The headline, of course, is an allusion to that famous question posed to Shoeless Joe Jackson after the Black Sox scandal. It falls a little short of what I'm driving at, but part of what bugs me about this story is Sorkin's inside baseball hero worship. Maybe I could have expected this, but Sorkin seems to see these banksters as larger than life tragic heroes. What I was looking for was some explanation of how it could have been possible for a nation's economy to have come down to the judgment of such flawed characters. In other words, why on earth was anyone considered too big to fail? How did they get such control? How come, after they abused that control, at least some of them aren't in prison?
I lost my job as a result of their recklessness and the buddy-buddy terms they operated under. It goes down pretty hard to hear about their heartache over the impact on their bonuses and careers as they quaff $180-a-bottle chardonnay. Sorkin pays very brief lip service to "Main Street," but in his myopic focus on his heroes, he doesn't seem to know what it is, or to understand the human consequences of what these clowns, and the clownish "regulators" who were supposed to be watching them, and beyond them, the patsies from Reagan through Obama, Gramm, Leach and Bliley through Chris Dodd, what all these adequately-paid incompetents were doing, and how on earth we can prevent them from getting even more power to screw us even worse.
One of the reviews mentions the Wall Street titans "staring into the abyss" or words to that effect. In the Depression, Washington got moving partly because farmers in the Midwest were setting up roadblocks. In this case, none of the rich men -- yes, almost exclusively rich, white men -- appear to see any further than a little public embarrassment and a golden parachute to some other similarly powerful job. Boy, that's not the abyss at all. Calling that an abyss likens a worldwide economic catastrophe to a batting slump; it arises from the same blindness that made it possible for Obama, a couple years ago, to compare the obscene salaries paid to the banksters to the money baseball stars earn.
These guys have very little right, apart from their incomes, to claim to be stars. And they're not playing a harmless game.
I have to confess, I'm only two thirds of the way through the book. Maybe Sorkin will turn things around. But I'm trying to pay attention to what he has to say because, in large part, what he's writing about has a direct bearing on my trade. I can't imagine why most other people would bother.
Those positive reviews in big-name publications were written by people who hadn't been laid off yet. Don't believe them.
Do you care whether these rich guys like each other? I don't. Apparently, Sorkin does.That's the peril of being on a beat too long. He should do a stint covering gang violence.
The performance is adequate. That's what saves this book from a grade of zero, so far. I'll tough it out to the end in this book, and if I find something different from what I've said so far, I'll eat crow.
I don't think I'll have to do that.
Nope. I read him from time to time because he's more or less relevant to what I do for a "living." But I wouldn't pay for it.
It's largely irrelevant
huh? Let's be serious. Sometimes books are more than entertainment. At least, they're supposed to be.
I don't think my bitterness over this awful Wall Street-driven economy is unique. The "Occupy" movement got turned into a joke, but I, and other Americans, live by the Democratic principals that gave rise to it. I hope and pray those principals will be widespread enough to force substantive changes.
I've already replayed the section on zero-gravity toilet facilities for my son. It's very informative and also hilarious
Well, I'd never thought about the fact that a person's internal organs are suspended in the body. Gravity significantly defines our figures. So in zero gravity, the organs tend to float upwards, leading to skinny waists and bloated upper bodies. There are lots of other things to think about, like zero-gravity bone loss or motion sickness and what to do if you vomit inside your space suit. You can't reach up and wipe your face, and with no gravity to keep the puke at the bottom of the helmet bowl, it can be a real hazard. Fascinating.
I don't remember. I can say, though, that after listening to this, I was about to get "Spook," Roach's book about scientific experiments on the afterlife. Another subscriber had commented that the reader there was too heavy-handed, loading up Roach's writing with her own overdone delivery. So I didn't order that.
I think the best approach with most good books is to get out of the way and let the story tell itself. This reader did seem to enjoy the material, but she had the good sense not to get in the way.
I laughed a lot. I can't say that I was absolutely moved by Roach's concluding chapter, where she makes her case for spending more money on space exploration, but that's because it was so little poetry and so much just good solid reasoning. It left me thinking not, "This is inspirational," but "This is our job. This is what we need to put our money into, to make sure we do it right, because our future depends on it."
One of the nice things about this book is its commonsense foundation. It treats space exploration as something we are going to do, something practical, not some romantic once-in-a-lifetime movie but real, day-to-day work, carried out by human beings, something we can all have a part in. It made me think of the Vikings pushing off for Greenland, or of people like Magellan. By showing the practicalities of life in space, many of which are similar to the inconveniences and compromises and seamanship of shipboard life on the ocean, Roach helps to advance the public discussion of day-to-day space voyaging.
Very, very occasionally, Roach makes one joke or pun too many and I think to myself, "oh, come on. This is funny enough on its own." But that's a very small objection.
I might. It's a good model in thorough research and dispassionate treatment of the record. The author does make a compelling case for Sherman's lifelong effort to attain the order and respect that he felt he lost in his own boyhood. If I were to criticize Marzalek's approach, it would be for focusing so narrowly on that one motivation. I think there were opportunities in the record to examine companion motivations more thoroughly.
I've read a fair amount about Winston Churchill, another deeply flawed hero. I don't think, apart from the fact that they both carried the wounds of childhood far into adulthood, Churchill and Sherman had much in common. But studying their lives has given me the opportunity to think about what I can admire and learn from in leaders who were so great in in some ways and so wanting in others.
The narrator is largely invisible. He just tells the story. He's clear without being showy or a distraction in any way. That can be hard to do, and he's to be congratulated for his professional delivery.
I don't think anybody can listen to 20 hours straight in one sitting. It took me a little more than a week. As military history, it's not that dense.
I've always despised that Southern Sir Walter Scott garbage, that lie about Southern chivalry that so blithely romanticizes white supremacy, that justification of slavery. I've always thought the South, especially South Carolina, deserved the March to the Sea for provoking and prolonging the war, and I still do. So I've always admired Sherman.
I admire him less now. He was a great soldier, but he was also narrow and sometimes mean, not in the sense of being cruel -- although he could be that, too -- but in the sense of being petty and selfish. There's an account in the book where Sherman, entering a conquered city, is approached by a former subordinate turned Confederate soldier. Sherman describes their former comradeship and then explains to the man how he's betrayed that trust by betraying the Union.The confrontation clearly rattled Sherman; it seems that he felt his duty compelled him to point out the betrayal and to chastise the unregenerate traitor. But then, a few pages later, here's Sherman nonchalantly fraternizing with another rebel POW, this time a beaten confederate officer who was not only a comrade in arms but a family friend before the war. He gives the man dinner, welcoming him as a long-lost brother. If the foot soldier is a traitor, isn't the officer friend even more of a traitor? Doesn't the duty to uphold the Union require even more when it comes to personal friendship? The question doesn't seem to dawn on Sherman.
This isn't just personal pettiness. Sherman said he believed in "hard war, soft peace," meaning that he'd fight as hard as he could until he'd beaten his opponent, then offer the most generous terms he could. What that meant in practice is that when Joseph Johnson capitulated to him, Sherman let the southerners write most of their own surrender terms. Those terms were much more lenient than what Grant had accorded to Lee shortly before. By the peace terms subject to his judgement rather than his commander's and the president's, Sherman jeopardized the terms of the broader Union victory. He had to be reprimanded before he backed down and conceded the decision over surrender terms to the civil authorities. He later did and said things that even make it appear he thought the Confederates could keep their slaves. It's deplorable enough that he doesn't appear to have understood the underlying cause for the war. He also doesn't seem to have kept abreast of United States law, or to have understood fully that his caprices and prejudices would have to bow to that law. As for "hard war, soft peace," clearly the record shows Lincoln wasn't vindictive. I think his course would have been "hard war, lawful and just peace." I wish Sherman had followed that model.
I'll be thinking about this book for a while. It gives a picture of a very complicated man. I still like and admire Sherman. That's strange, because he was vain and a bigot. But, flawed as he was, he loved his soldiers and he helped to save the country. He once said that the southern states ought to thank him, because there was no way they could have survived as an independent nation. The South ought to thank him for prevented it from committing suicide, Sherman said. I like that.
If you like the New Yorker's "Shouts & Murmurs" section, you might like this. I say that because the writing here reminds the deadpan style that section seems to favor.
I have never once laughed at Shouts & Murmurs. On the rare occasions when I start something there, I never finish it.
I'm not going to finish this, either.
It's just not funny. It's a bunch of non sequiturs and inside jokes about psychoanalysis and people failing to get electrocuted when they stick their noses in light sockets. I do like Woody Allen's movies, so I'm not sure why I don't like this. It just seems sort of dumb to me, which is the way I feel about Shouts & Murmurs (see above.) But the New Yorker sells. Somebody must like it. Just not me.
Woody Allen Deadpanning.
Boredom, mystification, growing disappointment for about 20 minutes or so followed by , indifference and the choice to try something else. I just returned "Too Big to Fail" because Sorkin is a despicable shill for the banksters and I didn't want him to have my money. I didn't feel that I could get a refund on this in good conscience, at least so soon after getting a refund before, because after all, they do offer an advance listen. But I kind of wish I hadn't bought it.
If you're not really sure you love "Shouts & Murmurs," don't buy this.
This is a wonderful book, wonderfully read. It helped me to understand courage in new ways, how what we do from moment to moment draws on our pasts, on the practical balance between fear and perseverance.
Delaney has the courage and the skill to link Captain Carlsen's performance of his duty with his own struggle to grow to manhood. That venture could have turned maudlin; it never does. This book rings true.
Delaney's reading is professional. A good journalist knows when to get out of the way and let the story tell itself, and that's what Delaney does.
Generally, when I read a book, there's a piece of me picking it apart, trying to think how I might have done it better. That didn't happen this time. I would like to be able to write a book like this. I would hope to meet adversity as Carlsen did.
I've ordered a print copy of "Simple Courage" so I can read it to my son, who also is learning the sea.
I expected a survey course, some direction for additional reading. What Shutt delivered was often intellectually slipshod and technically amateurish.
As for the mental laziness on display here: Even in a survey course, I expect a lecturer to know how to pronounce the names of the people and places under discussion, not to guess at them, as Shutt repeatedly does.
In the opening lecture, Shutt suggested that he would explore themes such as the relationship between merchant oligarchies and naval power. Instead, the lectures often delivered score-keeping. This side lost X number of ships. The other side lost a lot fewer, because they had better ships or they practiced more, or some similar generalization that Shutt fails to explore. The effect is disturbing. OK. Some of these battles took place a long time ago. But those were human beings in those fights. They wanted to live, and many suffered terribly. I'm not asking for Shutt to burst into tears over that. I'm asking him to show some discipline, to draw some broader conclusions, to develop a theme. Other historians do that. Score-keeping insults the dead, the reader and history itself.
On to the technical sloppiness: At the end of the series, a narrator credits three editors. I cannot fathom how they might have spent their time on this project. Certainly not on correcting errors. At one point, I got so exasperated that I actually started keeping a log of Shutt's stumbles, but I kept losing track. There were lots and lots and lots. I can understand that Shutt might stumble in his delivery. What I can't understand is how the publisher could have expected payment for such sloppy editing, or why Audible actually bought it.
I bought it because I didn't know how awful it would be. I wish I hadn't.
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