I just read Wifedom by Anna Funder, critiquing George Orwell; it was pretty damning. Then I read the ripostes to her critique / defences of Orwell by Olivia Laing & Rebecca Solnit (who also wrote a book on Orwell)... It’s a cop-out to say 'people were of their times', but also, it's ridiculous to think people of the past should somehow align with the values of the present: how could they? (Also, it's a species of historical arrogance to assume our present values are the pinnacle of morality, never to change again.) I do think, though, that it's possible to tell if artists / writers of the past were basically decent, & if they weren't, I find it hard to keep loving them. Benjamin Zephaniah, though, I love... It's complicated, because as you say, humans are complicated
"It’s a cop-out to say 'people were of their times', but also, it's ridiculous to think people of the past should somehow align with the values of the present: how could they?"
Such a necessary point. We often look at revolutionaries of the past as such unshakeable moral bastions because they hold values that transcend the prevailing attitudes of the time they're contained them in. In the same way I don't expect my Nigerian elders to become progressive on queer issues, I don't expect the revolutionaries of yesteryear to be morally clear-eyed in every strand of oppression. And perhaps that's why my whole piece is saying I do not love them. I love what they've done, I love how they transformed me. But I do not know them so I can't love them. Any feeling of admiration or reverence is merely inspiration, a reflection of a potential I wish to actualise in myself. I won't tell you not to love Benjamin Zephaniah. He was a great man, But the best way to uncomplicate our connection to those who influence us from afar is to know the feelings we have towards them is not love.
Yes, I think you're right. People's work makes us feel things, so we feel we know them. (Parasocial, as it's called these days.) But we can only ever know the work, not the person. I find it interesting and unsettling to now be on the other side of that coin-- that is, for people to be reading my work. One thing I really value about this platform is the way one can directly speak to the author of a piece, like we're doing here. It's pleasingly non-hierarchical
the greatest part of your talent is your ability to arrive at nuance in subjects that are often dismissed for their difficulty. the way you take in reference and retain its nutritive value is inspiring. that inspiration speaks to the possibility of speaking on anything—if one is willing to sacrifice comfort or time in service of examination and the acceptance of hard truths, to arrive at a kind of equalizing enlightenment.
i once had a rousing conversation about how cultures would have to dispense with individuality to achieve a utopian vision, and how the reality of that is likely implausible. but the idea that nothing is inherently good or bad if you’re willing to reckon with its role in shaping everything around it—that feels deeply present in your writing.
maybe i’m off the mark, but you consistently give voice to positions within topics i’ve seen dismissed or avoided, either due to their polarizing nature or their traumatic weight. it’s truly fascinating, and your work is one of the only newsletters i genuinely look forward to because of it.
your care and insight are always very valuable to me and its a joy to have you as a reader. thank you for engaging with the finer points of my writing. you are on the mark, in that a lot of my motivation is within the gaps, the liminal space between what is being said and what is being meant, and bridging that gap to arrive at a more honest truth. this means looking at myself/ourselves when we are at our most volatile, reactive, and passionate and saying, "do you mean what you are saying or are you being governed by other things?" i do not mean strong emotion here, although it is a factor. i mean conditioning, default programming running amok. how do we move past it? do we even question it? they might be pointless excavations. but i hope they aren't.
I just read Wifedom by Anna Funder, critiquing George Orwell; it was pretty damning. Then I read the ripostes to her critique / defences of Orwell by Olivia Laing & Rebecca Solnit (who also wrote a book on Orwell)... It’s a cop-out to say 'people were of their times', but also, it's ridiculous to think people of the past should somehow align with the values of the present: how could they? (Also, it's a species of historical arrogance to assume our present values are the pinnacle of morality, never to change again.) I do think, though, that it's possible to tell if artists / writers of the past were basically decent, & if they weren't, I find it hard to keep loving them. Benjamin Zephaniah, though, I love... It's complicated, because as you say, humans are complicated
"It’s a cop-out to say 'people were of their times', but also, it's ridiculous to think people of the past should somehow align with the values of the present: how could they?"
Such a necessary point. We often look at revolutionaries of the past as such unshakeable moral bastions because they hold values that transcend the prevailing attitudes of the time they're contained them in. In the same way I don't expect my Nigerian elders to become progressive on queer issues, I don't expect the revolutionaries of yesteryear to be morally clear-eyed in every strand of oppression. And perhaps that's why my whole piece is saying I do not love them. I love what they've done, I love how they transformed me. But I do not know them so I can't love them. Any feeling of admiration or reverence is merely inspiration, a reflection of a potential I wish to actualise in myself. I won't tell you not to love Benjamin Zephaniah. He was a great man, But the best way to uncomplicate our connection to those who influence us from afar is to know the feelings we have towards them is not love.
Yes, I think you're right. People's work makes us feel things, so we feel we know them. (Parasocial, as it's called these days.) But we can only ever know the work, not the person. I find it interesting and unsettling to now be on the other side of that coin-- that is, for people to be reading my work. One thing I really value about this platform is the way one can directly speak to the author of a piece, like we're doing here. It's pleasingly non-hierarchical
the greatest part of your talent is your ability to arrive at nuance in subjects that are often dismissed for their difficulty. the way you take in reference and retain its nutritive value is inspiring. that inspiration speaks to the possibility of speaking on anything—if one is willing to sacrifice comfort or time in service of examination and the acceptance of hard truths, to arrive at a kind of equalizing enlightenment.
i once had a rousing conversation about how cultures would have to dispense with individuality to achieve a utopian vision, and how the reality of that is likely implausible. but the idea that nothing is inherently good or bad if you’re willing to reckon with its role in shaping everything around it—that feels deeply present in your writing.
maybe i’m off the mark, but you consistently give voice to positions within topics i’ve seen dismissed or avoided, either due to their polarizing nature or their traumatic weight. it’s truly fascinating, and your work is one of the only newsletters i genuinely look forward to because of it.
your care and insight are always very valuable to me and its a joy to have you as a reader. thank you for engaging with the finer points of my writing. you are on the mark, in that a lot of my motivation is within the gaps, the liminal space between what is being said and what is being meant, and bridging that gap to arrive at a more honest truth. this means looking at myself/ourselves when we are at our most volatile, reactive, and passionate and saying, "do you mean what you are saying or are you being governed by other things?" i do not mean strong emotion here, although it is a factor. i mean conditioning, default programming running amok. how do we move past it? do we even question it? they might be pointless excavations. but i hope they aren't.