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"Is Donald Trump a fascist?" The conservative analyst Ross Douthat asks this in a New York Times column*. His answer "Yes."* Would the American people ever elect a fascist President? We may soon have a definitive answer. In the meantime one can read Philip Roth's The Plot Against America (2004). Roth explores the "what if" American aviation icon Charles Lindbergh, who also happened to be proto-fascist and anti-Semitic, was elected President of the United States in 1940. How would the nation have been governed? Roth has authored 27 books and numerous short stories and essays. My collection contains but two - the other is American Pastoral (1997) - a father, daughter and the collapsing American dream.
I feel the need to reiterate - a former colleague Dr. Nathan Cervo, once suggested that for a satisfying and complete life, a personal library of no more than 50 books/authors is required. This post continues to identify the works in my "50" collection. Books I consider "personal friends" - volumes so important their presence is constantly required for re-reading, skimming or reference. My count is now at 48 books by 11 authors.
I read Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita late in life - twice so far. I am so attached to this book that it must be in my office, within reach at all times. Written during the late 1920s, Bulgakov burned the manuscript in a rush of fear. Then he decided to rewrite it during Stalin's Great Terror of the 1930s. Set in Moscow this tale is absolutely timeless and is the definitive example of what we now refer to as "magical realism".**
My Russian collection includes Tolstoy's War and Peace; Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov; Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago; Sholokhov's And Quiet Flows the Don; and Henri Troyat's Chekhov. As a reference source I have Christopher Andrew and Vasili Mitrokhin's The Mitrokhin Archive and the Secret History of the KGB. Upon returning from a showing of the movie "Trumbo" I immediately consulted the Mitrokhin index. Dalton Trumbo is not listed - the KGB cared not.
The "westerns" section of my collection contains just two titles and they are bookends for the entire genre: Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove (1985, Pulitzer Prize) and Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian (1985). McMurtry's storied cattle drive by Captains Call and McCrae from Texas to Montana is populated with flawed heroes, brutal villains, the unscrupulous, the weak and stupid. It is a hopeful parade of humanity with some to cheer and others to curse. The hit miniseries ran repeatedly on every other TV channel for years. In contrast Cormac McCarthy's novel is one of abject despair - the "kid" and the "judge"and violence that attains pornographic levels in America's Southwest of the 1850s. One reads looking unsuccessfully for a flash of hope. It is a wretched display of humanity. But Blood Meridian does emit the rank odor of obnoxious truth - it is on my book shelf. But may it never become a movie.
For a post-apocalyptic vision I turn not to McCarthy (e.g. The Road) but to Russell Hoban's Riddley Walker (1980). Riddley is a 12 year old writing a narrative about his smashed and nuclear razed world in a phonetic vernacular. ". . . they got boats in the air and picters on the wind. Counting cleverness is what it were." Riddley's hand-to-mouth society is also on the verge of reinventing gunpowder and religion.
Working for my biologist daughter Catherine as a field assistant in Costa Rica has dramatically shaped my values - in addition to placing my name in a couple of crucial footnotes. My most cherished book is E.O. Wilson's Naturalist (1994). The tile page has an inscription: "For Catherine Lindell, Fellow teacher and naturalist, Edward O. Wilson" and accompanied by a small, hand drawn ant. OK - this is not my book - it is Catherine's and I am just holding it for her until I die. My naturalist section also includes books by Stephen J. Gould Wonderful Life; Richard Dawkins River Out of Eden;; and previously mentioned Elizabeth Kolbert and Dave Beetle. For reference there are two thick guides to Costa Rica and Carl Zimmer's Evolution. On the reading table is Carl Safina's Beyond Words.
When in a mood to seek religious succor, I do not consult the Bible or the Quran, though I have owned both in the past. They strike me as confusing. If I desire theological thought I turn to John Milton's Paradise Lost. If my mood is vengeful Dante's Inferno is my volume of choice. For clarity in theoretical matters I usually begin with George Sabine's A History of Political Theory - always within reach.
The copy of Six by Seuss I am now holding is held together by wrapping tape - still pages struggle to fall away. I have repeatedly read from it: The Lorax; How the Grinch Stole Christmas; And to Think I Saw it in Mulberry Street; to seven grandchildren, their friends and classmates. Next to it on the bookshelf is A.A. Milne's The Complete Tales of Winnie-the-Pooh. Not as badly beaten up as Seuss, Pooh's book has also been repeatedly read. It contains clippings inserted from other sources. When Christopher Robin died at age 75, Czeslaw Milosz wrote Themes, that ends with:
". . . I had a grey beard, then I grew old, hunched, and I walked with a cane, and then I died. It was probably just a dream, it seemed quite unreal. The only real thing was you, old bear, and our shared fun. Now I won't go anywhere, even if I am called for an afternoon snack."***
Sara Mileski at age 11 an aspiring poet, added a drawing of Pooh and a poem The Bear that concludes:
"So bears are impossible to beat. Listen to this folks that bears are not too scary and hairy but also very kind and sweet."
These are certainly not the only books I own. But if suddenly whisked off to a prolonged, wintry exile these 70 volumes by 31 authors would hopefully be my companions - plus one copy of Shakespeare's plays.
What is in your library?
*NYT December 3, 2015 **Translation by Pevear and Volokhonsky 1997.
***NYRB February 6, 1997
