An Unfinished Love Story: A Personal History of the 1960s by Doris Kearns Goodwin; Part Two

As history, backed up by Dick Goodwin’s documentation, points out, John F. Kennedy was in the midst of overseeing many profound societal changes when he was assassinated, and Johnson, on assuming the presidency, became determined to see these initiatives through to completion. According to Goodwin, who knew him well and worked closely with him, Johnson was sincere in his desire to improve the lives of the poor and the working class and to assist Black people and other minorities in obtaining equal rights. As part of an initiative called the Great Society, he pushed through legislation such as the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and the Civil Rights Act of 1968, which focused on housing discrimination. In addition, the Food Stamp Program, Medicare, and Medicaid were all initiated in 1964 and 1965 due to his efforts. In 1964, he was elected to the presidency by an unprecedented landslide.

Alas, though: Johnson’s reputation became irreparably tarnished by the escalation of the Vietnam War during his presidency. In fact, it was opposition to the war that finally led Goodwin to leave the White House. He wanted his friend Robert Kennedy to make a run for president, but when Kennedy hesitated, Goodwin allied himself with the budding campaign of Eugene McCarthy, assisting McCarthy in getting his campaign off the ground. However, when Kennedy opted in, Goodwin returned to him. It appeared as if Kennedy was going to win the Democratic nomination, but then he, like his brother, was assassinated by a gunman.

Another major player in this drama was Martin Luther King, Jr. He worked closely with Johnson during the victories of the Great Society, but he broke with the president over the issue of the Vietnam War. When King was shot and killed, shortly before Kennedy’s murder, rioting broke out around the country; it was difficult to quell the grief and anger.

All of these events are explained from an insider’s perspective as Doris and Richard Goodwin go through his papers, notes, journal entries, newspaper clippings, and so on – and add to the historical accounts with personal reminiscences. After their careers in politics, both Doris and Richard went on to become teachers and writers, but the heart of this book is their involvement in the history-defining activities of the sixties. For me, reading it was like hopping aboard a time machine back to that era and reliving events that shaped my own life, the country, and the world. I realized as I read that the government-induced violence and polarization of the present are not unique. Every historical period has its heroes and its villains, and in the case of politicians these are often the same people depending upon the decisions they make and the actions they take in the context of their times. Johnson was first adulated for his efforts to improve the lives of downtrodden Americans and then excoriated for his continual escalation of the Vietnam War effort. As a result, he has a mixed legacy. John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Robert Kennedy’s lives were cut short before they could fulfill their potential. So it goes. That the country was able to pull itself out of the quagmire of the Vietnam War and the resultant internal disunity gives me hope that we might somehow be able to recover from the present chaos once again.

In a perfect world, reflecting on the mistakes of the past would help us not make those mistakes again. Of course, this world is far from perfect, but we should not forget the struggles of the past, for though in them there is great tragedy and grief, there is also great nobility and heroism. The author herself says it best in the epilogue: “We are clearly in the midst of a profound ‘testing time’ today, and at such times, I have long argued, the study of history is crucial to provide perspective, warning, counsel, and even comfort. At a moment when the guidance of history is most needed, however, history itself is under attack, its relevance in school curriculums questioned.” And concerning the subject matter of this book, she adds: “Too often, memories of assassination, violence, and social turmoil have obscured the greatest illumination of the Sixties, the spark of communal idealism and belief that kindled social justice and love for a more inclusive vision of America.” I wrote of this recently, in fact, in my essay “During Times like These,” in which I balance the chaos and violence of the sixties with the humanistic revival that took place as an inevitable reaction. I wrote: “This internal awakening, which swept across the country and around the world, was like a bright shining light in the midst of the deep darkness of government-imposed violence. And this light inspired artistic representations in music, literature, film, and other mediums. It made the era special not only because of its crass horrific ignorance and violence, but also because of the awakening of the best in humankind, the brotherhood and sisterhood of all of us, the willingness to esteem others, regardless of their idiosyncratic characteristics, as beloved equals, and to assist those in need. Beneath the ubiquitous barbarity in the daily news ran an undercurrent of countercultural tranquility and harmony. I remember it well. It made the sixties and seventies special. It united those of good will.”

In closing, not many people have had the advantage of a close-up look at crucial historical events like the author of this book and her husband. This makes it a document of inestimable value that holds important clues for our collective way forward.

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Book Review:  An Unfinished Love Story: A Personal History of the 1960s by Doris Kearns Goodwin; Part One

The third time’s the charm. On three different occasions I checked this book out of the library. The first two times I returned it without reading it. I was tempted by it, as I am by all things having to do with the sixties, but ultimately other books caught my attention more. This time, though I decided to plunge in fifty pages or so and get a feel for the text. I’m glad I did. I thought, at first, that it was a compilation of personal diary accounts from the era, or something like that, but it is something entirely different. Additionally, the “love story” in the title is a misnomer. It’s true that the frame around which the story takes place is the marriage of Doris Goodwin to Richard Goodwin and the two of them reminiscing about the sixties fifty years after the fact, but the heart of it concerns the tumultuous politics of the era, in which the two were involved: Doris briefly at the end of the decade, but Richard intimately as advisor and speechwriter to John F. Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Eugene McCarthy, and Robert Kennedy.

Back before the internet and personal computers, people kept their documents on paper, and the impetus of this tale is the transfer of about three hundred boxes full of Richard’s documents and memorabilia concerning his political work in the 1960s from storage to their home. He and Doris decide to go through the documents together to form a clear picture of what happened back then. What follows is a fascinating in-depth look at events that shaped the decade from the perspective of someone with a front-row seat.

I grew up in the sixties. I clearly remember the day in class (I was in sixth grade I think) that the school principal entered the room and paused the lesson to inform us that President Kennedy had just been shot while in a motorcade in Texas. I also remember, as a young teen, becoming more and more apprehensive as under President Johnson’s watch the Vietnam War kept escalating, the draft was initiated, and there was a significant possibility that when I came of age I might be called up and sent to fight in Southeast Asia.

Doris Goodwin served for a time at the White House under President Johnson near the end of the decade, but the book is mainly about the career of Dick Goodwin. After a stint in the military, he returned to the States with a “self-appointed mission: to do whatever work he could to close the gap between our national ideals and the reality of our everyday lives.” With this in mind, he went to Harvard Law School, graduating at the top of his class and then clerking for U.S. Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter. Early on as a lawyer, he investigated the national quiz show scandals, which became famous through Robert Redford’s award-nominated film Quiz Show.

And then, in 1959, Goodwin joined Senator John F. Kennedy’s speechwriting staff. He wrote some of Kennedy’s most famous speeches as he campaigned for and won the presidency. During his time with Kennedy, he became close friends with Jacqueline Kennedy and Robert Kennedy.

There are many touching stories of dedication and service. One of these is the enthusiasm for the Peace Corps amidst America’s youth. When Kennedy initiated the Peace Corps, it struck a chord in the hearts of the young and elevated the country’s standing in the eyes of the rest of the world. As I read about this, I wondered if the same commitment might be found in this modern era if a suitable program was available. But the world has changed, of course. The author points out that “unlike today, the Sixties were still a time when a candidate’s word represented a commitment to a prescribed course of action. What one said mattered. If one reneged on that word, a future time of reckoning would be waiting.” That’s not to say that things always went smoothly. As this glimpse into the inner workings of power demonstrates, the way forward generally lurched from one crisis to the next.

(To be continued…)

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Book Review:  Positive Obsession: The Life and Times of Octavia E. Butler by Susana M. Morris

From the mid-1970s until 2012 I lived overseas in Europe, the Indian Subcontinent, Southeast Asia, and New Zealand, and this kept me out of touch with much of what was happening in my homeland of the United States. Besides the presidencies of Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and George W. Bush, I also missed observing the stellar careers of luminaries of the science fiction and fantasy field such as Octavia E. Butler. I only discovered Butler’s works when I returned to live once again in the States. The first work I read by her, in an anthology I happened to pick up, was the amazing Hugo Award-winning short story “Speech Sounds.”

In fact, Butler was the first Black woman to make a career out of writing science fiction. When she began writing and submitting in the 1970s, the field was mainly dominated by white male writers. As Morris brings out, though, in this fascinating book, Butler not only had talent but persistence; the positive obsession of the title was an all-but overwhelming desire to write, a focus that began early, when she was still a child, and continued throughout her life. Her dedication paid off as she found publishers for her novels and stories, won multiple awards, and became the first science fiction writer to be awarded a MacArthur Fellowship, also known as a MacArthur Genius Grant.

This book is partially a biography and partially an analysis of Butler’s writings. I found the biographical elements most absorbing. I could have done with less comprehensive summaries of the plots of Butler’s novels. I would have preferred just a few teasers; I’d rather get the details by reading the novels themselves. Otherwise, though, the story of Butler’s obsession with writing deeply resonates with me. I can’t say I can relate to everything she went through; after all, I’m not a woman and I’m not Black. But I felt great empathy as I read of her struggles with loneliness and her fascination with writing. I share her positive obsession with writing. I too experienced (and still experience) the discouragement of rejections while attempting to establish myself as a published author. I concur with her realization that “the most important thing I do every day is to write, to work on my novels and stories. They are my love and my work, my fortune, my life…” And now that my kids have grown and gone, as an empty-nester, I sympathize with her heart cry: “My pen and my paper, they comfort me – at least a little. They allow me to scream into utter silence. They focus my thoughts, they permit me to act when no other action is possible.”

The stark difference between us as artists, of course, is that Butler became a famous award-winning writer, while I am as yet unknown. However, this story of Butler’s life brings out that if you are a dedicated writer, whether you are popular and fiscally successful or not, you don’t wait for some sort of ethereal inspiration; you sit down and write every day. Your waking thoughts are consumed with writing. It is your writing that gives your life purpose and focus.

I am truly thankful that I have had a chance to get to know Butler, at least somewhat, through this book. She spent her last years in Seattle, and I might have had a chance to meet her after I moved back to the area, but her life was tragically cut short when she fell outside her home and died in 2006 at the age of fifty-eight. At least she left us the legacy of her words, which are still in print and continue to be popular to this day. I highly recommend this biography of an exceptionally dedicated and talented writer.

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Navigation (Part One)

This week in my newsletter The Perennial Nomad: For Those Who Wander with Intent I explore the complications of crossing borders during international journeys.

Perennial nomads are citizens of the world and recognize that national borders come and go according to historical exigencies. However, no matter what country you are from, if you want to travel internationally you must navigate the systems of the world: political, social, cultural, and sometimes religious. One of the most vexing can be the political. This involves obtaining passports, visas, vaccinations, and so on. Sometimes accomplishing this takes a fair amount of determination.

Click on this link to read the rest.

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Book Review:  Careless People: A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism by Sarah Wynn-Williams

This powerful expose is written by a former Facebook executive, a New Zealand national who for several years worked on government relations and global policy for the ubiquitous social network. The title comes from the novel The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: “They were careless people, Tom and Daisy – they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.” When this book came out, Facebook tried to suppress it, which in fact only increased its sales.

My family first began using Facebook, to a limited extent, while the kids were growing up in Greece; through it I was able to connect to my siblings overseas. It became more important when I moved to the States with some of my sons and then they began to scatter all over the country. We used Messenger to keep in touch by text and sometimes via video links. At the same time, the Facebook news feeds on my personal page rapidly deteriorated into advertisements and promotional material, until nowadays I get five to ten items of irrelevant crap for every update from friends or relatives. Still, if you can ignore the floodtide of bullshit, the network provides a valuable service in making it easier for loved ones to communicate with one another.

Wynn-Williams was working for the New Zealand government in Washington, D.C. when she became attracted to Facebook. She writes: “After years of looking for things that would change the world, I thought I’d found the biggest one going.” And: “What do you do when you see a revolution is coming? I decide I will stop at nothing to be part of it.” At the beginning she states that “the work feels important. Like Facebook is a force for good in the world.” Despite the seeming indifference of her overseers to anything other than growth and profit, for a long time she continues to feel this idealism. To spur corporate growth, she travels around the world trying to promote Facebook internationally. She goes, for instance, to Vietnam, Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Columbia, Canada, Singapore, and has a particularly wild and somewhat dangerous journey to Burma.

Through it all, to keep Facebook growing, the company is faced with one moral compromise after another with foreign governments, all of which the top executives are willing to make as long as growth and profit are not impeded. In fact, top Facebook management figures seem to have no regard or respect for anyone else – even heads of state. Their selfishness and narcissism is well nigh unbelievable. For example, Zuckerberg himself is unwilling to wake up earlier than usual even for urgent meetings with leaders of countries. Growing users and ad revenues and maintaining Facebook’s monopoly is everything; anything else can be compromised – even politics.

A series of events disillusions the author enough so that she determines that she’ll have to leave. For example, the leadership is indifferent when an employee in another country ends up in jail due to company policy. After Wynn-Williams almost dies during a difficult childbirth, when she returns to work the atmosphere has become even more ominous. International political involvement has increased, but it mainly consists of enabling dangerous and incendiary politicians for profit, “to sign up more users.” In addition, she continues to be sexually harassed by her immediate superior. Eventually, when she tries to get away from him by transferring to another department, she is instead fired. In the end she writes: “Now I’m consumed by the worst of it. The grief and sorrow of it. How Facebook is helping some of the worst people in the world do terrible things.” Of her former employers she writes: “They could’ve tried to fix these things and still been insanely rich and powerful.”

This is a gripping memoir that tells some tragic truths about one of the world’s largest companies. One of the saddest parts, though, is that these horrific things are not even surprising. We expect such moral turpitude from major corporations these days. It’s just business, they claim, and we fall for this delusion.

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Book Review:  Brave the Wild River: The Untold Story of Two Women Who Mapped the Botany of the Grand Canyon by Melissa L. Sevigny

I finished this book with a profound sense of satisfaction. It is not only a gripping travel adventure, but it also gives a clear picture of the all-pervasive misogyny during the era in which the story takes place. It’s hard to believe, when we consider what women have accomplished in modern times, that less than one hundred years ago the ubiquitous notion was that “a woman’s place was in the home” and that they were too delicate for anything but housewifely activities. When in 1938 botanists Elzada Clover and Lois Jotter proposed to undertake an expedition down the Colorado River to study its plant life, though, they faced intense opposition due to such pervasive attitudes. The six hundred-plus mile route through the Grand Canyon to Lake Mead was beset with perilous rapids, and only a few expeditions, composed solely of men, had successfully made it all the way through. Undaunted, the women undertook the forty-three-day journey with four male teammates in three boats, enduring numerous hardships as they collected plant specimens and took copious notes along the way. The trip became a media sensation; at each stopover point they were met by national news crews that would interview them, film them, and often ask them rude and demeaning questions.

Nowadays dams have subdued the worst of the white water, but back then the Colorado was largely untamed and considered by many the most dangerous river in the world. Besides the treacherous rapids, there were risks of heat stroke, hypothermia, exhaustion, storms, landslides, flash floods, rattlesnakes, and a multitude of other perils. If the travelers became stranded, they might starve to death, as in many places it was impossible to climb out of the canyon back to civilization. They all had to rely on each other, as well as on their courage, tenacity, skills, and sometimes sheer luck.

Clover and Jotter were true pioneers in establishing the place of women in scientific endeavors. However, as the author points out: “The same challenges that Clover and Jotter confronted decades ago remain barriers for women in the sciences today.” They receive, on average, significantly smaller salaries than men and are able to publish fewer papers than their male counterparts. It is an ongoing struggle. As for the Colorado, Sevigny states that “many questions remain for the river’s management.” The overriding considerations have to do with the balance between human usage and protection of its ecosystems.

While reading this exciting book, I couldn’t help but remember a river journey I almost made during my travels on the Indian Subcontinent. During my first trip east, after traversing the Khyber Pass between Afghanistan and Pakistan, on a train ride from Peshawar to Rawalpindi I met another traveler, a Norwegian, and we concocted a scheme to get hold of some sort of boat in Multan in central Pakistan and travel down the Indus River to Karachi. It was a ridiculous and foolhardy idea, which we realized as soon as we reached Multan. (We eventually continued onward by train.) But for a brief time we envisioned ourselves as river tramps.

Clover and Jotter, though, fulfilled their vision, became national heroes, and furthered the cause of science, and this exciting book tells their true story. Recommended.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

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Book Review:  People Like Us: A Novel by Jason Mott

Right at the beginning of this enigmatic, sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, mystifying, and surreal book, the author states that it is at least partially based on fact, but “to keep the lawyers cooling their heels,” the “whole thing has been fitted with a fiction overcoat.” He emphasizes that if he is pressed on the issue, he would swear that he “made it all up. Even if it really happened.” This reminded me of another book that I read a few years ago called I Love You but I’ve Chosen Darkness, in which the autobiographical elements create verisimilitude for the more flamboyant, obviously fictional parts.

The narrator of People Like Us is a novelist who has recently won what he refers to as “The Big One,” the National Book Award, just as the real author, Jason Mott, won the 2021 National Book Award for his novel Hell of a Book. I have not read Hell of a Book, but after reading a short summary, I realize that People Like Us seems to be a sort of sequel to it, using the same structure and some of the same characters. Like its predecessor, People Like Us alternates its primary narration with third-person accounts of a character named Soot who is also an author and a doppelganger of the narrator. Soot’s story, though, is suffused with tragedy, full of school shootings and divorce and suicide, while the first-person narrator, although he is pursued by a psychotic surrealistic character named Rufus who is trying to kill him, and although he has become paranoid and carries a loaded gun wherever he goes, has a more light-hearted tone – or at least he adopts a light-hearted tone to cover the overwhelming angst he continually feels. After winning “The Big One,” the narrator is invited on a European book tour by a French billionaire. In his story, he blocks out the billionaire’s real name (for legal purposes, he claims) and calls him Frenchie. He also nicknames other major characters: Frenchie’s bodyguard becomes the Goon, and Frenchie’s secretary becomes the Kid.

Frenchie is so wealthy that money is completely irrelevant to him, and he offers to support the narrator in a lavish lifestyle, in other words with so much cash that he’d want for nothing, so that he can spend his full time writing without having to worry about his financial well-being. There’s only one catch: he can never return to the States. He must live in permanent exile. Considering the horror stories in the Soot sections of the story, this would seem to be a no-brainer; after all, the United States has become, for the narrator as well as for Soot, a hellhole full of traumatic memories. There is one scene in Paris in which famous Black expatriate writers, over drinks and snacks, extol on how great they feel after leaving the United States behind. In response to this, the Kid (who is an American expatriate) has a fit and runs off into the darkness screaming in perplexity, wondering why they don’t all instead return to the States and try to fix it.

Throughout both story threads are surrealistic elements. For instance, some memories are so graphic that they are referred to as time travel; in addition, the narrator has visions of things that may or may not really be there, and one of the characters, a woman named Kelly, can hear the narrator’s thoughts as if through telepathy. There is also the question of the title. Who does he mean when he refers to “people like us”? He comes back to this conundrum over and over in alternate renderings; besides “people like us” he points out “someone like me,” “people like you,” “not like you,” and so on. Each time the phrases are used, they seem to refer to different groups. For example: writers who have won major awards; writers in general; all creative people; Black people; famous Black people; Black writers; displaced people without homelands; everyone. The phrase continues to shape-shift all the way to the final paragraphs of the last page, and the plot (which, remember, may or may not be true) continues to twist until the end. All in all, People Like Us is an entertaining, albeit somewhat depressing, read; I’ll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions about its denouement.

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It’s a State of Mind

I have been pondering how nomadic travel has changed over the decades since I first hit the road.

“The world is changing,” says Galadriel at the beginning of Peter Jackson’s trilogy of The Lord of the Rings. “I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, and I smell it in the air.” In the books, though, it is Treebeard who utters this iconic statement as the quest is ending and the hobbits are on their way home. Either way, the emphasis is on profound transformation of the way things have been into something new and different.

I stepped forth onto the open road in the early 1970s. At that time, hitchhiking was common practice amidst budget travelers. Not only in the States, but also in Europe it was common on major roads and highways to see people, especially young people, with their backpacks or duffle bags at their sides and their thumbs out expectantly. At the entrances to some popular European highways, hitchhikers were lined up, individually or in groups of two or three, for a hundred meters or so down the road, and though many drivers stopped to assist, there were always more folks waiting for lifts. One crossroads I recall, on the Peloponnese Peninsula in southern Greece, was a mob scene. When I climbed out of the vehicle I’d been traveling in, I was surrounded by forty or fifty travelers, all looking to hitchhike to Olympia, the site of the ancient games. The only people getting rides in that location, where the drivers were overwhelmingly Greek males, were teamed up with young women. I managed to attach myself to a small group composed of two men and a German woman and thus moved on, but it wasn’t easy. Usually, however, in that era, rides came easy – so much so that on one trip I hitchhiked clear across the Middle East and all the way to Goa on the west coast of India.

Alas, those days are long gone. You never see hitchhikers on the road these days. It isn’t safe. Drivers are more suspicious. As quoted above: the world has changed.

It also used to be common for people to take long road trips in their cars or camper vans. I used to love to drive Interstate 5 from Seattle to California and back. Later, when I was living in Europe in the eighties and nineties, I used to love to take trips in borrowed campers – until with a well-timed inheritance my young family and I managed to buy our own. In Italy and Greece it was easy to find a place to stop for the night. There were regular campgrounds, of course, which we could pay for if we happened to have the money, but it was also possible to pull over almost anywhere and bed down for the night: at rest areas, parking lots at parks and beaches, and even the parking lots of shops and restaurants, provided we requested permission first. As long as we asked first, we could stop almost anywhere.

More recently in the States, Nomadland by Jessica Bruder highlighted the trend of retired couples and individuals, instead of enduring the expense and inconvenience of traditional homes, hitting the road fulltime in RVs. The book told of where these people would stay, the temp jobs they would take, and the road culture that arose as the travelers met and mingled. This still goes on, I’m sure, but I am concerned for the safety and security of these committed nomads as the federal government and more and more state governments treat homeless, or rather houseless, people as criminal indigents.

Times change. Situations evolve. And not everyone has the physical stamina or finances to remain on the road permanently in their vehicles. That’s why I emphasize that being a perennial nomad is a state of mind. It is the awareness that regardless of our specific locations, we are all hurtling through space in a gargantuan RV called the planet Earth. None of us can claim permanency anywhere, because in the time it takes me to write this sentence, we have moved from one point in the universe to another with no possibility of ever returning to where we were. That’s why I encourage everyone, regardless of your circumstances, to think like a nomad. If you can’t travel far from your homeland, expand your horizons by reading books and explore your environs by visiting museums and other nearby treasure-hoards of learning. If you can physically travel, on foot or by car or bus or train or plane or ship, great! If you can’t – then feed your head. In an article a few years back in The Guardian, singer/songwriter Grace Slick clarifies what she meant by the phrase “feed your head” in the Jefferson Airplane song “White Rabbit.” She says, “The line in the song ‘feed your head’ is about both reading and psychedelics. I was talking about feeding your head by paying attention: read some books, pay attention.” The song was a big hit in the sixties with its powerful references to Alice in Wonderland and its allusions to psychedelics, but the point I want to make here has nothing to do with drugs; it concerns feeding your nomadic mind and heart with experiences such as traveling, exploring the locale in which you find yourself, and delving into the endless multiverse of literature. Stay curious. Stay attentive. Stay receptive. And stay on the move.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

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During Times like These

It is in times like these that people react not only politically but spiritually.

While contemplating the horror story that comprises modern news, I abruptly realized that there are parallels to the state of the country during the era in which I grew up, in particular the late sixties and early seventies. The Vietnam War had become a deadly quagmire; kids were getting drafted and sent off to die in a civil war halfway around the world. At home there were protests and face-offs with police and troops. College students on their campuses were getting beaten and even shot. It was a time of uncertainty and paranoia, which eventually culminated in the resignation of a president under threat of impeachment. Dark days indeed. But in the midst of the upheaval, there was also a spiritual awakening. Many people, young people in particular, abandoned dysfunctional society and went back to the land, often living in communes in fellowship and solidarity. Some became nomadic and set out to see the world. Others remained where they were and fought for change, with emphasis on racial equality, women’s rights, individual freedoms, and other key issues. This internal awakening, which swept across the country and around the world, was like a bright shining light in the midst of the deep darkness of government-imposed violence. And this light inspired artistic representations in music, literature, film, and other mediums. It made the era special not only because of its crass horrific ignorance and violence, but also because of the awakening of the best in humankind, the brotherhood and sisterhood of all of us, the willingness to esteem others, regardless of their idiosyncratic characteristics, as beloved equals, and to assist those in need. Beneath the ubiquitous barbarity in the daily news ran an undercurrent of countercultural tranquility and harmony. I remember it well. It made the sixties and seventies special. It united those of good will. It made hitchhiking from place to place possible, and it inspired the creation of communes of like-minded people. As I traveled from continent to continent, I found that this spirit had preceded me and that I could find congenial companions wherever I went.

Why do I bring this up now? After all, the sixties and seventies are long gone. It came to me abruptly, though, that the world is once again in confusion. The police and military are once again turning on their own fellow citizens. The country and the rest of the world are in turmoil. And this awareness caused me to consider the fecundity of this present time. In the midst of chaos, spiritual awareness will arise to combat it. I don’t think what happened in the sixties and seventies was an anomaly; it was a reaction to the vicious circumstances of the era. It was the human spirit arising like a gorgeous flowering plant out of the fetid fertilizer of political and social realities. In the past, great good rose like an inevitable healing balm out of great pain. And it occurred to me that what has happened before will happen again. How it will happen and what form it will take I don’t know. But bullies, by their very nature, are bound to fail; in their ignorance, by their nefarious deeds they ignite nobility in humankind. I can’t wait to see it. Since this insight I have had my inner eyes open for the first glimmers of a radiant dawn.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

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Thoughts on Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

Another tried and proven book I brought upon the journey to Maine to reread is Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. To be honest, I found it somewhat disappointing, but in all fairness, Miller’s words have not changed, I have.

When I first read it as a young writer back in the early 1970s, it was just what I needed to break me out of the rut of bland tradition in which I was ensconced. It is exuberant, raunchy, joyful, and iconoclastic. It showed me that a writer could be defiant, bold, and wholly original. The occasional fits of surrealism dazzled me, and the plunges into vulgarity didn’t bother me in the slightest. It awakened in me the desire to find my own voice as a writer. After finishing Tropic of Cancer I sought out other works by Miller such as Tropic of Capricorn, Black Spring, The Rosy Crucifixion, The Colossus of Maroussi, and Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch. I liked his mix of pseudo-autobiography and stream of consciousness.

When I say that I am disappointed after my recent rereading of Tropic of Cancer, I am not criticizing the value of Miller’s work. I still like the pseudo-autobiography, the surrealism, and the stream of consciousness. However, in this reading of the book, I find it harder to put aside the fact that Miller takes delight in presenting himself as somewhat of a selfish, freeloading, vain, woman-chasing asshole. I get it: exaggeration is the name of his game; it’s what makes the narrative work. And it is marketed as a novel, not as a straight autobiography. It’s just that, well, I’ve been as poor as Miller claims to have been in his book; I have lived in poverty in foreign lands, sometimes even begging to survive. But I have never seen the need to compromise my ethics or my feelings of empathy for the fellow humans with whom I became acquainted; it never occurred to me to describe them with the snide, cynical attitude that Miller assumes in Tropic of Cancer. Most often, they were my fellows in distress; when they assisted me in my need I was sincerely grateful.

To balance the appraisal, I have also read a few biographies of Henry Miller, and by all accounts he was not the self-centered, predatory scoundrel that he comes across as in print. In reality, he was kind, open-minded, and generous, although somewhat impractical in matters of money. He had loyal friends. And in 1964 no less an entity than the United States Supreme Court overruled obscenity rulings by multiple state courts and declared Tropic of Cancer to be a work of art.

I have no issue with the obscenity in the book. What I object to is not the protagonist’s sexual depravity, such as it is, but rather his extreme egocentricity and resultant callousness toward others. It is this trait that irritated me during this most recent reading. If you have never read it though, I would still recommend the book, if you can stomach the vulgarity and the narrator’s insulting attitude. He takes verbal aim at everyone, with no exceptions, and he does it with unparalleled eloquence. That’s what kept me reading this time despite everything: the eloquence. Miller is a literary master when it comes to esoteric vocabulary, unusual turns of phrase, originality of expression, and unexpected flights of surrealistic fantasy.

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