Philosophy in the Garden and Distraction, my How to Think About Exercise has been translated into Dutch, and will be published in the Netherlands in August of this year.
More information here (in Dutch).
Thursday, April 16, 2015
|Not pictured: Übermensch|
This time it was held at Shebeen, a café/bar that sends profits to overseas development projects.
The evening's star was Friedrich Nietzsche. I discussed the will to power, Superman and eternal recurrence.
Some good questions about Nietzsche's elitism, the relationship between his illness and his ideas, and his motives for writing. Given his suspicion of followers, and contempt for the 'herd', why did he put so much of himself into his work?
There was also discussion of Nietzsche's working habits -- some of which I detail in Philosophy in the Garden -- and the ties, if any, between Nietzsche and My Nanna is a Ninja.
The evening was sold out, but the next salon on David Hume is on 13th May.
Monday, April 13, 2015
|With my hardy buccaneer, Sophia|
Again hosted by the marvellous Little Bookroom in Carlton North, we had a hearty afternoon of piratical fun.
|Gestures of piracy: the YES|
and the NO
I asked fiendishly hard questions about pirates, like 'Did they fly helicopters?' and 'Did pirate flags have skulls and bananas?' (Nikos played sceptic and answered '...that we know of...' and 'perhaps'.)
The quiz also involved me dancing around like a drunk monkey with its limbs tied together.
Then it was time for a reading, and all of the kids joined in to yell 'pirate' as I said it.
|Listening for the cry, 'PIRATE!'|
|Deathstroke and his curls|
There was also some excellent dress-up, including Tucker who rocked some impressive pirate haute couture.
As always, Leesa from The Little Bookroom was entertaining, leading a rousing pirate singalong and thankyou.
There were also chocolate bunny pirates, which were handed out with a generosity perhaps missing in your average sea dog.
I closed the day by signing a stack of books, and then changing out of my cerise outfit of doom.
|Signing the stack (note box of chocolate treasure)|
Thursday, April 2, 2015
The newest Island magazine is out now, and it features a schmick new old essay from Marshall McLuhan. (See the dashing cover model.)
It also includes an essay from me: 'Who is the author?' I'm discussing the longing some readers have to meet authors. Who exactly are they hoping to meet? And why? Here's the introduction:
‘In my first fifteen or twenty years of authorship, I was almost never asked to give a speech or an interview. The written work was supposed to speak for itself, and to sell itself, sometimes even without the author’s photograph on the back flap.’ – John Updike, “The End of Authorship”
A publishing contract is now more than an invitation to write. It is also a request for performance. The author becomes, as John Updike puts it in “The End of Authorship”, a ‘walking, talking advertisement for the book’. The very year the American novelist gave this speech in Washington, a publisher told me in passing: ‘Of course, we’ll fly you to the festivals, get you reading at shops and libraries.’ Of course. One does not simply have talent, which Flannery O’Connor insisted was vital for a literary vocation. Now one is a talent: an artful player, with all the ambiguity of each word.
My point is neither that there is anything necessarily vicious or vulgar about performance, nor that we have lost a literary golden age: from enlightened literacy to primitive orality. The Romans regularly held public performances, in which poets tested their verse in a public laboratory. (Or lavatory. ‘You read to me as I shit,’ complained first-century poet Martial in his Epigrams.) Pliny the Younger lamented that his listeners did not obey audience etiquette: ‘two or three clever persons…listened to it like deaf mutes.’ Greek philosophy itself began with public performance; with the need to grab interest along with intellect. Put simply, we are not the first era to ask writers to tap-dance, and this request does not automatically corrupt literature.
Instead, Updike’s quip makes ubiquitous performance look rightly contingent, and so puzzling. The publishers’ motives are straightforward: selling stuff. But when readers book tickets for their ‘soirée with author’, what are they paying for?Island is available in good bookshops across Australia. You can also subscribe, and have it delivered to your door.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
|Outside the humble Beijing Capital Library|
Previous AWW tours have focused on Beijing and other Chinese cities, but this year's itinerary was enlarged: I jetted to Taiwan and South Korea alongside China. We stuffed a great deal into the little meat sack of Damon.
|With Cathy Raper|
I met with the Australian Representative in Taiwan, Cathy Raper, and had a short chat about the island's history and politics.
Then I was off to the National University of Taiwan, to give a workshop and lecture on philosophy. The chief point of my talk and questions was to get students thinking about the relationships between scholarship and everyday life; how each informs the other (or doesn't). I used examples from authors including Seneca and Nietzsche. (I wanted to introduce them to the poetry of Alison Croggon, but language made it awkward.)
One of the discussions, nudged along by Professor JJ Yuann, concerned the verbosity of the safe: how freedom often encourages a certain bellicose chatter, as opposed to the stoic quiet of those struggling with empire.
|With Professor JJ Yuann and students, Taiwan National University|
|Sweating at the Sun Yat-sen Memorial|
My next gig was at Woolloomooloo: a reading of My Nanna is a Ninja, plus some games. My host was children's book guru and local author Charlene Lai.
After this, but not before an sumptuous Taiwanese lunch (highlight: mullet roe with gourd and radish slices) with Jimmy Yang and Charlene, was another My Nanna is a Ninja reading: at the Taipei Public Library. Then it was time to leave this intriguing Chinese island...
|Lightning moves at Taipei Public Library|
...for the Chinese mainland. And not just China: Beijing, the enormous capital. I say 'enormous', though of course I saw chiefly the Opposite House hotel, taxis, shops and the festival rooms. But what Henry James wrote of London seems apt for Beijing:
Practically, of course, one lives in a quarter, in a plot; but in imagination, and by a constant mental act of reference the sympathizing resident inhabits the whole--and it is only of him that I deem it worth while to speak. He fancies himself, as they say, for being a particle in so unequalled an aggregation; and its immeasurable circumference, even though unvisited and lost in smoke, gives him the sense of a social, an intellectual margin.My first events were two more readings of My Nanna is a Ninja, for the Bookworm literary festival. One at iQiyi cafe, then another at the huge Beijing Capital Library.
The former was relatively quiet; the second, a riot. Their discipline seemingly undone by my games, the children took to the stage--quite literally. My translator, Christine, worked tirelessly to explain the ideas and words, and control the crowd.
|When 'an intimate reading' means toddlers on your knees: Beijing Capital Library|
|Portable magic: keeping oxygen in |
From this quite privileged institution, I was off to Mingyuan: one of Beijing's migrant schools. These were the children of rural parents who had moved to Beijing looking for work, forfeiting medical and educational access. The Migrant Children's Foundation, a charity, provides schooling, basic equipment and uniforms.
I arrived while the younger grades were napping, but my class were year fives--and they were awesome. After the quiz and games, they were quick to identify English words, and answer questions about the characters and story of My Nanna is a Ninja. Their questions, like their drawing and colouring, were careful but fun. After a sneak preview of My Pop is a Pirate, we ended with a quick photo outside, alongside the whitewashed buildings and hard playground.
|With the kids from Mingyuan migrant school, Bejing|
|Reading from Voltaire's Vine, with|
DV, XNE, CA and MC
I can't convey the variety and nuance of each, but all were marked by a masterful brevity; the willingness to let the audience work, instead of condescending with detail.
Discussion turned to gender in the Q and A afterwards, and it was intriguing to hear the debates cross several continents.
The next morning I took myself off for a jog: just a few kilometres to a local park. But what was green on the map was actually concrete: an artificial lake (with real ducks). It was nice to actually get a brief feel for the neighbourhood, as well as testing my mask.
|Jogging in Beijing on an officially 'Unhealthy for Sensitive Groups' morning |
(the highest level isapparently 'Crazy Bad')
There was a strong note of grief and horror to the stories, which gave a depth to laughter when it happened (and, with AJ and Brooke's well-balanced novels, it wasn't long coming).
|At Renmin University with AJ Betts, Brooke Davis, staff and students|
|At the soirée, doing soirée things|
My final evening in Bejing, after the soirée, was a poetry reading by poet, translator and raconteur Willis Barnstone. Having just devoted weeks to Borges, it was a nice surprise to meet someone who knew the Argentine author well--who lived across the road, in fact.
|Busy stillness: Yeonhui art space,|
view from the stage
A combination of writers' residence, library and school, Yeonhui is a perfect retreat: close to amenities, but quiet and cultivated. (There is a photo of Nic Low, who interviewed me for The Monthly, on the window of the foreign writers' building.)
The next tour was Nami Island, which is ludicrous: a resort isle, artificially divided from the coast, about an hour's drive from Seoul. It has everything. A museum of ancient and international musical instruments, a pop music museum, several performance stages, public artworks, restaurants, wild animals (including emus), galleries, pottery kiln, gardens a massive children's library, and more.
|The children's library, Nami island|
The next day I had two more My Nanna is a Ninja gigs: at Kimpo and Incheon kindergartens. Hosted partly by Awesome World, who've published the Korean translation, these events were hugely entertaining. The children and teachers of Kimpo kindergarten had clearly devoted many days to the visit, and I was gobsmacked by their letters, drawings, buntings and written questions. I had discovered the world of the ninja nanna--ten thousand kilometres from home. It was a blast to hear my story in Korean, and the children reading along in parts.
|Reading "Ninja Halmeoni" (Ninja Grandmother) to the Kimpo kindergarten kids|
|Drawings, letters to the ninja nanna, and questions for the author, Kimpo kindergarten|
Which brings me to today: grateful for the chance to enjoy so many impressions, curious to know more, and sharply aware of my own position as one of Henry James's 'particles' in a much larger collection.
Friday, March 13, 2015
My most recent Canberra Times column was published today: 'Here's cultivating curiosity... Why's that, you ask?' A sample:
David Hume, in his Treatise of Human Nature, argued that curiosity is the thrill of mental exertion. This is why those who are curious find no joy in simple addition or the recitation of historical facts: it's not that 40 + 29 doesn't equal 69, or that Caesar didn't cross the Rubicon, but that reception of these truths alone is unchallenging.
Hume also pointed out that curiosity often seeks important truths. Not because these are somehow more exciting, but because this sense of worth aids concentration. "When we are careless and inattentive," Hume wrote, "the same action of the understanding has no effect upon us, nor is able to convey any of that satisfaction". These truths may not actually be epic or greatly practical, and the curious person might be highly misanthropic. But the idea of importance is enough to keep them occupied. The student tells himself his studies of late Heidegger are vital for civilisation but his chief motive is a rightful fascination with the nature of art, for example.
Curiosity, in this light, is neither professional duty nor principled discovery. Certainly someone curious might also be a fine scholar or social reformer: Leonard Woolf comes to mind. But, if Hume's right, curiosity need not have any relationship to professional competency or justice. It is simply a disposition to finding pleasure in mental labour. Sometimes this leads to novels or medicines, other times to a life of quiet but unproductive poking about.(Image: painting by Allan Ramsay)
Saturday, March 7, 2015
|Only in fantasy: the horny green harem from Venus|
Horrocks' protagonist, Sam Zabel, is a fantasy merchant: selling superhero stories to Eternal, a big publisher. His heroine, Lady Night, is torn right from the Freudian guidebook: seemingly tough and smart, but basically an empty sexual plaything. "You can hurt me, torture me," she explains to her creator in a dream, "f--- me with your words." Sam is unhappy and unproductive. He spends days staring at the screen, and hours downloading high-resolution paintings such as John William Godward's A Quiet Pet: utopias within which his mind finds asylum. In short: more fantasy, this time of "a world of perfect grace and languor". When he returns from his reveries, the deadlines remain.
Sam is saved from ennui, not by some neat reclamation of facts, but by a more articulate, ambivalent fantasy. He finds himself inside the pages of an old New Zealand comic, The King of Mars, feted as "the cartoonist god king" by a horny green harem from Venus. Sam refuses their ministrations – preferring to fantasise about them – and escapes to real life. He soon enters more stories, joined by 'zine maker Alice, and Japanese character Miki Roketto. Each comic, he learns, was written by the titular pen: a plot device for Scheherazade stories within stories, but also a neat symbol of creative imagination.
What follows is an intelligent, moving and quietly funny study in fancy: from orgiastic monks and nuns in a 13th-century illuminated manuscript, to Rupert Bear-ish talking animals in postcards sent by a German soldier in World War II. Horrocks pokes gentle fun at superhero tropes, while the most unsettling and unsparing chapter is on Miki, whose origins in hentai pornography reveal the nasty side of made-to-order wish fulfilment.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
The Australian edition of My Pop is a Pirate is officially out now.
Following on from My Nanna is a Ninja, which recently had its second reprinting, it follows the adventures of several proud kids and their fun grandfathers--one of whom has a golden leg and an eyepatch. Argghhh!
You can buy it at all good bookshops, or online. Meanwhile, a few early reviews:
"Highly recommended. This funny picture book showcases the loving relationship of a granddaughter and her pirate pop as well as presenting pops enjoying their lives, hobbies, vehicles, activities and food choices. [...] Damon Young's alliterative rhymes need to be read aloud to the young audience, his rhythmic style and funny scenarios celebrate the exciting lives of grandpas and pops. Peter Carnavas' colourful and funny illustrations add to the excitement of this rollicking picture book." - Readplus
"Following on from the fun and deservedly very successful My Nanna is a Ninja comes this companion volume which is just as playful and energetic. The poetry is sheer joy and the rhythm flawless, but for me the thing to celebrate is that the stereotypical granddad, with his tartan slippers and doddery, wise ways, is nowhere to be seen. The pops in this book still have a lot of life left in them and they are embracing it with gusto.
So get your dose of pirates and alliteration with this rambunctious picture book for all ages, shapes and sizes." - Readings
"The rhyming text is word perfect and the accompanying illustrations will have kids and adults rolling with laughter. [...] This is a great book to read aloud, with opportunity aplenty for sound effects and voices. Keep an eye out for the cameo appearance by Ninja Nanna and her crazy cat too!"- Kids Book Review
"Written and illustrated by the same team that did My Nanna is a Ninja; this is a companion volume with grandfathers as the focus. It has the same sense of inclusiveness, showing grandfathers or pops, as they are called, of different types. It has the same light-hearted sense of fun as it looks at how people are different. The cover is colourful and eye catching and the illustrations are clever and fun. I particularly like the pop in green gloves chopping wood but there were plenty of other fun illustrations that perfectly match the playful rhyming text." - Read and Write With Dale
Monday, February 23, 2015
|Manus Island detention centre, Papua New Guinea|
Prime Minister Tony Abbott recently suggested that, for too long, Australians have given asylum seekers, welfare recipients and criminals 'the benefit of the doubt'.
My latest Canberra Times column is a reply, focusing on refugees. A sample:
[N]ot even children have been given the benefit of the doubt. The Human Rights Commission recently reported ongoing abuse in detention centres, alongside self-harm and mental illness. "Every day that they are in detention," said one charity worker employed on Nauru, "they face the risk of being sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, verbally assaulted. Every day." Even if their parents were economic opportunists – and there is no evidence of this whatsoever – these children would still have committed no crimes in coming to Australia. If anyone deserved the benefit of the doubt, it would be these kids. And yet the Prime Minister feels "no guilt whatsoever" at their imprisonment.
In this light, the Prime Minister's portrait of Australia is misleading. He suggests a kind nation, wary of being too cruel in situations of uncertainty; a nation quick to offer help and slow to make charges of criminality or ethical perversion. But Australia, for all the countless everyday kindnesses of its citizens, treats asylum seekers with contemptuous brutality. There is a bipartisan spirit of political opportunism that has deemed these foreigners 'guilty' well before the boats arrive. Benefit of the doubt? We don't even give them the benefit of international law.
Perhaps we are being played as mugs. But not by refugees. And we're not the ones who suffer most from this game.(Photo: "Manus Island regional processing facility 2012" by flickr: DIAC images)
Monday, February 16, 2015
My recent Canberra Times column was on spanking kids: 'Smacking children as punishment asks for a certain brutality'. A sample:
Even if spanking were a foolproof method of producing virtuous progeny - and it most certainly is not - this would not mean parents ought to do it. The corporal punishment argument too easily slips into neat instrumentalism: if it works, do it. Yet the efficacy of something does not make it right. A deed can be useful without being good.
This is partly because the measure of something working well depends on what it's working for. In other words, ethics involves debate, not only about the means, but also about the ends. The goal of corporal punishment is often cowed obedience, and this is a trait I do not value highly. It has little worth in our family or, in my limited experience, in the workplace or public sphere. Respect for authoritative conduct is another thing altogether, and requires more than demonstrations of brute force.
But instrumental justifications of spanking are also lacking because they ignore questions of character. To be frank: I don't want to be the kind of man who hurts a smaller, weaker person. I don't expect to be our children's friend: I am their custodian. I do have to advise, second-guess and discipline them, often unpleasantly. But deliberately striking them, whether coolly or in a rage, takes advantage of their weakness. Even if done for their own good - and, again, this is problematic - it asks for a brutality I choose not to embody. Controlled violence in self-defence against a threatening peer? Sure. Violence against a 25-kilogram grade one? No. I'll find my "dignity" elsewhere.(Illustration: Giorgio Conrad)