My old lovers

I´m just dying for a book. Really. That old saying "you don´t miss it till its gone" seems the story of my life right now, and I so miss a good read. I sure consume audiobooks, on a ratio of about one a day when my eyes are in denial of their intended purpose. But since I can´t afford them off the shelves I turn to Tradera, and sadly the swedes only seem open to domestic authors of crime novels en masse. Not that I mind the odd tale of murder and betrayal, but there are only so many coppers with domestic issues, indigestion and inclinations towards personal intoxication one can take. Or maybe they just save the good stuff.

As I do. It happens that I buy the odd one brand spanking if it catches my eye, even if its got crime written all over it. I recently got stuck on Jason Goodwin´s tales of Yashim the eunuck, and by all means they can murder all they want, as long as they do it in 19th century Istanbul. Maybe it cuz I can´t go anywhere myself now that I have fallen for his lifelike descriptions of the mosques, bathhouses and bazaars, to the degree that I increased my cafeine intake by at least the double while engaged in the corridors of the sultan´s harem. But I have noticed a fondness towards all things east of the Mediterranean of late, not only in books, but when I can, in films, food, music, whatever.
Not much of religion as of yet however. I don´t know much of Islam or how its changing to adapt to new lifestyles, but I can´t help thinking of christmas trees when seeing the timeless minarets that nowadays proudly sport sets of speakers and a ring of cables around their tops. With pouting lips they call their faithful to prayer.

Anyway, I´d really like to read something. I love books. The soothing sound of someone turning pages. Quickly if in the middle of suspense, slower if ideep n engaging philosophies. I´m the kind of person who browse bookshops like you walk in the park, and would rather attend the most probably rainy Welsh Hay literary festival than a paid holiday in Thailand. I have wishlists on all booksellers´ websites that allow for that sort of function, and if I could read again tomorrow I would start on publications in double figures. But I´m all about pacing now, and the facts and fiction I´ve bought but have yet to read have qeued up in my bookshelf, silently looking down at me. Like zip files only their titles give clues to the vast thoughts and lives works what their modest dimensions bravely compress.
I seek comfort in the titles I´ve already devoured. Eyes lingering on, or fingers touching their backs briefly allow a gentle brush of scenes unfold in memory. Like old lovers.

Summary and anniversary

So one can think that we did nothing but rummage through rubbish and sanitize old furniture during the time we were in Denmark this time around. Well my mum did, cuz she is like I used to be, not able to relax and always have to have something to do. Even tanning is sort of like a forced activity when u look at her. But I spent alot of time in the hammock (what should I name her?), reading, knitting and listening to podcasts.


Recommendation of the month is "The secret history" by Donna Tartt. I can honestly not say why I liked it so much, maybe because I had friends in uni who also were students of the classics and they too belonged to a slightly different, paralell world that the rest of us didn´t grasp, when they dove in to discussions of Homer, Hesiod, details of Spartan society or ancient greek pronounciation. This tale of a bunsh of spoiled american college students, escalating in to various substance abuse actually even makes me want to give Dante another go.





Gran finally gave in and tried it

Tranekaer castle mill

Mum couldn´t relax and brought home bagfulls of weaving yarn and initiated a 3 day-sanitizing process

Now I didn´t feel too crap as long as I didn´t attempt any longer ventures than down the beach (water was surprisingly warm). On a few occasions we went to larger towns like Rudköping and Svendborg, something that would have been impossible without me being pushed around in a wheelchair. And even then I spent the following 24 hours in near unconciousness when we got back. This scenario seeming to have become the established order of things, and then we´re still talking about the "good" periods.
I celebrated my first anniversary as an ME sufferer on the 18th of july. I dunno how to describe what it feels like anymore. Thanks to various pills I guess I can focus on the few things I can do and in short bursts forget about the bigger picture. While in Denmark I can take being on public display. People stare, and I can honestly not say that I wouldn´t have stared at a woman in dreadlocks being pushed around by her 76-year old grandma, wondering what the heck is wrong with her. But when at home it happens that I need to come along to the local shopping centre, having my mum wheel me around like a packet in a shopping trolley. And then I am terrified that we will meet someone I used to know. What would I say? What would they say? I know I haven´t got anything to be embarassed about, but that is just what I am. I was always the one who never gave up, who could push myself and my body further than anyone else. Now all pushes just make me worse, and when I´m really tired I even look like I´m sporting a bit of a mental disabillity too, only a bit of drooling that´s missing. I prefer to stay at home. This re-defining of self is a work in progress I guess, and maybe I will relax about it in a few years.


A snapshot looking more or less normal, the ferry back to Sweden

On the Road

This is one I´ve been aiming at for years now, but every time I walked in to a bookshop I kept walking out with something else. So I thank my sister´s boyfriend Tom for getting it for my birthday, and off we go...

What can I say, other than that I´m converted and now understand what all the fuss is about. Its a great book, written with a sort of manic determiness, the same that Jack uses to describe Neal Cassady. Because of the complete lack of paragraphs, from page one you get the feeling that Kerouac rushed in to the typewriter to get the story on to paper before he loosed track of all the details and the magic vaporizes in to the blurry fogs of forgetfulness, and then he never even stopped to eat (and defenately not sleep) before he´d pinned it all down.

And even though its all going in 100 mph, there is no mistaking the friendship and honesty the characters all share in their search for kicks. All the people they meet are momentarily wound up in their manic experiences, and without selection they are all equally consumed, and then spitted out as the miles rush forward.

Kerouac paints such vivid scenes that I can almost smell the grease of the diners, the dust in the road, the cold wind from the back of a truck, all accompanied to the beat of the bop. I love descriptions like "the fields the colour of love and Spanish mysteries", or his many brief almost overwhelmingly desperate moments of love, "her eyes were great big blue with a soul in it".

Like there is no tomorrow they open themselves child-like at everyting life throws their way, and although Jack´s descriptions of Neal sometimes express worry for the madness that comes over him, and he sometimes get hurt when Neal leaves him for other kicks, he wouldn´t want him any other way.

"Suddenly I had a vision of Neal, a burning shuddering frightful Angel
palpitating towards me across the road, approaching like a cloud, with enormous
spped, pursuing me like the Shrouded Stranger on the plain, bearing down on me.
I saw this huge face over the plains with the mad bony purpose and the gleaming
eyes; I saw his wings; I saw his old jalpooy chariot with thousands of sparking
flames shooting out from it; I saw the path it burned over the road; it even
made its own road and went over the corn, through cities, destroying bridges,
drying rivers. It came like wrath to the West. I knew Neal had gone mad again."
(p.360)

But all journeys have their dark sides, and exhausted they stop and fall asleep somewhere, mistaken for discarded popcorn in some all-night cinema.

"All the cigarette butts, the bottles, the matchbooks, the come and the gone was
swept up in this pile. Had they taken me with it Neal would have never seen me
again. He would have to roam the entire United States and look in every garbage pail from coast to coast before he found me embryonically convoluted among the rubbishes of my life, his life and the life of everybody concerned and
not concerned. What would I have to say to him from my rubbish womb. "Don´t
bother me, man, I´m happy where I am. You lost me in Detroit in August 1949. What right have you to come and disturb my reverie in this pukish can.... --anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what is heaven? what is earth? all in the mind. Gibberishly Neal and I stumbled out of this horror-hole at dawn and went to find our Travel Bureau car. (p. 347).

Like falling cats they always end up on their feet, already running when landing. And the world was really changing in the late 40´s and early 50´s and kids in America felt that the road could take them anywhere.

"Do you know there´s a road that goest down to Mexico and all the way to
Panama?--and maybe all the way to the bottom of South America, where the
Indians are seven feet tall and eat cocaine on the mountainside? Yes! You and I,
Jack, we´d dig the whole world with a car like this because man the road
must eventually lead to the whole world" (p.328)

You can nothing but love this, but for others with ME I would maybe recommend it in instalments, as it never slows down, almost leaving the reader out of breath.

Its all in the post

You can´t beat the feeling of a big juicy packet coming in the post with your name on it. Although I do have a hunch that not all people get the same goose-bumpy, night-before-christmas-when ur-5 years-old feeling in front of a pile of books that are all mine, I persevere in my opinion that it is up there with sliced bread.

So look what I´ve got!

They took their bloody time though. I ordered these two at the same time, and Amazon had my book arriving on my doorstep within two days, and thats from the UK. Adlibris however took their time (about a week) before they spilled the beans and let me know they didn´t actually have the books in stock (not one single one of 6!) and they were delayed who knows where. But after a fair portion of tomfoolery they at least upgraded the freight to the quickest possible, and well, the sum total of my highly taxed VISA card is now lying on the floor in front of me.

For a while I´ve been wanting to read something about Mesopotamia, since my stingy university felt that European (i.e. 90% British) archaeology was all they were inclined to share over the course of my attendance. I haven´t the faintest idea of which scholars to turn to in this geographical location, I just simply chose a recent publication that seemed to be the recommended starting point for Near Eastern studies in many universities.

So roll on:

M. Van De Mieroop, (2007). A history of the Ancient Near East

A bit of a politics fix with :
M. Anderson, (1999) Do no Harm: How aid can support peace-or war

J. Darby and R. Mac Ginty (eds.), (2008) Contemporary Peacemaking: Conflict, Peace Processes and Post-War Reconstruction

Another attempt to read something in Spanish:

M.L. Alonso Las pelirrojas traen mala suerte

And then some chillin pages:

Garth Cartwright Princes Amongst Men, Journeys with gypsy musicians
Donna Tartt The Secret History

Audrey Niffenegger The Time Traveler´s Wife

Now all thats missing is that hammock...

More to miss

So once again I´m missing a major literary event that I´m sure would have made my little gray tingle. The Waltic is going on as I write and spanns over topics such as intercultural dialouge, world literacy, digitalization and oral histories. It hurts...
So as a slight comfort I´ve decided to treat myself to a membership in Ordfront, been a long time since I felt I could spend money on subscriptions. And at the moment you get two books in the welcome pack with the magazine, books which I was planning on buying anyway. They are Chockdoktrinen by Naomi Klein and När tusen eldar slickar himlen by Ola Wong, both seem to be very "in" right now.

Currently reading: "On the Road" Jack Keouac, responses en masse to follow.

More Economic waffling

When I went to university it took me quite some time to get a hang of the archaeological terminology (and lots of it still baffles me), so I guess I shouldn´t expect to be a vocabulary expert when I plow through my new growing collection of literature on economic theory. I am leaving contextual seriation, morphology, isotopic analysis and paleopathology, in favour of fiscal austerity, aggregate demand and devaluation. Neither of the groups sound all that exciting now do they?

But even though I need to consult my dictionary now and then, and even though I would turn and leave as soon as someone tried to talk economics to me a few years ago, I´m finding this new topic surprisingly interesting. To the degree that I sometimes have to shout straight out or underline whole paragraphs.


I have just finished Globalization and its discontents by the former head of the World Bank and winner of the Nobel prize in economics Joseph Stiglitz (who of course gave a talk at the Hay-on Wye festival this year. Why is it that everyone went there this year when I was too ill to join in?). I´m not gonna dwell long on what the book is about, but it centres mostly on the International Monetary Fund (IMF) which was created after WWII to ensure global economic stability. Although it is a public institution, meant to serve the public, it is completely non-transparent and US holds the only veto. Those who hold high posts within the IMF are a pick from the US business community, and the minute they step down they re-emerge in to, for example Citigroup or other multinational corporations. As Stiglitz says, there is no doubt that the economic decisions affecting development countries all over the world, made by economists in Washington, are designed to firstly benefit Wall Street. In many cases of IMF involvement in development countries, it employs a narrow minded "cookie-cutter" approach, focused on privatization and capital liberalization meant to attract foreign investment, while ignoring social stability, market control and regulation, with disastrous results. The IMF has confused ends with means and are blindly forcing their ideology regardless of individual circumstances, and to this day they are very reluctant to admit to any wrong doing or will to change.

I was shocked to read that an institution with almost absolute power, can get away with so much incompetence, and cause, rather than resolve many development countries spiraling crises. It is so bad that the author argues that "today´s IMF has, in my judgement, not articulated a coherent theory of market failure that would justify its own existence and provide a rationale for its particular interventions in the market" (p.197).

Read it, I had problems putting it down.

What is left for Zimbabwe?

My heart goes out to the people of Zimbabwe. Is there really hope for the future by pursuing these elections? Tsvangirai said yesterday that he is withdrawing, and anouncements today are saying that the elections still are on, without the leader of the opposition. So many of those who voted for the opposition the last time around have been threatened and even killed, almost every rally the opposition has tried to hold is sabotaged, and Mugabe has already made it clear that he won´t step down for Morgan Tsvangirai or anyone else anyway. Now he is certain of the smell of victory and has no interest in postponing anything.
It feels like repeating history to see Mugabe rise to such power, insane and at the same time very intelligent. By giving all his ministers land and riches he has them bribed in to remaining on his side. But one wonders how he expects it to last in to the future. The country is already on its knees, and eventually there won´t even be enough for him to steal from the people to keep his dogs happy. Then what?
I can´t help but thinking of the book (and later film) "The last king of Scotland". Doesn´t Mugabe echo Idi Amin? Doesn´t he also hide behind the argument that western Europe is trying to interfear with Zanu PF´s "perfectly humane and peaceful" business, and want to force back the old colonial relationships of oppression. And since Zanu PF controls the media it is hard for the people to believe anything but what they hear.
I hope that neighbouring countries stop trying to avoid their hands getting dirty, its not like they aren´t in it up to their eyeballs already.
I have nightmares that this is going to go as far as the final pursuits of Amin, or even Saddam, that Mugabe isn´t going to give in nomatter the sanctions.
And all we can do is watch it happen...

A thousand splendid suns

This is not the first book about Afghanistan and certainly not the first about women´s situation in a society ruled by shari´a. But that doesn´t make it any less relevant. I´ve grown up associating Kabul with missiles, Talibans, burquas and the massacre of the Buddhas of Bamyan, but it is important that we hear that before the soviets invaded it was a country where the women taught in universities, families took in the matinees in the local cinema and children played in the streets without fear.

This book is easily accessible for everyone, in its language and straightforward storyline. Khaled Hosseini writes with a love for his native land, that amid struggle and desperation, makes the hills of Herat and the streets of Kabul glow in the afternoon sun. And it makes me humble when I am reminded that even though I have an illness I think has cursed me unfairly, and this half-life of mine is in fact a mistake that soon will be corrected, many women spend their lives on stand-by, and then die without never being allowed to rise to their full potential.

Some people might opt out of reading this book because its been reviewed in every newspaper, climbed the top 10 lists everywhere and had big sums spent on creating a media hype around it and the preceding "The Kite Runner". But I think that if any piece of literature should enjoy just that, it is a book like this one. During the 90´s there was an urgency to highlight what the Nazis did to Europe, to make sure no one will forget and risk repeating history. Let this decade etch in our memories what the Talibans did; to Afghans, to religion and to the rest of the world. And then, maybe we can allow Allah to again become the forgiving god he once was.

On ´fair´economic development

So on to some serious business here, because I do occasionally dwindle away from sarcasm and comics. Had I not been so unfortunate to contract this neurological restraining order, I would in fact have been located in York, UK, studying a masters in "Conflict, Governance and Development" in said political faculty, and far too busy to be spending my over-worked braincells on blogging.

When I got accepted to the course I went straight on to amazon to start buying some of the recommended course litterature, and then when I realized that I really was too ill to be able to attend the course, or even stay in the country, I was stuck with a respectable stack of publications on econominc development. But as we say in Sweden "Skam den som ger sig" (shame on whoever gives up), so in the periods when my brain doesn´t have the attention-span of a 5 year old, I do my best to absorb the information the course litterature wants to get across. Last weeks reed was interesting as always, and written in a language that is easily accessible, so I thought I´d make an attempt to a brief summary of what the author wants said.


Contemporary economists ignore the truth of economic development of the western world in favour of the view that the high levels of development in the NDCs (Now Developed Countries) were reached much thanks to the adoption of a free trade policy. Pointing to this historical account of their success, they now firmly advice all development countries to follow suit if they are ever going to be able to reach standards comparable to for example UK, the Netherlands, Germany, USA or Sweden.
But Chang looks at the actual historical development of these NDCs, and proves that they all in fact relied heavily on infant industry protection, export subsidies and tariff protection until they had caught up with their domestic industry and the protective legislation was no longer neccesary. So the truth is then that NDCs warn developing countries from the ´bad´ (protective) policies, and advice them to adhere to the ´good´ (free trade) policies, although themselves used the ´bad´ policies during their catch up phases. And they don´t only advice, but force developing countries to sign unequal treaties, giving them no options but to keep their tarrif rates on very low levels.

There is also the pressure on developing countries for institutional development that should reach a certain global standard within a very short time span. These institutions involve, to mention a few, democracy, central banking, public finance, regulations against child labour and competition laws. Chang acknowledges the need for this development, but claims that it is not feasible for development countries to raise the institutional standards within the 5-10 year period that the NDCs demand, and threat with sanctions if not adhered to. He reminds the reader that it took several generations for the NDCs to develop these institutions themselves, and longer still before they actually were implemented. It is also important to note that "contemporary developing countries have much higher levels of institutional development than the NDCs did at comparable stages of development" (p.111). Naturally we cannot compare the global situation in the 19th century with that of today, and the developing countries have advantages of being follower nations who will not have to introduce completely new ideas, like democracy, to their societies, but will already have a generally informed public opinion from the start. But it is still important to see that, although these institutions will develop, it is not feasible to expect them to be financially viable straight away. Chang illustrates this with the institution of maintaining property rights to a global standard, it would "reqire the developing countries to train (or even worse, to hire from abroad) a large army of world-class layers and accountants. This means that they will inevitably have less money (their own or donors´) to spend on, say, the training of schoolteachers or of industrial engineers, which may be more necessary given their stages of development" (p.135).

Chang concludes that "in recommending the allegedly ´good´ policies, the NDCs are in effect ´kicking away the ladder´by which they have climbed to the top" (p.129).

I can only say shame on us. Its remarcable that we think only of ourselves, even when we are so much ahead, that we hinder developing countries to get a fair chance to catch up. But as Chang says, many of those who hold posts on desicion making levels, are not actually informed of our economic history, and can only rely on what they are told by today´s leading economists. There are naturally arguments against this focus on industrial development as the starting point for development, like that if institutions such as social security and various increases in individual freedom were put foremost, economic growth would follow. Whatever should come first, I do feel that all this involvement by the NDCs has led to questions like who is it that actually benefits in the end? So I recommend this book to be read, and hope, like its author, that more along the same lines with be published.

Elves on my shelves

When I was in my late teens I had a friend who was one of these admirable people who felt they without a guilty conscience could spend their money on (several) giganticly long series of comic books, you know those series that made your bookshelf look really lopsided if you didn´t have every single issue sorted in order. Well I was one of those friends who didn´t get struck by a guilty conscience borrowing every single one of those issues.

Although we did have a little bit of mutual lending (I was occasionally tempted to buy the odd second-hand X-men of the older generation), I remember one particular hard-back series that he introduced me to, and that I then clinged to his door-bell on an almost daily basis (we had flats in the same building in those days) just to get him to take pitty on me and lend me the next, and the next, and the next...


I`m talking about Elf Quest. I don´t know how many books were published in the series, but I know that I lived, slept and ate them for quite some time. When I was 17-18 I felt rather embarassed to admit that I sort of fancied several male specimens of the Wolfriders and the Sun Folk, embarassed mostly, I think, because apart from my friend Tickan, who lent me all these books, I didn´t have any other friends who were into comics. Much later I have realized that lots of people continue this sort of devotion well past their 30´s, and I can´t help but wonder what my list of merits and interests would look like today, had my social network incorporated more friends of this inclination.

The reason for this slight trip of nostalgia is that I accidentally came across the Elf Quest website this morning introducing the "Complete Digital Elfquest Online project", meaning that during 2008 they intend to publish the entire series (more than 6000 pages) online! It sucks big time to be as sick as me, but there certainly are some advantages of being unable to work...

On fever

"And the earth hung on the line of the horizon, an enormous looming
boundless polenta of cornmeal still cooking in the sky and almost falling
upon
him, gurgling with fevered and feverish fevery ferocity in boiling
boils on the
boil, plop, ploppity plop. The fact is that when you have the
fever, ou become
polenta, and the lights you see all come from the boiling
of your head"
/Eco

I´m gonna lay of Eco for a while now. I get far too few influences from the real outside world not to risk over-indulging in his linguistic labyrinths.