When Ralph Ellison published Invisible Man in 1952, America was still congratulating itself on having beaten the Nazis and saved democracy. Yet here was a novel calmly pointing out that a good chunk of its own citizens were treated as if they didn’t exist - or rather, as if they existed only when they could … Continue reading Invisible, My Eye – Reflections on Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man
Tag: books
Three Alchemists Walk into a Bar: A Philosopher, a Fraudster, and a Gothic Madman
“Alchemy: the science of turning lead into gold. Or more often, the art of talking a lot of nonsense and charging handsomely for it.” — An old undertaker’s proverb (probably) I’ve always had a fascination with alchemists. Maybe it’s the funeral director in me - the sense of cloaks, secrets, crucibles, and the unspoken transformation of … Continue reading Three Alchemists Walk into a Bar: A Philosopher, a Fraudster, and a Gothic Madman
Maugham’s Cakes and Ale: On the Sacred Art of Not Taking Oneself Too Seriously
There are books one reads, and books one is quietly read by. Somerset Maugham’s Cakes and Ale falls into the latter camp - it observes you from over the rim of its brandy glass, raises a bemused eyebrow, and says absolutely nothing. Not because it’s shy, but because it knows better than to interrupt the theatre of … Continue reading Maugham’s Cakes and Ale: On the Sacred Art of Not Taking Oneself Too Seriously
On the Road – Jack Kerouac and the Cult of Going Absolutely Nowhere Very Fast
I’ve never had the constitution for jazz. It makes me feel like I’m trapped in a lift with a methed-up trumpet and no discernible plot. And yet, somewhere in the post-war fug of America’s caffeine-sweating adolescence, Jack Kerouac managed to convince a generation that the meaning of life could be found in bebop, Benzedrine, and … Continue reading On the Road – Jack Kerouac and the Cult of Going Absolutely Nowhere Very Fast
In Absentia: A Theology of Objects
I've touched on a similar theme in an earlier post, but as per my obsession with objects, I thought there's be no harm indulging again. There’s a sentence in Julian Barnes’ Metroland that hits with the sort of quiet, subcutaneous sting I’ve come to associate with him: Objects contain absent people. On the face of it, it's a throwaway … Continue reading In Absentia: A Theology of Objects
Wording 