Bowing, Not Knowing to What

I like thinking (and reading) about death. Maybe that makes me sound a little too much like Woody Allen. I've kind of been feeling like Woody Allen lately, specifically like the scenes in Annie Hall where he buys her all the books on death theory, and then at the end of the movie when she packs them all up to return to him. It used to scare me a lot: the idea of not existing anymore, of simply not-being. "What about me!" the little voice inside my brain squeaks out. "What about all the things I have built and constituted and gathered over the years? All the books I have read, the songs I have listened to?" There's something very freaky about all that just being wiped out—erased, vanished, like a poor dead computer. There's a really great part in David Lodge's Thinks...:

" 'So you think that when we die we just cease to exist?' she says, when the waitress has gone.
'Not in an absolute sense. The atoms of my body are indestructible.'
'But your self, your spirit, your soul...?'
'As far as I'm concerned those are just ways of talking about certain kinds of brain activity. When the brain ceases to function, they necessarrily cease too.'
'And that doesn't fill you with despair?'
'No,' he says cheerfully, twisting creamy ribbons of tagliatelle on his fork. 'Why should it?' He thrusts the steaming pasta into his mouth and munches vigorously.
'Well, it seems pointles to spend years and years acquiring knowledge, accumulating experience, trying to be good, struggling to make something of yourself, as the saying goes, if nothing of that self survives deat. It's like building a beautiful sandcastle below the tideline.'
'That's the only part of the beach you can build a sandcastle...'"

This is a pretty good representation of the internal dialogue in my head re: death (spaghetti-twirling and all). Mine is a little more hippy dippy, lately. I can't find the quote right now, but Tori Amos said something about her album from the choirgirl hotel once, written in the aftermath of several miscarriages, that it was her attempt to hold hands with death, to laugh and play with it a little. This is something I can relate to, in regards to trying to do concrete, day-to-day little changes and efforts in my everyday life... just hold hands with death a little, from time to time, not let it drag me around, but be aware. Not deny it, not run from it, not let it make me panicky and small-feeling and frenzied. Come to terms with it, that it's there. Death does not come from the outside, it comes from within.

Thinking about death has been my strategy as of late to put things in perspective. Over sushi last night with Corey, he asked what I thought of the first 2 months-ish of Barry O's presidency, specifically regarding his escalation of the conflict in Afghanistan. Maybe it was the terrible ginger cocktail, but my response was "well, we're all going to die anyway, aren't we?" He said my comment wasn't particularly helpful, and kind of a terrible perspective to live with. Agreed. I guess what would have been a better answer was that politicians will be politicians, you know, and in the end, we're all just going to have to live our lives...

Faust writes a very interesting, readable history on the Civil War, using death as a jumping-off point in order to discuss the Confederate defeat and the Reconstruction in a new way. The emphasis in this review ought to be on "readable"; man, they sure teach them at Harvard to write those topic sentences! It's so easy to follow Faust's arguments in this book. I especially like the one-word gimmick for the chapter titles, making it easier to remember what they're about: Dying. Killing. Burying. Naming. Accounting. Good stuff.

Basically, Faust discusses how the kind of death produced by the Civil War--specfically death on a massive, unprecedented scale, caused by technologies whose effect on battle strategies was not foreseen--affected a lot of different things: the desire for the Civil War to end and the formation of a strong federal state post-war, to give the two most-discussed examples.

My favorite parts of the book were Faust's discussion of citizens' understanding of waht constituted "a good death": the proper way to die. Home, on your bed, surrounded by family and friends, able to give your last words in a clear and understandable fashion, make it clear that you're happy about going off to hang with God, etc. The Civil War made this form of the hors mori a tad difficult. You could get blown to pieces on the battlefield, making the issue of resurrection on Judgement Day a very iffy question, if you had no body to be buried (and thus raised). You could get shot randomly by snipers while drinking your morning coffee. You could be one of so many dead that it was very unlikely that you would get a proper burial and would instead have to settle for a mass grave (probably after rotting for a while on the battlefield first). Faust's chapter on bodies and burying is one of the most interesting of the book; she mentiones how Gettysburg citizens walked around for months afterwards pressing perfumed handkerchiefs to their faces because the smell of rot and decay just overwhelmed the town. The little mentioned facts of history.

Over that same sushi meal, I asked Corey what he wanted to do before he died. Mine are:
1- Go to India and Nepal
2- Write and publish a book
3- Travel through the rest of South America
4- Hold my child in my arms
If I can do these things, I think I will be a pretty happy camper come my own hors mori. Here's to doing what little we can to prepare for the inevitable.

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH by W.S. Merwin
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one women
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what

"Team of Rivals: the Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln"

I chose to read “Team of Rivals” because reference to it became increasingly fashionable in the media following Obama’s election, particularly in the frenzied Who’s-It-Gonna-Be coverage of his cabinet picks. It got to the point that some articles were even making ironic, self-aware references to the media’s obsession with the term, commenting sarcastically “insert obligatory ‘Team-of-Rivals’ reference here!’” Rather than being overrated, "Team of Rivals" deserves the accolades: it's an exceptionally involving, very readable, engaging history book. Goodwin has plenty to interest everyone here, from the hardcore Lincoln scholars, to the Civil War battle plan and strategy aficionados, to the "people's history of the U.S." fans. There's a lot of eerie parallels between present and past that make for particularly fun reading--I folded the corner of the page over every time I read something that reminded me of Obama's campaign or lifestory, so the first half of the book (which deals with Lincoln's pre-president vida) is dog-eared with all these little folds (hopefully things will end better for Barry-O than they did for Abraham). 750 pages is a little dautning, so maybe save this one for when you have long commutes on a bus or subway, or an extended Christmas vacation/snowpocalypse, like I fortunately had.

It can be tricky to go beyond the more obvious parallels between this book and the current state of things—little known Senator from Illinois, famed for his eloquent speeches, goes on to win the presidency in an election where Ohio is a decisive state, winning the party ticket nomination in an upset over his rival, a long-time experienced Senator from New York who was assumed to be the favorite (stop me if this is starting to sound familiar to you). Time will tell if current events continue to reflect (follow?) the path previously set by history (for example, I will be okay with Hilarly and Obama becoming best buds on the level of Lincoln and Seward’s friendship, but I am definitely not okay with a deathbed or assassination scene).

The central thesis of the book is that Lincoln was a cool, chill dude whose biggest asset (or what specifically made him a “political genius”, as described by the book’s subtitle) was his ability to emphasize with others, to put himself into other people’s positions. Near the end of the book, Tolstoy is quoted as describing Washington as classically American, Napoleon as classically French, and Lincoln as the classic humanitarian, thus explaining his appeal to not only starry-eyed hopeful American presidential candidates, but also to wild white-haired Russian authors.

I’ve read at least one article/review arguing that the basic premise of constructing a “team of rivals” is fundamentally false, because by building a team out of political rivals, Lincoln gave himself a lot of unnecessary crap and drama to deal with. This is definitely true in the case of the unfortunately named Salmon P. Chase, one of Lincoln’s rivals of the Republican nomination, who doesn’t come off too kindly in the latter half of the book (i.e. even after Lincoln gives him the prestigious Treasury Main Boss position, he comes off as a whiny pants consumed by the delusional belief that the presidential nomination was still his to be had in the future, instead of just making the best of things with his current position like Seward). However, I’d say for the most part Godwin effectively argues that Lincoln’s “Team of Rivals” (last time I use that phrase in this review, I promise) did a pretty good job, all things considering. Stanton’s badass military plans in particular make Lincoln look pretty smart for choosing him for Secretary of War. Goodwin argues that by choosing the men he thought would be the best for the job, instead of his friends or people who were just going to suck up to him, Lincoln revealed himself to have the admirable quality of being capable of burying old grudges (such as Stanton calling him “a long-armed ape” upon their first encounter as lawyers in Illinois) instead of being bitter or petty. Lincoln also demonstrates an admirable capacity of taking the blame for things (even for things he definitely didn’t need to take the blame for). My general impression from this book is that so much of politics seems to involve this very fine dilly-dalling dance, hopping back and forth between the thin line of offending one person or damaging the pride of another. Que stress. Good luck, Barry.

The book departs from the premise that by understanding the character and conduct of the men who were on Lincoln’s cabinet, Lincoln’s own exceptional qualities as a politician will stand out more clearly. Goodwin does an excellent job at this. By explaining how Seward and Chase had made enemies by appealing to the abolitionists and using a lot of blatant anti-slavery rhetoric in their speeches, Goodwin in turn explains why Lincoln took such a moderate stance on slavery throughout the years of his presidency (doing so without excusing said moderate stance). As I understand it, one of the reasons why Lincoln won the nomination (and then the presidency) was because he simply hadn’t been in politics long enough to make enough enemies, like Seward and Chase (and Clinton).

One of the more interesting points Goodwin makes in the book is that no one can ever know for sure Lincoln’s personal feelings on race, save for the man himself. However, she points out in all the Lincoln scholarship, in all the countless letters and memos and notes he and his secretaries and contemporaries left behind, there is not a single act of racial bigotry or racial slur to be found. Lincoln also gets plenty of respect and kudos from Fredrick Douglas once they finally meet each other (before meeting Lincoln, Douglas bitches a lot about how he isn’t doing enough to help the slaves—fair enough, in my view). It sucks that Lincoln wasn’t this totally radical, ahead of his time guy who from the beginning was like “Aight bitches, no more slaves, equal educational and employment opportunities for all, and lots of other good stuff,” … but as Goodwin argues, that simply wasn’t what the country was ready for at the time. As I understood it, a lot of what being president often entails is taking the middle ground. That being said, the Emancipation Proclamation was a totally great, non-middle ground thing to do (there’s a very dramatic scene that would be great in Spielberg’s movie version, where Lincoln takes a deep breath and tries to calm down before signing the Emancipation act because he doesn’t want his signature to come out shaky and thus leave people believing that he was hesitant). And this is where the whole Lincoln’s Great Empathy Quality comes in again. Lincoln’s empathy entailed him to put himself in the place of the American people, to understand how they felt and what they were thinking and where exactly they stood in public sentiment, what they were ready for. With the Emancipation Proclamation, Lincoln kind of adopted a common reverse child-psychology technique: when you expect great things from people (and make it clear that you expect them), it’s easier for people to do great things. (This feels incredibly reminiscent to me of Obama’s call to young people for service and political participation)

The book starts out with a biographical description of each man’s early lives. Once Lincoln wins the presidency, he naturally assumes a more central role. I found the latter half of the book the most interesting, as it describes the Civil War and the dealings of Lincoln’s administration in great detail. The book kind of splutters out at the end in the last chapter describing Lincoln’s last term, but perhaps that is to be expected of a 759 volume.

One interesting theme that emerged in this book was Lincoln’s relationship with death. It makes me want to read that recent academic-looking book about Death and the Civil War (hello, Chapter Two of thesis again—maybe I should go all the way and start attacking all kinds of Death Criticism in general). In the early sections (which I’m afraid I can’t remember all too well—so many hundreds of pages ago!) Goodwin talks about the death of Lincoln’s childhood sweetheart and how that affected Lincoln’s attitude towards death. Unlike his peers Seward and Chase, who populated their speeches with grandiose religious imagery and references to a “better life” following this one and the “designs” of a creator, Lincoln tended to avoid such imagery in his speeches. Instead, his rhetorical flourishes were more grounded in man himself, in the individual's capacity for self-betterment, in earthy references (reflecting Lincoln’s fondness for tall-tales, humorous anecdotes and his Kentucky, down-to-earth background). I’d definitely like to read more about attitudes towards death before and after the Civil War (and in the latter half of nineteenth-century in general). I’d like to read more about the history of slavery in the U.S. and the Reconstruction. This book made me want to learn more, it made me think, it made me ponder, it made me crave, and quite frankly that is quite a compliment for any work.

I’d like to close this review with some selected quotes from this book that seem relevant to the title of this blog (in which “doubt’s best ally” is “hope”): “ ‘Having hope,’ writes Daniel Goleman in his study of emotional intelligence, ‘means that one will not give in to overwhelming anxiety, a defeatist attitude, or depression in the face of difficult challenges or setbacks.’ Hope is ‘more than the sunny view that everything will turn out all right’; it is ‘believing that you have the will and the way to accomplish your goals.’ “(631) Throughout the book, whether dealing with his political defeats, the death of his son, the violence of the war, “As he had done so many times before, Lincoln withstood the storm of defeat by replacing anguish over an unchangeable past with hope in an uncharted future.” (521)

To paraphrase Vonnegut: What a man. What a war. What a language.