The Water Room by Christopher Fowler

For various reasons I have been feeling in need of comfort of late and what could be more comforting than a traditional plays-by-the-rules detective novel? "The Water Room" is the second of Christopher Fowler's series featuring the octogenarian detectives Arthur Bryant (more decrepit than Miss Marple and grumpier than Inspector Morse) and John May (ancient but dapper and with an eye for the ladies). Between the two of them they have run the Perculiar Crimes Unit - a sort of underfunded British X Files - since it was established in the dark days of the Blitz.

An elderly woman is found dead in her basement having somehow drowned in river water. As the investigtion continues there are further deaths in the same terraced street. Is this coincidence or the work of a serial killer? And what is the husband of one of May's ex-girlfriends doing trailing about London at night with a load of caving equipment in the company of a dodgy Egyptian businessman? Because this is a proper, old school detective story we can rest assured that it will all be neatly tied up at the end.

There's a lot to like in the Bryant and May books. For a start there's extra tension because the heroes are so frail that if someone were to push them over in the street it would all be over. Also, there is usually a sinister or occult cast to their cases. Christopher Fowler also writes horror stories with good measure of humour in them. He's never going to trouble the Booker judges, but I've enjoyed everything I've read by him so far. He's a solid writer of genre fiction who recognises that there are a thousand things his readers ought to be getting on with so he'd better spin a good yarn. His work is nearly always set in London and replete with psychgeographic detail - like a version of Peter Ackroyd you might actually want to read.

The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli

After wading through "How To Read A Book" I felt that should actually try to put the advice into practise by tackling one of the difficult books which has been lurking on my shelves for years. The Prince was probably the least intimidating of these, being quite a slender volume. The fact that it has become infamous as a sort of Linux-style HOWTO for evil overlords also makes it potentially interesting. This notorious book is also probably the longest CV-and-covering-letter in the history of the world as it was given to Lorenzo De Medici, the new ruler of Florence in the hopes that it would earn Machiavelli a place in his government. In this aim it was completely unsuccessful. In proper How To Read A Book style, I have tried to consider their 4 questions: What is the book about as a whole?, What are the detailed arguments?, Is it true? and What of it?

What is it about as a whole?
How to maintain yourself in power as the ruler of a small, undemocratic area.

What are the detailed arguments?
The book first lists of different types of principalities and the means by which each type may be held. This is followed by a section on troops of different types. We then move on to how a Prince should behave. There is then a section dealing with how to choose good ministers and avoid flatterers. To finish Machiavelli leaves us with a truly bizarre rant. More on that later.

First, I should probably condsider what Machiavelli means by a prince, because it doesn't seem to be the same as current English usage. You don't have to be son of a king, you just have to govern a "Principality" which could be something the size of a county, a small country or just a city state. We would probably use "warlord", "petty tyrant" or "robber baron" to describe Machiavelli's princes.

Another word to watch out for in the book is "Republic". The republics of Renaissance Italy were less like modern republics such as France or the USA, and more like ancient Greek republics such as Athens. For example, rulers would be drawn from amongst wealthy male citizens. There was not really much in the way of election or representation. These republics are oligarchies, not democracies.

Machiavelli believes that inherited principalities are most easily ruled: the people are used to it and no one really likes change. Just so long as you don't do anything stupid (like making the people hate you) everything will be fine. In principalities which you have conquered, the more of a dictatorial grip the last incumbent had, the easier it will be for you. If there was one all-powerful ruler and everyone else was "as slaves" then all you have to do is chase down and execute any descendents of the old prince as nobody else has the power to oppose you.

New principalities which are essentially handed to you by another more powerful ruler as a reward for your support in a joint venture can be a problem as you come into them before you have done the groundwork that would have been necessary to take them on your own (building up your armies, establishing a political powerbase, building financial reserves and so forth). Machiavelli argues that if you want to hold these territories you must go back and try to do that groundwork as soon as possible. He uses Caesare Borgia as a case study in how this should be done.

Most difficult are principalities which used to run their own affairs as republics. The people will default to hating you and resenting their loss of freedom (even ones who never actually had any in the first place!) and can easily be incited to rise up. There are only 3 options: financially ruin the area; set up a loyal puppet administration and take a hands off approach; go and live there.
The answer to many difficulties appears to be "go and live there". Machiavelli's reasoning is that you will know what's happening on the ground and can intervene in a timely fashion. If the people are disposed to like you they will be pleased that you have made their city your home, and if they don't you'll be able to strike fear into their hearts by having a few of them put to death. He observes that people can resent a distant ruler (true! Look at Scotland) and that any officials you send to rule new provinces for you are likely to be on the make and despoil them. His logic seems pretty sound and I can find only 2 flaws:

1. If the people hate you, you could be assassinated (I don't think this was considered such a big risk as at the time most princes would be expected to lead in battle and were probably reasonably accepting of violent death ).
2. You can only live in one place at a time, so the rate at which you can gain and hold territories is limited.

Despite the prevalence of mercenary armies in Italy at the time, Machiavelli believes is it best to have your own troops. Mercenaries are worse than useless: if their commanders are incompetent they are a liability, if they win battles for you, they can hold you to ransom. He illustrates this with a nice story about a ruler who has all his mercenary commanders put to death as he can't think what else he could safely do with them. Auxiliary troops are nearly as bad – they are lent to you by another Prince so cannot be relied on.

It is probably the part of the book which deals with how a prince ought to behave which earns the book its reputation. Machiavelli is credited with completely subverting all the other learned writings of the time which exhorted rulers to be merciful, godly, generous and so forth, completely turning this advice on its head.

When it comes to generousity, Machiavelli advises against spending your own money as that will make you poor. You should also think twice before using your subjects money as higher taxes will make them hate you. So what to do? Simply invade somewhere else and be generous with the loot from there! Now everyone's happy.

On the subject of mercy Machiavelli thinks that while it would be lovely to live by this Christian value, realistically, you're going to have to have someone put to death at some point and when that time comes, you should not flinch from it. He advises against using the death penalty a lot - just ringleaders of plots - and don't go nuts and start seeing conspiracies everywhere.

A prince need keep his word only when it suits him - and should not be naive enough to think others of his rank are will keep the deals they make with him.

If there is a point which Machiavelli particularly labours it is that a prince cannot afford to hated by the people. If they love you, that's great but if they fear you that's OK too. If they hate you they'll always be looking out for someone they'd prefer as a ruler. The best way to avoid being hated, he believes, is simply to resist helping yourself to your subjects womenfolk and property. He actually states that people will forgive you more readily for executing family members than for confiscating property! And I thought I had a low opinion of humanity...

The final section of The Prince is a bizarre and tangential rant about delivering Italy from foreigners. Large parts of it were apparently under the control of France and Spain at the time and Machiavelli seems to believe that the restored Medicis can save Italy from foreign scum. But the Medicis were essentially merchants and Florence had never really been a military power. For a man who throughout the book strikes me a rational (if amoral) pragmatist, this crazy-arsed patriotic call to arms seems out of character. Did he write this bit while he was drunk? Underneath this section in my copy of the book I have inscribed, "WTF?".


Is it true and what of it?
We should remember that The Prince is actually only half of Machiavelli's work on politics; he also wrote another book on how republics ought to be governed.

One of the quotes most frequently extracted from this book is that, “The Injury that you do a man should be such that you need not fear his revenge”. My Kung Fu club have appropriated this motto and it works for us as our aim is just to survive the next 10 minutes, but I don’t believe it will work for politics. The person who you “crush utterly” will have friends, family, allies, coreligionists. Even the dispossessed are dangerous; consider the Israel/Palestine conflict!

Unless you actually come to rule your own crazy, lawless third world country, it is not realistic to take the advice in the book literally. For example, as a manager in even the most ruthless industry, you will get precious little opportunity for having underlings who have outlived their usefulness put to death. If we take firing/demotion/make their job so shit they quit on their own to be the modern equivalent of execution, we can see Machiavelli's methods in every dysfunctional workplace in the land. In the book, Caesare Borgia pulls a trick where essentially he sends in his pet pitbull to sort out some tough problem, then when order has been established he steps in personally to shoot the nasty, mean dog and watches all the little people love him. I have seem the same trick work in a number of offices - the moral of the story is never be too keen to be someone else's thug.

It's also possible to apply the chapter on mercenaries to people like IT contractors or consultants.

Despite the number of macho arseholes keen to apply the values of The Prince to life in the workplace, I don't really think they're a good fit. Maybe this is just the self-justification of a person who doesn't have it in them to crush someone else for the sake of expediency, but I take the view that it's a small world and the toes you tread on today could well be connected to the ass you have to kiss tomorrow.

The kind of thinking behind The Prince, seeing every transaction as a “zero sum game” in which if someone else wins, we lose is currently very unfashionable, but a lot of people still think and behave this way. Reading the original gives a window into their mental worlds, leaving you forewarned and forearmed.

Some Things I Still Don’t Understand
Why are those who come to power by “crimes” are considered in a separate chapter to those that do it by military force? Is it because they have murdered people who matter while the military campaigners only killed peasants?
Machiavelli thinks that ecclesiastical principalities are great because you don’t need to bother to govern them. So who is running them?
Machiavelli seems to have some sort of crush on Pope Alexander VI's son, Caesare Borgia (brother of the famous poisoner Lucretia) . I'm amazed the Pope could get away with having children – I suppose if you pay for enough mercenaries, you can get away with anything.

To finish, here's a pop-psychology quiz which claims to find out how Machiavellian you are.
Amazingly, I score 66% and am considered to be “high mach” making me charming (hope so), glib (definitely), devious ( wrong. I am missing the part of the brain used for telling lies) and manipulative (if only!). I think the truth is that I am a Machwannabe. I put it to you that truly “High Mach” individuals will lie on the quiz and make sure they come out at 50% or below to avoid warning the rest of us.

How To Read A Book by Mortimer Adler and Charles Van Doren

As both my regular readers will know, sometimes I worry that I just don’t get major works of literature. Either the entire literary establishment is wrong or I am. Bearing in mind my tendency to write loops that never exit, I think it’s probably me. A couple of years ago, I hoped John Sutherland would tell me what I was doing wrong but he was peddling the politically correct line about how everyone’s opinion is equally valid.

If there is one thing that How To Read a Book is not, it’s politically correct. For example, the authors write “men” when they mean “people” and the tone of the whole book is generally like being lectured by the kind of pipe-smoking old man who belongs to a dining club. Here’s a taste,

“…most readers are at a total loss if you ask them to say briefly what the whole book is about. Partly this is owing to the widespread inability to speak concise English sentences.”

Woah… That’s me put in my rambling, ungrammatical place! Still, the book was published in the 70s; maybe slagging off your readers was OK back then. The gist of the book is that despite reading all the time, most of us never lift our comprehension above the level that we achieved in Primary School. Not only is there a lot of finger-wagging in their style, but there are actually a series of exercises in the back of the book!

At least there are some things I've been doing right: my approach to fiction which is to read it as quickly as possible, desperate to find out what happens, living in the imaginary world of the book and allowing the author to manipulate my emotions is apparently exactly how first readings should be done. The trouble is that I should then go back over it and start deconstructing but I can rarely be arsed. I also have their permission to carry on marking pages and writing in the margins of my books - their you go E, I'm not just an uncultured vandal! One of the things I've been doing wrong for years is missing out the introductions, prefaces and so forth. My rationale was that the book should stand or fall on its own merit and shouldn't have to be propped up by various bits of extraneous crap. I have now been firmly ticked off and informed that these are proper parts of the book and not optional extras.

According to the authors, there are 4 questions which you should ask when you read a book: What's it about as a whole? What are the detailed arguments? Is it true? and so what? They also define 4 levels of reading:

1. Elementary Reading – understanding the words you read
2. Inspectional Reading – using indexes, contents, and scanning
3. Analytical Reading – understanding. Looking at structure. Making judgements & drawing conclusions
4. Syntopical reading – what I would call “reading around” a subject. The only time I’ve ever done this was for A level history!

Don’t panic if you didn’t know what “syntopical” meant. They made it up. They also believe that syntopical reading is aided by using the Sytopicon - a new kind of reference book designed by Adler to allow readers to look up sections of famous texts by subject or idea. It sounds pretty horrific to use in book form so no wonder they're trying to drum up some sales here. I think it might work a lot better as a website, though, so maybe this is an idea who's time has finally come.

Despite the fact that this is less of a book and more a series of tellings-off, there are still some pretty inspirational bits. Apparently, up until the 20th century, books on science, maths and philosophy were intended to be read by intelligent lay readers rather than experts so there is no reason that with a bit of work any of us shouldn't be able to understand the works of Euclid or Plato or Darwin. Imagine reading Euclid!

In brief: I can’t like these guys, but I suspect that they’re right. I've certainly trundled through enough books half asleep and come out the other end non the wiser.

Suspecting isn’t enough though – I am a woman of science! I must therefore put “How to Read a Book” to the test: Having finished it, I now plan to try to put these techniques into practise by reading one of the truly scary books from my shelf which I’ve been putting off for years, “The Prince” by Machievelli . Stay tuned to see whether I manage to make head or tail of it, or whether I just go back to reading children’s books…

Between The City and The Conveyancing

This week I have mostly been reading “The City and The City” by China Mieville and it has been a messed-up, paranoia-inducing experience. The book is mostly a detective story, with an added is-this-a-fantasy-novel-or-not guessing game attached. Imagine that Aurelio Zen (link) got seconded into a Kafka story; that would be close to this...

Inspector Tyador Borlu works in the Extreme Crime Squad in the city state of Beszel which, as far as I can tell is somewhere in the Balkans. Like East and West Berlin, Beszel is a divided city; half of it is another city state called Ul Qoma and relations between the two are decidedly frosty. Unlike East and West Berlin, there is not a clear dividing line between Beszel and Ul Qoma: the land has been parcelled out street by street or even building by building with some shared areas known as “crosshatching”. So you might live in Beszel, and your next door neighbour might live in Ul Qoma and if you wanted to pop round and borrow a cup of sugar, it would be completely illegal just to nip round there. You would have to apply for a visa and if you got it, you'd have to cross over at the official boarder, Cupola House, in the centre of both cities. Not only is it illegal to step across the imaginary line from one city to another, if you are in the crosshatched zones you are not even allowed to acknowledge people from the other city, you have to “unsee” and “unhear” them. This makes driving round Beszel/Ul Quma very difficult as you have to avoid the foreign vehicles without officially seeing them. If this description of Beszel/Ul Quma sounds stupid or contrived, consider that cities are full of imaginary lines, zones where one type of person or another can't go and people you have to unsee. All of this bizarre behaviour is enforced by Breach. Citizens of both cities live in fear of Breach which they believe is constantly observing them. Breach is judge, jury and executioner for anyone who fails to keep to the rules. I spent most of the book trying to work out exactly what Breach is: Is it an imaginary bogey man to make the citizens police themselves? A Big Brother style secret police force? Is it even human at all?

At the beginning of the book, Borlu is called out to a poverty-stricken housing estate, to find the body of a young woman who has been murdered and dumped there. Pretty soon he discovers that she was a Canadian archaeology student called Mahalia Ghery who has been working in a dig in Ul Quma. Mahalia was researching Orciny – the fabled city which exists between Beszel and Ul Quma controls both. At first, Borlu cannot believe her research had anything to do with her murder – Orciny was a story Besz parents would tell their children at night before the Disneyfication of their country. But if Orciny doesn't exist why was Mahalia killed? And who is behind the official interference in the investigation? Inspector Borlu follows the trail all the way to Ul Quma, but eventually he cannot track the killer an stay within the law, and Breach comes for him...

I'm not sure what it is about this book that causes the paranoia. Perhaps it is the fact that I don't know anything for sure: I don't even know what kind of book I'm reading. Is it the kind of book that has magic in it, or a fairly straight detective story? Is it something in the language itself that feeds the uncertainty? If I knew what that magic ingredient was, I'd add it to all of my work emails in a quest to make my boss soil himself. The author's photo at the back of the book certainly doesn't help: with his bald head, piercings and muscles, China Mieville looks like the kind of surfer you really wouldn't want to drop in on. Maybe it has nothing to do with the book at all – maybe it is the other thing I've been reading this week, the enormous pile of documents from the solicitors handling my conveyancing which has caused my paranoid imaginings...

Lesbian Vampires in Jam!

I have recently been reading "Carmilla" by J. Sherridan Le Fanu. This is the kind of book I really like because when someone asks, "What's that you're reading?" you can reply either, "Nineteenth century Gothic literature." or, "Lesbian vampires!" depending who's asking. Carmilla was an early and vampire story and one of the books which served as inspiration for
Bram Stoker's Dracula. The story is narrated by a beautiful nineteen-year-old who lives in a castle with her father and tells of how the mysterious Carmilla comes to stay with them. Carmilla doesn't get up until the afternoon, suffers from a strange illness and wants to touch the narrator inappropriately. Soon local peasant girls are found pale and dead and as the narrator begins to suffer from a bizarre langour, her father is eventually prevailed upon to call in the vampire hunter.

At the end of the novel, there are still a substantial number of loose ends: Carmilla originally arrived with her mother, who is presumably a vampire too and still on the loose. There was also an old woman in their carriage as well, so that's two of them. And what about all the peasants Carmilla drained? Are they coming back from the dead as lesbians? I am a little surprised that the narrator can see one vampire killed and assume that all is now well. If the book were more modern I would assume the extra vampires were being kept alive for the sequel, Carmilla Bites Back.

Amazon Recomendtions - A Rant

The problem with the recommendations that Amazon comes up with is that they are similar to what you read already. This is all very well, but I can't help but think that they might be partially responsible for the fact that when I used to hang out on Bookcrossing, I kept meeting apparently intelligent young women who read nothing but Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels. Don't get me wrong, they are good books (about a comically inept female bounty hunter) but why would you read nothing else at all?

If I buy, say a Terry Pratchett book, Amazon will suggest that I read all his other books, but I didn't need it to do that; I obviously know about Terry Pratchett already. To be useful it needs to come up with a book I didn't even know about.

Here's how it should work: once Amazon knows I have read and liked a certain book, it should suggest something as different as possible for my next read. For example, if someone likes "Little Women" they should try "American Psycho" next. If they've been reading James Joyce, their next book should be "The Tiger Who Came To Tea", just to stop their head exploding if nothing else. People who read nothing but fast-paced thrillers should be steered towards the European rail timetable. If you will only read science fiction, Amazon should throw you a Mills & Boon. If you read romance, your next book will be a hunt for a serial killer. If you read books suggested by Oprah or Richard & Judy, Amazon should give you no help at all, forcing you to grow up any think for yourself. I think you're getting the idea...

My point is that by limiting ourselves to one kind of reading, whether it be kooky girl detectives or Dragon Crack, we avoid developing any further. It's good for us to be confused and puzzeled every so often. The trouble is that we like the comfy and familiar. My anti-recommendations would supply us all with a useful kick up the arse.

Dreams and Disasters: A History of Innovation Gone Wrong by Adam Hart Davis

I'm going to write to Adam Hart Davies and tell him to go back on do this again properly. It's a good idea but the execution is slap-dash, presumably in order to try to cash in on the success of “What the X Did For Us” in time for Christmas one year.

This book is also rather let down by the quality of the paper and the images. For example, there is a picture of Babbage's difference engine which is just a big, black blur. Just as well we're able to look up what it actually looked like online!

And it doesn't have a proper finish. It just stops right in the middle of