This piece started out as a simple book review written for
Amazon, then morphed into a short essay deconstructing Erdal, via Hume. I use
the term 'deconstruction' deceptively, given my purpose is to highlight the
contradictions of this dead-end to literary criticism, and to point out the same
contradictions in the moral dead-end of Hume (1), for whom the meticulous
concern of finding the right words to express himself, confounded the dangerous
ideas he used those words to express, and thereby undid him.
Objectivism - my agenda, clearly stated - has no fear regarding the
inherent nature and beauty of language; deconstruction, rather than a cleverly
pointless subjectivist deceit, simply translates to 'real world' premise
checking. So here we go: my new - quite possibly clumsy - integration, the
essview.
________________________________________________________________
Let's get perfunctory matters out of the way: Scottish
writer Jennie Erdal's novel The
Missing Shade of Blue
is a fabulous book. The copy reviewed below was a Kindle download I purchased
from Amazon and read on an iPad, and I'm pleased to say, unlike some ebook
offerings, has high production values that made it as pleasant to read as a
dead-tree counterpart. Better, the start of the novel, on the iPad at least,
takes you to the cover page, which is surprisingly rare with ebooks, given the
trend to dull the importance of cover art which remains a weakness in the ebook
revolution. (Publishers', I want my cover art - don't cheapskate on that,
please.)
In almost all ways that matter, Erdal has ticked, with this
novel, all my reading pleasure centres.
In the age of Generation Text, if you like a deep read that
proudly proclaims itself a philosophical novel and really delivers on weighty
subject matter to make a reader think about the world they inhabit both
physically and in their head: this is a fabulous, refreshing book.
Conversely, if you like whimsical, playful writing
exquisitely delivered with a deft, Scottish dry humour: this is a fabulous
book.
If you like writing anchored in a geographic place
(Edinburgh): this is a fabulous book.
And if you like fly fishing, (and by good chance I'd
already decided to learn fly fishing this winter), then this is a fabulous
book.
Although, in this review, if you like the work of
eighteenth century Scottish philosopher, David Hume, then be warned, he's about
to get an Objectivist drubbing: albeit that is a matter attaching not to the
class of this novel, but the muddled mind of Mr Hume. Given the clever
architecture of Erdal's novel is, itself, built upon a Humean construct,I can
only unravel the truths lit up in it, by first shining the torch of reason on
the deadly contradictions of David Hume.
I read everything with the mind of a writer (even if my
negligible creative publishing record would suggest, not a good one). From that,
I am guided by Orwell's quoted desire to turn political writing into art, and
though Erdal's novel is not political, there can be no politick without the
secular trinity of philosophy and economics which are informed by it, and it by
them. Thus, I fell into the purchase of The
Missing Shade of Blue easily
after being directed from (sadly deceased) Denis Dutton's 'Arts and Letters
Daily' blog to an essay by Erdal in The Financial Times on the philosophical
novel, musing if such a novel was still possible (2). The irony being such a
novel is possible, here it is, but it had to be based on Hume, the thinking of
whom I am implacably opposed to. I am aware my interpretation below at times
runs counter to Erdal's own writing on her novel in the mentioned essay: for a
start she sees Hume as benign - pfui - however, I don't believe these
differences diminish either the novel (certainly), or my interpretation, and
this perhaps because Erdal is hamstrung by the same contradiction that cripples
Hume. Objectivists understand there can be no contradictions, so when you come
up against one, it's time to check your premises, or in this case, Erdal's,
which is what I propose to do.
The statue of philosopher David Hume on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. Photo: Getty Images
I shall go outside the text of the novel to get immediately
to my central problem with Mr Hume:
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