Julie Ann

Meat: A Benign Extravagance

mandy — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Simon Fairlie’s contribution to the debate over how food choices influence the ecological and socioeconomic health of our communities, collected as sixteen chapters in Meat: A Benign Extravagance, probably will, as the foreword predicts, impact the future of sustainable agriculture. The scope of the project is grand, and Fairlie presents what appears to be both thorough research and sound reasoning regarding several interrelated issues. His readable, likeable style, and mostly objective tone, have led reviewers to interpret his findings in contradictory ways (i.e., we should cut back on meat/we should eat meat), which actually may be a testament to the book’s value.

Fairlie’s willingness to entertain the notion that meat production (if carried out properly, i.e., on small-scale, holistic, integrated farm systems) may be the best model when all variables are considered comes across as a practical, humble, yet mildly self-interested position. He admits he doesn’t have all the answers, but that, as a once economically poor “born-again carnivore,” he still likes keeping livestock and supporting “small farmers and peasants in their struggle against agribusiness.” He recognizes his bias, and explains he feels “instinctively that the world would be much the poorer without domestic livestock and (that he wants) to work out why."

I was originally drawn in to the data orientation of Meat via tables delineating the Mellanby diet (which Fairlie learned from the 1975 book by a Scottish ecologist – Can Britain Feed Itself?). Apparently it all began with highly informal sketches, what Fairlie calls "at best, a back of an A4 envelope job," which should not be seen as "anything other than a rough guide, and a useful framework for thinking about such matters." Such candor and occasional attempts at humor make it a refreshing read, not only for fellow scholars in the various fields he surveys, but also for policymakers (for whom the book seems particularly well suited) and novices (like myself). It’s not every day that an author suggests to readers who are daunted by his voluminous data that they can “cherrypick” whatever is most intriguing. Thankfully, Fairlie’s clear presentation style, and his inclusion of tables and figures whenever they are useful for illuminating his points, makes that unnecessary.

One of the benefits of Fairlie’s multidiscipline approach is that you get the sense that he is exploring the whole terrain of an issue. For example, in the chapter titled "Animal Furlongs and Vegetable Miles" (in which his central theme is the contest between animal power and biofuels, and the general "reluctance to examine animal power") there is an amazing range of perspectives surveyed, from current information about progress in biofuel technology to agricultural knowledge about houses, hectares, and cabbages, to even Ghandi's 1915 opinion on using cows to plow the land. Juxtapose this with highly data oriented chapters analyzing, for example, methane and CO2 versus their relative milk and rice production, down to the gram.

If I had one criticism it would be that Fairlie’s fun titles, like "Holistic Cowboys and Carbon Farmers," did sometimes obscure the nature and purpose of the writing. The chapter reads more like a reflective account of data collection and number comparisons (dollars, tonnes, miles, mycorrhizal fungi levels, soil carbon savings, etc.) than a narrative about contemporary cowboys and farmers. Although I appreciated when Fairlie emerged from the numbers and concluded the chapter with a shot of voice and personality, it nonetheless seemed a bit artificially framed.

While I couldn’t recount much of the data I tried to wrap my head around while reading this book, I did come away with a few conceptual nuggets. For instance, the spread of permaculture (a contraction of "permanent" and "agriculture"), was mainly the outcome of an effort to reverse the destructive widespread plowing in the twenties that led to the dustbowls. In one chapter, Fairlie explores how permaculture techniques might apply to the development of comprehensive land use strategies for vegan communities.

I also liked learning about the dialogue on forestry versus agriculture in the UK, in the chapter titled “The Struggle Between Light and Shade.” In it, Fairlie points out that forest productivity and farming productivity was not separated on such a strict binary prior to the industrial revolution. This helps us understand how a "permacultural approach...will not be one that favours trees on the grounds that they have a superior indigenous pedigree; it will be one that juggles with the dynamic between light and shade to produce landscapes that are rich, biodiverse and convivial for humans."

Fairlie presents his “rich, biodiverse and convivial” vision with clarity, and his attempt to gather data that clarifies the vision’s potential for both accuracy and success is admirable. If there is a downside to Meat, it is that some of the essays are limited in applicability to the United Kingdom or comparable environments. I’ve always been intrigued by islands, though, so this enhanced my experience of a highly interesting and relevant book.

Written by: Julie Ann, April 3rd 2011

The Story of Lee (Volume 1)

payal — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Seán Michael Wilson, Chie Kutsuwada

Nantier, Beall, and Minoustchine Publishing (ComicsLit)

The Story of Lee is a graphic novel written by Seán Michael Wilson, the editor of AX: Alternative Manga. Wilson writes mainly for a mature international manga audience, and like most other Japanese style comics, it is serialized: I had the pleasure of reading just the beginning of a larger story arc. Part of its appeal, I admit, was in its being a short and satisfying read that nonetheless offers the promise of continuation in subsequent volumes.

The engaging story, which is set in Hong Kong, advances considerably in less than 160 pages, and the story-telling accomplished through drawings rather than text is a welcome change of pace. One of my favorite “scenes” was an entire page of just moments in a movie theatre, where the deepening of the sweet and touching romance between our heroine, Lee Chan (age twenty-four), and Mathew Macdonald (twenty-seven) was illustrated with a quiet sensitivity that captured the emotions perfectly. Lee ultimately learns much about Western culture as well as her own Chinese culture, by looking at both through the eyes of Mathew, a poetry-writing English teacher from Scotland.

The heart of the story is that over-arching cultural ties between Lee and Mathew (i.e., The Clientele and other popular British music, poetry, and Hong Kong sunsets, to name a few) outweigh their cultural differences (such as Lee’s more hesitant approach to sex). In the background, we have Wang, the suitor that Lee’s father prefers for her, who tries but fails to compete for Lee’s affections. Of course, suspicion from her father and jealousy from Wang make her Chinese culture all the more unattractive to Lee.

Although it follows a somewhat predictable narrative (thus far), The Story of Lee nonetheless does a nice job of illuminating and confronting the xenophobic views of Wang, of Lee’s father Mr. Chan, and of Lee herself. As well, hints of progressive commentary on issues like sexism and women’s rights appear in the first volume, and thus more generous treatment of these issues in future volumes is likely. If The Story of Lee remains true to its form, it will continue to feature love and coming-of-age variety self-realization as its major themes, from a culturally sensitive and understated, yet decidedly feminist, point of view.

This point of view is best represented in Volume 1 by Lee’s paternal grandmother. She embodies the passing along of a “tradition” that somehow trumps the father’s rigid, xenophobic tradition. Without disrespecting her son, Lee’s grandmother expresses a very different life credo that comes across as: “Live! Love! Learn!” but also, "work toward your individual goals and love your family and where you come from." The grandmother’s wisdom redefines the father’s "work relentlessly and unhappily, and obey your family" worldview, and eventually helps inspire reconciliation between Lee and the family regarding Mathew and Lee’s future. In fact, Mr. Chan chooses to support his daughter’s decision to enroll in school at Edinburgh University, which is where the volume ends.

I surmise that The Story of Lee may be considered manga “light” by aficionados. It was printed in New York, not Japan. It reads front to back, rather than back to front. But it is set in a universe peopled with exaggerated eyes and other stylized features common to manga, and it engages with the same familiar themes. So for me, reading this graphic novel about characters in China exploring the difficulties and benefits of intercultural love and relationships, often by sharing various treasured memes with each other (in addition to music and film references, there were haikus by Matsuo and snippets from Rilke, Proust, Borges, and Tolstoy), was a very post-something, contemporary kind of pleasure. And one that I recommend trying.

Written by: Julie Ann, March 22nd 2011

The Ancestry

payal — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Jillian LaDage

Tarith Cote

While I’m not overly familiar with Celtic traditions or music, there was a lot for me to love about Jillian LaDage’s new album, The Ancestry. In the introduction, LaDage writes that her music explores the nature of remembrance, and both locates and preserves a kind of pan-Celtic “collective which resides in our memory.” In the CD booklet insert, each song’s lyrics are preceded by a short reverie, almost like a travel/research journal entry, dated by months in 2006, 2007, and 2008. I immediately felt kinship for LaDage’s project when I saw how the first song is introduced:

November 2006 Sweetheart Abbey, New Abbey, Scotland. The early morning mist rises as I walk these ancient grounds. I feel so keenly the presence of the modern age and yet I too see the pathways my ancestors left, the old ways that are never forgotten, where this kindling comes from within.

She goes on to tell the story of Devorgilla, Lady of Galloway, who established the Cistercian Abbey in 1272 in memory of her husband John. A rather unforgettable narrative, this past August it attracted me, too, to visit the admittedly misty abbey near the southwest coast of Scotland. The song was not actually one of my favorite four songs from the album, perhaps because of how unfamiliar I am with the sad sounds of the Uilleann pipes, but noting the synchronicity between cultural/geographical influences LaDage and I have tapped was a treat.

I most loved the middle songs, and this was partly due to my excitement at recognizing track four, a familiar traditional song, “Bonny was the Lady" (The Legend of Cong). I ultimately gained the deepest appreciation for the songs that followed, “Manzikert” and “Vanished Secrets.” In fact, I was mesmerized by their ethereal, timelessly feminine charm. I felt like I was listening to the soundtrack of a film in the same genre and of the same scope as The Lord of the Rings. LaDage's voice has incredible allure and purity, and as the cover picture suggests, she even plays harp (plus piano or keyboards) on several tracks.

There were songs I didn’t enjoy as much, but in trying to experience them fully, I found other things to savor about The Ancestry. For example, in the liner notes of “Eve of Night,” we see that LaDage was inspired by the following translation of Medieval Irish text from the gospel of Thomas, which she relates to the sometimes desperate character of Celtic migration:

“O King of the starry sky, Lest thou from me withdraw Thy light—Whether my house be dark or bright, My door shall close on none tonight."

Perhaps I found the song’s background more beautiful than the slow and ballad-like song itself, but I was perfectly prepared for a shift when “Keltoi” began, in which LaDage plays harp in a lilting, softly tribal sounding instrumental. In turn, “Keltoi” (the “first literary reference made by Greek historian Hecataeus of Miletus in 517 B.C. giving the Celtic peoples” a name) provides the perfect prologue to the final song on the album, “Endless Knot.” Her almost cooing earnestness in this song seems to evoke the longing of a boundless Celtic soul. It seems only fitting that The Ancestry ends where the voice, the compass, and then we, too, meet the wind. “There in the stillness meet the wind… There too we meet the wind.”

I would recommend this melodic selection of songs to anyone even tangentially interested in a Celtic cultural tradition or style of music. If occasionally the stories LaDage recounted felt too solemn to draw me in, they only served to underscore the transcendent beauty of her soaring voice at the close of each lyrical song.

Written by: Julie Ann, March 19th 2011

Irish Pages: The Sea

tina — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Cathal Ó Searcaigh, Chris Agee

Nicholson and Bass

Also known as Duillí Éireann, Irish Pages is a bilingual, biannual journal edited in Belfast. The journal was started in 2002 with the mission of publishing “in equal measure, writing from Ireland and overseas.” Each issue is themed and "The Sea" is filled with a blend of literary journalism, nature-writing, memoir, short fiction, poetry, and other features like photography and notes from the publishing world. The journal succeeds at printing work that touches on both local (Ulster) and global issues, nourishing ecological awareness, and giving voice to both avante garde and traditional Irish ideas.

Although the website suggests that other issues have included more political or cultural writing than "The Sea," I noted slight nods to a feminist cause in the narratives and poetry chosen, and in the inclusion of one of the three featured essays by Croatian/Serbian writers. According to her byline, Slavenka Drakulic, a woman born in Croatia in 1949, has received threats for her feminist writing in the past. Her essay is about the changes in her ethnic and writing identities, and her concern for how a good portion of her work exists in a “vacuum” because the country she was born in has ceased to exist.

Although Irish poetry is sometimes discussed in reference to Yeats, Heaney, and Muldoon (and Irish Pages has published Paul Muldoon), I liked the balance of contemporary, archival, and Irish language poetry in this issue. Most of the poems were relatively short and beautifully resonant. My favorites included three Irish and English translated poems by Cathal Ó Searcaigh. “Morning Song” reads like an exquisite prayer, and the mist, furze, and quietness in “Mountain Trek” is wonderful.

Some writers received more space than others, but I approved of the inclusion of Aidan Carl Mathews’ essay and six poems. I especially liked the naked honesty and lush, strong words in his poem “Kyrie for a Counsellor.” Also, the poem “Doing Time” is an interesting look at the progression of time while Nelson Mandela was in prison.

"The Sea" gave a lot of attention to the island environment and a chapter from the last volume of a trilogy about Connemara, a peninsula off the western coast of Ireland, featured a lovely mix of memoir, folklore, and science.

Alongside the Celtic mythology in “The Kingdom of Manannan,” there was plenty of Irish Catholic imagery in the collection. Priests, altar boys, rosaries, and Mass books appear in several essays, poems, and stories, such as the short story “The Mourners” by Francis Harvey. It is a compelling read, as are the two sweetly honest poems by Leontia Flynn about her father and his passing.

The variety of the selections—from the introduction of a novel called The Truth Commissioner and the remarks delivered at the launch of “A History of the Town of Belfast,” to the eulogy of a man who did watercolors of Ireland’s thirty wild orchid species—shows a great deal of local pride, artistry, and care on behalf of the editors.

Also, the inclusion of a selection of stunning Marine Micrograph photography made this review a very pleasant experience. Particularly wonderful were the living Radiolarians, which are beautifully symmetric skeletal elements found in marine plankton, magnified and photographed in Golm, Germany. I also really enjoyed the magnified images of candy-bead-like Diatoms photographed in Mayaguez, Puerto Rico.

Based on my reading of this issue, I would highly recommend Irish Pages. With past issue themes like "The Media," "Empire," "The Earth Issue," and "The Home Place," I assume they are worthwhile reading for non-Irish readers. According to the website, the most recent issue is "The Irish Issue," and it includes more about Connemara by Tim Robinson, a few poem translations, and the rest is contemporary Irish writing, which might be worth learning a little Irish for.

Written by: Julie Ann, February 1st 2011

Each and Her

mandy — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Valerie Martínez

University of Arizona Press

It can be easy and convenient to forget facts learned and impressions made about our southern neighbor, Mexico. Because I like to think of myself as conscious and conscientious of both international news and poetry, I was surprised by my recent discovery of Each and Her by Valerie Martínez. A widely anthologized poet and former poet laureate of Santa Fe, Martínez has been recognized for a career’s worth of community outreach and education, and even for translating Uruguayan poetry.

On the back cover of Each and Her, Martínez’s mentor, Joy Harjo, admires the poet's elegance, metaphor, and noble purpose: “They were roses, those tender girls broken against the edge of the border between Mexico and the U.S. They were our sisters, our daughters, our nieces, granddaughters; they are us… There can be no more silence. These poems make an opening in the pathway for justice.”

I must agree; this is one of the most lovely and thought provoking elegies I have read in a while. Martínez bestows a quiet honor on the lives of nearly 500 victims (since 1993). She does this by encompassing their names in her larger meditations on the cultivation of roses, and on representations of cultures that value (or devalue) those who are vulnerable, female, and poor.

Each and Her is, essentially, a book-length poem; there are seventy-two numbered, title-less meditations that follow a starkly written introduction to the paramount problem: many females, often students or factory workers, have been (and continue to be) murdered in or around Juárez and Chihuahua, Mexico. Martínez’s objective, page-long prologue tells us that the murders are linked by evidence of sexual violence, torture, or mutilation, and that the numbers each year are steadily rising (from twenty-eight in 2004 to eighty-six in 2008). The problem is getting worse, and in its background we see a drug and labor trafficking culture, and exploitation in the maquiladoras, the export assembly plants where some of these girls are employed. In one of her many numeral-rich poems, Martínez cites the number of girls and women who currently work in that industry:

472,423
while they can be hired legally
at the age of 16, it is common for these girl-women
to get false documents
start work at 12, 13, 14

Martínez arranges beautifully sparse facts next to rich details that mesmerize with their quiet reality (“Amalia went back to Juárez / dirt floors/ sheets for doors/ Coca-Cola in small bottles/ in wood crates stacked/ bundles of tortillas and tamales/ out the front window/ pesos and dollar bills/ crushed on the ledge”). Moments like these, and small poems like “this / way” or “I refuse” helped me contemplate the horror (“right breasts severed / left nipples bitten off”) while holding onto glimpses of how these women and girls may have lived before they were tortured and killed (“crush of the crowded Juárez market / Malia is first / hand clutching mine/ Grandmother behind / tethered to Mom”).

I admired how Martínez incorporated found poems, such as selections from the Orthodox veneration of the Virgin Mary and Eve and “the missive / from the attorney general / of the state of Chihuahua,” into the same long poem as her narrated lesson on worthy ancient women: “finally, a great throng of women deserving to be named, some as Greeks, some as muses, some as seers, for all were nothing more than learned women held and celebrated…” Whether suggesting the beauty and toil of flower harvesting labor, evoking the motif of sisterhood, or considering the working conditions of women, as in poem "36." (“a typical maqui working schedule/ 60 hours per week/ typical daily wage—$8.29”), Martínez left me amazed at the breadth of her careful poetry.

The emotion of each experience—of a girl-woman and her loved ones—is nodded to and transcended. Martínez understands that the deep icon of the rose radiates out from what mathematicians or ethicists can understand about these brutal murders. I was literally propelled through these poems by a need to privilege these lives with my attention, by a kind of reverent curiosity about these girls’ and women’s stories, and by the utter pleasure of Martínez’s lovely, sparse, and thoughtful language. Justice often comes through awareness and empathy, and the way that Valerie Martínez reverently and tenderly handles her collection of meditations about this terrifying cultural pattern buoys the possibility of justice, and hopefully, a remedy.

Written by: Julie Ann, January 21st 2011