Michael Faulkner, son of Brian, loses his Sante Fe style furniture business and home in Scotland. Retreats to family cabin on an otherwise uninhabited small island in Strangford Lough, Ards Peninsula, Northern Ireland.
This is reading through a couple’s challenging times, that part of the wedding vows that read, “for better or worse”.
There are plenty of happy times — the guests, the picnics, the sublime peace of the place. All the while checked by the harsher realities of no mains electricity or regular water supply, and a barely insulated house.
Faulkner writes in a simple yet effective prose. In few words and sentences, you’re perhaps suddenly caught by the deep emotion involved.
The Blue Cabin is an enjoyable read, proving the adage of the road less travelled…
I had the privilege of participating in a study abroad programme while enrolled at Boston University. I attended St Catherine’s College, Oxford for the Michaelmus term, 1989. I experienced the peculiarities and uniqueness that is Oxford.
No one describes this better than Rosa Ehrenreich in A Garden of Paper Flowers. I immediately identified with her reactions to the arcane customs, traditions and attitudes.
My favourite example is her essay writing experience. At the start of her studies, she put much effort only to receive mediocre scores. She suspected that her tutor wasn’t actually reading her work, so she began inserting random irrelevant words and phrases. By the end of the term she was submitting gibberish, yet her tutor told her how much her writing was improving, with grades to match.
A reader’s health warning is the subtitle, An American at Oxford. Ehrenreich does her best to appreciate the cultural differences, but doesn’t pretend to overcome them. While any Yank who’s ever had a taste of Oxford will promptly understand Ehrenreich’s perspective, regular Oxford alumni should appreciate this alternative view, too. (4/5 stars)
There’s no denying the fighting spirit of the Scots-Irish, particularly as James Webb describes the defence of the frontier in the Appalachian Mountains. However, Webb goes too far in defining this attribute as somehow ethnically unique.
Webb also overplays the Scots-Irish role in the American War of Independence. One giveaway passage is, “Although the trained minds of New England’s Puritan culture and Virginia’s Cavalier aristocracy had shaped the finer intellectual points of the argument for political disuinion, the true passion for individual rights emanated from the radical individualism of the Presbyterian and, increasingly, Baptist pulpits. This concept … dovetailed neatly with the aristocratic forces of revolution in the East.”
One can appreciate Webb’s desire to emphasise the passion of the Scots-Irish, but his arguments could have been stronger by demonstrating a more fulsome knowledge of the “finer intellectual points”. For example, it was no mean feat to convince some of the reluctant colonial governors to side with the cause of independence. Furthermore, these “trained minds” included many of America’s Founding Fathers, whose wisdom established the political philosophy by which the US government still lives by.
So, while Born Fighting is a decent read about a proud Scots-Irish American’s perspective on his communal ancestors’ contributions to American culture and society, this not the more serious investigation as it at times pretends to be. (3/5 stars)
Did a radio piece for BBC Radio Ulster’s books programme, to review two recent biographies: Bill Clinton’s autobiography, My Life, and Dean Godson’s, Himself Alone: David Trimble and the Ordeal of Unionism.
My Life has been dismissed by some as an exercise in some sort of cathartic releasing of guilt, or of exorcising the demons from the darker side of his parallel lives (as he self-explains his personality framework). Meanwhile, others have described Trimble as the loner, as epitomised by Godson’s book title, “Himself Alone”. Both are rather simplistic interpretations.
My review focuses on the different book writing styles, and what each subject has to say about the other.
Book styles
While both are 1,000 pages each, they are written very differently. Of course, it’s not really a fair comparison, because Clinton’s is an autobiography and Godson’s is a piece of impressive investigative research, with his subject, Trimble, neither endorsing nor censoring the final work.
Bill Clinton writes the way he speaks: fluid, in command of details. If it resembles a “diary dump”, then I doubt that Clinton had to resort to his Filofax much. Yet while people who meet Clinton in person are captivated by him and the attention he so comfortably gives you, this easy-going, homesy style doesn’t translate so well in the written form.
The narrative is easy enough to read, but there’s no discrimination in the detail. Also, he far too often jumps from one topic to another, with no rhyme or reason. I found the epilogue as one of the better parts of the book, because it was written in a more clearly comprehensible essay style. If only there was some thematic “thread” woven in the main body text.
Theme is not a problem with Godson’s work. The subtitle says it all, “the Ordeal of Unionism”. In a way, this is a history book of unionism wrapped around the life experiences of David Trimble. This may be in good part due to the observation by both subject and author of the relative dearth of comprehensive and analytical reading material on unionism, which both have sought to redress, in their own particular ways – one through politics and the other by penmanship.
Similar to Clinton’s work, Himself Alone can be sectioned off: (1) Trimble’s upbringing and introduction to politics; (2) emergence as leader and chief negotiator for unionism; and (3) the slings and arrows of internal wrangling, post-Belfast Agreement.
As my day job is politics, you would think I would have enjoyed this last section most. However, possibly precisely because I can personally recall many of the events myself, I didn’t find reliving them especially engrossing. I enjoyed the earlier sections, because Godson’s presentation provides a useful guide and insight into the personal and cultural background that Trimble found himself and his political community in. It helped explain why Trimble acted – and continues to act – in his particular way.
Trimble on Clinton; Clinton on Trimble
Trimble’s upbringing was humble, as was Clinton’s. Neither were members of the upper middle classes. High expectations were not placed on either of them. Trimble was naturally endeared to the Anglican, gentlemen’s club style of the Unionist Party or the Orange Order. Indeed, his joining of both were the result more of a desire to maintain contact with the friends he had made, than out of any ideological zeal.
I suspect Trimble always knew who he was and what he was about. That is, if Trimble was going to get involved with unionist politics, then it would be where he felt he could make a louder difference. Although he was content as the intellectual backroom boy, he did apply himself in the more radical movements of the day, especially within Vanguard.
Godson appreciates this, but his interpretation is that Trimble failed to recognise that the gains he felt were crucial, e.g. securing the Union, was not appreciated by his unionist supporters as much as the starker trade-offs of early prisoner releases and Sinn Fein in government sans decommissioning.
Some may dismiss Trimble’s aloofness as a weakness of leadership, but who else within unionism was ready to challenge the British and Irish Government’s treatment of Northern Ireland, as well as combat the hitherto inadequately challenged republican interpretations of Northern Ireland government under unionism?
Godson argues that Trimble placed too much trust or deference to Tony Blair and Bill Clinton, but weak unionist leadership would not likely have prevented everything else that was afoot, e.g. the bringing in of Sinn Fein to the political mainstream. Trimble may have expected too much by wanting Clinton to apply more pressure on Sinn Fein in regards to decommissioning, because what separated Clinton from other Irish-American politicians is that Clinton wanted to help by keeping channels of communication open, rather than to try to persuade one side over another (i.e. how Protestant rights would be ensured under a united Ireland). While Trimble is not the leader of the largest unionist party anymore, he is still leader of the Ulster Unionist Party.
Many pundits have speculated on his departure from the UUP. Perhaps ironically, I am minded to quote Ian Paisley’s response to the same question: “It takes a long time to die.” Until someone else in the UUP is willing and able to not only articulate an intelligent riposte to republicanism, but also to be able to handle the complexities of British and Irish Government convergent attitudes to Northern Ireland, then dissatisfied unionist voters will follow the louder (but perhaps less effective?) voice, for the while. Trimble’s aloofness has cost him popularity, but who else would have been able to swim against the currents so well?
Nancy Soderberg said that the American administration (which included herself) knew little about David Trimble (p. 185). Trimble was no anti-American (he enjoyed reading Encounter, after all!), but he disliked many Irish-Americans and Soderberg especially.
Upon meeting President Clinton, David Trimble gave him Pardon Me Boy, a book on American servicemen in Northern Ireland during WWII, by author Ronnie Hanna, and a book by Gordon Lucy on the Ulster Convenant (p. 190).
Godson argues that Clinton’s involvement in Northern Ireland was “not a case of rape, but of seduction”. (p. 195)
Trimble says that “I must be gracious to Clinton” (see more on p. 631 for Godson analysis of difference between Trimble and Clinton perceived roles
Clinton’s involvement with Northern Ireland began in 1991-2, when he reaffirmed his commitment to push for an end to discrimination against Northern Ireland Catholics. Nancy Soderberg wrote the draft statement. He said that he first got involved because of the politics of New York.
Clinton spends several pages (pp. 578-581) discussing his decision to grant Gerry Adams a visa to enter the US. Many administration officials were opposed to the idea, but the National Security Council team (of which Soderberg was a chief member) became determined to grant the visa, in order to boost Adams’ leverage within Sinn Fein and the IRA, because “unless the IRA renounced violence and Sinn Fein was part of the peace process, the Irish problem could not be resolved”. This reasoning was consistent with the approach made by John Hume.
The NSC team became convinced that Gerry Adams favoured an end to IRA violence, full Sinn Fein participation in the peace process, and a democratic future for Northern Ireland. Clinton also justifies his decision to grant a visa, because “the Irish were beginning to prosper economically, Europe as a whole was moving toward greater economic and political integration, and tolerance for terrorism among the Irish had dropped”. These are consistent with arguments put forward by John Hume at the time, but dubious. For example, there’s no arguing that the economy of the Irish Republic was improving, the EU was proceeding with policy, and that there was never much popular support, North or South for the IRA. So what was the link to Gerry Adams? Instead, Adams’ own message to Clinton, that the Irish people were taking risks for peace and Clinton should to, shows that in the end it was just that – a calculated risk.
Clinton hardly says anything about David Trimble: “Trimble could be dour and pessimistic, but beneath his stern Scots-Irish front was a brave idealist who was taking risks for peace.” (p. 896)
But Trimble is only interested in what is best for unionists. For example, when Sean Farren asked him what he wanted for his community, Trimble replied, “To be left alone.” This is not a visionary statement of a shared and united Northern Ireland, and hardly words of a “brave idealist”.
Clinton does not mention the intricacies of the Multi-Party Talks, except for the eve of the Agreement, trying to help George Mitchell close the deal, going to bed at 2.30am and being woken up at 5.00am to ring Adams again to seal the deal. One shouldn’t be disappointed not to learn more, since it was Mitchell who did most of the hard graft. His account, Making Peace, is highly recommended.
Meanwhile, Godson provides a near minute-by-minute account of what was transpiring with the UUP during the last 72 hours of the Talks.
Making Sense stays true to its objective, to tell ‘a straightforward and gripping story … in an accessible way’. It is a straightforward read.
But is it a good read? Yes, if you don’t want to be bogged down with pre-Troubles history (too simplistically outlined in the book) or don’t need to understand the ideologies of unionism and nationalism per se. In this way, Making Sense feels written for a general English/benign foreign audience.
However, if you know some Irish history and/or can appreciate the ethno-nationalist competition in Northern Ireland, then you may very well be let down.
The factual reportage in Making Sense is flawless, but the story told is not neutral. Of course, no account of the Troubles can be. Yet after reading Making Sense, one leaves with a sense that: a) Northern Protestants really don’t like Catholics; b) republican violence stems from a ideological struggle while loyalist violence is just sectarian hatred; c) the British government could have done more from 1921 forward, but were frustrated by intransigent unionists. All entirely acceptable to believe if one wishes, but by no means a neutral or fair position.
Thus, I was disappointed that Making Sense didn’t try harder to place the Troubles in an all-Ireland context. This would require more history, but would help explain some unionist perspective as well as the sometimes variable relationship between the Irish Republican government and Northern nationalists.
For the general reader, I would recommend A Pocket History of Ulster, by Brian Bardon (ISBN 086278428x). For more detail, try A History of Northern Ireland 1920-1996, by Thomas Hennessey (ISBN 0717124002), who has also written a book on the Northern Ireland peace process (ISBN 0717129462).
I wanted to read Son of God because of the tie-in with the BBC televised programme of the same name. Surprisingly, the book was not to be found in my local BBC shops or bookshops at the time the programme aired. (Who to blame: BBC or book publishers Hodder & Stoughton?)
Having secured the book, I was disappointed that the link between it and the programme was so weak. So, don’t purchase this book if this is your expectation. (However, the two sets of colour plate illustrations are taken from the programme.)
How about the book itself? The 182 pages are easy enough to read, with large font size and generalist-style prose. Indeed, the book is to be recommended as a starter guide to the human (but not divine) life of Jesus. In this context, it is a good read. Presenting the historical knowledge of surely the most significant human of existence in an easy-to-read format could not be a simple task, and Angela Tilby does well.
The compromise of this approach is to have to omit background knowledge of certain events. Tilby does her best efforts here, but the treatment of historical contextualisation reads like an insider’s knowledge: if you already know the political history at the time of Jesus’ life, then what is presented suffices; if you don’t you just carry on, paying attention to the detail on Jesus. To make curious ignoramuses like me happier, a more comprehensive reading list at the end would have been appreciated: not just on the history of the life of Jesus, but to learn more on the ‘wretched and undistinguished career’ of Pilate, for example.
Overall, Son of God is a satisfactory book. It deflated my raised expectations after watching the very interesting television programme. But the book is a good text to start with, to learn the history of Jesus the man.
A tour des forces study of consociational democracy
This is quite a comprehensive comparative study of those countries acclaimed to be practising consociational democracies. The prose is highly academic (in tradition of Routledge), and is not recommended for those without a sound understanding of the consociational model. For this, Lijphart’s Democracy in Plural Societies(1977) is a genuine starting point.
Party Elites is a strong book. The theoretical framework and case studies are solid. My study topic is Northern Ireland politics, and the chapters on Belgium and Israel particularly interest me. Deschouwer makes an important point that the development of working federalism is no mean feat. ‘Classic consociationalism’ argues for federal structures, but achieving them can be quite a challenge with the claims of segmental autonomy. I argue that ‘classic consociationalism’ is more consistent with *con*federalism, and federalism is more representative of what is termed ‘integrative power-sharing’, as defined by Timothy Sisk, Power Sharing and International Mediation in Ethnic Conflicts (1996), informed by Donald Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict(1985). The integrative model does not juxtapose opposing models of power-sharing, only different emphasises, strengths, and weaknesses.
Overall, however, Party Elites is a tour des forces on consociational democracy; just consider other possible models of power-sharing!
