Sena. With the exception of being more sensual and erotic than, say, ancient Greek romances, this tale reads like a weaker, less developed version of a romance, akin to Ephesian Tale. Because it is a story from several centuries ago, divinities and miraculous events happen, such as the resurrection of the two lovers. It also extolls the importance of caste and merit, for both are necessary for the ideal individual. Again, hardly a surprise. We will have to revisit this text after reading more Sanskrit texts.

1001 Nights

We here at the blog spent several months of a year of our youth reading various versions of Arabian Nights. The last week, out of the blue, we spent more time revisiting various longer tales from 1001 Nights for nostalgia and the wondrous, timelessness of ancient tales. After reading more examples of ancient fiction, romances, and stories-within-a-story from other parts of the world, we've come to appreciate Arabian Nights even more than before. Some of the story cycles are even more entertaining than our nostalgic lens remembered, particularly the Sindbad cycle. Yes, it was added to the 1001 Nights anthology in Galland's translation, but the Sindbad stories help recreate the world of merchants and seafarers in and around the Indian Ocean over 1000 years ago. Other tales explore always-relevant tales of romance, divine intervention, and adventures in and around Egypt, Iraq, Syria, and other regions.  Some of the classics we still fondly recall include The Story of Nur al-Din and Shams al-Din and The City of Brass.

The Story of Hong Gildong

Minsoo Kang's translation of the longest of the extant copies of The Story of Hong Gildong successfully makes the Korean tale accessible to modern Anglophone readers. The introduction to the text also persuasively makes the case for a relatively recent composition of the story in the 19th century (or possibly late 18th century). Instead of Kim Taejun's attempts to read the tale as subversive of Joseon mores and conventions, it actually is a rather traditional story bemoaning the plight of "secondary" sons. But like so many "traditional" tales, the protagonist, Hong Gildong, ends up becoming king of "Annam" and rules as an ideal king after leading a band of robbers in Joseon. 

The main problem and frustration of Hong Gildong was the discrimination against low-born children of yangban, who could not serve in high positions in the administration and military. There is also a general critique of provincial government corruption and exploitation of the lower classes, but it is hard to read this Robin Hood-like character as being revolutionary or ushering in a new society. It is immersed in a world where Confucian, Buddhist, Daoist, and classical Chinese texts are referenced by Hong Gildong and where magic and miraculous events occur in favor of the protagonist. All the world needs is to recognize the talent and merit of those born to concubines and ensure proper kingship and the five relationships. 

As to be expected, there is not much characterization and the plot moves rapidly along. This reader was actually reminded of the Alexander Romance, a somewhat similar tale of wonders and exploration as Alexander the Great traversed the known world and beyond. Some of the episodes are entertaining, there are moments of magic and amusing episodes with shamans and physiognomists. One can see why the character became something of a folk-hero and its legacy persists to this day. 

The Currents of Space

The Currents of Space is, like the previous entry in the Empire series, a fun 1950s sci-fi romp through interstellar intrigue, colonialism in space, and adrenaline-packed adventures. Set mostly on the Galaxy's only planet capable of producing the valuable resource kyrt, the story appears to develop the theme of colonial exploitation hinted at in The Stars, Like Dust. Indeed, unlike the model of the Mongol empire in the previous novel, the exploitation of the "native" Florinians by the Sarkites seems to recall the more ruthless and modern colonial relationships of European imperialism or apartheid South Africa (modern industrial exploitation combined with strict segregation of Sarkite "Squires" and Florinian "native" workers or civil servants).

In fact, the "racial" element does arise in this novel, although the native Florinians are described as "white" with lighter-colored hair instead of the olive-complexioned Sarkites. The color analogy is brought to to fore by the "black" character Selim Junz, whose Libairian homeland recalls their origins as dark-skinned peoples fleeing racial conflict in the distant past. Junz, recalling this ancient history of anti-black racism, feels a deep sympathy for the oppressed Florinians who occupy the other extreme of human color variation. The strict regimentation of "native" workers in the mills, the cultivation of a "native" bureaucracy that is inculcated to think itself superior to the other "natives," and the startling differences in quality of life and amenities between the Sarkite Upper City and the "native" Lower City 

Moving on from the themes of colonialism, The Currents of Space also highlights an important episode in the pre-Galactic Empire of the Foundation series. Trantor is the seat of the dominant power, but lacks complete control of the Galaxy. The question of kyrt and preventing a Galactic war between the Trantorian Empire and the non-affiliated planets such as Sark is of the utmost importance to Abel, the official envoy of Trantor. At the center of it all lies Rik, the victim of a psycho-probe that destroyed his memories after he unveiled the upcoming calamity that will strike Florina. Along the twists and currents of this sometimes zany novel, we learn how Trantor's expansion involved far more than simple imperial expansion through military conquest. 

Instead, like Abel envisions, the dream of Galaxy-wide rule by a single entity, capable of ushering universalist laws and standards (the like of which would end Sarkite colonial exploitation of Florinians) can gradually resolve differences among the various segments of humanity throughout the stars. Of course, Trantor's representative has to be forced into this position by events beyond his (and Sarkite) control. Clearly, the model of the Roman Empire and the US inspired Asimov's Galactic Empire and the ecumenical dream of restoring unity to the myriad descendants of Earth. Unlike the US Constitution's influence on the dream of a free Nebular Kingdoms in the last installment, the reader here is gifted with a view to the future Galactic Empire.

The Stars, Like Dust

 Although it is not a great novel, Asimov's The Stars, Like Dust succeeds as an entertaining space opera from 1950. As a product of its time, it follows many of the conventions of the genre and its era, including the singular one-dimensional female character and numerous double-crossings and plot twists. This one, however, hints at many of the themes of the Foundation series. The Nebular kingdoms suffer under the yoke of the Tyrannian Khanate, but the seed of rebellion has been sown. 

The main character, Biron, finds himself thrust in the position of searching for this hidden base. Like the Foundation series and its enigmatic Second Foundation, the rebel base plotting to overthrow the Khanate are hiding where one would least expect. Clearly, Asimov recycled and reused some of the same plotlines and character types in some of his 1950s novels. But it oddly kinda works in this lesser novel, too. Needless to say, Artemisia and Biron end up together and the plot twist at the end hints at a completely different type of political revolution that will eventually replace the despotic Khanate and the interstellar colonial regimes. 

As a novel from the 1950s written by someone like Asimov, who believed in rationalism, the Enlightenment and science, the long-lost document that will guide this future revolution is the US Constitution. Cheesy, right? But almost predictable. Like the Foundation series, this novel hints at alternative ecumenical political alignments. Something to reunite the dispersed human populations of various points of the Galaxy. Was the institution hinted at by the leader of the rebel forces in this novel the future Galactic Empire in Foundation? If so, at what point did the Galactic Empire forget their origins in Earth and the ideals of the US Constitution?