Appeal for Intellectual Compassion

Mark Booth describes what befell Orpheus after his return from the Underworld, how the 'charm of his music' did not stop 'a band of maenads...throwing themselves upon him and tearing him limb from bloody limb'.

This reminds me of the fate of his book 'The Secret History of the World', at the hands of the book reviewers and critics, The Telegraph and The Guardian included.

Damian Thompson of the Telegraph introduces his ' review of a piece of trash called The Secret History of the World by Jonathan Black' (aka Mark Booth). He continues, 'The Secret History of the World is, by a comfortable margin, the worst book I have ever reviewed. It's not just badly written, sloppily edited and full of egregious errors of fact, though it is all of these. The book is morally deplorable. '

As far as I can work out, Damian finds morally deplorable the casting of a slur on figures such as Pope John-Paul 2 without evidence, and the presenting of the book as 'history' when it is not.

Damian goes on: 'The Secret History of the World does leave the reader feeling trapped in the corner of a room by a nutter, so perhaps "Jonathan Black" believes his own bullshit.' (Not that Damian is one for casting slurs). Damian is beside himself when he tries to interpret the involvement of 'Anthony Cheetham, the Eton- and Balliol-educated former CEO of Orion Books...a proper historian in his own right.. and the founder of Quercus...' (the publisher of the book).

There follows a long list of derisive comments from Damian's fans, for example,

'He (Mark) invites comments, so I've asked the obvious: "Do you believe all the shit you write and commission?"

or

'Damian, how did you manage to get such an austere publication as the Church Times so rabid as to describe you as a 'blood-crazed ferret'? Quite an achievement to add to the list of accomplishments on your C.V.!'

'Let's just say that I know former colleagues of Booth and Cheetham who are dismayed that they could sink so low. '

'just had a look at this nutjob's website. Damian, he says below your comment he wants to meet you for a drink! Be very scared. '

Hilary Mantel from the Guardian, does not agree with Damian that the book is 'ill written', but damns it because of 'phrases of perfect clarity which say nothing very much'. She waxes cynical when she writes, 'The material is delivered with a moral earnestness that makes it harsh to suggest the book is a cynical potboiler. But a sense of déjà vu may sweep over you as you turn pages that feature Atlantis and the Temple of Solomon, Merlin and Leonardo, Mary Magdalene and Isaac Newton, chakras and tulpas, astral bodies and altered states.' What is she 'dismissing' exactly? She ends with the wonderful prhase, given Jonathan's surname: Hilary Mantel's most recent novel is Beyond Black (Harper Perennial).

I am not surprised about all this extreme dismissal, and in some ways it is understandable, as Mark Booth has presented arms as an Oxford academic and respected publisher, and then produced an esoteric book which cannot stand up to the academic joust. He has betrayed his people. They lanced him (and his publisher) through and through. If he had not been one of their people, they would have left him alone on the esoteric bookshelf.

I wish these bright, articulate, clear-thinking and witty critics could approach a new possibility in a state of what Edward de Bono calls 'Po': neither yes nor no. It is not necessary to be, immediately, for or against. It is not necessary to decide 'I believe or I do not', or to see in black or white. Rather, Po gives us a chance to explore, to play, reflect, come back to, continue to wonder about, to test against own experience, to revise, and so on. The great critics make it clear they will not waste time reflecting upon what they know to be rubbish. They must, by nature, make snap decisions. They know the measure of Truth. However, if we look at academics past, we will realise that the traditional popular gangs who were so sure they were right, are now the ones we have a hearty laugh over - how could they have thought the world was flat, we chortle. Tomorrow, who will we laugh at? Do we have to laugh, can we just put it down to progress? Why all the scorn?

I use this book as a map. It is a Brief Secret History, there isn't the space-time to go into details if the ground is to be covered. It is a running history, a story, running through the process, an unravelling and tying up again of all the myths and symbols and works of art that have teased thoughtful humankind over the centuries. It is a mistake to confuse the map with the place. It is a mistake to ditch the map because you can dispute some of the names and directions. Maps can be useful if you want to explore new terrain, even first-attempt maps which need to be modified once the exploration begins. This book is an overview, an orientating reference for those interested in the subject, it is an invitation for further research and reflection, and perhaps, if it strikes us that way, for wonder. Mark Booth does not pretend it is 'true', (or false). All he wants to do is tell the whole story, assemble the lot of it, as it has been told to him and revealed in his readings. I expect many of the things he says in the 406- page volume are open to interpretation, or perhaps wrong. That doesn't matter in the state of Po - although it may be important in the final analysis. Po allows you to check the bathwater for a baby, before you throw it out.

What strikes me is the horrible frenzy of hateful scorn and derision. No-one seems prepared to discuss the subject matter, the pros and cons, it's all Dismissive Con. It's nasty. Is that the only way we can do academia?

And here I heave a heavy sigh, because I know that the way to approach the sacred places is in a state of reverence, and that the holy is revealed when the seeker is in readiness to receive it. As for these literary critics, reverence and readiness have they none. There is a world of difference between joy and bitter laughter...

Cooking Doomed

Before we went away to England I had become utterly bored with my own cooking and had run out of ideas.

Back from England after 10 days off from cooking I was charged up with zeal and new nourishing recipes. I made date and apricot flapjacks with golden maize flour, sesame and powdered almonds, cauliflower and carrot terrine, and pasta with red onions and peas. Only J-C would taste the terrine and No Comment was passed. I burned the pasta by being convinced I had turned off the cooker while I dashed up 2 flights of stairs to begin hanging up Washing Backlog the Sequel. Upon eating the flapjacks, family members responded as follows:

R 'MMMMMM I love them Mummy - but they are a bit filling...'
B 'They are too sweet'
J-C 'Aren't they a bit dry?'

Me: DRY? They are the epitome of succulence!

J-C 'Actually, I don't like flapjacks'

Me: Well how was I supposed to know that? I made them specially. You've always said you liked them!'

J-C 'not really...'

Me: 'By my calculation that means you have been Pretending to Like Flapjacks for 15 years! It doesn't matter what I cook, somebody always doesn't like and mostly everyone doesn't. The only things you like are out of packets. I don't know why I bother!'.

The crisis might have been averted if R, after a series of exaggerated flops and sighs, hadn't asked:

'Do I have to eat these wormy things?' (red onions).

At this point I Resigned from cooking in a Huff.

'Don't worry, I'll cook' said B, bright eyed 'Is there a pizza in the freezer?'

'No. You're doomed to the only meal your father can cook...Potato Omelette' (groans all round, including J-C who is bored with is own omelette, even though he has only cooked it 4 times in 15 years).

'Come to think of it' I added after a short reflection, 'We've also run out of eggs, so you are not doomed to eat potato omelette, you are just DOOMED'.

Exit stage left.