Book Review: The Diviners, by Rick Moody

This article was first published at The Compulsive Reader.

In an interview on National Public Radio, Rick Moody describes the structure of his latest novel, "The Diviners," as modeled on that of serial television with perhaps a touch of the eighteenth century British novelist, Laurence Sterne. From serial television he seems to have taken the idea of following multiple characters, whose own stories are directly or indirectly connected to one or more major plot lines. From Sterne he has taken the passion for the digression which often emphasizes the meandering branch over the narrative stream from which it wanders.

What he has produced in "The Diviners" is a loosely structured panoramic vision of the beginning of the American twenty first century told from the points of view of a large and varied cast of characters. Some speak once and are never heard from again. Some appear once, speak their piece and then step back onto the canvas to emerge again sporadically in the narrative of others. A few, those more central to the major plot lines, speak several times and pop up on a fairly regular basis when others narrate. It is a cast of, if not thousands, enough so that at times it is not always easy for the reader to keep track of them all.

Moody draws his characters from a broad spectrum of contemporary American society, each in some way representative, each in some way unique and individual. There is the Italian mother who wants to see her only daughter married and who hides bottles of a malt beverage in her bathroom. There is the Sikh car service driver with an autistic son, a degree in European fiction and a passion for western television. There is the liberal Massachusetts clergyman who adopts Afro-American children, falls asleep during television shows and drunkenly lusts after the sixteen year old daughter of one of his parishioners. There is the Chinese art curator who sees the world dimly through the veil of a head injury, the rebellious middle class teenager who hooks up with a group of terrorist ‘wannabees,’ the middle age accountant who turns embezzler to help her new found boy friend out of his own financial difficulties–and these are just a few of the many voices in Moody’s chorus.

Although usually in the third person, each speaks in a voice distinctly his own. The Sikh: "They eat the snack called french fries. His son has an abiding need to put french fries into the mouths of everyone present. Even some strangers are willing to have these french fries put into their mouths." The Italian mother: "She will need someone from the neighborhood to keep an eye on her parking space. She has no car, but still. People are moving in, young people, they don’t even know." The Chinese art curator: "Everyone seems very happy to see her in the wheelchair. She is the sort of person whom people are very happy to see out in the hall. People actually stare at her, which reminds her that she should know what she looks like."

Voices blend with one another to sing Moody’s chorale–a richly comic, satiric commentary on this American life. Set mostly in New York City in the days just after the contested presidential election of 2000, the main plot centers on an independent film company, Means of Production, and its attempt to get into mainstream television by pitching an non-existent mini-series script about water diviners. This is complimented by a secondary plot about a bipolar bike messenger accused of assault. But often as in "Tristram Shandy," the most famous novel by Laurence Sterne, the plot is almost secondary to the odd bits and pieces that grow out of it and wind their way around it. While Moody never strays quite as far from his story as Sterne does from his, it is nonetheless clear that plot is not the major focus of this novel.

Rather it is the arid desert of Western culture as it moves like the light moving westward and threatening to engulf all that it meets until it comes back upon itself that is the real concern of the novel. "The Diviners" is supposedly a series about finding water, water to assuage the thirst of mankind throughout the ages, from the Huns to Las Vegas. Thirst is a metaphor for the spiritual emptiness that is endemic to this cultural desert in which we now live. Television, the entertainment industry, is simply the most strident example of that spiritual vacuity: mindless action movies aimed at teenage boys, glitzy quiz shows to watch during dinner, unreal reality shows where back biting strangers scheme to vote each other off some tropical less than paradise.

This kind of aesthetically barren entertainment is a kind of overwhelming force in the world that Moody describes, but even in popular art the germ of something more meaningful may be found. In a bravura passage late in the novel, he describes in detail the Thanksgiving episode of what is the most popular dramatic series on TV–"The Werewolves of Fairfield County." It is a story that combines alienation from the larger society with a sense of unity within a smaller unit. That the alienated are werewolves and that the smaller unit is the pack is indicative of the nature of its social commentary. Nonetheless, what the newly sprouted werewolf must learn is that though he is separated from what is the ‘normal’ society, he will always be able to rely on the other members of the pack. Significantly almost every character in the novel seems to be tuned into the program, and their reactions are interspersed through the narrative account. It is as though the whole country is tuned in. There is a message and there is, it seems, an audience for that message.

If the entertainment industry with its vertical corporate structure and its anorexic teenage divas strung out on drugs, its pandering producers and its ambitious assistants waiting breathlessly for that one false step is the central object of Moody’s satire and comedy, it is not the only one. All areas of modern civilization or lack thereof are fair game for his wit. Randall Tork is "the greatest writer in wine history," famous for the column in which he compares 1997 California chardonnays to an actress: "These wines are flabby in the way the cellulite bulges from the too-tight pouches of her nulliparous behind. . . ." Eduardo Alcott is a faux revolutionary who seems obsessed with the "ancient surgery of trepanation" as a cure for migraines as well as a source of more general feelings of well being. The fragment of skull to be removed, he opines, can be made into an amulet. Arnie Lovitz is a middle aged accountant who sets up fictitious corporations on Caribbean islands, islands that sometimes don’t even exist. There are the New York detectives who follow their suspects into trendy restaurants so they can order fancy lunches, support groups for food addiction, sexual liaisons masquerading as yoga lessons, rehab hospitals that have trouble keeping track of patients, botox parties and romance novelists who don’t bother to write their own books. There is even a fifty dollar guided tour to the desert scene of an alien abduction.

Moody is an equal opportunity satirist. He moves up and down the social ladder. He pokes fun at a variety of races, sexual orientations and political affiliations. Sometimes his mood is gentle as with a senior citizen messenger who likes to talk baseball with his deliveries; sometimes his touch is more biting as with the philandering action movie star who doesn’t mind a little pain with his sex. He can be laugh out loud funny as he writes about his overweight heroines wild binge through each and every one of the island of Manhattan’s Krispy Kreme franchises. He can be subtle and understated as he hints at some hidden desires of a nameless supreme court justice and a special friend he hasn’t seen for years.

At times he indulges in virtuoso cadenzas on a variety of themes. The book begins with a lengthy rhapsody on the westward movement of light. There is a long passage in which Ranjeet, the Sikh driver discourses on the significance of the picture as an aesthetic force and its application to motion pictures an television to conclude that the avatar of American story telling art is "Roots:" ". . .all American stories aspire to this condition, which is the condition of the saga. All stories aspire in this direction, and all corporations aspire toward the sale and reproduction of this saga. Nothing could be more American than this, and nothing could be more international than what is American, nothing could be more human; there are no nationalities, there are only ethnicities and corporations, there is only the military and its collateral damage, and the land of profitability and cowboys and slave trading." There are the almost rapturous riffs on the Krispy Kreme doughnut: "The great spiritual benefit of the Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut is the sensation of nothingness. The satori that is Krispy Kreme is the obliteration of self, the silencing of the voices that are attached to the oppressions of life."

Throughout he weaves pop culture references with academic allusions–Regis Philbin and Michel Foucault, "Nightmare on Elm Street" and semiotics, non-euclidean geometry and Bob Dylan. He skewers the nonsense that fills the lives of many people, those who fancy themselves intellectuals and those who have no such illusions about themselves. There are those who produce the products of Western culture. There are those who consume those products. There are those who analyze and critique those products. But when you come right down to it, whether you produce or consume, whether you attack, explain or extol, there is really no escape from its spiritual emptiness.

"The Diviners" is a funny book. You can’t help laughing at its humor, still, underneath that laughter–as with all great humor–there is something much more serious. It is a book that takes a hard look at us and the world we live in, the things we like and those we want no part of. It is a book that suggests that a civilization that privileges a pastry that gives the "sensation of nothingness" is in danger of achieving that same nothingness, itself.

DVD Review: In Search of Beethoven and In Search of Mozart: Special Collector's Edition

Article first published as DVD Review: In Search of Beethoven and In Search of Mozart: Special Collector's Edition on Blogcritics.

Those of you who have been looking for Mozart and Beethoven lo these many years are not alone, film director Phil Grabsky has been searching for them as well and the results, his two documentaries--In Search of Mozart and In Search of Beethoven are now available in a three DVD special collector's edition. Filmed, written and directed by Grabsky, they feature narration by Juliet Stevenson, a variety of talking heads and most importantly some brilliant performances by some of the world's finest musicians. The glory of Mozart and Beethoven is the music. Grabsky's films honor the music.

It is true that the music is represented by excerpts, and there are certainly those who would prefer longer excerpts, those that would prefer complete works. No doubt, more music wouldn't hurt. I can't imagine anyone buying this set complaining there was too much of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto or Beethoven's "Emperor." Still as Grabsky points out in an interview included as an extra, they had hours and hours of film. A choice had to be made between longer extracts from fewer works or a more comprehensive selection from the composer's canon. He chose the latter. These composers were nothing if not prolific, and it really would not be possible to present a reasonable selection of the wide range of their work if extended passages were used. As it is, the films start with their earliest compositions and move chronologically through the music sampling the lesser works as well as the masterpieces. Viewers can at least get a taste, and if anything particularly appeals to them there are always recordings available. Indeed, if the films get people interested enough to buy a CD or download a sonata clearly it has done at least one of its jobs.

There is nothing particularly innovative in the presentation of material. Both follow the lives and careers of the composers chronologically, although each uses one of the very last works to begin. They review what is known about the men's childhood, concentrating on their reputations as prodigies, emphasizing their activities as performers as well as composers. They talk about their struggles to earn a living, their personal life and their professional success. Those whose knowledge of them is limited to Amadeus and Immortal Beloved will find a good deal of the mythology surrounding the composers debunked. If I remember correctly, Salieri isn't even mentioned in In Search of Mozart and Beethoven's beloved turns out to be only one of many mortal beloveds over the years.

Analysis and appreciation of the music is provided by musicians, musicologists and critics. Some of it is technical, as for example when piano virtuoso Emmanuel Ax explains the difficulty of playing a passage in one of the sonatas with one hand as called for in Beethoven's fingering notations. Some of it is impressionistic, as when a variety of conductors describe the revolutionary impact of Beethoven's third symphony. In general there is nothing so technical as to lose the novice, and nothing so simplistic as to bore the more knowledgeable. More often than not it is truly illuminating to hear what people like Roger Norrington, Renee Fleming and Ronald Brautigam have to say.

Visuals for the biographical portions concentrate on paintings, close ups of building exteriors and interiors, and even some natural landscape shots. The Mozart film includes a lot of film of modern cities with streets clogged with autos and all the other accoutrements of modern life. This can be disconcerting at times. The Beethoven film avoids this kind of thing altogether. There is also a good deal of filmed performance. Close up shots of pianist's fingers hurtling over the keys can be fascinating. Portions of scenes from operas like Fidelio and The Magic Flute add variety. The footage of the Orchestra of the 18^th Century's performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony is spectacular. The entrance of the basso from the back of the orchestra and chorus at the start of the choral passage in the last movement is a dramatic coup de theatre.

Each film includes an interview with the director and a trailer. In Search of Mozart runs 128 minutes, the Beethoven 139. Subtitles in German, Italian and French are available. The extras for In Search of Beethoven are on a separate disc, and include performances of complete movements from half a dozen pieces, including a performance of the "Pathetque" sonata, deleted scenes and a trip to the editing room.

These are two excellent films. They are both informative and entertaining. There is gossip that will titillate the tyro—Mozart's scatological correspondence, Beethoven's hygiene. There are moments in performance that will bring a smile—Ronald Brautigaum's struggles with one of the early Beethoven pieces. There are moments that will bring a lump to your throat—the Vienna Symphony's performance of the Missa Solemnis, the scenes from Fidelio. This is a set that will be a welcome addition to the collection of any music lover.

Music Review: P. J. Pacifico-Outlet

Article first published as Music Review: P. J. Pacifico - Outlet on Blogcritics.

When singer-song writer P. J. Pacifico is at his best there is a heartfelt honesty to his music. You can hear it in his voice; you can hear it in his lyrics. There is a palatable flow of emotions that seem at once spontaneous and completely sincere. And of the ten songs, nine written by the singer, on his latest album, Outlet, there are plenty of examples of Pacifico at his best.

There is a natural conversational quality to his lyrics that reminds me of nothing so much as the aesthetic reaction against artificiality in poetry that marked the Romantic poetry of the 19^th century and became a hallmark of modern verse. The "common language of the common man," verse that spoke the way people really spoke was emblematic of the sincerity of the poet. Pacifico's lyrics, written we are told after the engagement and eventual marriage to his long time girlfriend, sing with the same kind of sincerity. "As Soon as I Can," for example, a song which he describes as a thank you to his wife for her complete support for his career, is an unsentimental look at the artist's need for freedom. It is a simple description of his feelings as he leaves her to go on tour and sees her face saying one thing, her voice another. Emotion is wrapped in natural conversation. Contrast this with the lyric gymnastics of "Waiting" which he describes as a fictional song about "falling for your best friend." Here he seems more interested in coming up with ingenious rhymes than he is with honest expression.

Still it is honesty of emotion that dominates that dominates the album. "Lakeshore Drive," "Heads Up," "Targets" and "Fold Up Your Heart," all have that natural quality which belies artifice: art without artificiality. It is art at its best that keeps the artifice hidden; not an easy thing to do. It is the artist who can make you forget all the work that went into creating what you are hearing that is the true artist. Pacifico makes it seem easy.

"New Song" is a playful illustration of what seems like this spontaneous composition. It is a self-referential meta-song, a song about itself. Pacifico says it reminds him of Blues Travelers "Hook," which it surely does. It is as though the song is writing itself as he sings. The words he sings are the only words he knows. They are his just because he says so. He's not sure how long it will last, but he will sing it to the end. Again, there seems to be no artifice to what is clearly very artful. All I can do is try to finish the thing, he says, about a song which has clearly been finished, as he gives the finger to the establishment.

"Ships in the Night," the one song on the album not written by Pacifico, is by Jonathan and Ken Stuart. Its sound is much more country than anything else on the album. Pacifico's songs have a softer pop rock vibe. "Home With Me," the story of ten years of his relation with his wife before their marriage, is much more the characteristic sound of the songs on Outlet. It is a sound you are likely to hear a lot more of in the future.

Videos of Pacifico covering songs like Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" and the Beatles "Something" as well as several other songs are available on his website: http://www.pjpacifico.com/videos.htm. There is also a short promotional video for the new album at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJ4gILLD7aI, which will give you a sampling of some of the new material.

Book Review: My Reading Life, by Pat Conroy

Article first published as Book Review: My Reading Life by Pat Conroy on Blogcritics.

For a writer who has a reputation for writing lengthy blockbusters, a reputation he not only admits is accurate, but one he takes pride in, Pat Conroy's little collection of essays on his love of books and the people who influenced and fostered that love, My Reading Life, is something of a departure. This is not a voluminous tome, but it is a serious reflection on how a lonely young boy with little opportunity to make friends because his military family was constantly moving from base to base, a boy tormented by an abusive father, was able to find both an escape and a calling in books. It is a story about how that love of books can become a lifelong obsession.

While he does spend time talking about the books and writing that captured his imagination both as a boy and later as an adult, it is the portraits of the people, the book lovers and odd characters that he met along the way that make for the most interesting reading. Sure he found a copy of Les Miserables in the high school library to occupy his lonely lunch hours, but it is Miss Hunter, the Beaufort high librarian who doesn't cotton to students reading in her library and likes a little Jack Daniels for her nagging head cold, who is the memorable part of his essay. It is Mr. Norris, the English teacher who takes an interest in the bookish boy and teaches him lessons about life and literature and introduces him to the work of Thomas Wolfe, who serves as the model of the kind of humane character that a life devoted to literature can foster. It is Cliff Graubart, the New York transplant owner of an Atlanta bookstore, Norman Berg, the book rep who refused to tolerate fools, Jonathan Carroll, a little known American novelist who is careful to watch an elderly woman walk a tortoise every evening: these and a variety of others are the characters that fill the book with life.

This is not to say that there is no discussion of books. There is, but it is usually more in the nature of appreciation than it is critical analysis. There is an essay on Tolstoy which focuses on War and Peace. A book he points to as perhaps the greatest of all novels. There is a love letter to Thomas Wolfe whose passion for language despite his acknowledged flaws and excesses is probably the central influence on Conroy's own work. James Dickey's poetry is always on his desk even now and Deliverance is a masterpiece that got him out canoeing down the Chattooga. These are writers who are treated in individual essays, but the book is filled with references to others—Henry James and Henry Adams, Dickens and Neruda, Gibbon and Hemingway, and these are just a few.

Probably, it is his mother who was the biggest influence on his reading. It was her passion for books that he emulated earliest. Books, for her, served as a substitute for the education she missed in her life. Oddly, the book he talks about as his first legacy from her is Margaret Mitchell's popular historical classic, Gone with the Wind, a book, more than likely because of its sentimental associations, he seems to rate a good deal higher than most. "Gone with the Wind has outlived a legion of critics and will bury another whole set of them after this century closes." He is a southerner, after all.

Additionally, there is a good deal of discussion of his own writing. He talks about his father's reaction to the way he is portrayed in The Great Santini. He describes the way the portrait of Eugene Gant's father in Look Homeward, Angel enabled him to deal with his own demons. He discusses the failures of his early attempts at poetry and the short story, and he does have quite a story to tell of his one early poem he wrote while at The Citadel that was a success.

This may be a little book, but it is not an empty book. Readers who care about books will find in Conroy a kindred spirit. They may well find an honest voice that speaks their own feelings with a style and grace they can only wish they had themselves.

DVD Review: Upstairs Downstairs

Article first published as DVD Review: Upstairs Downstairs (2011) on Blogcritics.

The critically acclaimed sequel to the much beloved BBC series, Upstairs Downstairs, which ran in three parts on PBS is now available on DVD in a two disc set including an exclusive DVD feature: "Upstairs Downstairs-Behind Closed Doors." Set in 1936, a year which saw three kings on the British throne, the series introduces a new family, the Hollands, to 165 Eaton Place. Rose Buck played by Jean Marsh one of the originators of the show, the only holdover from the original Downstairs staff, is working as an employment agent and she is hired to help the Hollands hire a new staff of servants. The first episode introduces all the new characters and begins to delineate the tensions and themes that are going to occupy the drama.

A good deal of attention is devoted to the historical context of the period. Lord Holland is a diplomat returning to an England in some turmoil after a tour of foreign duty. The king is dying and his successor is involved in an affair with a notorious woman. The economy is still in bad shape from the depression, and Fascist sympathizers are making headway with the people. German diplomats are looking for support among the upper classes. Series writer, Heidi Thomas seems to place a much greater emphasis on the historical background than I remember in the original series. There is, for example, an actual recreation of the Cable St. riots when the Fascist leader, Sir Oswald Mosley tried to take his Black Shirts on a march through London. There is a sub-plot concerning a Jewish refugee who becomes a maid in the second episode. Wallace Simpson and Joachim von Ribbentrop both make appearances in the series. Upstairs and downstairs characters become involved with the Fascists. Indications of the social changes in Britain are also emphasized in an abortive romance between Lady Agnes's sister and the chauffer.

The "Behind the Scenes" feature explains the care that was taken in creating a historically accurate mise en scene. It is not only the costumes where Keeley Hawes who plays Lady Agnes explains that she was even wearing period underwear, but everything about the setting as well. The pantry was stocked with actual spices and preserves. The servant's hall was given all the appropriate accoutrements. Food cooked and served at dinner parties was thoroughly researched before it was prepared for the set. The house itself had the effect of physically informing the performances according to Adrian Scarborough who plays Pritchard, the butler. One can't help stiffening one's back and raising one's nose, he says. Indeed, in many respects the house becomes a featured character itself, beginning as what they call a "ghost house" shrouded in drop cloths and cob webs only to reemerge in magnificent splendor.

Performances are spot on. Eileen Atkins, the other of the series originators, is a commanding elder used to taking charge and not about to take a back seat to her daughter-in-law. Keeley Hawes is effectively torn between her inexperience and her desire to assert herself, while Ed Stoppard has his diplomatic skills tested as he maneuvers between the two. Claire Foy plays the rebellious Lady Persie with the passionate self righteousness of youth.

The downstairs cast is equally fine. Anne Reid as Mrs. Thackeray, the cook, is not quite the martinet in the kitchen, but still quite jealous of her position. Her joyousness at having her photo taken by the famed photographer, Cecil Beaton is classic. If at first Adrian Scarborough's Pritchard doesn't seem to have the same authority that Mr. Hudson had in the original, by the time he gets to the third episode there is no question of his stature. Harry Spargo is the chauffer who can't quite bring himself to break away from the traditional social values when all is said and done. Art Malik plays Lady Maud's private secretary and adds an exotic note to the cast. The young maid is played with youthful exuberance by Ellie Kendrick, and together with Nico Mirallegro as a youthful footman in training, they make a fetching pair. Of course, it is Jean Marsh, her face lined with her years as an actress mirroring her years in service to the Bellamys that hold everything together. It is only fitting that the series end with her gazing out from the window of her beloved home.

Upstairs Downstairs from the seventies has become a classic. The 2011 version has much to live up to; it would be very easy to disappoint. But series lovers can rest easy, the sequel does the series proud. We can only hope that there will be more to come.

DVD Review: Dylan Revealed

Article first published as DVD Review: Dylan Revealed on Blogcritics.

The most disappointing thing about Joel Gilbert's documentary Dylan Revealed now available on DVD in time for Dylan's 70^th birthday is that in all of its 110 minutes there isn't even one sample of the man singing, let alone a complete song. There is plenty of concert footage, but it is always film accompanied by talking head voiceover rather than the music. When there is music, it seems from the credits to be the music of a tribute band.

While a documentary about a musician that fails to include the man's music may not make a lot of sense, what the film does have is a lot of film from the singer's long career that it claims has never been seen before. Unfortunately the quality of much of this film is not always up to par. More often than not, it is taken from home movies shot by amateurs. For example there is film of Dylan on his 1966 Electric World Tour which was taken by drummer Mickey Jones who does the bulk of the narration about this period of Dylan's career. In the first half of the concerts Dylan would do an acoustic set, and Jones would go out and film from the audience. He'd get one of the roadies to film the second half when he was on stage. This is supplemented by film of Dylan and his entourage as they travel from country to country. Some of it is interesting, but after awhile it's like watching your brother-in-law's vacation movies. I mean "Bob Dylan visits Elsinore" and D. A. Pennebaker in and out of his top hat leave something to be desired.

The film is less a biography than it is a look at various more or less significant moments in the singer's career, although by no means all significant moments. It begins in 1962 with his Columbia recording contract, the dismal sales of his early recordings, and the problems this caused for legendary producer John Hammond. It jumps ahead to the Dylan goes electric period, and essentially makes the point that those who think he was selling out for the money are wrong. In fact, the poor reception his electric sets got from audiences cost him fans and money. Mickey Jones describes the cat calls and booing that greeted the electric portion of the concerts, a description that has been echoed recently by Robbie Robertson as he makes the talk show rounds in support of his new album.

Other aspects of Dylan's career that get major attention are his Rolling Thunder Revue Tour, his support of Reuben 'Hurricane' Carter, his born again period and his return to his Jewish heritage. And although the documentary's title seems to indicate that there are revelations in store for the viewer, I don't know that there is a whole lot that is new here. Clearly Dylan's preaching from the stage after his Christian conversion rubbed many concert goers the wrong way. As critic, Joe Selvin, points out, his audiences expected something quite different from him. If this conversion didn't last very long, those people who discuss it seem to feel it was an honest commitment. His return to Judaism may well have been honest as well, but the footage of his appearance on a Chabad telethon is downright embarrassing.

Perhaps the most interesting part of this film is the insight into the way Dylan worked with the other musicians he played with. Violinist Scarlet Rivera talks about the freedom Dylan gave her to develop her own ideas. Bassist Rob Stoner talks about the disorganization of recording sessions. Drummer Winston Watson describes his sink or swim audition for Dylan's band. In general, the picture of Dylan that emerges from their accounts is of an artist who seems more concerned with spontaneity and creative surprise than he is with rigid control.

Dylan Revealed is a very conventional documentary about a very unconventional artist. It does call attention to what might be considered the many faces of Bob Dylan, but certainly not as creatively as Todd Hayne's I'm Not There. It does tell you something about Dylan in the sixties, for example his 'supposed' motorcycle accident, but not in the detail that you get from David Hajdu's Positively 4^th Street. It does talk about his electric apostasy, but it really gives little insight into what if anything he was trying to accomplish. Unfortunately the DVD doesn't include any extra material. A director's commentary on the making of the film would be welcome. It would be nice to know why there is no film with the man actually singing. It would be nice to know why little is said about the singer's early relations with Joan Baez. It would be nice to know why Mickey Jones is the only member of The Band interviewed for the film. In the end what Dylan Revealed reveals is that there is still much about Mr. Dylan that needs revealing.

Book Review: Rush: Why You Need and Love the Rat Race, by Todd G. Buchholz

Article first published as Book Review:Rush: Why You Need and Love the Rat Race by Todd G. Buchholz on Blogcritics.

Rush: Why You Need and Love the Rat Race is the kind of economic manifesto that will appeal to most conservatives and libertarians and curdle the cream of liberals and progressives. Todd G. Buchholz, the author, has an impressive array of credentials. He is a former presidential economic advisor. He was a managing director of a successful hedge fund. He was a fellow at Cambridge University in 2009. He taught at Harvard, was a co-producer of Broadway's Jersey Boys, and contributes regularly to (god help me) NPR and PBS. This is an economist to be taken seriously.

Essentially the thesis of the book seems to be that human beings are best served by an economic system that encourages and rewards individual initiative through freewheeling competition as opposed to one where a paternalistic government tries to equalize rewards among its citizens. The book highlights examples of research purporting to show that people who work for what they get are better satisfied than those who get a free ride. People like to compete because they like to win. Competitive instincts are embedded in human genes, and to the extent that competition drives us to excellence, it is not only a positive force, it may well have been the force most vital to human development. We compete for rewards. Competition breeds innovation; innovation means progress. In a society where there everyone gets rewarded there is no need to compete; there is no progress.

Work is the agency of competition. There is nothing wrong with working. Indeed, productive work keeps our minds sharp and our bodies healthy. Retirees, for example, tend to dry up and die away; those who keep working seem to grow old gracefully. The idea that work is a hardship, that the less one works the better is a demonstrable error. There is satisfaction in work. Work is rewarded. This, of course, is not a new idea. Think of the industrious ant, and the lazy grasshopper. It might be argued that the coal miner or the garbage collector may not be so thrilled with work, but at the very least in a free society with a free market, they have the option of looking elsewhere for work that they might find more to their taste.

Paternalistic societies that try to protect their citizens from all the evils of life from second hand smoke to job loss are creating an underclass unable or unwilling to protect themselves. Why work if you can get unemployment insurance? Why not speculate in esoteric securities if the government will bail you out when you get in trouble? Governments that intervene in the market place cause problems. Regulation stifles energetic innovation. Regulation creates red tape that smothers industry. The free market can be relied on to weed the garden. A business that doesn't deal honestly will soon be out of business.

Buchholz is a true believer. I have no doubt that conservatives, although some may have some problems with his use of Darwin's ideas about evolution to support his assertions about the nature of man, will find in him a convincing spokesman. Certainly there are arguments to be made on the other side. History is replete with examples of economic disasters resulting from the failures of unregulated capitalists. One only has to point to the recent securitized mortgage crisis to see what can happen when innovation runs amok. Moreover to many readers, his arguments will sound too much like that famous rant about the value of greed, a screed which Buchholz in fact takes the time to unpack and explain.

Still, liberals will find him a formidable opponent. He writes with flair. He argues with good humor and intellectual depth. His frame of reference is large. He talks about Rousseau and John Stuart Mill, The Adventures of Buckeroo Banzai and I Love Lucy, Bruno Bettelheim and Franz Kafka. He seems reasonable. If one accepts his basic assumptions, it is very difficult to see problems with his conclusions.

Of course, not everyone will accept those assumptions. Not all economists believe that free markets are quite as efficient as Buchholz believes. Indeed, one can argue about just how free some supposedly free markets are. One can argue that a humane society has some obligation to protect those who cannot protect themselves. One can argue that those who prosper in a nurturing society's environment have an obligation to give something back to that society. More than likely however in today's polarized political environment, there aren't many who would object who will bother with the book in the first place. This is unfortunate, because Buchholz doesn't seem to be one of these yellers and screamers. He may be a voice with whom dialogue is possible.