On Evil

Reading Terry Eagleton either makes me feel incredibly clever ( “Literary Theory”, ”After Theory”) or incredibly stupid (“The Ideology Of The Aesthetic”, “Walter Benjamin, or Towards A Revolutionary Criticism”) His latest offerings have been slightly easier on the ego and “On Evil” is (for the most part) no exception. It's a whistle stop tour through Theology & Theodicy via, amongst others, Marx, Freud, Schopenhauer and Lacan. His argument ricochets through readings of “Macbeth”, “Brighton Rock”, “Pincher Martin” and “The Third Policeman” to arrive at a strangely unsatisfying conclusion.

Evil is something more than just wickedness after a workout.
Evil is purposeless, pointless, a non-rational “condition of being”. It’s aim is, accordingly anti-life, the void, nothingness. It’s like a passionless over-reaching Death-Drive. So while wickedness certainly abounds, Evil is, thankfully, very rare and “something we should not lose much sleep about”.

Unusually, this is one of Terry Eagleton’s conclusions that I could easily have arrived at independently although, obviously, not with the same rigour. Paradoxically this rigour may well be the problem - I’m not particularly patient. His meandering toward a final conclusion is never less than entertaining but I’m not entirely convinced it needed so many detours and 160 pages to get there.

Our Last Heaven Beast

There are any number of possible readings of Moby Dick. The only one that doesn’t particularly hold water is “it’s about a man’s pursuit of a whale”. It’s unarguably a politically charged allegory that abounds with metaphorical allusions and philosophical asides. Melville appropriates a hoary old myth to hang his metaphysical speculation upon.

In an inspired reversal Philip Hoare takes Moby Dick as the framework for an exploration of the history of mans relationship with whales. At times it makes for uncomfortable reading – there’s something almost unbearably poignant about the rendering of a whale by a furnace fuelled by its own blubber. Thankfully the catalogue of slaughter is punctuated by fascinating asides – “Leviathan” is as much a collection of facts and curiosities as it is a narrative of the parallel decline of the whaling industry and whales.

Whilst he’s clearly enamoured with whales he’s not some misty-eyed hippy. He’s careful to distance himself from some of the more outlandish claims of whale society and religion for instance. Although the Whales are not incidental, in common with Melville, he does have bigger fish to fry ( I know whales are mammals but bear with me ) - The conservationist argument bearing down is obviously meant to apply more widely.

So, finally, why the title? To save you googling - it’s a lyric from “Don’t Kill The Whale” - definitely not Yes’s finest moment. Although I bought the single I still used to think it was mawkish and the description a bit of a stretch. Now, having read Leviathan, I’m not so sure.

Antwerp

"….reality seems to me like a swarm of stray sentences”

At 76 pocket-sized pages and retailing at £11.43 on Amazon I feel a bit of A(n)twerp for buying it but it’s by Roberto Bolano so it was, for me, an unavoidable purchase. Bolano’s statement “It’s the only novel that doesn’t embarrass me” has, I think, more to do with the form than the content - Antwerp initially reads more like a highly fragmentary prose poem than a novel. Given it’s length it’s incredibly spacious – corpses, dwarves, detectives, prostitutes, poets and Bolano jockey for position in 56 loosely connected pieces. Gradually, however, a semi-coherent narrative unfolds - It’s a piece of DIY detective fiction where the sleuthing is about stitching together rather than unravelling plot lines.

Whether you’ll warm to Antwerp will probably depend on what you believe fiction to be. Saul Bellow, for whom Finnegan’s Wake was the indecipherable chatter of voices in a distant room, thought that fiction should be a conversation with the reader. Martin Amis finessed this. Fine writers like Bellow, he said, would also invite you into their home and give you the most comfortable chair by the fire. On the strength of Antwerp Bolano would leave you outside in the biting cold with nose pressed against the window straining to read his lips.

The Rotters' Club

Jonathan Coe’s “The Rotters club” was our 80th book so some sort of celebration was in order. Had we started, as usual, in a pub a bottle of champagne would have been out of the question ( and probably stretched the definition) but since this outing doubled as a tour of Simon’s new house I took a bottle round as an 80th Bookclub Birthday cum house warming present.

I’d also managed to get hold of a copy of “Hatfield And The North’s” The Rotters Club (The album provided not only the title but also the inspiration for the final section of the book.) so our drink was accompanied by some fairly eccentric prog rock. Well, it was until we turned the sound down - Along with flares and the far right some things are best left in the 70’s. Bringing the CD was not my only misdemeanour. Contrary to form I’d already started in on the discussion. As an unabashed “Yes” fan and child of the 70’s sections of “The Rotters Club” have particular resonance. However, blurting out that I’d almost choked, mostly in embarrassment, at the review of “Tales From Topographic Oceans” is not exactly critique. In fact it’s more of a confession so can probably be forgiven?

The Bo Ha had been booked for 9pm and since it was just around the corner we were able to cut the timing fairly fine. It was a fairly brisk meal so the discussion began in earnest around 45 minutes later. All in all this was a well received book so the discussion was even swifter. With some time on our hands we retired to the Blue Cat where Simon shelled out for some ferociously priced fruit beer. After Dom had berated the owner’s choice in music - it was a Beatle’s medley (but not “Stars On 45”) - we beat a strategic retreat and made our way back to where it all started.

Things are a little hazy from then on. (In my defence I claim the onset of man-flu - I spend the next few of days in bed) I think the discussion continued albeit tangentially until common sense and or age prevailed and we left for our own homes.

Come Tuesday ( I told you I was ill ) The Rotters' Club’s scores claimed the record for the most consistent rating and were enough to secure 13th place.

Pride & Prejudice

Martin Amis’s dedication to Jane Austen in “The Pregnant Widow” piqued my interest so I’ve been on a Jane Austen “jag”. Although I’d read “Pride & Prejudice” I’ve never been much of a fan. Given my rigorous defence of “Moby Dick” there might be some scepticism of the reason for the lukewarm reception – I remember justifying my lack of enthusiasm to a friend by telling her I like sentences that if I read aloud I’d have a chance of finishing before I turned blue. Since that time, either my lungs have improved or my aesthetic sensibilities have.

I think I also might have said there‘s a limit to how much I need to know about the codes of conduct of early 19th century polite society. While I still think there’s some mileage in these opinions they’re most probably justifications after the fact. The real reason would have been political bias, that next to “The Jungle” or “Germinal”, “Pride And Prejudice” seemed slight, it’s concerns too narrow. At the risk of sounding joyless (too late), it wasn’t worthy.

Martin Amis recently said the J M Coetzee couldn’t write. (This obviously passed the Nobel committee by when they awarded him the prize for Literature). He’s retracted the comment and apologized. The original point, lost in the furore, was that literature should be fun. Whilst I’m dubious about anything Martin Amis says that isn’t solely an aesthetic call (and even then I reserve judgement) this makes absolute sense in the light of his reverence for Jane Austen. Martin Amis is unlikely to read Jane Austen novels for the insight into the inner workings of the middle class drawing rooms of the pseudo-gentry. He reads them because they’re fun. Twenty years later, but not too late, I will swallow my pride, admit my mistake, and agree.

Las Iguanas

Other than a list of our books there’s very little that identifies this site as much to do with our bookclub. I’m hoping this entry will go a little way to addressing this anomaly. It’s not going to be a blow by blow account of the discussion since that’s not really the point of the club - As has been said before it’s really just “an excuse to meet up under a very thin veneer of self-improvement”. But the book will at least get a mention!

There was a full turn out for Persepolis which, given it was a Liverpool outing, was particularly gratifying. It got underway a little later than planned thanks to my legendarily laid back approach to directions – by the time I’d mentioned the turn off to Dom we’d sailed past the exit. As a result we had to pass on the usual pre-dinner drinks. I think this goes some way to explaining the bar bill that wasn’t particularly offset by the “5 for a Tenner” special, or the presence of two abstemious drivers.

In line with tradition the discussion started after the main course with an introduction from the host. The reason for choosing the book can be as simple as “it’s the only one in the shop they had five of” but in this case was decidedly more elaborate, suggested, as it was, by a viewing of the French language film version voiced by Catherine Deneuve (I probably got that horribly wrong) Whatever the motivation it was a reasonably well received choice but I think it’s fair to say it didn’t particularly ignite any passions.

We always allow the dust to settle before scoring the book. Although it wasn’t intentional it does allow some “back-pedalling” - I think my score come Monday morning was more reflective of my overall opinion than my contributions that evening were.

That just leaves the “Stats” -
Persepolis ranked 50 / 79 with a Standard Deviation ranking of 4/79 ( Dom can correct me here but I think this measure suggests fairly convergent opinion? )

The Temple Of Iconoclasts

Buy it. Steal it. Read It.
(“Roberto Bolano - The Last Interview”)

Saying “Nazi Literature In The Americas” is a series of fictional biographies of Latin American Literary figures & Football Hooligans is a bit like saying Don Quixote is a story about a man and a donkey. When I found out it was inspired by Juan Rodolfo Wilcock’s “The Temple Of Iconoclasts” ordering a copy was a no-brainer. (Shamefully, I’m too bourgeois to comply with the alternative injunction). Unlike Bolano’s NLITA “The Temple Of Iconoclasts” is a mix of real biographies with fictional ones. Whimsical, bizarre and satirical by turns the triumph is that the invention is almost impossible to spot.

They include -

Catalan Director Llorenz Riber ,who believed he was a rabbit, and his stage adaptation of Wittgenstein’s “Philosophical Investigations”

Belgian Academic Henry Bucher who at fifty-nine was only forty-two (I said almost impossible!)

Telepathic Hypnotist Jose Valdes y Prom’s sabotage of a 1878 Scientific & Theological Conference

Roger Babson’s foundation dedicated to isolation of the Gravity Atom

John Cleves Symmes’ advocacy of Hollow Earth theory

JesusPica Planas’ invention of the accident proof rubber automobile

And so on through something like 35 entries

The kicker is that it too is inspired by a similar collection – Martin Gardner’s “Fads And Fallacies In The Name Of Science”. I’ve not investigated further but maybe “it’s turtles all the way down….” and there’s a limit even to my book buying!

The Idea Of Communism

I suppose it’s hardly surprising given recent events that Amazon should be awash with radical print. Depending on how you viewed the financial crisis in the first place, this is either the seizing of a golden opportunity or cynical publishers making hay while the sun shines before the inevitable retrenchment.

Tariq Ali’s “The Idea Of Communism” is, I expect, an example of the former. It’s a timely potted history and whilst there’s nothing new to me it’s a useful primer for anyone puzzled with how seemingly intelligent people (I flatter myself) can defend it. If I have any reservations it would only be with his conclusion that capitalist democracy was a long time coming and had its own dictators (Cromwell, Robespierre, Napoleon etc…) so we should anticipate similar setbacks in a transition to socialism. Whilst perfectly true, it is never the less troublesome. It seems to suggest the Stalinist excesses and denial of workers liberty in Russia and the satellite states were in some sense inevitable and therefore legitimate. I suppose if you cleave to the idea of Stalinist Russia being a workers state (albeit one of the Heinz’s varieties of degenerated / degenerate / deformed / with bureaucratic deformation etc…) you paint yourself into this corner. However, for someone with Ali’s impeccable anti-imperialist credentials it’s ironic that his position reminds me of the US’s defence of My Lai – In order to save the village we had to destroy it.

That aside, as a famous German playwright said “It’s a good thing for you, find out more about it”. This is as good a place to start as any.

The Pregnant Widow

I’m a huge fan of Martin Amis. This devotion has become increasingly difficult of late. Whilst I was disappointed with the “Koba The Dread” reading “The Second Plane” put me in free-fall - It was like catching a favourite uncle jack-knifed over kiddie porn. Add to this his recent intemperate outbursts on the Muslim community (that Terry Eagleton rightly described as “like the ranting of a BNP thug”) and this worship begins to become almost untenable.


However I’m enough of a Trotskyist to put the politics of an author aside so I ordered “The Pregnant Widow” anyway. Although his take on the “Feminist Revolution” of the 70’s is different to mine it’s a perfect foil for his usual concerns. Lisa Allardyce, who chaired the launch event last night at the Martin Harris Centre counted (Judging from her contribution she should have spend less time counting and more time reading!) something like 80 instances of tits and arse, or variations thereof, which should give you a flavour? It's also peppered with literary references and reflections as Amis burlesques his way through 480 pages.

If you’re not fan already there’s probably little here to change your mind but if you liked “London Fields” you should be running to the nearest bookshop.

A life without porpoise

In a concerted effort to drag the blog even further down-market, I also felt like uploading one of my favourite film strap-lines that I came across while looking for the Yo La Tengo pic on my PC....

Yet another Yo La Tengo post

I know it can't compete with the erudite nature of recent posts, but I saw this on the ever popular 'the Onion' website and it made me smile...

The Avett Brothers - I and Love and You

Had the latest album by the Avett Brothers for a couple of weeks now. I heard the title track on the radio somewhere (probably on 6Music) and was immediately hooked. There music could probably lazily be described as Americana, not so much because it has a "modern country" feel to the music, but more because they sing what it is to be American.

The title track describes the brothers leaving their early life in search of, well, the American Dream of course:

"Load the car and write the note
Grab your bag and grab your coat
Tell the ones that need to know
We are headed north"

They have a lovely way with a lyric, talking of a woman whose eyes shine "like a pair of stolen polished dimes" - well I liked it anyway.

"I and Love and You" is their major label debut, though they have released 13 albums (including compilations, live albums and EPs) since 2000. The current album is produced by the mighty Rick Rubin which coupled with the fact that it is released on American Recordings is almost recommendation enough.

Here is a link to Youtube video of the single I and Love and You - enjoy!

I have not yet delved into their back catalogue, but shall be doing as soon as funds allow....

Eichmann In Jerusalem : A Report On The Banality Of Evil

“Eichmann In Jerusalem..” is based on the court reports Hannah Arendt wrote for the New Yorker. Although some issues have been raised regarding it’s objectivity ( it’s claimed that Arendt’s treatment of the prosecution attorney Hausner bears the unmistakable stamp of a Western Jews contempt for the “ostjuden” for example ) it’s still provides some fascinating insights.

Eichmann was clearly conflicted. He was indignant at a suggestion that he beat a Jewish boy to death but entirely unrepentant for his larger role within the holocaust. He finessed the “Nuremburg defence” of “I was only following orders” with an appeal to Immanuel Kant as moral justification. It’s only in the light of this that Eichmann’s difficulty with comprehending the Gestapo’s bestial cruelty can be understood. It could be self-serving but it’s also credible that he considered that if his actions were consistent with the injunction to “avoid unnecessary suffering” then he was not culpable in any way. He’d merely discharged his duty. As his defence pointed out, he was on trial for something that in Nazi Germany would have seen him decorated.

The main line of defence hinged upon a “medicalisation” of the final solution. All exterminations, with the exception of the atrocities perpetrated by the einsatzgruppen, were “supervised” by medical staff. This allowed Eichmann, who on many occasions referred to “mercy killings”, to reframe the wholesale murders as “euthanasia” In this way Eichmann’s behaviour is shown to be entirely consistent with his, obscenely distorted, worldview. Ultimately Arendt’s view is still that Eichmann’s behaviour was indefensible and inhumane but can be understood if located within a rational framework. Not a monster. Just an ordinary man.

Considerably shorter and coming to a parallel conclusion is the following contribution from Leonard Cohen –

All There Is To Know About Eichmann

EYES:......................Medium

HAIR:......................Medium

WEIGHT:....................Medium

HEIGHT:....................Medium

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES....None

NUMBER OF FINGERS:.........Ten

NUMBER OF TOES.............Ten

INTELLIGENCE...............Medium

What did you expect?

Talons?

Oversize incisors?

Green Saliva?

Madness?

No Excuses For Poor Memory

Friday’s post on “The Road” was originally about how puzzled I was that the book club discussion had seemed to miss the point. I could see how one person could be blinded by prose but not five. Eventually I realised “The Road” had never been a book club book. So a hastily revised version appeared on the benefits of book club discussion instead!

I can at least console myself that I’m in good company. Not only could Montaigne never remember the books he’d read he also struggled to recognise essays he had written. In an unintentional irony Will Self was on the radio this morning talking about the republication of Montaigne’s essays. Although I’m a fan you could say that Will Self has a similar problem – he sometime forgets the novels he writes have already been written. But then again “What do I know?”

The Ghetto Fights (Warsaw 1941-43)

Marek Edelman was a leading member of the ZOB (Żydowska Organizacja Bojowa) the Jewish Resistance Organisation that led the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. The Ghetto Fight is his personal testimony.

Initially the collaborationist Judenrat remained committed to the prospect of the “resettlement to the east” held out to them by Nazi’s. Although the existence of Treblinka and the final solution was known to the Jewish bund it was simply not believed outside of these circles. These circumstances, combined with the illegal policy of collective responsibility ensured the relative passivity of the ghetto population.

By late 1942 however it was obvious to large sections of the population that there were no labour camps. After talks between the Jewish Bund and various Zionist political groups a joint battle organisation was formed. When The Nazi’s second push for deportations began in January 1943 it was met with concerted resistance. Poorly armed and vastly outnumbered the ZOB inflicted heavy casualties. Unable to dislodge the Jewish resistance fighter the Nazis put the Ghetto to flame. Thousands perished in the ensuing conflagration, either burning to death in the attics and hideouts or shot fleeing the flames. Edelman and a small number of insurgents escaped through the sewers to join the Polish partisans.

The Ghetto Fights is at times a harrowing read. What lifts it are the tales of individual acts of heroism, the final passages a testament to the kind of courage that is beyond imagining. It’s an important book and deserves to be more widely known.

The Road

I realise I’m laying myself open to a “What have the Romans ever done for us” moment here but I’m trying to segue seamlessly into the blog entry with this so bear with me.

Film adaptations are always a mistake. If you’ve seen the film versions of “Atonement”, “The Naked And The Dead” or The Human Stain you’ll know what I mean. Although there are exceptions to the rule, Burt Lancaster in “The Leopard” is a shining example, I think it’s ok as a rule of thumb. (I’d also cite Bladerunner as a counter example here but I’m sticking to book club books and, in any case, it’s a film that plays fast and loose with Philip K Dick’s Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep” anyway)

At a little under two hours John Hillcoat's “The Road” just falls short of being another exception. It’s a faithful recreation of the novel. It’s unremittingly bleak and at times unbearably sad movie. Not for the faint hearted, it’s particularly resonant if you have kids. It does have one advantage over the book. Although I wouldn’t have said this of the book at the time, McCarthy’s prose dominates. Or it dominated our discussion of it? Although the films fidelity to the novel is almost total it seemed to me, as a stripped down visual piece, more provocative. This might have more to do with how I read “The Road” in the first place. Perhaps, If you’re seduced by the prose you blunt it’s purpose? Maybe concentrating on the aesthetics reduces an appreciation of the moral,ethical and philosophical complexities.

Anyway this a roundabout way of saying that bookclub books benefit from the discussion. I’m reasonably certain at some stage these issues would have surfaced and the books impact would be the better for them. I'd also remember. I certainly won’t forget the conversation with Brid in a hurry. It’s not often you discuss how best to mercy-kill your children and at what point you can legitimately abandon hope. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard Brid use the word kill so often since the time I forgot our wedding anniversary!

No One Writes To The Colonel

This collection of short stories, like a lot of Garcia-Marquez’s work is set in the fictional town of Macondo. The Colonel, a retired veteran of the Thousand Days War, is waiting for his pension. He’s been waiting for 15 years. Every Friday he walks to the dock to await the arrival of the post boat. Every week he’s disappointed. Struggling with poverty and financial insecurity their only lifeline is a rooster – itself the surviving link to a son lost to political repression. The rooster’s training will be their salvation once the cock-fighting season begins. How to eke out the interim two months is the problem. However, it’s Garcia-Marquez, so an exploration of the impact of the back-grounded political corruption and violence is the real point of the story.

Although “No One Writes To The Colonel is the “standout track” (Bolano called it perfect) the remaining stories hold their own. The setting of Macondo creates an air of familiarity (or, if you’re uncharitable, a nagging sense of déjà-vu ). Perhaps in anyone elses hands this would mean anyone unfamiliar with “One Hundred Years Of Solitude” would lose out. It’s a testament to a Garcia-Marquez’s skill that they read so well as stand alone pieces. That’s how I read them anyway. After 20 or so years the only thing I reliably remember is the title!

Literary Fashion Victims

There’s an essay in Robert Sapolsky’s “Monkeyluv” about sticky personalities. It’s a socio-biological attempt to explain why some people return to the same CDs or order the same dishes at restaurants. (not just because you like them, apparently). I like to think he’s not talking about me but the content of my bookshelves wouldn’t necessarily support this view. If I chance upon a particularly good author I like I buy the back catalogue. Like most compulsive book buyers my capacity to buy outstrips my ability to read (I have about 50 books on my TBR pile with no sign of the reading gap being bridged)

So sometimes it’s a relief to chance upon a dead author safe in the knowledge that the reading gap is, at least, not widening. The drawback is, obviously, once you’ve finished there’s nothing left. I’m not much of a re-reader so if it’s a recent demise I’m at the mercy of the literary agent. They’ll probably decide to comb the back catalogue of unpublished manuscripts for neglected work but it’s a commercial rather than aesthetic choice. I bought ( and read) Nabokov’s “The Original Of Laura” & Raymond Carver’s Beginners ( an unedited “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love”) and I’m chagrined to find out that behind their publication stands the shadowy figure of Andrew Wylie ( affectionately known as “The Jackal”). It’s an open & shut case - I’m a literary fashion victim.

Occasionally, however, you strike gold. Roberto Bolano’s “The Last Interview” (a filler bridging the gap to the publication of “Monsieur Pain” in February) is a fine example. I’m retro in my belief that what an author thinks about, frames his work. So I like to think that "hearing him talk" about books gives me a greater appreciation of his output. But it’s also gratifying to know that an author you admire shares some of your obsessions (He wished he could write like Philip K Dick.) Bolano was also brash,arrogant and opinionated so perhaps PKD isn't the only thing we have in common!

Darwin Was No "Darwinist"

"Nothing is more dangerous than a dogmatic worldview - nothing more constraining, more blinding to innovation, more destructive of openness to novelty." — Stephen Jay Gould




Richard Dawkins has been called the new Darwin. It’s an attribution that his legions of mostly fawning followers would vigorously defend (See RichardDawkins.net, ludicrously subtitled “A Clear-Thinking Oasis”, for some textbook sycophancy). If you thought this idea had any currency then “The Selfish Genius” by Fern Elsdon-Baker should put you straight.

Dawkins has written extensively on Darwinism but it’s possible to identify some themes that preoccupy him

-Darwin was a lone and cool voice of reason crying in the wilderness
-Darwin believed selection was the only evolutionary driver
-Atheism is a necessary consequence of a proper understanding of evolution

This presentation is remarkably supportive of Dawkins own views
Unfortunately for Dawkins, however, "The Selfish Genius" examines the basis for them and finds little empirical evidence.

The first section provides an historical overview that locates Darwin within a scientific and theological community largely receptive to the idea of evolution. It also touches upon Darwin’s thought on the mechanisms “driving” evolution and shows they include the idea of use and disuse drivers (for Dawkins a Lamarckian heresy). Ironically, Dawkins view of evolution with its exclusive emphasis on selection is shown to owe more to Wallace & Weismann than it does to Darwin. This is not exactly breaking fresh ground - Stephen Jay Gould said this years ago when he labelled him a neo-Darwinian. In fact this characterisation of Dawkins is remarkably apt. This is the same label that Darwin’s close friend George Romanes used to describe Wallace and Weismann’s articulation of the theory. Despite the lack of fit Dawkins presents his ideas as a seamless continuation of Darwin’s work. Clearly, attempts to cloak your own views with the respectability of another’s authority is an age old trick. However, it’s ironic that Dawkins should make consistency with the scriptures the litmus test of respectability. In this he’s a little like an evangelical Christian! In his wilful(?) misrepresentation of the writ he’s a lot like a Stalinist!

The second section is devoted to Dawkins’ public role promoting the public understanding of science, particularly his more recent interventions into religious affairs. His thinking on religion although at odds with Wallace could not be called “Darwinian” for the simple reason that Darwin was a professed agnostic. This is something that Dawkins appears to have belatedly, and reluctantly, recognised. How he’s managed to suggest otherwise for so long is a source of wonder. However, the nature of Darwin’s faith is largely of historical interest. The real thrust of this section is an attempt to reframe the debate on religion and science. Elsdon-Baker believes that Dawkins’s approach is not just wrong-headed but also dangerous (Dawkins Dangerous Idea?)
Unfortunately, whilst Dawkins has shown considerable flexibility with regard to his day job (adapting it to incorporate the challenge of horizontal gene transfer for example) it’s here where he’s at his most dogmatic. You only have to bear in mind Daniel C Dennett’s phrase “Brights” used for atheists to get the flavour of the debate. Although Elsdon-Baker doesn’t go as far as Gould & Ruse in suggesting Science should steer clear of moral and ethical questions she recommends a more measured (rational?) debate.

As well as a plea for a less fundamentalist atheism the book is also a timely corrective to Dawkins’ self-serving misappropriation of Darwin. This misuse and distortion is not uncommon. Marx when faced with the use of his name to justify some of the more outlandish activities of the 1st International is alleged to have quipped “All I know is that I’m not a Marxist”. I’ve a sneaking suspicion that if Darwin was alive today, facing Dawkins’ version of evolutionary theory, he might want to deny his own name too.