Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts
by
by
A Critic For All Ages
I once met Clive James, on the raised pavement of the Barbican in London. We both had weekday flats there and I had seen him before in his daily pedestrian commute. Encountering him one day, I stopped abruptly and greeted him effusively as if an old friend. I probably had interrupted a reverie, so looking up and seeing a face that might have been vaguely familiar, he stopped to chat - about the weather, and the state of the Barbican landscaping as I recall. We parted with neighborly regards. Despite the brevity of our contact, given the range of figures he has included in this book, I’m a bit surprised that I didn’t make it into one of his vignettes.
Everyone who is anyone in the world of literature is there in Cultural Amnesia. The most amazing thing is that James appreciates them all, even when he criticizes their mistakes and excesses. He starts from a position of their purpose, their intention and works back to his own criteria of the aesthetic, which he then frequently modifies based on his quite remarkable empathy. For me this is precisely the job of a critic - not to praise or condemn but to refine his own sensibilities by understanding those of others.
James’s philosophy of criticism is marvelously summarized in his intention about the book, which is to demonstrate the truth of his belief that our literary inheritance “is our real and inextinguishable fortune.” This inheritance is something which can be ignored from time to time, or only partially appreciated, but it cannot be lost as long as it is talked about. And I take it that this is what he wants us to do with the contents of Cultural Amnesia - talk exuberantly about the wealth which is there for the taking.
It probably is neither necessary nor healthy to take on the 800 pages of Cultural Amnesia in a single go. There’s just too much material to comprehend, too many insights to absorb, too many witticisms, anecdotes, and aphorisms to appreciate. The book is an hundred course meal which shouldn’t be wolfed down like lunch at a hot dog stand. I find myself starting with those figures I feel I know best (which is never as well as James) and drifting onto the (for me) relatively obscure names. It is mostly among these that I appreciate my own lack of education as well as James’s superb erudition and taste.
There is no doubt - for anyone contemplating an extended stay on a desert island, Cultural Amnesia is really the only luxury one need have to be perfectly content.
I once met Clive James, on the raised pavement of the Barbican in London. We both had weekday flats there and I had seen him before in his daily pedestrian commute. Encountering him one day, I stopped abruptly and greeted him effusively as if an old friend. I probably had interrupted a reverie, so looking up and seeing a face that might have been vaguely familiar, he stopped to chat - about the weather, and the state of the Barbican landscaping as I recall. We parted with neighborly regards. Despite the brevity of our contact, given the range of figures he has included in this book, I’m a bit surprised that I didn’t make it into one of his vignettes.
Everyone who is anyone in the world of literature is there in Cultural Amnesia. The most amazing thing is that James appreciates them all, even when he criticizes their mistakes and excesses. He starts from a position of their purpose, their intention and works back to his own criteria of the aesthetic, which he then frequently modifies based on his quite remarkable empathy. For me this is precisely the job of a critic - not to praise or condemn but to refine his own sensibilities by understanding those of others.
James’s philosophy of criticism is marvelously summarized in his intention about the book, which is to demonstrate the truth of his belief that our literary inheritance “is our real and inextinguishable fortune.” This inheritance is something which can be ignored from time to time, or only partially appreciated, but it cannot be lost as long as it is talked about. And I take it that this is what he wants us to do with the contents of Cultural Amnesia - talk exuberantly about the wealth which is there for the taking.
It probably is neither necessary nor healthy to take on the 800 pages of Cultural Amnesia in a single go. There’s just too much material to comprehend, too many insights to absorb, too many witticisms, anecdotes, and aphorisms to appreciate. The book is an hundred course meal which shouldn’t be wolfed down like lunch at a hot dog stand. I find myself starting with those figures I feel I know best (which is never as well as James) and drifting onto the (for me) relatively obscure names. It is mostly among these that I appreciate my own lack of education as well as James’s superb erudition and taste.
There is no doubt - for anyone contemplating an extended stay on a desert island, Cultural Amnesia is really the only luxury one need have to be perfectly content.
posted by The Mind of BlackOxford @ November 04, 2018
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