Molly Ringwald and Sylvia Nasar at the Sydney Writers’ Festival 2013

Molly Ringwald

Molly Ringwald

I’m very excited to be interviewing Molly Ringwald and Sylvia Nasar at the Sydney Writers’ Festival this month. Two very different writers – one the star of 80s cult movies Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink directed by the legendary John Hughes; the other a journalist with degrees in literature and economics and author of the award winning biography A Beautiful Mind, which became the Hollywood film starring Russell Crowe – and two very different books.

I’ll be talking to Molly Ringwald about writing and her acclaimed first novel When it Happens to You, a series of short stories which explore love, loss and betrayal, at the Sydney Town Hall on Saturday 25 May from 6-7 pm.

Here’s how the first story, ‘The Harvest Moon’, opens:

‘As far as Greta knew, there was nothing in the sky that night.

images-2‘Lying on her back in the bathroom on the cool of the white marble tiles, she heard the summons again. Her husband tapped the horn of the car: one long, noisy beep followed by two shorter taps, as if in apology. She strained to close the zipper on a pair of jeans without pinching the soft flesh of her midsection. It was a task she found both onerous and humiliating, primarily since she had purchased the pair less than a month ago, having gone through the same depressing experience with every other pair that lay folded in her dresser. Another short beep to remind her (in case she had forgotten) that her husband and daughter were waiting in the idling car, but this really had been sprung on her, and there might be photos. She wanted to at least make an attempt at presentability.’

images-1And I’ll be talking to Sylvia Nasar about economics and her latest book Grand Pursuit: The Story of Economic Genius, which traces the development of economics through the men and women who created the discipline from Karl Marx to Joan Robinson and Amartya Sen, at the Sydney Theatre at Walsh Bay on Sunday 26 May from 10-11 am.

Here’s what Nasar writes about the lesson British economist Alfred Marshall (1842-1924) learnt from his extensive travels across America, which became the chief insight of his Principles of Economics published in 1890:

v_Grand-Pursuit-PB‘Under a system of private property and competition, business firms are under constant pressure to achieve more with the same or fewer resources. From society’s standpoint, the corporation’s function is to raise productivity and hence, living standards.

‘Of all social institutions, the business firm was more central, enjoyed a higher status, and did more to shape the American mind and civilisation than elsewhere. The company was not only the principal creator of wealth in America but also the most important agent of social change and the biggest magnet for talented individuals.’

Plus ça change …

I’ll write more about each of these books before the festival starts – but for the moment I’m in Paris …

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… under cover at an accounting conference (EAA 2013).

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‘You can’t take the experiences out of your head / You can’t take the damages out of your heart’: Ben Quilty’s After Afghanistan – and Homer, Virgil and Nadeem Aslam

Last Saturday I went to see Ben Quilty’s exhibition ‘After Afghanistan‘ at the National Art School in Sydney, commissioned by the Australian War Memorial. I hadn’t seen Quilty’s paintings in the flesh before and wasn’t sure what to expect. I certainly wasn’t expecting to be so shaken by them.

Captain S, after Afghanistan, Ben Quilty

Captain S, after Afghanistan, Ben Quilty

And I wasn’t planning to write about the exhibition here. But then I read the comments of one of Quilty’s subjects, Air Commodore John Oddie, and changed my mind. Beside his portraits Oddie had made these observations:

‘You can’t take the experiences out of your head / You can’t take the damages out of your heart’

‘Either through a lack of insight or through an unwillingness … I wasn’t admitting the truth to myself about my life. Ben really took that out and put it on a table in front of me like a three-course dinner and said, well how about that? And you know, I sort of thought well, I’m not going to come to this restaurant again in a hurry!’

John Oddie

John Oddie

Quilty had initially planned to paint from photographs he’d taken in Afghanistan of the soldiers staring into the sun – dazzled, exposed, shocked. But when he returned to his studio in Australia, he found this approach didn’t work. It lacked immediacy. So he invited some of the soldiers to his studio to sit for him, naked. The result are these raw, vulnerable portraits.

Which took me straight to the battlefields of Troy and of ancient Italy. To Hector’s death at the hand of Achilles in Homer’s Iliad:

‘Death cut him short. The end closed in around him. / Flying free of his limbs / his soul went winging down to the House of Death, / wailing his fate, leaving his manhood far behind, / his young and supple strength. But brilliant Achilles / taunted Hector’s body, dead as he was, “Die, die! / For my own death, I’ll meet it freely – whenever Zeus / and the other deathless gods would like to bring it on!”

With that he wrenched his bronze spear from the corpse, / laid it aside and ripped the bloody armor off the back. / And the other sons of Achaea, running up around him, / crowded closer, all of them gazing wonder-struck / at the build and marvellous, lithe beauty of Hector.’

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And the death of the Trojan soldier Euryalus in Virgil’s Aeneid:

‘But while he begged / the sword goes plunging clean through Euryalus’ ribs, / cleaving open his white chest. He writhes in death / as blood flows over his shapely limbs, his neck droops, / sinking over a shoulder, limp as a crimson flower / cut off by a passing plow, that droops as it dies / or frail as poppies, their necks weary, bending / their heads when a sudden shower weighs them down.’

(Both passages are taken from translations by Robert Fagles.)

‘After Afghanistan’ also reminded me of Nadeem Aslam‘s beautiful, brutal novel The Wasted Vigil (2008) set in present day Afghanistan:

‘For a long time before Lara came to the house the kitchen was Marcus’s living quarters. There was no electricity so the refrigerator was used as a clean white cupboard to store clothes. He seldom visited the other interiors, the doors fastened, a muffled thud indicating that a book had detached itself from the ceiling. Qatrina and he had built up this collection over the decades and it contained the known and unknown masterpieces in several languages. Up there Priam begged Achilles for the mutilated body of his son Hector. And Antigone wished to give her brother the correct burial, finding unbearable the thought of him being left unwept, unsepulchred.

‘He went on a journey whenever he received word about a young man somewhere who could possibly be his lost grandson. Though he feared there was no hope of locating someone whose face you had never seen, whose face you didn’t know. The last excursion was to a city in the south of the country during the Taliban regime, and like the other times it was fruitless. There he saw an abandoned and locked-up school for girls into which, he was told, every book to be found in the city had been thrown on Taliban orders. When he put his ear to the keyhole he could hear the sound of worms eating the millions of pages.’

Bushmaster, Ben Quilty

Bushmaster, Ben Quilty

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‘NB The prince – Christ’: The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky – and the Sydney Writers’ Festival 2013

Last night on Sydney Harbour the new artistic director of the Sydney Writers’ Festival Jemma Birrell launched the 2013 festival program – ‘A criminal mind, Molly Ringwald & a seduction artist walk into a … Have we got a story for you’. The festival runs from 20-26 May 2013 and looks fantastic.

Jemma Birrell launches the Sydney Writers Festival 2013

Jemma Birrell launches the Sydney Writers Festival 2013

I’ll be writing more about the festival here soon, but for the moment I’m very excited to be on a panel with two of the world’s great readers, critics and writers – Geordie Williamson and James Wood – speaking on a panel chaired by Tegan Bennett Daylight called The Uncommon Reader. We’ll be talking about what makes a good reader – and sharing some of the books which have inspired and compelled us. Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot will be among the books I’ll be talking about. It’s sometimes my favourite novel of all time, always in my top 10.

il_fullxfull.284668734The Idiot is the story of Prince Leo Nikolayevich Myshkin, a young Russian so honest and ingenuous that on first sight he’s taken for an idiot. His open demeanour draws people to him and friends feel compelled to confide in him, yet they are never quite sure if the prince’s peculiar, penetrating perceptions are the fruit of profound wisdom or madness.

As one friend says to him: ‘Why, Prince, your simplicity and innocence are such as were never heard of in the golden age, and then, all of a sudden, you pierce a fellow through and through, like an arrow, with such profound psychological insight!’

While Dostoyevsky was struggling with the manuscript of the novel, trying to focus his vision of the idiot Prince, whom he wanted to be a convincing, perfectly good man, he wrote to himself on 8 April 1868: ‘NB The prince – Christ’.

Shortly after marrying for the second time, in 1867, Dostoyevsky travelled with his wife to Europe. In Basel he saw a painting of Jesus by Hans Holbein which he found so confronting that he stood frozen before it for 20 minutes. His wife recalled that ‘the figure of Christ taken from the cross, whose body already showed signs of decomposition, haunted him like a horrible nightmare. In his notes to The Idiot and in the novel itself he returns again and again to this theme.’

Holbein's The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb

Holbein’s The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb

Wracked by debt and debilitating epileptic fits that recurred almost every ten days, and grief-stricken following the death of his baby girl in 1868, Dostoyevsky wrote: ‘After all this they demand from me a work of pure art and poetry, without strain, without tearing passions, and point to Turgenev and Goncharov. Let them remember under what conditions I do my work.’

Under these excruciating conditions, Dostoyevsky wrote The Idiot, working and working at his new novel, tearing up pages and starting again. At the time he was preoccupied by the Gospels, the work of Ernest Renan (whose bestselling Life of Jesus - which depicted Jesus as a mortal man and not the son of God – had been published in France in 1863) and Shakespeare’s Othello, with its themes of jealousy and passion. He wrote:

‘I thought from 4 December to 18 December inclusive. On the average I made six different plans (no less) daily. My head was turned into a windmill. How I did not go mad, I don’t understand. At last on 18 December I sat down to write a new novel and on 5 January I had already sent off five chapters of the first part to Moscow.’

Unlike his compatriots Tolstoy and Turgenev, Dostoyevsky had no independent income and was forced to earn his living from writing to deadline, so he was forever writing in haste, desperate to earn his next payment.

The Idiot opens with the meeting of two extraordinary young men, Prince Leo Myshkin and Parfyon Rogozhin, on a cold November morning in a carriage of the Warsaw train as it approaches St Petersburg at full speed. These two bizarre men are immediately drawn to each other. Their strange passions, and their love for the same woman, ignite Dostoyevsky’s intense, explosive novel about love, desire and jealousy, suffering and madness.

The novel races along as swiftly as the trains Dostoyevsky’s loquacious character Lebedev so abhors, its action consisting predominantly of conversations – heated discussions, intimate confessions, fierce pronouncements – that erupt in set pieces in houses, salons and drawing rooms across Petersburg and the country town of Pavlovsk.

St Petersburg

St Petersburg

Soon after his arrival in Petersburg from a clinic in Switzerland the prince visits a distant relative, a Princess Myshkin married to the prominent General Yepanchin. The Yepanchins have three beautiful, accomplished daughters, but the beauty of their youngest daughter Aglaya is matched by only one other woman in Petersburg: Nastasya Filippovna. Through the prince the lives of these two beautiful women become inextricably linked: Aglaya forms a perverse, ambivalent attachment to the prince, but his heart has already been stricken by Nastasya Filippovna.

When the prince first sees Nastasya in a portrait, her dazzling beauty pierces him to the depths of his soul. He finds her beauty ‘quite unbearable – the beauty of that pale face, those almost hollow cheeks and burning eyes – a strange beauty!’ and falls into a peculiar, bold species of love with her.

The prince has been treated in Switzerland by a doctor renowned for his work with idiocy and insanity. Like Dostoyevsky, the prince is an epileptic, and the novel includes a vivid description of the onset of an epileptic fit. The prince’s detailed story of a man who faces execution, only to be given a last-minute reprieve, is also based on Dostoyevsky’s own life.

Dostoyevsky

Dostoyevsky

Born in Moscow in 1821, Dostoyevsky was the second son of a surgeon and a cultured woman from a merchant family. His father expected him to become a military engineer, and he was sent to the Academy of Military Engineering in St Petersburg. But after his father’s death in 1839 – he was rumoured to have been murdered by the serfs on his small estate – Dostoyevsky left the army in 1844 to become a writer. His first published work was a translation of one of his favourite authors, Balzac‘s Eugenie Grandet.

He then wrote a novella, Poor Folk, which so impressed two of his friends that they rushed over to Dostoyevsky’s house at 4 am to tell him it was a masterpiece. By his mid 20s Dostoyevsky had become a prominent literary figure in St Petersburg.

In April 1849, Dostoyevsky and other members of the Petrashevsky Circle, a group of socialist intellectuals dedicated to illegal terrorist agitation with whom he mixed, were arrested and imprisoned. Dostoyevsky’s first epileptic fit followed soon after. Eight months later, on 22 December, Dostoyevsky and the other prisoners were led into a square and sentenced to death by firing squad. Only at the very last moment were they told that Tsar Nicholas I had spared their lives. It turned out the mock execution was part of their punishment.

The experience of imminent death sent one prisoner mad on the spot – and marked Dostoyevsky for the rest of his life. Instead of execution Dostoyevsky was sent to Siberia for four years of hard labour. Here he spent many hours reading the Bible, which convinced him of the power of the beliefs of ordinary Russians and confirmed his faith in the Russian Orthodox Church. So passionately did Dostoyevsky value his faith in Christ that he later wrote that he would ‘prefer to remain with Christ than with the truth’.

While in Siberia Dostoyevsky married, in 1957, and two years later he was permitted to return to St Petersburg, where his wife died in 1864. His beloved brother died soon after and Dostoyevsky became addicted to gambling, and was plagued by debt and epileptic seizures.

After accepting an advance on a new novel, he had still not begun writing it less than a month before the deadline. So he hired a stenographer and, remarkably, dictated The Gambler in the remaining few weeks. It was published in 1866. The stenographer was 22 year old Anna Snitkina – and she and Dostoyevsky were married the following year. They left Russia soon after.

When he returned to Russia in 1873 Dostoyevsky had become famous throughout the world for his novels Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot and The Possessed (1871-72). His last novel, The Brothers Karamazov, was completed not long before his death in 1881, by which time he had come to be seen in Russia as a prophet. Like the funeral of his contemporary Tolstoy (whom he never met), Dostoyevsky’s funeral was a national event, thronged by 30,000 mourners.

Dostoyevsky was writing during a time of great ferment and upheaval in Russia, a time of modernisation and westernisation of which he was deeply suspicious. In The Idiot the onrush of change is symbolised by the ominous presence of the railway – ‘this network in which men are entangled’ – which is spreading across Europe and Russia. Lebedev sees the railway as the sign of humanity’s ruin, and is mocked for his belief:

‘Not the railways – no, sir!’ retorted Lebedev, losing his temper and at the same time enjoying himself immensely. ‘The railways will not pollute the waters of life by themselves alone; but the whole thing, sir, is damned, the whole spirit of the last few centuries, taken as a whole, sir, in its scientific and practical application, is perhaps really damned, sir!’

The Idiot is remarkable for Dostoyevsky’s profound and unnerving understanding of the human soul. Nietzsche called him ‘the only psychologist from whom I have anything to learn.’

UnknownTwo of the 20th century’s greatest filmmakers were haunted by The Idiot - Akira Kurosawa and Andrei Tarkovsky. Kurosawa’s 1951 film Hakuchi is based on The Idiot. Set in Hokkaido in the snow and blizzards of northern Japan, the story takes place following the Second World War and the central Prince Myshkin character is a war veteran.

Unfortunately Tarkovsky’s dreams of interpreting The Idiot for cinema were never realised: the Soviet film authorities rejected his proposal. Instead, the devastated Tarkovsky accepted an invitation to work in Italy and died in Paris four years later, in 1986. A Russian miniseries made for television in 2002 and screened in 2003 was the first screen version of the complete novel.

Iggy Pop’s debut solo album, The Idiot, was also inspired by Dostoyevsky’s novel.

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‘We are all corals now: A meditation on art, science and hope in an age of global warming’ – Margaret Wertheim’s Templeton Lecture, Part II

Wertheim (left) with the coral reef project in the UK

Wertheim (left) with the coral reef project in the UK

Now for Part II of Margaret Wertheim’s Templeton Lecture, ‘We are all corals now‘, given at the University of Sydney on Monday 18 March.

After talking broadly about her coral reef crochet project (including an exposition of the hyperbolic geometry it manifests) and the growing complexity of its crocheted coral forms as it evolved over the years since its inception in 2005, Wertheim turned to some of the more striking corals crocheted by individual contributors around the world. (All the contributors are listed on the crochet coral reef website.)

One of these is Helen Bernasconi, who lives on 80 acres in Bonnie Boon, Victoria, Australia, and keeps a small flock of sheep. She shears, spins and dyes their wool herself, crocheting it into coral forms for the project. Bernasconi was the very first international contributor to the project and has invented a whole genre of crochet sea creatures, including a crochet octopus.

Helen Bernasconi's crochet octopus

Helen Bernasconi’s crochet octopus

As the website says, ‘Helen is a master of both technique and form and over the past 2 years has produced an extraordinary variety of complex, multifaceted shapes. Every time a box arrives from her we marvel again at the diversity of her imagination – she seems to be single-handedly creating several major new branches on the crochet tree of life.’

Wertheim said that when people are let loose, they not only experiment with new forms but also with new materials, like fluff and electronic wire. She showed images of the electronic wire reef creatures, which are extraordinarily beautiful … but they’re neither crocheted nor hyperbolic.

‘In most cases when we get requests to include items that fall into neither category our answer is no, but in the remarkable case of Anita Bruce we knew that all rules are made to be broken. Anita knits sea creatures from scientific wire and when we first encountered her work we knew the Reef should be populated by some of these astonishing knitted specimens.’

Anita Bruce's knitted reef creature

Anita Bruce’s knitted reef creature

One thing that fascinates Wertheim about the project is that it’s a metaphor for understanding the evolution of life on earth. To those who challenge the idea of evolution by asking how so much complexity could come from something so simple, the DNA code, Wertheim says that if the coral reef project can accomplish what it has – its astonishing variety and complexity – in almost 10 years, then surely 3 to 4 billion years of evolution could achieve the complexity of life we find on earth.

Wertheim has travelled widely with the coral reef project, initiating new reefs around the world. As she said, the project has sent out spawn to propagate new reefs just as real coral reefs do. Hundreds and sometimes 1000s of local people participate in creating a community reef. Wertheim said participants come from across race, income, age and class spectrums – but curiously (or not, according to one vocal man in the audience who said it was ‘right’) 99 percent of participants have been women.

And through their involvement in the project, people start relating on new terms, they bond. Wertheim said she was about to go to Abu Dhabi (she’s probably there now) with the coral reef project. She was invited there by the organisers in the hope that her project would help to deal with ethnic tensions in the Middle East. They hope that the prospect of crocheting a coral reef might bring together people who would never ordinarily meet – in particular, that it might bring out Emirati women from their homes and bridge a deep ethnic divide.

Wertheim said the message of the project has been unexpectedly profound. It has become a metaphor for what we humans can do when we work together.

The largest reef – which is at the Smithsonian – is made of 10,000 pieces. It’s 10 feet high and involved some 900 people. It could never have been made by an individual.

The Smithsonian community reef

The Smithsonian community reef

For Wertheim, the deeper metaphor of the project is this: just as we see tiny coral polyps that individually have no significance, collectively they build a coral reef, which then becomes home to some 9 million other species – so too we humans are like these coral polyps. Individually we are small and insignificant. But if we act collectively to build structures together we can do the extraordinary.

Hence the title of Wertheim’s lecture, which is the moral of her project: ‘We are all corals now.’

Wertheim concluded by saying that the coral reef project suggests to her that through the strength of our interconnectivity and our inter-relational power we can save the planet and ourselves.

There’s never been any advertising for the projects. People just come. And the various coral reef projects around the world have bonded communities together. Communities which have wanted to continue to exist beyond the project, but have found there are no channels for them to do so, for all their skills, talents, enthusiasm and creativity.

All of which suggests to Wertheim that we have vast untapped human resources that society is not making use of. Vast untapped human resources that WE are not making use of.

And she left that thought hanging in the air …

Coral by Christine Wertheim, Margaret's twin sister

Coral by Christine Wertheim, Margaret’s twin sister

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‘Everything has been created by sea mucus for love arises from the foam’: Margaret Wertheim gives the 23rd Templeton Lecture ‘We are all corals now’, Part I

Margaret Wertheim

Margaret Wertheim

How apt (or NOT) that I should have planned to blog about Margaret Wertheim’s intriguing, inspiring, provocative 2013 Templeton Lecture We are all corals now: A meditation on art, science and hope in an age of global warming just moments after reading about a renowned rocket scientist whose New York Times obituary opens ‘She made a mean beef stroganoff …‘ GRRR.

Moving right along, to the world where women are brilliant scientists and mathematicians and are heralded for these gifts and talents …

On Monday 18 March I went to hear renowned mathematician, physicist and writer Margaret Wertheim give the 23rd Templeton Lecture at the University of Sydney. The Templeton Lectures were founded by Professor Charles Birch, one of the first scientists to win the Templeton Prize for ‘entrepreneurs of the spirit’.

51DKQ6NV03L._SL500_SY300_Wertheim began by paying tribute to Charles Birch, one of her teachers at the University of Sydney and a founder of ecological science in Australia. She said that Birch’s landmark book On Purpose had been ‘meaningful’ to her, especially when she was writing her cultural history of physics, Pythagoras’s Trousers, which looked at why and how science and religion have interacted over the centuries. She said Birch was one of the first to write on the subject of science and religion from the point of view of a scientific practitioner, and one of the very first people to write philosophically on the relationship between humans and the environment.

In On Purpose Birch sets out a view of the world not as a place of things, of objects, but of events and processes. His world was not mechanistic but influenced by process thinking and by mathematician-philosopher Alfred North Whitehead.

Wertheim said she concurred with Birch’s view of the world: she believes the world is presented incorrectly as a place of things, not of relationships – just as science is incorrectly presented to us as a study of things, of objects, not of relationships.

Ten years ago Wertheim realised that it’s better to present science not as a body of facts but as a process. And the institute she’s founded with her twin sister, an artist and Professor of Art – the Institute for Figuring (IFF) – is about understanding interrelations and interconnections in our world. She considers the IFF as a ‘Play Tank’, as against a ‘Think Tank’ – it’s a place for playful activities that get bodies working and learning, not just minds. It generates participatory programmes which involve large numbers of people around the planet. Her lecture was on one of these projects, the biggest participatory art and science project in the world: crocheting a coral reef.

HyperbolicCoralReef

Crocheted coral reef

The ‘coral reef project’ was conceived California in 2005, inspired by this fantastic quote from Lorenz Oken: ‘Everything has been created out of sea mucus for love arises from the foam’. (Sigh. Such is the poetry of science. Its mythos: the birth of love – Aphrodite – from the foam, aka Ouranos’s testicles, castrated and tossed into the sea by his son Cronos.)

When Wertheim and her sister began the project she thought two to three dozen people around the world might want to participate – instead more than 7,000 people have taken part in it. It has been called the ‘AIDS quilt project of global warming’.

Great Barrier Reef

Great Barrier Reef

One of its main aims is to respond to global warming. Coral reefs are one of the leading indicators that global warming is not in our future but is here and now. The rising levels of CO2 cause ocean warming and acidification – or ‘CocoCola ocean’ – which destroy corals. So the coral reef project was started as a positive, creative response to global warming. They joked that if the Great Barrier Reef died out, there’d be something to remember it by.

OK, but why make a coral reef out of wool? The two substances don’t immediately go together: yarn and water.

But it turns out, Wertheim said, that yarn is the logically necessary medium – because the best way for humans to make models of hyperbolic geometry is through crochet.

Wertheim then gave a brilliant exposition of hyperbolic geometry and its history.

Hyperbolic geometry – frilly, crenellated forms – is present throughout the marine world. Or, as Wertheim said: ‘Nature has a love affair with hyperbolic geometry.’ And yet for hundreds of years mathematicians tried to prove that hyperbolic geometry was impossible in theory and in nature. Wertheim said she likes to claim that a sea slug knows hyperbolic geometry in the structure of its being – and knew it long before humans did.

But even after mathematicians understood the theoretical existence of hyperbolic space in the early 19th century, not until 1997 did any human work out how model it. In that year Dr Daina Taimina discovered that crochet was the best way of making mathematical models of hyperbolic geometry. Before then, it couldn’t be modelled; even when scientists knew it existed, they couldn’t create models of it.

Dr Taimina with her crocheted hyperbolic space

Dr Taimina with her crocheted hyperbolic space

Euclidean space, long known by humans, has zero curvature.

Spherical space, long known by humans, has positive curvature.

Hyperbolic space – one of the most important scientific discoveries of the early 19th century – has negative curvature.

The greatest mathematicians of our culture spent hundreds of years wrestling with this question of hyperbolic space and resisting its possibility. But eventually they realised that just as there are positive and negative numbers, so there are positive and negative spaces.

In the 1820s mathematicians understood hyperbolic space existed – but only found a way of modelling it in 1997. (Wertheim enjoyed repeating this fact, and I thoroughly enjoyed hearing it repeated.) This was a revolution in representation. (Through crochet!)

Dr Taimira uses these crochet models of hyperbolic space to teach non-Euclidean geometry to her university students – and she was soon inundated with requests by universities around the world for versions of her embodied models, which enable you very quickly to learn the mathematics of negative space and have led to the development of entire fields of non-Euclidean geometry.

The mathematics involved is the same as that used by Einstein to formulate his Theory of General Relativity – and will, Wertheim said, ultimately tell us about the structure of the universe.

‘Here we have a link between feminine handicraft – crocheting – and the architecture of the universe.’

Wertheim said that this relationship, between crochet and the architecture of the universe, was a ‘beautiful lesson’ she learnt from the coral reef project.

She described the coral reef project as ‘A woolly taxonomy of crochet coral species’. Over the life of the project – which is ongoing – an ever evolving crochet tree of life has been created. And unexpectedly, the woolly reef has mimicked the process of evolution, which is founded on ‘geometric aberrancy’.

‘Geometric aberrancy leads to natural forms.’

The crocheted corals started out being based on very simple mathematically perfect models – crochet n stitches, increase 1 – but once you start branching out and creating embellishments, you get increasing complexity and form. This increasing complexity was completely unexpected.

Wertheim then discussed some of the more striking corals crocheted by individual contributors … and meditated suggestively on the nature of this vast crochet coral reef project. I’ll be writing Part II of Wertheim’s Templeton Lecture later this week.

As you can see, when you mix physics, maths, art and global warming, the results are fascinating … endlessly!

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And now for a totally different sort of (Easter) Eigg – Alastair McIntosh’s Soil and Soul: People versus corporate power

Unknown-1I’ve been desperate to write about this book ever since I started reading it many weeks ago – but how to write about a book as rich and multilayered, as unique, as Alastair McIntosh‘s Soil and Soul: People versus corporate power?

When I read I usually mark pages that capture my imagination, provoke thoughts, connect with other things I’ve been reading, ideas I’ve been pondering. In most books I mark 20 or so pages at the most. I marked more than 50 of Soil and Soul‘s 284 pages. There is just so much in it. And it is so richly woven and idiosyncratic, so much spun from the life and soil and soul of its author and his place, the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, that it would be impossible to do its depth and breadth of vision justice here. But I will try to evoke its range … and I urge anyone interested in the power and importance of place – for itself, for its ability to bond people and communities, for its spiritual significance, its soul connections – and who believes in preserving the natural world against the interests of corporate capital, to read this book.

Among many other things, Soil and Soul shows that when the heartlands of large corporations can be broken open and penetrated by people such as McIntosh, their managers are capable of restraint, of deciding against the short-term interests of capital (profit) – and deciding FOR the preservation of the natural world.

Alastair McIntosh

Alastair McIntosh

McIntosh tells his story in two parts.

PART ONE Indigenous Childhood; Colonial World is about McIntosh’s childhood on Lewis. The first chapter, ‘Digging Where We Stand’, begins:

‘I must start where I stand. As children, we used to be told that if you dug a really deep hole, you’d come out in Australia. I think in some ways this is very true. If any of us dig deep enough where we stand, we will find ourselves connected to all other parts of the world.’

This truth – of our (potentially) deep connection to our immediate place and the way this connects us to our wider world, to the entire planet, to all life, to all forms – guides McIntosh’s story, which becomes in its second half the tale of a twin mission: to return the Isle of Eigg to its indigenous people and to save a mountain.

The Isle of Eigg

The Isle of Eigg

PART TWO The French Revolution on Eigg and the Gravel-pit of Europe is the story of people standing together for their place against the outside interests of landlords and corporate power. This people power works slowly, accruing over a decade, using passion, faith, patience, humour, daring, determination, intelligence, intuition, imagination, mischief, folklore and legend, guided by the heart and always by some greater force to which McIntosh gives the name God but which could just as well be called love.

Part two opens with a chapter called ‘Well of the Holy Women’ and a visit to McIntosh in 1990 from a crofter from Scoraig called Tom Forsyth:

‘A fine, strong, white-haired man he was, of mystical and sometimes outrageous disposition … Tom had suffered enough of landlordism. He was sick of Scotland’s feudal system, which had endured since the eleventh century. He’d seen too much of ordinary folks needing the big man’s permission to plant a few trees; to shoot something for the pot; to extend a house. Rarely a week went by in rural Scotland without some story emerging of a laird pulling down a home because he didn’t want people living near ‘his’ river, charging fees for the ancient right of cutting peat as winter fuel, or blocking walkers’ access to a remote but beautiful glen.’

Soil and Soul is truly an extra-ordinary story, told in an uncommon way. McIntosh takes his time. He weaves a complex tapestry, inviting readers deep into his world, into its past, telling of its terrible losses, its people, its beliefs, its saints and legends, its landscape of rock and water and ocean and vast skies. It is, as George Monbiot says in his Foreword, ’an extraordinary adventure in theology, economics, ecology, history and politics’ – thrilling, exhilarating and incredibly inspiring.

Monbiot writes: ’It is the first step towards the decolonisation of the soul: the essential imaginative process we have to undergo if we are to save the world from the political and environmental catastrophes that threaten it.’

I recommend Soil and Soul as strongly as I do Tony Juniper’s What has nature ever done for us? – but it is a completely different reading experience, it is like reading a spiritual text, or a poem.

As McIntosh says of his book:

‘It is about the Earth – soil, in a metaphorical sense – and people, which is to say, soul. It is about the interrelationships between natural ecology, social community and the human spirit. It moves away from the mainstream trunk of western culture and goes out on a limb, where the blossom is.’

Monbiot writes: ‘Make no claim to know the world if you have not read this book.’ I think he could be right

The Isle of Lewis

The Isle of Lewis

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What has nature ever done for us? by Tony Juniper: Most important book for the future of our planet I’ve read

UnknownSo, I’m making a big call here. I was planning to blog about two important books today, Tony Juniper’s What Has Nature Ever Done for Us? How money really does grow on trees, just published, and Alistair McIntosh’s Soul and Soil: People versus corporate power, published in 2001. But Juniper’s book has so seized my imagination, seems SO IMPORTANT to me, that I’m devoting a whole blog post to it.

Why? Because he expresses clearly and comprehensively what I believe is the key challenge facing human beings in the 21st century:

‘The simple conclusion I reach is that we need to take a different approach to how we look at nature and the Earth … Key to making this happen is the realisation that nature is not separate from the economy, a drag on growth or an expensive distraction.’

Given the power of the language of economics, money and numbers, realising that nature is not separate from the economy really is KEY. It is also an idea which seems obvious to most non-economists – and utterly heretical to most economists.

In 11 chapters and 296 pages environmental activist Tony Juniper sets out just how valuable the Earth – ‘Biosphere 1′ – is for human life. The chapters move from soil (‘probably the least appreciated source of human welfare and security’), to light, plants and animals, pollination, water, oceans, human health (mental and physical). In the process he builds a picture of the rich and complex interrelationship of the many elements that compose and sustain life on earth. And of the many things nature does which cannot be replaced by technology, including ‘the carbon storage functions of natural forests and soils; the productivity of the oceans; the work done by microorganisms in soils; the primary production carried out through photosynthesis; the protection of property by coral reefs; and the design solutions created by natural evolutionary processes’.

And as Juniper says, these invaluable services provided by nature are ‘beginning to attract the attention of not only academic economists and ecologists, but also governments, companies and international agencies. And that is what this book is all about – an explanation of what nature does for us, why it is so important, and what we can do to ensure nature keeps on doing it.’

Juniper believes that this vast and rapidly accumulating body of research ‘signals an emerging new era of debate’. I agree.

As he says, while much recent environmental discussion has been about climate change and carbon emissions, a new ‘wave of attention’ is breaking which focuses on ‘what nature does for us (and, crucially, finding ways to keep it doing what it does)’.

‘From the coral reefs that protect many coasts to the pollinating insects that help enable much of our food to grow, awareness and attention is switching to the economic value of nature, and crucially how to protect that value.’

Chapter by chapter Juniper examines the work nature does and makes clear its economic value – or, its value in the most powerful language of our day, money. Costa Rica’s former energy and environment minister Carlos Manuel Rodriguez discovered the power of this language when working to conserve his nation’s forests. When the finance minister told him that nature was not a priority, he found a way to value the forests in economic terms. Here’s what happened when he returned with this new information:

‘When we had this work completed I went back to the finance minister, but this time with some economists. When he saw these guys with me, he began to talk to them and they were speaking the same language. This was a turning point, and now the economics of nature is institutionalised in Costa Rica.’ Not only were natural areas protected, but degraded land was restored.

Biosphere 2

Biosphere 2

Juniper starts his book with a discussion of the ambitious experiment Biosphere 2, dreamt up by the remarkable John Allen – and it’s worth reading for the lessons of this story alone. Biosphere 2 was built between 1987 and 1991, constructed to study ‘the complex web of relationships and interactions that sustain the Earth’s life systems, while at the same time supporting eight humans’.

‘It was a project that threw into perspective just how complex, elaborate and linked is our own natural biosphere – and just what it would take if we had to try and replicate or recreate it.’

The scientific knowledge and technical expertise required for this experiment were vast. And fascinating. For example, the glass complex had to be totally airtight: it was 30 times more more tightly sealed than the Space Shuttles then being sent outside the Earth’s atmosphere by NASA. It set records as the most tightly sealed large-scale system ever constructed.

The lessons learnt from this experiment inform Juniper’s book. He quotes ‘Biospherian’ Mark Nelson about his experience of spending two years in Biosphere 2:

‘One of our tasks was to intervene when the natural diversity was threatened. The interventions were quite satisfying because it wasn’t us and the environment it was us in the environment. We had a role in looking after it. Once we were in there we realised we were in the same lifeboat.’

As Juniper argues, this is what we must now do with our economies (and ourselves): place them in nature. Which will require new institutions, laws, policies and culture. And new long-term thinking, which is foreign to the major players in modern economies: governments and corporations.

Juniper quotes Indian economist, former banker and green economist Pavan Sukhdev on the power of economics, which has arguably become a religion, ‘economism’. Sukdev says: ‘There is an unstated religion in economics, to the point where it is believed that everything can be resolved with free markets. The ghost of neoclassical economics and a few leading thinkers in that field continue to exert their influence on generations of young economists who go to work in national treasuries and who don’t understand what natural capital is all about. The question is, how do we address this legacy?’

A good question, as Juniper says – ‘and one that begs another, which is about where our values come from, especially those that have the potential to generate longer-term perspectives’.

The Earth, economics and where our values come from. This is what Juniper’s What Has Nature Ever Done For Us? is about. I couldn’t recommend it more highly.

Biosphere 1

Biosphere 1

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