A Marxist assessment of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises (1926) is a significant piece in 20th-century American literature. Viewing it through a Marxist lens reveals insights that traditional literary criticism, whether formalist or rooted in modern identity politics, might miss. To fully understand the novel, it is essential to consider its historical context.
David Walsh notes that Hemingway developed his voice during a time when "the global capitalist system entered a widespread and historic decline, characterised by the intense violence and destruction of World War I." The war caused over 16 million deaths, led to the fall of four empires, and sparked revolutionary upheavals across Europe that challenged the capitalist elite's ability to control. These included the assassinations of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, which Hemingway also referenced in his letters.[1]
In 1922, Ernest Hemingway, then a young reporter for the Toronto Star, was dispatched to cover postwar Germany, three years after the murders of January 15, 1919. In his reports and letters from that period, Hemingway openly discussed the political atmosphere in the Weimar Republic, expressly mentioning the murders of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht. He described Berlin's environment, noting how discussions about the killings were common in cafes, and highlighted that those responsible remained unpunished—an indicator of the widespread corruption in the new German government. His personal letters reveal a young man's moral outrage over the overt counterrevolutionary violence carried out in the name of preserving "order."
The novel's émigré characters, Jake Barnes, Lady Brett Ashley, Robert Cohn, Mike Campbell, and Bill Gorton, are more than just lively bohemians drifting through Paris cafes and Pamplona bullfights. They embody the remnants of a social order that led a generation into brutal slaughter in pursuit of rival imperialist ambitions, offering no real justification for the mass casualties. Their excessive drinking, shallow romantic pursuits, and constant travelling stem from an awareness that the civilisation that shaped them is fundamentally morally corrupt. The term "Lost Generation" represents more than their personal stories; it signifies a deep social and historical crisis.
Hemingway's distinctive minimalist prose was more than just a stylistic choice; it symbolised a rejection of the old order that caused brutal conflicts. Walsh highlights that this style conveyed a disdain for oppressive societal norms responsible for violence. After World War I, the elaborate patriotic rhetoric used to justify sending young men to war became fully discredited. Hemingway's terse, anti-rhetorical sentences acted as a silent protest against the falsehoods of capitalist civilisation. His famous "iceberg theory" suggests that more lies lie beneath the surface than are visible, reflecting a world where official language often served as a means of widespread deception.
This lends the novel a subtly devastating critical perspective. Nothing in The Sun Also Rises is ever explicitly stated: the war's horror, Jake's wound (rendered impotent by combat), and the difficulty of authentic human connection in a society driven by money and social status—all of it exists beneath the surface of concise, "matter-of-fact" dialogue. The understated tone serves as the social critique.
Money, Class, and the Illusion of Freedom
A detailed analysis of the novel reveals that its characters are not truly without class. Their so-called freedom to move between Paris and Pamplona, dine at upscale cafes, or follow the bullfighting scene is actually a constructed sense of liberty. These contradictions create much of the story's tension. Mike Campbell is depicted as impoverished. Robert Cohn's social anxiety stems from his fears related to his class status as a wealthy American Jew within European aristocratic circles. The novel's depiction of him also reflects some period anti-Semitism and shows how class resentment and ethnic bias are connected.
Brett Ashley's 'liberation' as a sexually liberated woman mainly stems from her social status, and it does not lead to her genuine happiness. The bullfight, or corrida, is the only part of the novel that really highlights values like skill and courage traits that go beyond financial influence, which explains why Hemingway's characters find it so engaging. The novel consciously avoids passing moral judgment on this subject. Walsh points out that Hemingway believed 'if a writer knows something well, he can omit key details, which enhances the overall impact.' The crucial element missing here is the economic basis of this 'freedom.' Readers instinctively sense the significance of what has been omitted.
The Limits of Individual Rebellion
From a Marxist view, the most authentic and significant aspect of The Sun Also Rises is also its main flaw: it vividly shows the tragedy of bourgeois society. However, it offers no remedy besides stoic acceptance. The well-known ending, with Brett lamenting, "we could have had such a damned good time together," and Jake's touching reply, "Isn't it pretty to think so?" is among the most honest conclusions in American literature. It fully rejects false comfort but ultimately signifies a dead end.
Walsh describes this as representative of Hemingway's overall perspective: "The moral and artistic mission Hemingway began in the early 1920s was founded on the belief that personal courage and strength are essential for success. However, this view conflicted with the complex political problems of the 1930s and 1940s and proved inadequate."
The Sun Also Rises highlights this limitation both artistically and meaningfully. The characters are unaware of their social shortcomings and do not see their suffering as tied to larger societal issues. Instead, their reactions to the war's destruction include seeking sensory pleasures, embracing expatriate bohemia, and adopting stoicism, where bullfighting serves as a symbolic stand-in for political involvement.
This flaw is not exclusive to Hemingway; it reveals a wider issue in petty-bourgeois modernism. Although leading modernists showed remarkable insight into problems in capitalist society, their focus on individualism often closed their eyes to underlying class dynamics, limiting their ability to propose effective solutions. As Walsh notes in his review of the PBS documentary on Hemingway, "If Hemingway ultimately ranks below Theodore Dreiser and F. Scott Fitzgerald in your view, it partly stems from a less critical stance towards American society."[2]
Limits of Academic "Political Unconscious" Criticism
It's essential to briefly examine the dominant academic perspective today, which tends to reduce 'The Sun Also Rises' to issues like toxic masculinity, homophobia, and anti-Semitism. This view tends to confuse surface-level symptoms with deeper problems. Although the novel does depict some prejudices relevant to its time and setting, focusing solely on these superficial elements through identity politics restricts a fuller understanding. It neglects the social forces that shape these prejudices and overlooks the novel's deeper themes. Rather than offering a comprehensive social or historical critique, it simply categorises behaviours as acceptable or unacceptable based on identity.
Marc Baldwin's "Hemingway's Political Unconscious" exemplifies Western Marxist academic criticism using Fredric Jameson's framework to analyse literature. The article makes a valuable contribution by challenging the view of Hemingway as simply an apolitical craftsman of concise, masculine prose. It emphasises that literary form is inherently infused with ideology. The core argument—rooted in Lukács, Eagleton, and Jameson—that "the true bearers of ideology in art are the very forms, rather than the abstractable content"—is a significant insight of Marxist aesthetics. The recognition that Hemingway's impressionism, his famous "iceberg principle," and his narrator's silences are not merely aesthetic choices but are ideologically charged ways of hiding historical contradictions represents a notable progression beyond formalist or purely biographical critiques.[3]
The article points out the shortcomings and distortions in academic Western Marxism, especially within the Jamesonian school, when it fails to adopt a truly materialist perspective on literature. Baldwin accurately observes that Hemingway's narrator, Jake Barnes, does more than observe; he actively constructs his reality through selective, reifying actions—breaking down people into body parts, transforming social relations into impressionistic sensations, and blending historical time into the "perpetual now."
This process reflects Lukács' concept of reification, in which capitalist social relations transform human beings and relationships into commodified objects—abstract, interchangeable units. Baldwin's interpretation of the Pamplona scene, where Jake reduces the gay men to synecdochic fragments such as "white hands, wavy hair, white faces," offers a clear illustration of how Jake's attitude sustains the ideological frameworks of his system.
The connection between the "perpetual now" and ideological mystification is significant. Baldwin rightly notes that a prose style that neglects historical context, presenting the world as a continuous, shimmering surface of sensations, obscures acknowledgement of historical change, class struggle, and social contradictions that impact the characters. His statement that "Ideology needs its subjects to reside in the perpetual now" is a sharp and perceptive observation.
The main theoretical concern in the article is its reliance on Jameson's structuralist, psychoanalytic Marxism, which treats the text as a self-contained system of ideological mechanisms. It fails to genuinely engage with the historical social forces that influenced Hemingway's development as a writer. Although Jameson's approach is sophisticated, it resembles what Trotsky referred to as formalist Marxism, since it primarily analyses ideology through narrative structure. Nonetheless, it overlooks the actual class dynamics and historical circumstances that shaped Hemingway's development.
David Walsh offers a more realistic view. In his article celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Hemingway's death, Walsh places Hemingway within a historical context: as a writer influenced by the imperialist slaughter of World War I, aiming to create a new literary honesty suited for a world where the old ruling-class beliefs were exposed as murderous lies. Walsh notes that Hemingway's succinct style carried "a both moral and political dimension, inherently connected with revulsion against the old order responsible for the brutal conflict and with the revolutionary waves that dismantled empires." This shows a materialist outlook that Baldwin completely lacks. For Baldwin, silences and omissions are ideological tools used to maintain bourgeois dominance. In contrast, Walsh views them as formal symbols of a real historical struggle—a sincere effort by an artist to confront a broken world and find truthful language amid chaos.
Baldwin's framework also fails to sufficiently distinguish between how ideology influences an external writer and what an artist intentionally or unintentionally explores. Hemingway was not simply a vessel for middle-class ideology. As Walsh observes, he was genuinely sensitive to "the moral atmosphere of the time," which often placed him at odds with the ruling elite. The FBI kept him under surveillance for decades. Although his portrayal of the Spanish Civil War was affected by his alignment with Stalinism, it still reflected an earnest engagement with the antifascist movement. "For Whom the Bell Tolls" faced criticism from the Stalinist press because some subtle elements of the GPU's brutal tactics subtly appeared in the novel, despite Hemingway's political limitations.
This exposes a deeper flaw in Jamesonian cultural Marxism: it frequently blurs the distinction between authentic artistic achievement and ideological facade. The most significant Marxist aesthetic works—like Trotsky's *Literature and Revolution*, Plekhanov's writings on art, and Lukács's early works—argue that great art can transcend the class biases of its creator, enabling an artist to convey truths beyond their own ideological viewpoint. Hemingway, in his prime—such as in the Nick Adams stories, *A Farewell to Arms*, and much of *The Sun Also Rises*—exemplifies this. The silences Baldwin interprets as merely ideological repression are also, at their best, a formal reflection of something emotionally and historically genuine: the deep shock experienced by individuals whose worlds have been shattered yet are unable to express clearly what has happened to them.
According to a deeper Marxist interpretation, Hemingway's decline as a writer in the 1930s and later periods is seen as more of a political and historical failure rather than an aesthetic one. His connection to American celebrity culture, his quasi-Stalinist position during the Spanish Civil War, and his misinterpretation of the Trotskyist critique of Popular Front politics restricted his understanding. These issues eventually resulted in a defensive attitude, cynicism, and reticence—traits Baldwin identifies as fundamental to his approach from the start. This approach was well-suited to the post-World War I period. Still, it became increasingly inadequate during the crises of the 1930s and 1940s, which demanded a broader, more historically conscious artistic outlook. Hemingway failed to rise to this challenge, not mainly because of his narrative style, but because he lacked the necessary political insights.
In summary, Baldwin's article presents a complex Marxist academic critique that sheds light on key aspects of Hemingway's writings. However, it replaces genuine historical materialism with a focus on structural ideology critique, thereby overlooking Hemingway's true literary accomplishments and the specific historical factors behind his limitations and decline. The WSWS approach to literary criticism—grounded in the actual history of the 20th century, including Stalinism's role in betraying workers and confusing the intelligentsia—provides a more profound and accurate framework for understanding a writer like Hemingway.
Conclusion
The Sun Also Rises remains a crucial read, not despite its flaws but because of them. It is among the most honest accounts of how World War I affected a generation and, by extension, the concept of bourgeois civilisation itself. Its deep pessimism is a form of honest truth-telling. However, it cannot offer what only the Marxist movement could provide then and still can: an understanding of the class forces behind the catastrophe and a plan to overcome them through revolutionary unity of the international working class. This is not a critique of Hemingway's talent — rather, it acknowledges what art alone cannot achieve, emphasising the ongoing need for political struggle.
Notes
Hemingway on PBS: The American writer who sought “the truest sentence that you know” www.wsws.org/en/articles/2021/04/10/hemi-a10.html
[1] Fifty years since the death of Ernest Hemingway- www.wsws.org/en/articles/2011/07/hemi-j06.html
[2] Hemingway on PBS: The American writer who sought “the truest sentence that you know”- www.wsws.org/en/articles/2021/04/10/hemi-a10.html
[3] "To Make It into a Novel... Don't Talk about It": Hemingway's Political Unconscious
Author(s): Marc D. Baldwin The Journal of Narrative Technique , Fall, 1993, Vol. 23, No. 3
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K Dick, SF Masterworks 1968
“If you find this world bad, you should see some of the others.”
Philip K Dick
Man will make it his purpose to master his own feelings, to raise his instincts to the heights of consciousness, to make them transparent, to extend the wires of his will into hidden recesses, and thereby to raise himself to a new plane, to create a higher social biologic type, or, if you please, a superman.
Leon Trotsky- Literature and Revolution
Although Philip K. Dick was not a superman, he certainly pushed his physical and mental limits to elevate both his own consciousness and that of his readers. His 1968 novel, 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?', is among the most philosophically ambitious science fiction works of the twentieth century. disparity.
This novel embodies Dick's humanist viewpoint, delving into the key question: what truly defines being human amid a heavily dehumanised world? Set in a post-nuclear-war wasteland where most animals are extinct, and much of humanity lives in off-world colonies, the story explores themes of alienation. Rick Deckard, the bounty hunter tasked with hunting androids, focuses more on character development and the desire for genuine emotions in a world that feels largely synthetic and empty.
The novel's social commentary is powerful. The androids (Nexus-6 models by Rosen Corporation) act as a form of slave labour created to serve, deprived of rights, and hunted when they escape. Dick clearly compares the androids' lack of "empathy" with the spiritual numbness capitalism causes in humans. The "empathy boxes" and the shared religious practice of "Mercerism," which is eventually shown to be fake, symbolise a desperate collective longing for genuine human connection in a world driven by commodification.
The way animals are treated is equally important. In the novel, owning a real, living animal serves as a status symbol in a world filled with death, and Deckard's shame about his electric sheep reflects how capitalism diminishes all relationships, even the most personal, to their exchange value. This embodies a core Marxist idea: the commodity form becomes so embedded in life that the line between real and simulated dissolves completely.
Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, inspired loosely by Dick's novel, is renowned for its stunning visuals. Its depiction of a rain-soaked Los Angeles filled with neon ads, off-world colony signs, and deteriorating urban splendour has shaped dystopian sci-fi aesthetics over the years. Roy Batty's final monologue ("I've seen things you people wouldn't believe...") remains profoundly impactful.
The film simplifies many of Dick's social critiques. While it still explores the key existential question about whether replicants are truly human more deeply, it downplays the portrayal of the Tyrell Corporation as a capitalist entity that creates enslaved beings. Elements like the novel's critique of consumerism, the emotional connection to the electric sheep, and the depiction of a working-class bounty hunter feeling alienated are overshadowed by visual spectacle and personal existential dilemmas. Consequently, the focus becomes more on spectacle, reducing the emphasis on broader social themes.
Carlos Delgado's review of Denis Villeneuve's Blade Runner 2049 highlights a key critical insight precisely: "A more rigorous artist might have explored the social and psychological implications of 'synthetic' beings that have become sophisticated enough to exhibit human traits. They could at least have drawn parallels between the plight of the replicant 'slaves' and our current labouring class. However, aside from a brief scene in a child labour sweatshop, Villeneuve appears uninterested in depicting the conditions faced by workers, whether human or artificial."[1]
The review comes to a harsh conclusion: "This is bleakness without understanding, the work of artists who perhaps sense an impending social catastrophe but lack the tools to identify its source or to raise awareness or protests." This effectively captures a common aspect of contemporary dystopian art — an aesthetic of crisis that lacks the intellectual framework to recognise capitalism as the cause or the working class as the agent of change.
Philip K. Dick (1928–1982) was a deeply innovative and reflective mind in postwar American science fiction. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he focused not on technological marvels or space tales, but on exploring what it truly means to be human amid systematic social dehumanisation. He authored 44 novels and over 120 short stories before dying of a stroke at 53. His works have inspired numerous major films. Hollywood's selective embrace of Dick, adapting his plots but often neglecting his deeper social insights, illustrates how capitalist culture can absorb and neutralise art.
What makes Dick's novel timeless is that it was written amid significant social upheaval in 1968. That year saw the Tet Offensive, the Prague Spring, the assassinations of MLK and RFK, and a global wave of revolutionary fervour. Through fiction, Dick explores whether the dehumanising logic of capitalist society, treating humans as tools, manufacturing desire via advertising, and reducing all worth to exchange value, ultimately turns people into androids.
This is not a mystical question. It connects directly to Marx's concept of alienation: the worker who sells their labour power becomes estranged from the product of their labour, from fellow workers, from their own human potential. Dick's "androids" are capitalism's ultimate product, beings manufactured for exploitation who, in seeking freedom, are destroyed.
This portrays a society profoundly affected by alienation. Genuine emotions, particularly empathy, are now scarce and highly prized. The central mechanism in the novel is that Nexus-6 androids, created by Rosen Corporation for slave labour in the colonies, are indistinguishable from humans through physical tests. They are only identifiable by their absence of spontaneous empathetic responses. The Voigt-Kampff test, which bounty hunter Rick Deckard employs, identifies replicants by measuring whether they instinctively show concern for others' suffering.
Dick's irony lies in the fact that the society which hunts androids for their lack of empathy is itself creating a world where true empathy is absent. People connect through "empathy boxes" to participate in Mercerism, a communal spiritual experience later uncovered as a fake, a televised show. Owning a real animal is a mark of status since many animals are extinct; Deckard's embarrassment over his electric sheep reflects the shame of someone whose emotional life feels inauthentic. The pervasive influence of commodities has so deeply infiltrated human life that genuine feelings are indistinguishable from their artificial counterparts.
This directly relates to Marx's theory of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, where the worker is separated from the product of their labour, the act of production, other humans, and ultimately their own human potential. Dick's androids are not external threats to human civilisation; they are the results of it—manufactured beings designed for exploitation and discard. As they escape their circumstances, they expose the deep flaws and corruption within the society that created them.
A recurring theme throughout Dick’s work is how we can know what’s real. What do we make of experiences that go outside everyday reality, like madness, religion or drugs? Such philosophical questions are handled lightly. Dick delights in paradox and has a characteristic dark humour. Though his writing addresses abstract questions, it is emotionally engaging. He often writes sympathetically about ordinary people trapped in situations they cannot control.
Emmanuel Carrère’s semi-biography shows us the roots of all this in Dick’s own life. An introverted and anxious teenager, troubled by the thought of a twin sister who had died in infancy, Dick began a lifelong involvement with psychiatry aged 14. His first marriage (of five) lasted some six months. He worked in a record shop, fascinated by high culture, and dreamed of becoming a ‘serious non-SF writer.
Dick wasn’t politically active, except for a deep-seated and lasting hatred of Richard Nixon. He mingled with bohemian pseudo-left circles and shared their criticism of 1950s American consumerist and suburban culture, as reflected in his SF stories from that period. It appears that FBI agents provided multiple-choice questionnaires for Dick and his socialist wife to indicate their opinions on Russia. They carefully considered the options, taking into account Dick’s background in psychological testing.
Dick's portrayal of Nixon's ousting as a major victory against tyranny, seen as the culmination of "reprogrammed variables," exposes a significant limitation. Watergate was not a break in the capitalist power structure; it was a manipulation within it, essentially a palace coup by rival factions of the ruling class. Agencies like the CIA and FBI were heavily involved. The system that elevated Nixon, including the national security state, the imperial presidency, and the surveillance networks, remained fully intact and has only grown more powerful since. Ultimately, emphasising Nixon as the embodiment of evil helped reinforce confidence in capitalist institutions by framing their self-correction as a form of democratic accountability.
By the early 1960s, during his third marriage, Dick was producing as much science fiction as he could. The income helped pay his bills and motivated him to write more and earn more. He also took medication for a heart murmur and agoraphobia, along with pills to handle side effects. His novels, such as *The Man in the High Castle* and *The Clans of the Alphane Moon*, started to succeed, but his marriage was falling apart. He saw a vision of a large, menacing robot face in the sky. A compassionate priest thought it was Satan, leading him to become a Christian, though his beliefs were quite unorthodox. In 1964, Dick moved to Berkeley and entered his fourth marriage. He wrote *Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep* in 1966, gaining recognition as a counterculture icon. This stable period ended with the disillusionment of the 1960s, especially after Nixon's re-election in 1968. By 1970, his fourth wife had left, and his home was often filled with drug casualties.
Philip K Dick and Modern Capitalism
Philip K. Dick's 1977 Metz speech is a notably compelling document that warrants a thoughtful materialist analysis rather than dismissal. As a highly insightful literary figure of the 20th century, Dick's keen attention to counterfeit realities, surveillance systems, and the core question "what is real?" is profoundly linked to the social context of American capitalism that influenced him.
The speech's clearest political insight is also its most straightforward: Dick explicitly states that "a state in which the government knows more about you than you know about yourself... is a state which must be overthrown. It may be a theocracy, a fascist corporate state, a reactionary monopolistic capitalism, or centralistic socialism." This statement offers a genuine insight. His novels—The Man in the High Castle, Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said, A Scanner Darkly—mirror a deep, visceral horror of authoritarian surveillance, the suppression of individuality by state power, and capitalism's ongoing falsification of consciousness. These themes are intentional, representing the artistic expression of genuine social contradictions.
His depiction of the "black iron prison"—the oppressive and unavoidable system of control he saw underlying daily American life—aligns closely with the Marxist idea of reification: the process by which capitalism turns human relationships into object-like, alien, and controlling structures that seem natural and everlasting. Dick experienced this, even if he couldn’t articulate it theoretically.
However, this is where the materialist critique becomes crucial. Dick directs his keen perception of a fabricated, alienated reality entirely into an idealist and theological perspective. The answer to the "black iron prison" is not organised revolutionary action by the working class; it is divine reprogramming. The "programmer-reprogrammer" God adjusts variables; chess moves are played against a "dark counter-player"; and liberation is achieved not through collective human effort but via cosmic intervention, experienced mystically by an individual under sodium pentothal.
This is precisely the form that social despair takes in a petty-bourgeois intellectual cut off from the working class. Dick registered the horror of capitalist reality with extraordinary sensitivity. Still, having no connection to the actual social force capable of transforming it, he displaced the solution into metaphysics, Gnosticism, and personal mystical experience. The "orthogonal time" theory is, in a sense, a brilliant literary and philosophical elaboration of the impossibility of imagining social transformation within the framework of isolated individual consciousness.
Dick's emphasis on simulated or artificial realities, referred to here as a "computer-programmed reality," demonstrates a keen intuitive grasp of Marx and Engels' concept of ideology. This process involves the dominant ideas of a given era being presented as inherent, unchangeable, and timeless, reflecting the interests of the ruling class. In Dick's view, the capitalist system functions as a form of simulation — it portrays its exploitative, historically specific structures as if they are natural aspects of human nature.
However, the Marxist perspective on this insight is entirely different from Dick's. Marx views the response to false consciousness not as a mystical awakening into a separate realm, but as the development of class consciousness through the concrete struggles of the working class. While Dick describes the "awakening" as a solitary, drug-induced vision, Marx sees it as a social process where the working class becomes aware of its position within the relations of production and collectively works to alter those conditions.
What is Dick's Enduring Significance
Dick's work has achieved true artistic significance. It remains relevant because the social realities he predicted—such as the surveillance state, manufactured consent, and the commodification of consciousness—have only grown stronger in 21st-century capitalism. The universe of *A Scanner Darkly, where the government uses addictive products to undermine and control people who act as informants, is now more recognisable in today's context of social media influence, opioid crises, and widespread surveillance compared to 1977.
The task is to take Dick's accurate perception of capitalism's falsified, coercive, and alienating nature and anchor it within the only framework that can both explain and challenge it: Marxist analysis. This approach sees capitalism as a unique historical mode of production that inherently produces these conditions. It views the international working class as the force capable of replacing it with a truly human social order. Dick envisioned a garden world, and Marxism explains how to realise it.
Despite flaws such as an emphasis on individual paranoia over collective social critique, influences from drug culture, and Hollywood adaptations, Philip K. Dick remains a significant literary figure because he genuinely posed questions that capitalism urges all thinkers to consider. What does it mean to be human when humans are treated as commodities? How can we identify genuine emotions in a world overwhelmed by artificial simulation? What defines identity amid widespread alienation? These are practical questions, not mystical ones. Marx approached them from a materialist perspective, whereas Dick addressed them through a restless, troubled artistic sensibility confronting American capitalism at its postwar peak. The aim isn't just to admire Dick's dystopias as predictive, but to understand the social forces behind them and develop a political movement to end these conditions.
Notes
Philip K. Dick Speech- Delivered at the Metz Sci-Fi Festival in 1977, www.academia.edu/127936472/Original_METZ_SPEECH_1977_transcription_Philip_K_Dick
[1] Denis Villeneuve’s Blade Runner 2049: A dreary future- www.wsws.org/en/articles/2017/11/20/blad-n20.html
Emil and the Detectives by Erich Kastner E. Hall (Translator) Puffin Paperback – 21 Sept. 1959
Emil: Are your people well off?
Professor: I don't really know. Nobody ever talks about money.
Emil: Then I expect you have plenty.
Dialogue from Emil and the Detectives
“It is sufficient to remember that the German bourgeoisie, with its incomparable technology, philosophy, science and art, allowed the power of the state to lie in the hands of a feudal bureaucratic class as late as 1918 and decided, or, more correctly, was forced to take power into its own hands only when the material foundations of German culture began to fall to pieces.”
Leon Trotsky: Proletarian Culture and Proletarian Art
The story of Kästner's Emil and the Detectives illuminates Germany in the 1920s, before German culture began to fall to Pieces under the death blow of Fascism. Published in 1929 and in English in 1931, Kästner would have been politically aware enough to know that the book and himself were living on borrowed time. While the Nazis burned his books, he, however, did not suffer the same fate despite being interviewed by the Gestapo twice.
There are many reasons why adults return to their childhood books. For some, it is a comfort read or just the pure joy of reading. Emil and the Detectives was one of my first reads as a child. Not sure why I was drawn to it, why I chose a foreign author rather than a British one, we will never know. I borrowed it from my school library because it wasn't on the school reading curriculum. I want to say that I was aware of its political overtones, but I was drawn to it by chance, as I was not yet politically conscious of the world around me, which would arrive when I reached sixteen. Nevertheless, the book will always evoke fond childhood memories.
Perhaps because children and adults, for that matter, face a return to the darkness that fell on Europe with the rise of fascism, that Emil and the Detectives still resonates today. It makes sense that a group of kids from 1929 would represent society's underdogs, at risk from the forces of fascism, not only in Germany but in America, too.
The text from the 1931 translation by Margaret Goldsmith gives a flavour of the children's class consciousness in Kastner’s book: “I don't understand that at all," little Tuesday declared. "How can I steal what already belongs to me? What's mine is mine, even if it's in a stranger’s pocket! ”These things are difficult to understand," the professor expounded. "Morally, you might be in the right. But the law will find you guilty all the same. Even some grown-ups don't really understand these things, but they are a fact. Or this dialogue
Emil: Are your people well off? Professor: I don't really know. Nobody ever talks about money. Emil: Then I expect you have plenty. ”[1]
As Uma Krishnaswami correctly writes, “Emil and the Detectives positions itself squarely on the side of ordinary people and against oppression meted out by the powerful. When a suspicious-looking man, Herr Grundeis, steals the money Emil Tischbein’s mother gave him, young Emil doesn’t go to the police. Instead, he dashes off to find the thief. In the process, the boy sleuth gathers a motley band of friends, including the unforgettable Pony Hütchen and, of course, the endearing Little Tuesday, without whose faithful vigilance the plan could not unfold. Naturally, the kids are victorious in the end.”[2]
Why read Kästner Now
Emil’s story raises perennial questions: how childhood experience is shaped by class, how working-class solidarity takes root in everyday life, and how the state and the market shape civic trust. Studying such literature trains workers and students to read cultural texts as expressions of material conditions.
So Erich Kästner’s Emil and the Detectives (1929) is best read not simply as a children’s adventure but as a social document of the late Weimar Republic: a work that reflects class contrasts, urban life, and the moral questions facing youth in a capitalist society. Again, for workers and students, Kästner offers an accessible entry point into how literature can both reflect social conditions and contribute to political education. For a political framing of Kästner’s broader milieu and politics.[3]
Erich Kästner’s stories, poems and satires—written amid the political turmoil of the Weimar Republic—are rich in social observation: they identify petty‑bourgeois anxieties, the erosion of democratic habits, the everyday humiliations of children and workers, and the moral cowardice of elites. Reading Kästner in the workplace helps workers develop a literary sensibility while equipping them to connect cultural forms to concrete political tasks: building class consciousness, exposing bourgeois ideology, and preparing collective struggle.
One of Kastner’s most crucial works is Fabian or Going to the Dogs. As Bernd Reinhardt perceptively writes, “ Fabian has certain autobiographical traits and who more than once in his literary work blames 'stupidity' for social ills, referring to dumb Nazis, stupid Germans, and so on. The voiceover that features from time to time in the film quotes a passage from the novel where the fights between Nazis and Communists are compared to dancehall brawls. Like many other intellectuals, Kästner underestimated the danger of the Nazi movement. After the war, he admitted that they should have been fought earlier, because “threatening dictatorships can only be fought before they have taken power.”[4]
About the Author
Erich Kästner (1899–1974), a pacifist and satirist whose works were famously burned by the Nazis, though Emil and the Detectives was initially spared due to its popularity.
[1] Emil and the Detectives by Erich Kastner E. Hall (Translator) Puffin Paperback – 21 Sept. 1959
[2] Why You Should Read (or Reread) Emil and the Detectives-www.umakrishnaswami.com/blog/why-you-should-read-or-reread-emil-and-the-detectives
[3] See the WSWS discussion of Kästner’s Fabian work and its relation to the Weimar social crisis, on Fabian and the dangers of the 1930s.
[4] German Film Award in Silver for Dominik Graf’s Fabian: Going to the Dogs-www.wsws.org/en/articles/2021/11/13/fabi-n13.html
Uncle Tom's Children-Richard Wright-301 pages, Vintage Paperback, January 1, 1938
Richard Wright's Uncle Tom's Children is a collection of essays that brutally exposes what it was like to live in the United States as a Black worker in the early 20th century.
Born in 1908, Richard Wright is by far one of the most important working-class writers of the 20th century. His major works, Black Boy, Native Son, and his essays are not merely literary achievements; they are social documents that analyse how material conditions, class relations, and racial domination shape consciousness and behaviour. Wright’s development from a Southern sharecropper’s son to a writer who engaged with Communist and socialist circles in the 1930s exemplifies the dialectical relation between objective social conditions and subjective formation: economic precarity, social exclusion and how the violence of Jim Crow produced a political sensibility that sought collective, systemic remedies rather than individualised responses.
Wright’s method is fundamentally Marxist in orientation, even if he did not always fully self-identify as an orthodox Marxist. This is evident in his attitude toward Leon Trotsky. Wright was strongly attracted to Marxist analysis and to anti‑Stalinist critiques. Many intellectuals of Wright’s generation viewed Trotsky, who combined a searching analysis of the Soviet degeneration with a firm commitment to working‑class internationalism, as a compelling theoretical and moral reference. Trotsky’s dialectical materialist method and his insistence that the proletariat must be politically independent of bourgeois and bureaucratic forces resonated with anti‑racist writers who refused to subordinate the struggle of Black people to existing parties and state apparatuses.
Wright was not a Trotskyist in the doctrinal sense of an allegiance to the Fourth International; rather, his attraction to Trotskyist ideas was of the intellectual and moral kind: Trotsky’s critique of Stalinism, his emphasis on world revolution, and his analysis of how class relations shape consciousness offered resources for Wright’s own attempts to understand the racial question within world capitalism.
His characters in Uncle Tom’s Children show that racism is not a metaphysical or cultural “essence” but a social relation rooted in property, labour markets and the political organisation of capitalist society. Bigger Thomas in Native Son is comprehensible not as an expression of immutable racial pathology, but as the product of exclusion, proletarianization, and the social powerlessness imposed by capitalist and racial rule. Wright adopts a materialist conception of history to understand the social, economic, and political problems facing both black and white populations. The black working class holds that ideas and racial ideologies arise from and reflect class structures and economic imperatives, not the other way around.
Like many intellectuals and workers, Wright’s formative years and his political maturation occurred amid the Great Depression, the growth of industrial labour militancy, the rise of the Communist movement in the United States, and the international polarisations of the 1930s and 1940s. These were years in which the boundaries between cultural expression and political struggle blurred: literature became a form of social investigation and a weapon for political education.
Wright’s involvement with left-wing circles, his brushes with Communist Party orthodoxy, and his eventual break illustrate the complex interplay among revolutionary aspiration, the bureaucratic limitations of existing organisations, and the need for a revolutionary strategy rooted in the working class. His later travels and expatriation in Paris also reflect the international character of his struggle.
Richard Wright’s literature—from Black Boy to Native Son—remains an essential starting point for any serious discussion of race, class and the social psychology of oppression in the United States. Wright wrote as a proletarian intellectual: his fiction and essays insist that the oppression of Black people is rooted not in a metaphysical “racial DNA” but in specific social relations—segregated labour markets, violent property relations and the structural violence of capitalism.
Wright’s work traces how poverty, wage labour, discrimination and the threat of racial violence shape individual psychology and mass politics. In Native Son, Bigger Thomas’s crimes are not metaphysical expressions of an immutable racial pathology; they are the social consequences of exclusion, desperate material conditions and systemic dehumanisation. Wright’s political development—his engagement with communist and socialist circles in the 1930s—further grounded his view that the fight against racism must be situated within the struggle against capitalism and private property.
It is a testament to his political foresight and integrity that his books are still widely read today and remain relevant. Wright’s insistence that liberation requires systemic change remains crucial as workers today confront mass poverty, racist policing, mass incarceration and an economy reorganised around austerity and profit. The ruling class weaponises racism to prevent working-class unity; Wright’s work shows the political cost of accepting explanations that dissociate race from class and capitalism.
Wright’s political insights have even greater resonance in today's debates, such as the controversy surrounding the New York Times’ 1619 Project, which presented a racialist view of historical developments. The Socialist Equality Party (SEP) critiqued the 1619 Project. Extensive documentation of this struggle can be found on the World Socialist Website.[1]
The SEP argued that the 1619 Project substituted racialist narratives for class analysis and treated racism as an immutable feature of American “DNA” rather than a historically specific product of capitalist development. Wright was not mentioned in the 1619 Project. For good reason, his materialist orientation not only cuts across the 1619 Project's racialist interpretation of history, but also offers an antidote: it compels us to analyse how slavery, Jim Crow, segregation, migration, and proletarianization transformed social relations and created class potentialities for solidarity, unionism, and revolutionary politics.
To summarise from the standpoint of contemporary political life, Wright’s life and work underscore the necessity of connecting literary and intellectual inquiry to an independent working-class political struggle. Richard Wright remains a living challenge to the politics of identity that divorces race from class. His materialist, proletarian humanism points the way: the liberation of Black people is bound to the emancipation of the working class as a whole. Only through a united, politically independent working‑class struggle can the social relations that produce racism be abolished. Richard Wright’s legacy is both cultural and political: he challenges fatalism, rejects racial essentialism, and insists that emancipation requires transforming the social relations of production. His work remains a vital resource as a class-based alternative to capitalism.
[1] The New York Timesâ 1619 Project and the Racialist Falsification of History
David North; Thomas Mackaman-Mehring Books
Lord of the Flies: by William Golding-Faber & Faber 3 Mar. 1997
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“ A Libel Against Humanity”
David Walsh
‘The Satan of our cosmology is the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which implies that everything is running down. Life is … a local contradiction of this law … [it] refuses to submit … and rewinds itself up again.’
William Golding
Anyone who moved through those years, without understanding that man produces evil as a bee produces honey, must have been blind or wrong in the head.”
Wiliam Golding
Lord of the Flies, written in the aftermath of the Second World War, is essentially a “libel against humanity”. The book’s plot line follows a group of largely public schoolboys who descend into savagery at the drop of a hat after being stranded on a deserted island. While Golding argues that "man produces evil as a bee produces honey," he rejects the premise that the boys' behaviour could be socially constructed. Golding believes violence is a default setting of humanity and not a condition of the competitive, capitalist and class-divided society in which the boys were raised.
A class analysis would indicate that Ralph and Piggy are members of the ruling elite representing the liberal-democratic order and that both exhibit "bourgeois" values. Jack would be the totalitarian/militarist, portraying the rise of fascism or the expression of Stalinism, valuing strength and production (meat) over intellectualism and law.
Piggy's alienation and death could be explained by his lower-class status (indicated by his accent and physical limitations), showing that an irrational" democratic system fails to protect those it deems inferior. Golding believed that it would not take much for civilisation after the Second World War to suffer the same fate as the boys. A Marxist would argue that the novel reflects the "political subconscious" of the Cold War era, in which the fear of nuclear war and the struggle between democracy and communism are projected onto the children’s conflict.
As Alexander Lee points out in a recent article, Golding's postwar irrational vulnerabilities were preceded by Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We (1924) and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932), which had already pointed to a dystopian future in which rationalism and science run amok, destroying morality. In 1941, a Mass Observation Report found that a majority of British people believed that science was ‘out of control’.
Such was the toxic atmosphere created by the post-war period, by the American state and ruling class when they carried out a purge of socialist and left-wing views from film, writing and culture as a whole. Golding’s opinions, as presented in Lord of the Flies (1954), which present violence and atavism as central to the human condition, were already being expressed by other writers during this period.
However, William Golding’s novels are not merely literary artefacts; read dialectically, they are tools for political education—revealing how ideas, institutions and everyday relations reproduce domination, and pointing to why only organised working-class struggle can overturn the conditions that give rise to the very tragedies he depicts.
David North puts this better when he says, “Most of you are, I am sure, familiar with William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, which argues that barbarism is the natural condition of humanity. Release a group of ordinary school boys from the usual restraints of civilisation and they will, within a few weeks, revert to a state of homicidal savagery. This misanthropic work flowed from the conclusions drawn by Golding from the experiences of the Second World War. “Anyone who moved through those years,” he later wrote, “without understanding that man produces evil as a bee produces honey, must have been blind or wrong in the head. The popularity of Lord of the Flies reflected the bewilderment and despair provoked by the horrors of World War II. This mood was strengthened by the political relations that arose in the aftermath of the war. It became more challenging to engage in a discussion of the nature of the Third Reich after 1945 than before. In the reactionary political environment of the Cold War, it was no longer considered appropriate, especially in the United States, to dwell too seriously on the relation between fascism and modern capitalism.”[1]
In his defence, Golding was not born a pessimist or prone to irrationality. According to Alexander Lee, “Long before Golding began writing Lord of the Flies, he had also been a rationalist. The son of a science teacher, he studied Natural Sciences at Oxford before switching to English. He grew up believing that humanity was not only capable of change but also progressing. Like many students in the 1920s and 1930s, he agreed with Karl Marx that history moves in one direction: forward. He believed that, even if the process might sometimes be painful, even violent, the conditions of life would inexorably improve and humanity become happier, more ‘enlightened’, and fulfilled. It was inevitable.”[2]
So what changed? What made Golding write ‘We are the masters of ignorance, proud, frightened, and god-haunted. We have no country and no home.’ We are no better than before: worse, in fact. Death has become a calculation, and even cruelty has lost its horror. It might be tempting to compare this to the ‘law of the jungle’, but even that would be an understatement. In what jungle could you find six million people being processed through a death chamber?’[3]
Again, Golding was not the only writer to draw pessimistic conclusions from the rise of fascism and Nazi Germany’s responsibility for the murder of six million jews. Walter Benjamin’s famous “Angelus Novus”‑inspired lament saw history as an accumulating catastrophe rather than a process moving toward emancipation; Benjamin’s own despair culminated in suicide while fleeing fascism, a tragic personal witness to the collapse of political possibilities. Others turned to cultural nihilism or moral relativism—treating the Holocaust as proof that Enlightenment rationality and historical materialism were bankrupt. In his book Understanding the Nazi Genocide: Marxism after Auschwitz, Enzo Traverso makes clear his deepening opposition to Marxism as a method of historical analysis and as the basis of a political perspective.
In the introduction, he writes: “Between emancipation and genocide, the history of European Jewry, as much in its metamorphoses as in its wounds, can be seen as an excellent laboratory in which to study the different faces of modernity: its hopes and liberatory aspirations on the one hand, its destructive forces on the other. This history shows both the ambiguity of the Enlightenment and its heirs, including Marxism, and the extreme forms of barbarism that modern civilisation can take.”
The Marxist writer Nick Beams replied, saying, “This approach, in which 'modernity' is made responsible for the crimes against the Jewish people—one could say the crimes against humanity committed on the body of the Jewish people—performs a vital political role. It obscures the political forces and the social classes whose interests they ultimately served. Modernity is an empty abstraction. It is wracked by class division and class conflict.”[4]
While Golding’s and others' approach is psychologically understandable, this thinking depoliticises the lesson of Auschwitz. It turns the Holocaust into an argument that history has no laws or that socialism is an inadequate response and substitutes metaphysical despair for political struggle. As the World Socialist Web Site has argued, attempts to attribute Auschwitz to amorphous “modernity” rather than to specific class and imperialist dynamics serve to blur responsibility and paralyse resistance.
Since some of the article was written with the help of the WSWS’s Socialism AI, it would be churlish of me not to praise it, and to say that it has already become an invaluable educational tool in the struggle for socialism. One aspect I am particularly struck by is that it not only provides information but also offers a Marxist study guide. It provides a systematic framework for studying Golding’s book to inform both a theoretical understanding and aid political development.
[1]The Myth of “Ordinary Germans”: A Review of Daniel Goldhagen’s Hitler’s Willing Executioners-www.wsws.org/en/special/library/russian-revolution-unfinished-twentieth-century/15.html
[2] William Golding’s Island of Savagery Alexander Lee | Published in History Today Volume 75 Issue 12 December 2025
[3] William Golding’s Island of Savagery
[4] Marxism and the Holocaust-www.wsws.org/en/articles/2010/05/adde-m15.html
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (Wordsworth Classics) Paperback – May 5 1992
F Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (1920)
“‘Her voice is full of money,’ he [Gatsby] said suddenly. That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money—that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it. … high in a white palace, the king’s daughter, the golden girl. …”
The Great Gatsby
“Russia is your example of a beneficent violence, I suppose?” “Quite possibly,” admitted Amory. “Of course, it’s overflowing just as the French Revolution did, but I’ve no doubt it’s really a great experiment and worthwhile.”
The Great Gatsby
Fitzgerald’s superb novel is set in the summer of 1922. The plot is about a young man from the Midwest, Nick Carraway. Carraway sells bonds on Wall Street and lives on Long Island. As Fitzgerald points out, Carraway lives in a small house compared to the huge mansions surrounding him. The enigmatic Jay Gatsby owns one. Gatsby lives close to a philandering husband, Tom Buchanan, who represents older money to Gatsby’s new wealth. Gatsby has made his millions (through bootlegging and stock fraud in partnership with gangster Meyer Wolfsheim.
As the Marxist art critic David Walsh writes, “Fitzgerald’s work is a brilliant effort, easy to underestimate in its brevity, delicacy and the simplicity of the drama. The novel has something of the diaphanous sensibility of Keats, the author’s favourite poet. At the same time, it is an angry, scathing work, as thoroughgoing a debunking of the “American dream” as there ever has been”.
The Great Gatsby is a deceptive book. While it is only 146 pages long, it is an extraordinarily insightful look into the intellectual and social life of the top echelons of the American ruling elite during the first part of the 20th century.
As Walsh writes, “ A novel is not a history book or a political manifesto. The important artist accumulates thoughts, feelings, moods and themes over the course of years and works them into concrete and coherent imagery charged with meaning. Any serious work also includes ambiguities, complexities, and “asymmetrical” elements that are not easily reducible to immediate social analysis. However, the individual artist does not draw his or her conceptions and emotions from empty space, nor are they simply the expression of eternal psycho-biological urges. Significant artistic ideas and representations are always shaped by collective human experience by historical and social development. Fitzgerald thought a good deal about political events and social life. His books and letters only have to be read carefully for that to become apparent. Born in 1896, the novelist belonged to a generation deeply affected by the First World War, the Russian Revolution and subsequent developments.”[1]
Fitzgerald's very subtle hints about the racist and fascist outlook of a section of the American bourgeoisie are dropped into the text like a bombshell. One example is when Tom Buchanan talks about a book he has read called The Rise of the Colored Empires, “by this man Goddard.” He goes on: “The idea is if we don’t look out, the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.”Fitzgeralds' fictionalized reference is to Lothrop Stoddard’s The Rising Tide of Color Against White World-Supremacy (1920). A deeply reactionary. Stoddard was a Nazi sympathizer and anti-communist who wrote “Bolshevism: The Heresy of the Underman” and “Social Unrest and Bolshevism in the Islamic World.”
Fitzgerald was not a Marxist or Communist, although he certainly knew his way around Marx’s great works such as Das Kapital Walsh writes, “One need not overestimate the references in Fitzgerald’s letters to “We Marxians…,” “I’m still a socialist …,” “I’m a Communist enough …”, to grasp the degree to which he knew his way around these issues.
The Great Gatsby works on many levels. Aside from being a great story, Gatsby is a stinging attack on the rich in America. In a line that could describe America's ruling elite today, Fitzgerald writes, “They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made. …”
Long Live the Post Horn! by Vigdis Hjorth-Translated by Charlotte Barslund-Part of the Verso Fiction series-Verso September 15, 2020, 240 pages
"Once a writer is born into a family, the family is finished." Czeslaw Milosz
"I won't talk about my family." Vigdis Hjorth
"I object greatly to this taking people's lives and putting them into fiction. And then a famous author who resents critics for saying that he doesn't make things up”. Deception, Phillip Roth
A novel that combines "reality fiction" and metafiction is difficult to pull off. Hjorth's novel is an absorbing read. It exposes the treachery of Norway's Social Democratic party's attempt to privatise its postal service and integrate it fully into its capitalist economic system.
It has to be said that Long Live the Post Horn is one of the few novels about the postal service. Thomas Pynchon's Crying of Lot 49 comes to mind, as does Charles Bukowski's Post Office, which reviewers of Hjorth's book have ignored.
Hjorth, born in 1959, is a prolific author of over 20 novels and is well-known in her own country, although not as renowned abroad. However, her latest book, Is Mother Dead, is changing that. Long Live the Post Horn! (2012) is the third of her books translated into English by the superb Charlotte Barslund. The surreal cover of Long Live the Post Horn! was designed by Rumors. It is beautiful and was included on a BuzzFeed News list of "the most beautiful book covers of 2020". All major media publications extensively reviewed the novel.
In the Los Angeles Review of Books, Makenna Goodman wrote of Long Live the Post Horn! that it was "a familiar exposition of capital and commodity" and argued that "Hjorth manages to make it feel urgent in a new way" and that her writing style was "neat and direct, even when it becomes circuitous" and concluded that "a novel like Long Live the Post Horn! does not come around often enough."
The book's main character is Ellinor, a PR consultant who decides to take on the European Union [EU] and the Norwegian Social Democratic Party's attempt to privatise the postal network. While exposing the treachery of the Social Democrats, the novel glorifies the trade unions, which in the modern period have collaborated with big business as much as the European Labour Parties.
During a recent book launch of Hjorth's new book Is Mother dead, she chilling recounts that one of the leading Social Democratic politicians mentioned in the book was killed in the July 22, 2011, massacre at a social-democratic summer camp organised by the youth division of the Labour Party, where 69 people were brutally killed, by the fascist Anders Breivik.[1]
During the same meeting, Hjorth was brutally honest about how writing about her family in her novels had deeply affected her mental health. Hjorth writes about being in psychoanalysis, "What is interesting, when you go to see an analyst, you find out how many lies you have in your story about yourself," she says. "Often, you survive because you have these lies. But still, you have to get rid of those lies even though you have survived by telling them to yourself. And that's a painful process. I think that people who have been in psychoanalysis learn not to lie as much as they did before. So, like we are talking here now, my mind might be thinking, 'Ah, Vigdis, Is this right? Are you lying now? Is this how you like to see it? OK, be honest.' So you learn the technique of communicating with yourself."
Her novel Will and Testament provoked a lawsuit from her own family, and her sister then wrote her book in response to Hjorth's. According to Hjorth."Most families have a kind of official family story," This is how we do Christmas', and so on. If one member does not share this official, nice story, there is a big tension. I think I have given a voice to that person who has a more complex story who is not prepared to be part of it. The family won't listen to her, and there is a great deal of unpleasantness."
She suggests a long tradition in Norwegian fiction, especially among female writers, to expose the dark underbelly of family life. "I think literally the first sentence that Sigrid Undset, our Nobel prize winner, wrote, in her first book was 'I have been unfaithful to my husband'," she says, with a laugh. "So it was always there." The desire for truth-telling emerges, perhaps, from a particular sameness in Norwegian family life, she adds. "I think in England for example the difference between rich and poor has always been big and especially now. And so there are lots of versions of family life. In Norway I think we are more equal in generally. And I think when everyone is living the same way, people compare all the time. It makes them look from behind the curtains at their neighbours."
Hjorth's honesty has deeply affected her readers as well as the people who translate her novels, with Charlotte Barslund writing, "When I translate a novel, I am always conscious of the place where it takes off and the place where it lands. Will its themes resonate with its new readers who bring their own experiences to a novel conceived in another country? Since I was commissioned to translate Is Mother Dead two years ago, I have become increasingly aware of how many instances of family estrangement exist both among people I know and outside my circle. Hjorth's thoughtful, honest and razor-sharp analysis of estrangement has left me with a sense of profound sadness and a desperate plea for compassion, humility and tolerance. There has to be another way than cutting people out of your life if they don't share your truth. Is Mother Dead shows us that there are no winners in the intergenerational battle"?
From a philosophical standpoint, Hjorth is deeply influenced by the work of Soren Kierkegaard. The title of Vigdis Hjorth's novel, Long Live the Post Horn!, is taken from Soren Kierkegaard's work, Repetition, in which the 19th-century Danish philosopher cites the post horn. The horn was used in Norway to announce the coming of the mail. It must be said that Kierkegaard is not a healthy influence on Hjorth's work.
In a critical review of Søren Kierkegaard: A Biography by Joachim Garff, Tom Carter writes, "Kierkegaard, whose major works include Fear and Trembling, Either-Or, and From the Papers of One Still Living, remains a major figure in philosophy. He is one of the principal authors of some of the most prevalent philosophical positions in academia today, which include the rejection of reason, science and the Enlightenment, and, above all, a rejection of the unity of reason and reality, which is a rejection of the possibility of science. Kierkegaard saw no correlation between universal essence and individual existence—between the law-governed processes of the objective world and the perceptive and cognitive faculties of the individual. Moreover, he denied that such a correlation was achievable."[2]
Unlike Kierkegaard, Hjorth does see a connection between universal essence and individual existence. This does not make her a socialist or anti-capitalist, but it gives her a deeper insight into the problems millions of workers face worldwide. As a teacher, Hjorth worked with people who had no papers or were refugees, and this empathy with working people imbues her work. Her new book deserves a wide readership, and her previous work should be re-examined.
Heaven: A Novel by Mieko Kawakami-Translator: Sam Bett and
David Boyd-New York. Europa Editions. 2021. 192 pages.
“Whom do I hate most among the rabble of today? The socialist rabble, the chandala apostles, who undermine the instinct, the pleasure, the worker’s sense of satisfaction with his small existence—who make him envious, who teach him revenge. The source of wrong is never unequal rights but the claim of “equal” rights”—Nietzsche’s The Anti-Christ, 1888
“I was always quite a philosophical child, asking odd questions and in a hurry to grow up”. Mieko Kawakami
“‘Progress’ is a modern idea, which is to say it is a false idea.”—Nietzsche’s The Anti-Christ, 1888
Mieko Kawakami latest novel, excellently translated by Sam Bett and David Boyd, is a brutal examination of adolescence in Japanese society. The book is drawn from her childhood in Osaka, Japan. By all accounts, it was a pretty bad experience. Her father was never home. Being forced into being the main breadwinner at a tender age to support her family gave her the ability to write this “novel of ideas” “. As Kawakami says, “I was always quite a philosophical child, asking odd questions and in a hurry to grow up”.
Kawakami started to write at a very early age. She explains that “I try to write from the child’s perspective—how they see the world. Coming to the realisation you are alive is such a shock. One day, we are thrown into life without warning.”
In an interview with The Japan Times, Kawakami says, “I wanted to create a story that examines how religion, ethics and friendship influence human relationships,” she says. “Do we live our lives under the guidance of something bigger, like spiritual or ethical beliefs, or do we live as individuals?”.[1]
As Elaine Margolin perceptively writes, “Kawakami is captivated by that precious time of life when one is on the cusp of adulthood but still really a child. The author’s ability to mimic the rhythmic disturbances of a teenage mind is mesmerising; she is a master of the interior voice. She instinctively grasps how one can feel silly and light one moment and be in the throes of anguish the next. In one of her earlier novels, Ms Ice Sandwich, she describes a lonely boy whose family is in disarray, finding solace by visiting a supermarket worker each day who kindly gives him an egg sandwich”.[2]
The book’s theme of childhood bullying is a universal one. ” Kawakami explains that the nature of bullying has changed. “In the old days, there were just two places for relationships — home or school — but now, with social media, there is nowhere to hide, and the pressure is constant. Victims of bullying think the whole world knows they are being bullied. It is even crueller today with the way it can be spread.”
I still remember my childhood bully. His name was Desmond Kavanagh. His reign of terror did not last too long. Unlike Kawamaki’s character, who does not fight back, one person in my school had enough of Kavanagh’s bullying and kicked the crap out of him. The bizarre thing is that Kavanagh tried to befriend me on Friends Reunited a few years later.
Novel of Ideas
Heaven has been described as a novel about ideas. Writing a “novel of Ideas” is a complicated business. Kawakami draws heavily on the work of philosophers like Frederich Nietzsche and Kant. A blog that she started to promote her singing career, “Critique of Pure Sadness,” displayed an unhealthy fascination with Kant. Her latest book leans heavily on Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra. This is a very unfortunate choice, especially for such a young writer. Nietzsche’s hostility towards the working class and socialism and his disdain for objective truth made him a favourite writer of the Nazi movement.
As Stefan Steinberg states, “Apologists for Nietzsche seek to distance him from the policy and activities of the Nazis. But is Nietzsche’s position here so remote from Adolph Hitler’s entreaty, in an internal NSDAP memo of 1922, for the: “most uncompromising and brutal determination to destroy and liquidate Marxism”? Adolph Hitler was certainly no philosopher, just as Nietzsche was not merely a political ideologue. But who can reasonably doubt that the former had little difficulty in seamlessly incorporating the latter’s thoroughly backwards-looking programme of biological racism, hatred of socialism and the concept of social equality—together with his advocacy of militarism and war—into the eclectic baggage of ideas which constituted the programme of National Socialism”?.[3]
The strength of the novel is Kawakami’s examination of ideas as a way of writing a novel. As Merve Emre writes, “dreamlike expression of their fledgling ideas has an artistic value that flies in the face of critics like Northrop Frye, who believed that an “interest in ideas and theoretical statements is alien to the genius of the novel proper, where the technical problem is to dissolve all theory into personal relationships.” But “Heaven” also models a rigorous and elegant process of inquiry that can transcend its pared-down fictional world. It agitates against the enduring idea that the best novels concern themselves with the singular minds and manners of people, offering no resources for the political and moral demands of “real life.” The narrator’s persecutor Ninomiya energetically parrots this argument”.[4]
Kawakami, ability to write from a child’s perspective is astonishing at times and avoids what one writer says are “puffed-up platitudes about the inherent cruelty and sympathy of children”.If I am generous, I would say that Kawakami also avoids Nietzsche’s social and political pessimism and presents the world of children accurately. One major criticism is that, unlike many great Japanese writers, such as Yukio Mishima and Kazuo Ishiguro, she does not place her characters in this book in a social or political context. The reader would not know that while “Heaven” takes place in Japan, bullying is rife in Japanese society so much that classroom harassment forced a government to bring in national legislation because of a growing number of student suicides.
To conclude, Kawakami’s work is well worth reading. Her fiction deals with the problems of everyday life for working-class people in Japan. That is one of the reasons behind her popularity. She examines critical social issues that permeate Japanese society. These include broken families, absent fathers and children struggling to find themselves in a increasingly cruel world. It is hoped that she does not spend too much time absorbing Nietzsche’s works and instead let herself be influenced by some more healthy writers such as Thomas Mann and Hermann Hesse. She has a bright future, and I look forward to her next novel.
About the Author
Mieko Kawakami is the author of the novel Breasts and Eggs,
a New York Times Notable Book of the Year and one of TIME’s Best 10 Books of
2020. She was born in Osaka. Kawakami made her writing debut as a poet in 2006
and published her first novella, My Ego, My Teeth, and the World, in 2007. Her
writing is deeply imbued with poetic qualities. Her work concentrates on the
plight of women in Japanese society. Her works have been translated into many
languages and are available all over the world. She has received numerous
prestigious literary awards in Japan for her work, including the Akutagawa
Prize, the Tanizaki Prize, and the Murasaki Shikibu Prize.
[1]
https://www.japantimes.co.jp/culture/2021/05/27/books/heaven-mieko-kawakami/
[2]https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2021/spring/heaven-novel-mieko-kawakami
[3] https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2000/10/niet-o21.html
[4] https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/06/07/a-japanese-novelists-tale-of-bullying-and-nietzsche
Review: Alone in Berlin-Hans Fallada. Translated by Michael Hoffman. London: Penguin Modern Classics, 2009. RRP £9.99 paperback.
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“As it was, we all acted alone, we were caught alone, and every one of us will have to die alone. But that does not mean that we are alone. It doesn’t matter if one man fights or ten thousand; if the one man sees he has no option but to fight, then he will fight, whether he has others on his side or not,” ”
Otto Quangel
“He who thinks of renouncing “physical” struggle must renounce all struggle, for the spirit does not live without the flesh.”
― Leon Trotsky, Fascism: What It Is and How to Fight It
Hans Fallada’s excellent novel is set in Berlin of the 1940s. Despite being a fictional account of a German family, the book is based on the life of Otto and Elise Hampel. Fallada, whose real name was Rudolf Ditzen, was born in 1893 in Greifswald, Germany.
To say he had a strange life would be an understatement. At the tender age of 18, he killed a friend in a duel and, according to James Buchan, spent “much of his career in psychiatric hospitals and drying-out clinics or in prison for thieving and embezzlement to support his morphine habit. In between, he worked on the land, wrote a couple of novels and held down jobs for a period on newspapers. Then, in 1944, he shot at his wife in a quarrel and was confined again to a psychiatric hospital.”[1]
After this shocking episode in 1947, Aufbau-Verlag Jeder stirbt fuer sich allein (“Each dies only for himself”) was published in Berlin. In many ways, this was a groundbreaking working work in that it was one of the first accounts of resistance to Nazi rule. Unfortunately, tragically Fallada died of a heart attack that same year.
The new English translation of Fallada’s novel joins a growing number of recent books that have shown that there was a small but significant opposition to the Nazi regime. Fallada’s book counters the lie that there was no opposition to Hitler and that all Germans supported the regime. As Bernd Reinhardt correctly points out, “Fallada’s nuanced picture of daily life in the Third Reich shows the falsity of the thesis of Daniel Goldhagen and his supporters, holding that all Germans uniformly supported Hitler and the extermination of the Jews. The latest remake of Alone in Berlin (directed by Swiss actor Vincent Pérez) also rejects a collective guilt thesis. “I wanted to present this omnipresent fear. It was so thick you could cut it with a knife”, the director said”.[2]
Fallada’s book has sold extremely well for a book written
over half a century ago. The book’s basic premise is that it follows the life
of the Quangel family, who placed tiny handwritten postcards on stairs and
hallways. Mr and Mrs Quangel distributed more than 200 such protest postcards
in Berlin in 1940 following the death of their son at the front. This was done
at a huge risk to them and their family. Anyone caught with the postcards would
be executed. It is doubtful whether the English writer George Orwell knew of
this book, but there are similarities between it and 1984.
According to Wikipedia, “Three months after its 2009 English release, it became a “surprise bestseller” in both the US and UK. It was listed on the official UK Top 50 for all UK publishers, a rare occurrence for such an old book. Hans Fallada’s 80-year-old son, Ulrich Ditzen, a retired lawyer, told The Observer he was overwhelmed by the latest sales, “It is a phenomenon.” Primo Levi said it is “the greatest book ever written about German resistance to the Nazis.”[3]
It has now been translated into 30 languages. One reason for the book’s success is the fact that the issues it addresses are contemporary ones. The struggle for social equality is very much a modern-day concern. With social inequality at its highest since the 1920s, many people are looking for answers to combat capitalism.
This English translation of the book appeared at the height of the new movement of far-right groups such as the National Front in France and Pegida and Alternative for Germany. State violence increasingly dominates everyday life. People need to know the history of the Quangels and other struggles against the Nazi’s.
To conclude, while this is an important book Fallada had no real perspective to counter fascism in Germany. He was no Marxist, and it is unclear whether he ever read Leon Trotsky on Germany because if he had, he would have probably produced a different book. As Trotsky said, “Fascism is nothing but capitalist reaction; from the point of view of the proletariat, the difference between the types of reaction is meaningless”.[4]
[1]
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/mar/07/alone-in-berlin-hans-fallada
[2] https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2016/03/07/ber3-m07.html
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Fallada
[4] What Next? (1932)
I dedicate this article to Chen Xueli
Review: Sophie Scholl and the White Rose by Annette Dumbach
& Judd Newborn-One World publisher-ISBN-10: 1786072505.£9.99
“we will not be silent. We are your bad conscience” White Rose Leaflet
“Even the most dull-witted German has had his eyes opened by the terrible bloodbath, which, in the name of the freedom and honour of the German nation, they have unleashed upon Europe and unleash a new each day. The German name will remain forever tarnished unless finally the German youth stands up, pursues both revenge and atonement, smites our tormentors, and founds a new intellectual Europe. Students! The German people look to us! The responsibility is ours: just as the power of the spirit broke the Napoleonic terror in 1813, so too will it break the terror of the National Socialists in 1943.”
White Rose Pamphlet
“To say to the Social Democratic workers: “Cast your leaders aside and join our ‘non-party united front” means to add just one more hollow phrase to a thousand others. We must understand how to tear the workers away from their leaders in reality. But the reality today is the struggle against fascism. … The overwhelming majority of the Social Democratic workers will fight against the fascists, but – for the present at least – only together with their organizations. This stage cannot be skipped”.
Leon Trotsky-For a Workers’ United Front Against Fascism (December 1931)
This book provides the reader with a very thorough and accessible introduction to the life of Sophie Scholl and the White Rose movement. The struggle of the Scholl family belies the common myth that there was no opposition to the Nazi’s during the Second World War.
The book fails to address the reason why this opposition was
so small and disparate. The fact that Hitler was able to rise to power and
smash the worker’s movement and the most progressive sections of the middle
class was due to the betrayals of Stalinism and Social Democracy who allowed
him to come to power without a shot being fired.
This history was to shape the character of the opposition to Hitler. After all, the White Rose movement was a non-violent resistance group comprised of five middle-class students at Munich University. At its heart, brother and sister Hans and Sophie Scholl, their fellow students Alexander Schmorell, Willi Graf, Christoph Probst, and their professor Kurt Huber.
Despite knowing full well that if caught, they faced instant death, they began distributing leaflets and graffiti. They were caught in 1943 by the Gestapo and, after a brief trial, executed. Sophie Magdalena Scholl was just 21 at the time of her state murder.
It is clear from the history of Scholl and the White Rose movement that it did not have a fully worked-out political agenda that drove its activities, and some of its activities against the fascist regime were dominated by their religious leanings. Scholl was heavily influenced by the theologian Augustine of Hippo. She described that her “soul was hungry”.Not everything was guided by their religious beliefs. As this statement from a White rose Pamphlet states, “Our current ‘state’ is the dictatorship of evil. We know that already, I hear you object, and we do not need you to reproach us for it yet again. But, I ask you, if you know that, then why don’t you act? Why do you tolerate these rulers gradually robbing you, in public and in private, of one right after another, until one day nothing, absolutely nothing, remains but the machinery of the state, under the command of criminals and drunkards?”[1]They had substantial political opposition to the Nazi dictatorship.
As Tanja B. Spitzer writes, “The White Rose was a small endeavour with large consequences. Together they published and distributed six pamphlets, first typed on a typewriter, then multiplied via mimeograph. At first, they only distributed them via mail, sending them to professors, booksellers, authors, friends and others—going through phone books for addresses and hand-writing each envelope. In the end, they distributed thousands, reaching households all over Germany. Acquiring such large amounts of paper, envelopes, and stamps at a time of strict rationing without raising suspicion was problematic, but the students managed by engaging a wide-ranging network of supporters in cities and towns as far north as Hamburg and as far south as Vienna. These networks were also activated to distribute the pamphlets, attempting to trick the Gestapo into believing the White Rose had locations all across the country”.[2]
They did provide a clear tactic to anyone who wanted to oppose the fascists saying “in their fifth pamphlet. “And now every convinced opponent of National Socialism must ask himself how he can fight against the present ‘state’ in the most effective way….We cannot provide each man with the blueprint for his acts, we can only suggest them in general terms, and he alone will find the way of achieving this end: Sabotage in armament plants and war industries, sabotage at all gatherings, rallies, public ceremonies, and organizations of the National Socialist Party. Obstruction of the smooth functioning of the war machine….Try to convince all your acquaintances. Of the senselessness of continuing, of the hopelessness of this war; of our spiritual and economic enslavement at the hands of the National Socialists; of the destruction of all moral and religious values; and urge them to passive resistance!”
While it was very difficult for the group to act amid war and being hounded by the Nazi’s secret police, a major weakness of the group is that it did not appeal to the one class that could bring down the hated Nazi dictatorship, and that was the German and international working class. The defeat of the German revolution because of the betrayal of Stalinism and Social Democracy had meant the class consciousness working class in Germany had been thrown back for decades.
It is doubtful that any of the White Rose movement had read any of the great Russian Marxist Leon Trotsky works, which is a shame because even a cursory read of his work would have given the group an entirely different political outlook. As Trotsky writes “When a state turns fascist, it doesn’t only mean that the forms and methods of government are changed in accordance with the patterns set by Mussolini – the changes in this sphere ultimately play a minor role – but it means, primarily and above all, that the workers’ organizations are annihilated; that the proletariat is reduced to an amorphous state; and that a system of administration is created which penetrates deeply into the masses and which serves to frustrate the independent crystallization of the proletariat. Therein precisely is the gist of fascism. This was precisely the situation facing the White Rose group.
To conclude, this 75th-anniversary edition deserves a wide readership. The story of Sophie Scholl and the White Rose movement contains an important lesson for the international working class and will inspire anyone who has a burning hatred of fascism and all forms of racism. As Sophie Scholl said, “I am, now as before, of the opinion that I did the best I could do for my nation. I, therefore, do not regret my conduct and will bear the consequences that result from my conduct.”
[1] See the http://whiteroseproject.seh.ox.ac.uk/
[2]
https://www.nationalww2museum.org/contributors/tanja-b-spitzer
Review: Tastes of Honey: The Making of Shelagh Delaney and a Cultural Revolution by Selina Todd.Chatto, 304 pp., £18.99, August 2019, 978 1 78474 082 5
Selina Todd is a gifted historian, and her books are well worth reading. Tastes of Honey is no exception. The book is essentially a biography of the working-class female writer Shelagh Delaney. Delaney was 19 when she wrote her greatest work, A Taste of Honey. Todd respects and even admires Delaney. She describes Delaney as being one of the first writers to show that women “had minds and desires of their own… She develops this point further by saying, “more than a decade before the Women’s Liberation Movement emerged in Britain”, her work “challenged the assumption that women found fulfilment in marriage and motherhood”. They “openly longed for a taste of honey, craving love, creativity, adventure and escape”.
Like the former Communist Party historian E. P Thompson, Todd would like to rescue people from the condescension of history, and she does precisely that with Delaney. Delaney, it is true, does need to have all the dead dogs cleared from on top of her. The book is extensively researched, and Todd was given access to what little papers were left to her daughter by Delaney. Delaney was a complex figure, and despite writing some very good stuff, she found writing difficult, a point echoed by the director Lindsay Anderson, who said, “She finds it difficult to turn the stuff out”.Delaney was part of a generation of working-class writers that had to fight every inch of the way to get recognition and reach a wider audience. On a personal note, I and probably a lot of my generation were influenced by the books of Delaney and other authors Like Alan Sillitoe, who wrote among other books Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, Late Night on Watling Street by Bill Naughton, The ballad of a Sad Café by Carson McCullers. However, last but not least, A Kind of Loving by Stan Barstow. These books were on the list of every Comprehensive school’s English class when I was growing up. I shudder to think what is on there now.
Like I said in the opening to this review, Todd is a very good historian and is a very good writer. I have no qualms over her portrayal of Delaney. But Todd has an agenda and presents a distinct perspective on Delaney. As Simon Lee put it, “Todd is particularly invested in repositioning Delaney as a paragon of feminism, specifically the second-wave feminism of the 1970s. But the question remains: to what degree is this authentic to Delaney? Todd’s repositioning assumes an authoritative stance because of its biographical form.
As a result, Tastes of Honey makes a strong claim about its subject, but the book’s relative success or failure can be gauged by how well Delaney supports that claim”.Todd’s feminist agenda has been emboldened by the new Me too movement that originated in the United States and is now a Global Phenomena. As David Walsh points out the “The ostensible aim of this ongoing movement is to combat sexual harassment and assault, i.e., to bring about some measure of social progress. However, the repressive, regressive means resorted to—including unsubstantiated and often anonymous denunciations and sustained attacks on the presumption of innocence and due process—give the lie to the campaign’s “progressive” claims. Such methods are the hallmark of an anti-democratic, authoritarian movement, and one, moreover, that deliberately seeks to divert attention from social inequality, attacks on the working class, the threat of war and the other great social and political issues of the day”.
While it is important to rescue figures like Delaney, whose work is still relevant and tackles issues still with us today, trying to portray Delaney as a feminist icon has more to do with Todd’s politics than Delaney’s actual legacy.As Lee again writes, “Todd herself has become somewhat of a lightning rod of controversy as one of the more prominent figures of “gender critical” feminism — otherwise known as “Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists,” a movement that sprang from 1970s second-wave feminist politics”.In the section entitled policy and politics on her website, Todd outlines her political views. She writes, “If we are to create an alternative to dog-eat-dog capitalism, then we can only do so collectively through socialism. I have written for the Guardian and other media on the need for comprehensive, non-selective, free education for everyone, at whatever stage of their lives. I am also a feminist who believes that sex and gender are different. I believe that boys and girls should be able to do exactly what they want to do and do not have an innate gendered identity, based on my historical research, which shows that as expectations of boys’ and girls’ behaviours change, so do their actions and ambitions. There is no innate ‘feeling’ that defines womanhood, as some organisations such as Stonewall suggest. My research leads me to believe that women are and have been treated as different and inferior to men on the basis of our biological sex and our potential and actual role as mothers. As such, sex needs to be taken very seriously in understanding the discrimination women face. I also believe in the right to evidence-based debate about women’s rights. As such, I am proud to be involved in the women’s rights group Woman’s Place UK”.
Todd’s socialism is, at best, a watered-down form of
reformism. At worst, her support for a feminist solution to female
working-class emancipation, no doubt how sincere, will lead to the pitting of
female workers against their male counterparts. She does not believe in
revolution, and she is certainly against a revolutionary overthrow of
capitalism which is the only way female emancipation will come about. As the
great Rosa Luxemburg said, “Women’s suffrage is the goal. But the mass movement
to bring it about is not a job for women alone, but is a common class concern
for women and men of the proletariat”.
