"He who fights with monsters best take care lest he himself becomes the monster..."
Authored by Paul Sutton: Orwell observed how some writers are so important that cultural and political “ownership” of their work is fiercely contested.
He said this of Dickens and Shakespeare, so would be delighted that he’s now firmly in that camp.
But I think he’d be less happy that the weasel word ‘problematic’ is the cover under which his position is now being undermined – as he’d have predicted, by our censorious ‘progressives’.
To this group, certain writers – Eliot, Pound, Kipling, Celine – are clearly beyond the pale, so that any discussion of them has to be prefaced by an impassioned and often inaccurate lecture on their moral and political failings. There is a sense that this is done as much from the fear of not doing so, especially for Pound. The denunciations are highly performative and follow a script, an observation that could be easily made of much discussion with progressives.
They seem to speak nervously and miserably, as if under constant observation. Self-censorship is at work: they feel the need to monitor everything and everyone and so assume this applies to them.
I was subjected to one such lecture by some graduate students, whom I and a good friend were chatting to in an Oxford cafe. One chap was English, the other Italian, both were doing DPhils in Literature. The place is Greek-run and, being half-Greek (though not a speaker), I enjoy its atmosphere and coffee. Indeed, we started talking when I overheard them speaking Greek to the English bloke’s Greek girlfriend.
The students maintained that the important thing is quality of writing but, paradoxically, this can only be judged by a strict contemporary “evaluation” of any Right-wing or outdated views. Inevitably, this contextualisation then reveals that said writers are “problematic” and “not as good as XYZ” – usually some figure who fits their sensibilities, and coincidentally one who’s almost always female – or at least better suited to the diversity required by these commissars.
So far, so well known and wearily familiar. The absolute impossibility of literature under such a mindset – one enthusiastically endorsed by graduate students who professed to live for literature – is utterly depressing. We’re in effect dealing with its cancellation
I made a perfunctory effort in observing their complete inconsistency, but things got more interesting when Orwell was discussed. Of course, Orwell famously wrote against their stand, not least in his brilliant defence of Kipling’s literary merit and his refusal to allow orthodoxy to dictate his aesthetic preferences, in Benefit of Clergy.
Unfortunately, Orwell’s stint in the Burmese Imperial Police made him a despicable figure to the students, little better than a Waffen SS or Gestapo officer.
True, he’d belatedly retrieved himself by his “eventual writing” in the 1940s, but he’d spent many years performing the dirty work of the British Empire. His famous essay, A Hanging, showed him enthusiastically hands on at it.
I’d honestly never heard such a narrow and limited view, and was intrigued. As a preposterous misrepresentation, it needs little rebuttal. A Hanging is indeed a brilliantly disturbing account of an Indian murderer being hanged, a man who’d have been executed at that time in any country. The essay explores the deep unease Orwell felt about his role, so it’s a lie to claim it shows him uncritically doing his job, let alone revelling in his exertion of British authority.
Such an interpretation shows a shocking lack of understanding. As does the idea that Orwell only recanted any pro-Imperial views in the 1940s; his underrated Burmese Days was published in 1934 and he wrote extensively about his disgust for the job he did in the late 20s and 1930s. Of course, he didn’t only feel disgust, nor would he pretend that the British brought only misery and were unique as imperial exploiters.
What I’m most interested in is how an alternative Orwell was then offered up, a writer who’d accepted the British Empire was “problematic” yet offered a nice comforting view of how nice and comforting life can be – if you agree with the progressives, that is.
Step forward Jan Morris and his trilogy Pax Britannica. Now, I haven’t read this non-fictional account of the British Empire but from background knowledge, it’s not in any way a replacement for Orwell or even remotely comparable. It’s an exhaustive historical work, not a personal creative one. But this trilogy was extolled by the students as what Orwell should have done when discussing empire. There was the implication that Orwell could now be – somewhat thankfully – ignored.
Bizarrely, the Englishman then introduced Joyce, first saying that the man was a lifelong sponger who’d have probably fleeced him, but as a writer was the very model of a pan-European, liberal and open to all cultures. Again, the grubby contradictions and sheer banality of such a perspective are eye-popping – from a DPhil student in perhaps the country’s finest university.
And I’ve a nagging feeling that Jan Morris – a famous case of gender realignment (he ‘transitioned’ to female in 1972) – was picked for the ‘acceptable author’ reasons. That’s the problem with ‘author context’ vetting – as with ‘diversity hires’. Much as I’ve enjoyed Morris’s travel writing, especially Oxford, it’s staggering for this author to be proposed as some alternative to Orwell! Not only in terms of obvious lesser importance, but they’re not remotely comparable in terms of genre or aims. How could any serious reader – let alone one at a leading university – talk such gibberish?
Discussion on Pound and Eliot was even more absurd. Both were (begrudgingly) great poets, but it was impossible to read either without a thorough warning of their antisemitism – the Italian seemed to think this was a safety requirement. He had no faith in any reader simply reading a text, whilst disingenuously claiming to believe that anything worthwhile would always survive on its own merits. If someone genuinely feels this, then why the need for all the Health and Safety proclamations? It’s the pathetic unwillingness to be honest I most despise – why not just say “I want Eliot to neither be read nor survive”?
Pure funk – he’d be afraid someone would accuse him of being a philistine, as Eliot’s status is near-unassailable. I say “near”, since these people are – though they’d never admit to it – really working on that. So, just be honest about it!
Needless to say, discussion then moved on to the Rhodes statue at nearby Oriel College, which both DPhils were adamant had to be removed. It was easily as disturbing to “victims of British imperialism” as any supposed hurt caused by Gaza protest chants of “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” to Oxford’s Jewish students. Anyway, the English chap maintained, Jewish students (of which he wasn’t one) mostly approved of the protests, since only two had signed a petition in Balliol approving Israel’s actions.
“I wonder how those brave souls felt?” I asked. “I thought minorities were the key to all this?”
The Englishman – in fact, a pseudo-European intellectual – lovingly informed me that he could sniff out a fascist, and only one course of action could then follow.
Some stirring words from Lorca on the Spanish Civil War were recited.
I should have quoted Nietzsche – but presumably he’s problematic and a fascist?
He who fights with monsters best take care lest he himself becomes the monster.
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