What is thepoint of the long hunting scene in War and Peace?

War and Peace, by Tolstoy. Starting in Volume II, part IV, chapter 3, Nikolay Rostov decides to take the dogs out hunting for wolves and hares. A small army of Rostovs, dogs, handlers, serfs, neighbors, a taciturn "Uncle" and all their horses swarm into the forest to catch these unfortunate animals. It's interesting because Tolstoy wrote it. It goes on for five chapters! Twenty five pages. They catch a wolf and a hare, serfs fight with neighboring serfs, "Uncle" treats Nikolay, Natasha, and Petya to roast chicken, tasty things, and vodka. It's all fun. It's all an exhausting day for the Rostovs. I was getting a little annoyed. What's the  purpose of this lengthy scene? Is it to show Natasha's still-girlish spirits while she waits for the year to pass so she can marry Prince Andrey? Is it to show what happens in the peacetime of "Peace" from the title?

It was not simply a German thing: "The Sleepwalkers", by Christopher Clark

The Sleepwalkers: how Europe went to War in 1914, by Christopher Clark (Harper, 2013), 697 pages

This book carefully details the diplomatic, political, and military actions and events of the decade preceding world war I. The book culminates in the summer of 1914, immediately following the assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Joseph and his wife Sophie in Sarajevo by the young Serb terrorist Gavril Prncip, the event that triggered the declarations of war and cost the lives of millions. And of course, world war I set the stage for World War II twenty years later, and its even greater atrocities and many more millions.

In the week since I finished Sleepwalkers, what has stayed foremost for me is Clark's steady and clear thesis that Germany did not itself initiate the war and that it was not involved in a grand scheme of conquest. I know there is a consensus among British historians that Germany started the war as a war of conquest, for land and resources. Clark refutes this view. He shows the Kaiser in various lights, none particularly flattering, but not as a war mongerer. Clark emphasizes Germany's attempts at reconciliation and rapproachment with England, most of which were rejected by the English. And Germany was bordered by two increasingly hostile powers: France, which searched for an excuse to reclaim the Alsaice Lorraine, and Russia, which sought to expand its power and influence in the Balkans, at the expense of Germany's close ally Austria Hungary. Clark painstakingly shows France as goading and leading Russia to war as its ally, a war French commanders thought could be won with their Russian ally. In the end, Clark depicts Germany as having little choice but to fight.

The war was a tragedy which at its inception offered no significant, tangible benefit to any of the great powers. They were drawn into it by a web of interlocking alliances, treaties, vengeance for past wrongs and slights. The men who made the decisions and did the talking that led to war were also caught in game of machismo -- nobody wanted to appear soft. Clark's reference to "sleepwalkers" is that the men and countries of Europe permitted themselves to half-consciously walk to war despite their conscious minds' objectives to avoid war. And if WWI had not occurred as a general continental war, then we might not have had WWII twenty years later, and its even greater carnage.

The characterizations and depictions of the diplomats, ministers, and commanders who populate Sleepwalkers are excellent. The people, and all their weaknesses, sudden changes of heart, good sides and bad sides, are well written. They all come alive, and thus are easier to understand. This is a well-written book.

If you would like a learned review of the book, read the Book review by Harold Evans in the New York Times.


As a general reader, I would have liked a couple of additions to the book: more maps, and a condensed guide to the major themes, alliances, and characters. There are some maps, but once you've passed a relevant map thirty pages ago, seeing a closer-scale map of a region would be useful. And for a general reader unfamiliar with the details of a particular history, a section at the beginning of the book summarizing the themes, alliances and characters would help our understanding of what we are reading. Clark frequently refers to a treaty or diplomat not mentioned in many pages, and so the reference is forgotten. A guide at the beginning would be a great help.

Resurrection, by Leo Tolstoy -- didactic and mechanical, but still Tolstoy

I recently read Tolstoy's Resurrection, and I was struck by the didactic tone throughout the book -- Tolstoy is out to educate us. The lively details and insights into character and soul that you come to expect from War and Peace and Anna Karenina are still there, but they are separated by long passages of mechanical narrative. I never felt satisfied with Prince Nekhlyudov. Yet his story, in brief, is compelling -- the prince sits on a jury that mistakenly convicts a prostitute of murder; he recognizes her as the young woman he once had a brief affair with, causing an unwanted pregnancy and thus setting the woman on the downward course of life that led her to her current misfortune; and the prince searches for a way to make it up to her, learning in the process what misery and chaos that prisoners suffer on their way through the Russian justice system. There are many moving and wonderful scenes -- from Nekhlyudov's youth, the Easter liturgy when he was young, with the young girl there, the scenes where wretched prisoners besiege him and plead for his help, the dusty agonizing scenes on the road to Siberia. Despite the book's faults, it's still Tolstoy, and you can't stop reading and admiring.

People with little to hide: The Cocktail Hour, by A.R. Gurney

The Cocktail Hour, a play by A.R. Gurney, at the Huntington Theater, Saturday, December 7.

We like A.R. Gurney's plays, having seen Love Letters, The Snow Ball, and now The Cocktail Hour. This last play on Saturday night left me a little let down. The friendly but unsatisfied review by Don Aucoin in the Boston Globe seemed accurate to me.

The young playwright John, played by James Waterston, has brought his play manuscript home for the family to read and approve. The play is about his family, with the father taking a lead role. His patrician and cranky father does not approve -- he doesn't like the idea of the truth being displayed up there on the stage. (Who would?) The family members are generally well drawn, though the sister Nina seems a little odd (she's contented living a family life of many small contentments, yet the actress Pamela J. Gray plays her as being easily riled about her unfulfilled life -- the contradiction bothered me). John struck me as a toned down Woody Allen. Great performances by Richard Poe as the prosperous easy-going father Bradley, and Maureen Anderman, as the apparently ditzy mother Ann. They were both perfect as wealthy, monied Buffalonians who live along Delaware Avenue, near the art gallery.

There are lots of small laughs along the way. I recognized myself and my family in the words and characters. That John goes back home to Buffalo to receive approval for his play, well, that certainly hits home with me. It becomes obvious that John's play is actually the play we are watching, and this has a dated feel to it. We know this is experimental, and there's no compelling reason for it.

It occurred to me that these people, these characters, in fact don't really have any momentous secrets to hide. John wants to create some drama...but there really isn't any, at least not in this play. These are ordinary, decent people, not saints. Their ordinariness is both endearing and troubling. That there is in fact no great conflict, or actual confrontations of the type that John talks about regarding his mother, is what left me feeling that the play is somehow unfinished and unsatisfying.

A Place for Us, by Nicholas Gage, is a wonderful history of Greeks in America

A Place for Us, by Nicholas Gage (1989)

As I read this fast-reading and absorbing autobiography, I felt as if Gage was writing about my own family and Greek relatives and friends that I had grown up with in Buffalo. So many patterns that we all followed: the village roots, early poverty, endless work, tight all-consuming family bonds, bringing relatives over from Greece, the adherence to family honor (especially through the behavior of women), the loyalty to family and fellow patrioti.

Gage depicts how the traditional Greek character (at least, the village-rooted character) works, and does a wonderful and funny job showing its conflict with modern American life. His conflicts as a young man with his father (a man who had lived and worked in America for decades before Nicholas and his sisters came over) are carefully detailed and not sentimentalized -- his father is a real man. He took pains to detail the relationship with his difficult, irascible grandfather, when he made a lengthy trip back to Lia, Greece, in the 1960s. He showed, for example, how the old man preened and exalted in the cleverness of his grandson outwitting the other village men at cards -- Nicholas was one smart mangas.

I was impressed by Gage's focus on what he wanted to do with his life. He discovered in high school that he wanted to be a journalist, and he stuck with that, going on to study journalism in college, to work for the Wall Street Journal, and the New York Times. He juggled his journalism and writing career with his commitment to his family life (he lived and stayed close to his father, sisters, and Greek relatives throughout his career). He kept going, despite setbacks, and a lack of money. He always had the burning need to resolve the murder of his mother Eleni by Communist andartes in the Greek Civil War, and that tied in with his work as a journalist, and led him to a lifelong relationship with Greece and Greeks. I could have used some of his determination!

I was a little put off by Gage's somewhat boastful descriptions of his early sexual experiences. Yet, one of the hottest areas of conflict between young Greeks and their conservative, village-born parents, there in 1950s and 1960s Worcester, Massachusetts, was over sex. It was the same for all Greek boys and girls growing up in America during the emerging sexual revolution of that time. Greek boys were naturally exhorted to get all the sex they could get, while girls were strictly repressed. By describing Gage's own experiences rather explicitly, he draws a contrast to the proscribed life of his sisters, who could not even speak to boys, Greek or American, without harming the family honor. If he is gleeful in his descriptions, Gage at least shows some self-deprecating humor on the subject as well.

I was pleased to read Gage's mention of Arthur Kanaracus, another immigrant, who was then a Greek School teacher in Worcester. The young Gage did not know that the "tall, sad-eyed dark man with glasses, who limped as a result of losing a foot under a train in childhood..." was also a serious composer. In our church choir, we often sing some of Kanaracus's compositions during the divine liturgy, and they are some of my favorite hymns.

There is so much about Greek life in this book, I wish that all Greek Americans could read it.

Health insurance, and The Elephant Man at the New Repertory Theater

The Elephant Man, a play by Bernard Pomerance, at the New Rep Theatre in Watertown. Directed by Jim Petosa.

Haven't had a chance to write in this blog for a while. We saw The Elephant Man several weeks ago, and at this distance, I remember that the first half was absorbing. John Merrick's terrible disfiguring disease (I don't recall the exact name of it), and his awful attempts live a somewhat normal life in late 19th century England, made for good drama. Tim Spears, who plays Merrick, was terrific, as was Michael Kaye, who played the doctor Frederick Treves, who sheltered Merrick in London Hospital. It's a good story in itself, how Merrick permitted himself to be shown in a freak show, his ambiguous relationship with the freak show manager, his pathetic flight to London and to the care of Treves, where he becomes a favorite object of pity and support by London socialites and philanthropists.

The second act...I don't remember much (except for the Victorian-clothed actress Mrs. Kendal giving Merrick a thrill by displaying her breasts to him while on a picnic, her back to the audience). There was a lot of talk about motives. I think the overall question was about who should care for patients like Merrick, and who should pay for it. The playbill implied that this was related to our current debate about health care reform, and I see that. Must Merrick be an object of pity in order to receive donations from wealthy Londoners, and thus maintain a decent life? It's a long stretch from there to the current debate about requiring universal coverage by insurance companies, but I can see the connection, since the Health Care Reform Act (Obamacare) removes the necessity of anyone having to ask for help -- everyone has help in the form of health insurance.

"Blue jasmine" -- a concocted film with a good performance

The new Woody Allen film Blue Jasmine is worth seeing for the performance of actress Cate Blanchett, who plays Jasmine, a woman struggling to keep her sanity after a steep, sudden fall from wealth and privilege. Her husband was a financial con man (a la Bernie Madoff) who was exposed and sent to prison thanks in part to her character's dropping a dime on him to the FBI in a fit of rage after learning of his multiple affairs. She's now poor at the beginning of the film, and flies to San Francisco to live with her blue collar sister and that sister's two young sons. Blanchett is a great physical presence. She depicts the emotions and crumbling of her life while desperately trying to hold on to that life.

Aside from Blanchett's performance, the film is marred by a number of flaws in the script and the story line. Everyone, including Blanchett's character, is out of central casting. She and her friends in Manhattan, from her good days (we see them in flashbacks), are one-dimensional types. The same is true for her husband, played by Alec Baldwin, a financial con artist, and her sister's boy friend, a car mechanic.

The logical fallacies of the film bothered me. Blanchett is flying first class in the opening scene, though we never discover where she got the money to do so -- she's supposed to be so destitute that she has to get a job working in a dentist's office. Jasmine's sister, a grocery clerk in San Francisco, lives in a spacious apartment (it's big enough to offer Jasmine a room) filled with furniture and tasteful decorations that don't seem related to a grocery clerk's salary. There are a number of such holes in the film and story line. The biggest problem is that I never believed the formerly rich and smooth Jasmine was in any way related to her blue collar sister -- these two don't seem as if they ever grew up in the same house together. That Jasmine would fly across the country, in her time of need, to get a job as a dental office secretary and live with this sister stretches credulity. This and other problems gives the film a concocted feel.

I read elsewhere that the story line is related to Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire. This is correct only in a vague way. Yes, Jasmine and Blanche Duboit have both taken steep falls, but the resemblance ends with that. Blanche dwells on her past glory, while Jasmine actively works to re-acquire the life she once new, and she's willing to lie her way there.

Letter to Amnesty International: stop abetting the work of Edward Snowden

I sent a letter to Amnesty International yesterday, complaining of their uncritical support for the work of Edward Snowden, the former NSA programmer and contractor who revealed the workings of the NSA's surveillance programs and threatens to reveal thousands of secret files and protocols. You can read about Amnesty's efforts on their web site here.

I would support Amnesty's work if they protected Snowden's rights to a fair trial, to speak freely without fearing harm. But they've gone farther than that in this case -- they've glorified him and his actions. Here is the letter:

Dear Amnesty International,

As a longtime supporter of Amnesty International and your wonderful work, I am unhappy with your uncritical support for Edward Snowden, and AI's efforts to abet his work. Snowden's intentions are at best ambiguous, and he is quite possibly a traitor to the country he pledged to protect and that protected him for his entire life.

He has revealed the presence and details of secret surveillance programs run by the United States in its efforts to defend its people against enemies who have ruthlessly killed thousands of noncombatants, Americans and people from other nations. These programs are overseen by our elected representatives. He has threatened to reveal secret files, codes and protocols that will harm American intelligence agents and activities. And he has humiliated our country by placing himself and his document stash in the protection of Vladimir Putin's Russia (of all countries).

These are not the actions of a whistleblower. If he were a whistleblower, he could have quit his position and gone to the NY Times, Fox News, 60 Minutes -- or Amnesty International.

I don't know what Edward Snowden is. The issues of privacy and governmental intrusion (in an era when all our communications are stored on servers and networks around the world) are real. But his course of action has been to harm the United States.

Amnesty International has diluted its resources and moral effectiveness by forcefully supporting Snowden and lionizing him. Until this stops, I will not send any further financial support to AI, and will urge my friends to do likewise.

Sincerely,

John Melithoniotes

Watertown, MA

USA

 As I say, I don't yet know what Snowden is, whether he's a whistleblower genuinely interested in exposing a massive unnecessary surveillance into the lives of millions of people, or if he's an egotistical paranoid man who sees himself as a kind of savior and who became a traitor. I feel Amnesty International overstepped their mandate by abetting his work and flight from the American justice system.

How life crumbles: the play "Absurd Person Singular" at the Central Square Theater

Absurd Person Singular, a play by Alan Ayckbourn, by the Nora Theater Company at Central Square Theater. Directed by Daniel Gidron.

We saw this performance July 21st. At first, I thought the mannerisms and quips came off as a bit dated and tedious, not unlike the British domestic comedies from the 80s and 90s that are still repeated on PBS. But slowly, I began to feel that we were really into something. A couple puts on a Christmas Eve party, and is slyly treated with contempt by the better-established guests. Sidney (played dry and convincingly by David Berger-Jones) comes off as an early John Cleese. Jane (Samantha Evans) as his frantic wife.

Over the course of three Christmas Eves, the fortunes of the various couples are reversed, until the first couple are avenged, calling the tune, sadistically forcing the others to dance and pretend merriment. Good performances, some genuinely funny spots. I was not entirely convinced by the play itself. The lives of the various characters crumble, as lives do, and we start to feel some affection and sympathy for them. But the route to Sidney and Jane's sadistic vengeance seems a little faked -- we don't see it in them until the very last scene.

Whatever its faults, I was sorry it ended: Jim the Boy

Jim the Boy, a novel by Tony Earley, Little Brown (2001).

I enjoyed reading this novel, and came to feel that the young boy, Jim, his bachelor uncles Zeno, Coran, Al, and his mother Elizabeth were people I knew. Earley writes in a plainspoken, intimate manner that is just right for the characters of this rural town in North Carolina in the 1930s. Throughout the book, Jim the boy's father, who died just before Jim the boy was born, is a ghostly presence. The boy yearns to know him, to hear stories about him. To be like him. His widowed mother is courted by a man that her brother Zeno (the head of the family) approves of, and yet she cannot stop her by now morbid devotion to her dead husband. Jim the boy's search for his father ties the different chapters and stories, and small town events together. There are a number of small narratives that intersect, including Jim's awkward friendship with Penn, a boy who is both his best friend and his strongest competitor (though the character of Penn seems a little unfilled).

I sometimes felt the sentiment in the work put a kind of sentimental haze over the characters. The uncles and Jim's mother are so lovingly depicted, they seem a little too saintly. But their mishaps and pain are real enough. Earley's plain style helps prevent the sentiment from overwhelming the stories and characters. Whatever its faults, I was sorry the book ended.

Dancing at Lughnesa -- something truly lived

Dancing at Lughnesa, a play by Brian Friel. We saw the Sunday afternoon performance at Wellesley Summer Theater, June 2, 2013. Directed by Nora Hussey and Marta Rainer.

From the description that I read in the Globe, I expected a sad dark play. Five adult sisters living together on a remote farm in Ireland in 1936. Their frail elder brother returns from his missionary work in Africa after many years, his mind wandering and perhaps broken. And the sisters' lives get worse, as the oldest sisters loses her job as a teacher, and two of the younger ones lose their piece-work knitting jobs.

Whoah. But it's darker and more sorrowful than that. The play is narrated by the adult Michael, the son of one of the sisters, many years later as he reminisces about that summer of 1936, when uncle returned from Africa. The very device of reminiscence in a play, of knowing that the people depicted are long dead, of course pulls us into a sad, doomed world.  I liked it a lot.

The slight bits of humor delighted us, as did the dancing and the loud brash sisters. They were all wonderful performances by the cast. I felt heartsick at the end, and wished that some of the sadness and sentiment had not hit us so hard, yet I felt that I had seen something truly lived. And I wouldn't change it.

"Childhood, Boyhood, Youth" -- what a great title!

Childhood, Boyhood, Youth, by Leo Tolstoy. Translated by Judson Rosengrant. Penguin 2012 edition. The three main chapters represent the narrator's description of those early parts of his life growing up on his family's country estate, moving to Moscow, and on to his early university days.

I found myself wrapped up in this little trilogy of...what, memoirs? Autobiographical writings? Fiction in the form of memoir? I came to love the family characters and friends. Surely, it must be Tolstoy himself. He surprises me, as when he writes lovingly of his father, but then bluntly alludes to an affair his father had. It's Tolstoy. The unexpected details, ideas, perspectives. The lovingly detailed passages of happiness and sadness. Some of it gets tedious. There is lots that is unformed. But it's Tolstoy. I could happily re-read it.