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3.93 AVERAGE
3.93 AVERAGE
If I was more intelligent I can imagine this book would be very interesting.
This is a collection of essays about personalities and figures who gave a face to the 20th century according to the author or, at least, will provide us a historical glance into a tumultuous century molded by the two great wars, the battle of ideologies during the cold war, totalitarianism and the triumph of capitalism and the countercultural answer. From writers and poets like Anna Akhmatova, Camus, Borges, Fitzgerald, Kafka or Thomas Mann; jazz musicians like Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington or Miles Davis; filmmakers like Charles Chaplin, Fellini and Jean Cocteau; political leaders like Mao Zedong, Margaret Thatcher, Trotsky or Hitler to less well-known figures like Egon Friedell, Walter Benjamin, Edward Said or Raymond Aron.
Not written without humor and wit, Clive James' prose is entertaining to read as it is insightful and clever in his observations and his encyclopedic knowledge of the last century. It's not an easy task to summarize such a complex and convulsive period and Clive James is certainly far to give us a complete and finished picture, that was not what he intended, but rather to approach the reader to the 20th century through a collection of different names, most of them seemingly unrelated to each other, but deep down connected to the forces of history, even up to our days.
Not written without humor and wit, Clive James' prose is entertaining to read as it is insightful and clever in his observations and his encyclopedic knowledge of the last century. It's not an easy task to summarize such a complex and convulsive period and Clive James is certainly far to give us a complete and finished picture, that was not what he intended, but rather to approach the reader to the 20th century through a collection of different names, most of them seemingly unrelated to each other, but deep down connected to the forces of history, even up to our days.
A resource, a dip-inter, richly diverse and full of the Renaissance intelligence and breath-taking wit that is Clive James.
A tale about known cultural characters that follows no timeline but the alphabetical order of their names.
At times, the writing is early reminiscent of the work of Edward Gibbons, who the author diligently roasted for carrying an unnecessary cumbersome syntax. And, the story often suddenly breaks off into a wild tangent. You may think you are about to uncover some cunning insights about Michael Mann, and you suddenly delve into why Val Kilmer tilts his head in a weird way in Heat. That unpredictability feels good, somehow, and complements the lack of chronological structure. Instead of reading a book, it feels like you are shooting the shit with a very knowledgeable friend about art history.
At times, the writing is early reminiscent of the work of Edward Gibbons, who the author diligently roasted for carrying an unnecessary cumbersome syntax. And, the story often suddenly breaks off into a wild tangent. You may think you are about to uncover some cunning insights about Michael Mann, and you suddenly delve into why Val Kilmer tilts his head in a weird way in Heat. That unpredictability feels good, somehow, and complements the lack of chronological structure. Instead of reading a book, it feels like you are shooting the shit with a very knowledgeable friend about art history.
funny
informative
reflective
medium-paced
on nyt notable book list: tried to be cultured and literary and read this book from a noted critic on different topics; well written and expansive - but it is like 1000 pages so I wasn't ambitious enough to finish it; this encyclopedia is better read by randomly picking entries -
I had no idea what I was getting into with this book received as a gift. Confession - I did not know Clive James was such a widely cultured person. This book is framed around the work of individuals of note but the essays can go of in all manner of directions. You could read for a long time and never find the end of the threads this opens up. A lot to deal with
Wowing, breathtaking, challenging, provocative, pedantic, enervating and frustrating
I could write pages on end about this book: it is so rich and challenging (with more than 800 pages of dense text) that it certainly does not leave you indifferent. For all clarity: this is not an encyclopaedia. It may be built around a little more than 100 historical figures, but it offers only a limited amount of biographical material. James uses the figures as an occasion to convey his personal opinions on a wide range of themes, a bit criss-cross and with regular diversions and repetitions, all in all the fruit of 40 years of intense reading.
This book is largely confined to the 20th century (only about 10 figures date from before that period), and at least two thirds of the persons discussed are related to the major global conflicts of that period (especially the Second World War, and in particular the Holocaust) and the ideologies that caused these conflicts, namely fascism/Nazism and communism. James only talks about the political leaders to a limited extent (although Hitler, Stalin and Mao constantly come looking around the corner); the emphasis is on the intellectuals and artists, especially from literature and much less from music, theatre, visual arts and architecture. Obviously (I’m really sad, I have to use the word ‘obviously’) it is an almost exclusively male company (only 11 female figures have gotten a chapter, though more of them show up within; but some obvious ones, like Virginia Woolf, just remain unmentioned). And the vast majority are European (mainly French and German, very often from Jewish descent). The United States and Latin America are also well cared for, but Asia and Africa in particular are almost completely absent. Thus, this is a thoroughly white book, and because of its high brow content also very elitist (that is not made up for by the few chapters about Tony Curtis, Coco Chanel or Dirk Cavett).
The ever-recurring mantra of James, which is underlined especially in his final chapter, is his unwavering belief in liberal democracy, in humanism and freedom. And there is, in my opinion, nothing wrong with that; it indicates that James really does have valuable things to tell, and it is his right to do so. But for our author, that belief is also an absolute criterion for morally weighing the many persons and currents mentioned. The heroes of James' story are those figures who contributed to those three phenomena (liberal democracy, humanism and freedom). He is utterly positive about intellectuals such as Raymond Aron, Benedetto Croce, François Furet, Wittold Gombrowicz, Leszek Kolakowski, Jean-François Revel, Ernesto Sabato, and Stefan Zweig, who - often against their surroundings - have openly opposed despotism, authoritarianism and all ideologies related to it.
And the bad ones are not only the classic demonic figures (Hitler, Mao and Trotsky get a separate chapter, Stalin curiously not, although he is constantly mentioned), but especially the intellectuals ("the useful idiots") who have been ideologically complicit in the crimes of the regimes of those demons, who collaborated with their game, or who consciously turned away and kept quiet. James directs his sharpest arrows against leftist intellectuals and artists such as Bertold Brecht, José Saramogo, the whole clique of French postmodernism, and especially against Jean-Paul Sartre (he gets the poisoniest vitriol on his head, and time and again James repeats what a perverse role Sartre has played in the post-war period); but also cowardly right-wing figures are blackened, like Jorge Louis Borges (yes!) and especially Ezra Pound (curiously Louis-Ferdinand Céline is only shortly mentioned).
So it is mainly authenticity that seems to be the criterion in the moral weighing process by Clive James, and rightly so. So I would not just call him "a right-wing bastard". All his opinions are clearly coloured ideologically, based on his belief in liberalism and humanism. But he uses this criterion as an inexorable razor edge, quite harsh sometimes. And occasionally James comes dangerously close to conservative-reactionary visions, for example in his attacks on multiculturalism and on Islam.
What bothered me most about this book is its pedantic character: James squeezes opinions, stacks them up, repeats them very often, but rarely you can find a proper argumentation. Occasionally he sometimes explains why he detests or admires this or that person or development, but in most cases his opinion simply stands out as a statement, and that is frustrating. Also, there’s a big portion of conceit in this book: James eagerly demonstrates his knowledge of foreign languages (he claims that he learned German, Italian, Spanish, Russian and a bit of Japanese just by reading the classics from that language, with a dictionary next to it), or he invokes his multiple encounters with famous men or women and ridicules their petty personality traits.
In short, this is definitely a very idiosyncratic book, (I have the impression that it could be twice as long if James had gotten his way by his publisher), but it also has its limitations, in style and in content. This book is formidable, breathtaking, and erudite, but also one-sided in its focus, very opinionated and provocative, regularly very self-indulgent and pedantic and therefore sometimes just enervating. But I’m sure that in coming years I’m going to browse through it many times again.
I could write pages on end about this book: it is so rich and challenging (with more than 800 pages of dense text) that it certainly does not leave you indifferent. For all clarity: this is not an encyclopaedia. It may be built around a little more than 100 historical figures, but it offers only a limited amount of biographical material. James uses the figures as an occasion to convey his personal opinions on a wide range of themes, a bit criss-cross and with regular diversions and repetitions, all in all the fruit of 40 years of intense reading.
This book is largely confined to the 20th century (only about 10 figures date from before that period), and at least two thirds of the persons discussed are related to the major global conflicts of that period (especially the Second World War, and in particular the Holocaust) and the ideologies that caused these conflicts, namely fascism/Nazism and communism. James only talks about the political leaders to a limited extent (although Hitler, Stalin and Mao constantly come looking around the corner); the emphasis is on the intellectuals and artists, especially from literature and much less from music, theatre, visual arts and architecture. Obviously (I’m really sad, I have to use the word ‘obviously’) it is an almost exclusively male company (only 11 female figures have gotten a chapter, though more of them show up within; but some obvious ones, like Virginia Woolf, just remain unmentioned). And the vast majority are European (mainly French and German, very often from Jewish descent). The United States and Latin America are also well cared for, but Asia and Africa in particular are almost completely absent. Thus, this is a thoroughly white book, and because of its high brow content also very elitist (that is not made up for by the few chapters about Tony Curtis, Coco Chanel or Dirk Cavett).
The ever-recurring mantra of James, which is underlined especially in his final chapter, is his unwavering belief in liberal democracy, in humanism and freedom. And there is, in my opinion, nothing wrong with that; it indicates that James really does have valuable things to tell, and it is his right to do so. But for our author, that belief is also an absolute criterion for morally weighing the many persons and currents mentioned. The heroes of James' story are those figures who contributed to those three phenomena (liberal democracy, humanism and freedom). He is utterly positive about intellectuals such as Raymond Aron, Benedetto Croce, François Furet, Wittold Gombrowicz, Leszek Kolakowski, Jean-François Revel, Ernesto Sabato, and Stefan Zweig, who - often against their surroundings - have openly opposed despotism, authoritarianism and all ideologies related to it.
And the bad ones are not only the classic demonic figures (Hitler, Mao and Trotsky get a separate chapter, Stalin curiously not, although he is constantly mentioned), but especially the intellectuals ("the useful idiots") who have been ideologically complicit in the crimes of the regimes of those demons, who collaborated with their game, or who consciously turned away and kept quiet. James directs his sharpest arrows against leftist intellectuals and artists such as Bertold Brecht, José Saramogo, the whole clique of French postmodernism, and especially against Jean-Paul Sartre (he gets the poisoniest vitriol on his head, and time and again James repeats what a perverse role Sartre has played in the post-war period); but also cowardly right-wing figures are blackened, like Jorge Louis Borges (yes!) and especially Ezra Pound (curiously Louis-Ferdinand Céline is only shortly mentioned).
So it is mainly authenticity that seems to be the criterion in the moral weighing process by Clive James, and rightly so. So I would not just call him "a right-wing bastard". All his opinions are clearly coloured ideologically, based on his belief in liberalism and humanism. But he uses this criterion as an inexorable razor edge, quite harsh sometimes. And occasionally James comes dangerously close to conservative-reactionary visions, for example in his attacks on multiculturalism and on Islam.
What bothered me most about this book is its pedantic character: James squeezes opinions, stacks them up, repeats them very often, but rarely you can find a proper argumentation. Occasionally he sometimes explains why he detests or admires this or that person or development, but in most cases his opinion simply stands out as a statement, and that is frustrating. Also, there’s a big portion of conceit in this book: James eagerly demonstrates his knowledge of foreign languages (he claims that he learned German, Italian, Spanish, Russian and a bit of Japanese just by reading the classics from that language, with a dictionary next to it), or he invokes his multiple encounters with famous men or women and ridicules their petty personality traits.
In short, this is definitely a very idiosyncratic book, (I have the impression that it could be twice as long if James had gotten his way by his publisher), but it also has its limitations, in style and in content. This book is formidable, breathtaking, and erudite, but also one-sided in its focus, very opinionated and provocative, regularly very self-indulgent and pedantic and therefore sometimes just enervating. But I’m sure that in coming years I’m going to browse through it many times again.
medium-paced
29/06/2023 - Another re-read. Another note. Each time I re-read this I find new things in it. New names that I somehow missed the first time around. New books I'd like to read. One day I'll re-read it and make a note of all the books he mentions. But, alas, a lot of them are not in print or, at least, not in print in English and I feel I don't have the ability or time to learn to read Russian, for example.
21/02/2021 I re-read Cultural Amnesia on a semi-regular basis to remind myself that I'd like to spend a day sitting in Clive James' library just looking at the books and taking in all the books that I'll probably never get around to reading.
I also read it to remind myself how to write criticism. I'm afraid that I am one of those people who has no gift for criticism and accordingly, to quote James himself '...can't be appreciative beyond a certain point, and that point is set quite low, in the basement of enjoyment.' James makes me understand how shallow my analysis is and how little I appreciate - or understand - the technical aspects of the arts.
He also makes me realize how careless I am. All these are good things to be reminded of, even if somewhat painful when you hold out an outside hope of making a career as a writer.
James manages to wear his learning reasonably lightly but there are occasions when you find yourself asking how he finds the time. Then you realize that what I treat as something to do in my spare time he does as a full-time job. God, I'd love to be able to spend my days reading and thinking about what I've been reading.
Cultural Amnesia focuses on individuals but uses them to illustrate the cultural and political history of - mostly - the 20th century. It is a story of both how fragile civilization can be in the face of totalitarianism. How intellectuals can fool themselves, even if they can't fool us.
It's an international story too. This isn't an anglophone story. Indeed, James is politely evangelical about learning to read in foreign languages, making suggestions about where to and how to start. Again, I wish I had the time. Perhaps that is just an excuse.
21/02/2021 I re-read Cultural Amnesia on a semi-regular basis to remind myself that I'd like to spend a day sitting in Clive James' library just looking at the books and taking in all the books that I'll probably never get around to reading.
I also read it to remind myself how to write criticism. I'm afraid that I am one of those people who has no gift for criticism and accordingly, to quote James himself '...can't be appreciative beyond a certain point, and that point is set quite low, in the basement of enjoyment.' James makes me understand how shallow my analysis is and how little I appreciate - or understand - the technical aspects of the arts.
He also makes me realize how careless I am. All these are good things to be reminded of, even if somewhat painful when you hold out an outside hope of making a career as a writer.
James manages to wear his learning reasonably lightly but there are occasions when you find yourself asking how he finds the time. Then you realize that what I treat as something to do in my spare time he does as a full-time job. God, I'd love to be able to spend my days reading and thinking about what I've been reading.
Cultural Amnesia focuses on individuals but uses them to illustrate the cultural and political history of - mostly - the 20th century. It is a story of both how fragile civilization can be in the face of totalitarianism. How intellectuals can fool themselves, even if they can't fool us.
It's an international story too. This isn't an anglophone story. Indeed, James is politely evangelical about learning to read in foreign languages, making suggestions about where to and how to start. Again, I wish I had the time. Perhaps that is just an excuse.