I've just come across this excellent review of three books all on the subject of cross-Atlantic politics. I'm afraid it's already three years old, but its content is still very relevant. I'm not sure what I'd call my forte, but political analysis is not it, therefore I don't think I can hope to better the analysis on offer in this review, and I would urge people to read it, if they have a moment.
There is much talk, in the review, of Britain's halfway position between Europe and the United States. I must say, I'm not sure that our position is exactly halfway. We seem to be closer to the US than maps generally indicate. I would prefer we were closer to Europe. American hostility to 'welfare' (and yes, I do encounter it) never ceases to amaze me. When I come across it, I know I have stumbled upon something forged in a very different cultural crucible than the one that forged me*.
When I see this kind of thing, however, I tend to find it rather ironic. Well, I know that in the case of Al Murray, the comedy is meant to be ironic, but that's not exactly what I mean. There still is, in Britain, an obsession with America, and it's telling that, as far as such things can be ascertained, it seems that Britain is the most American of all European countries. We insist on our difference to Europe (or the rest of Europe) and we insist on our difference to America, but of what is our difference to Europe comprised if not of that fact that we are more American? Which then begs the question, of what is our alleged difference to America comprised, and why are we so proud as to insist on it? Of course, it's perfectly allowable for Britain to be more or other than the sum of the two theoretical parts Europe + America, but in many ways it appears that we're less, having not the wealth and drive of America and not the social benefits of Europe. If we can't point to what is both good and different about Britain, I would suggest that we are 'protesting too much' when we attack America from a specifically 'British' perspective. We wish to differentiate ourselves because we know how much we have already ignobly lost. Moreover, rather than then try to differentiate ourselves from Europe, it might be more to our advantage to nurture what little we have left in common with Europe.
Of course, if I were to point to the things that I think are good and different about Britain, they would be things that no one gave a toss about anyway – especially not the British – so I won't bother.
*I suppose this indicates some sort of paradox in what I've written, but life's like that.
I suppose, more than that, I tend to think of honesty as [complete the cliche here]. But there are occasions when honesty is impolite. Like, when you’re actually talking to another person, for instance. In Japan I generally sensed that when people asked the dreaded question, “So, what do you think of Japan?” that they didn’t want the truth (that I found Japanese society almost unbearably neurotic, devoid of human warmth and xenophobic). The thing is, I have generally found other countries interesting when I’ve visited, and in the end it’s pretty much impossible to give a simple account of one’s impressions and feelings. I mean, questions like, “Do you like Japan/America/The Ninth Crater of Tartarus?” are pretty much impossible to answer (for me). I think, unless I go around stamping on people’s feet because they come from, say, Greece, no one should be too worried about my expressing some fragmentary opinion that is part of some inexpressible whole about my feelings towards Greece.But, yes, people who love their own country and hate all others tend to be insufferable. Or hilarious.
Justin Isis writes:The rule of thumb is that everyone should hate their own country and idealize other countries. This generally indicates a balanced temperament and at least some kind of humility.
Justin Isis writes:
“In Japan I generally sensed that when people asked the dreaded question, “So, what do you think of Japan?” that they didn’t want the truth”I also found that question difficult to answer, but in my case it was more a problem of qualification. I’d answer that I liked it, and then they’d want to know why, and I’d feel really awkward saying things like “There’s no Christianity” or “Love hotels are reasonably cheap.”An interest in yakuza, seppuku, and enjou kousai was also generally not appreciated.
I also found that question difficult to answer, but in my case it was more a problem of qualification. I’d answer that I liked it, and then they’d want to know why, and I’d feel really awkward saying things like “There’s no Christianity” or “Love hotels are reasonably cheap.”
An interest in yakuza, seppuku, and enjou kousai was also generally not appreciated.I suppose I had not been suffering from any conspicuous presence of Christianity before I went, so I didn’t rejoice at its absence. I tend to think, in abstract terms, that it’s good that Japan did resist the attempts of the missionaries to make the country Christian, but during the time I was there I generally wished that there had been more to the culture than shopping. Not that there’s necessarily a connection. It just seemed a bit inconsiderate of the Japanese, after I’d gone to all the trouble of learning the language and going out there, not to take every available opportunity to quote Basho and be generally Zen-like. They should have been more organised in this regard: “Look, here comes the gaijin. Positions everyone! Yamada-san, what are you doing with those fireflies? Look like you mean it, for Amaterasu’s sake! Remember, when you sigh, it’s got to have a real sense of ‘mono no aware’. And don’t forget to be inscrutable!” That kind of thing. I’m mean, we do as much for the tourists here in the UK: “American tourists! Quick, get into the tweed. G and T’s all round. Remember to prefix every sentence with the words, ‘I say’.” You’ve got to give people their money’s worth.Unfortunately, my interests before I went to Japan related almost exclusively to a Japan that no longer exists. When people did ask me why I had come to Japan, I could see their eyes glaze over every time when I mentioned literature. Over ninety per cent of responses went something like, “Oh, Japanese literature. Ah, yes, we were made to read some of that at school. What was it? Natsume Soseki. Yes. Never read anything since. Japanese people don’t read Japanese literature.” However, perhaps the best response I got when a new acquaintance asked about my interests was to be told that to publicly state an interest in Tanizaki Jun’ichiro was “dangerous”. Someone else interpreted later that this meant Tanizaki could be used as subtle code to indicate that you are… open-minded. I also remember the Japanese teacher who taught us classical Japanese at university, after our module had finished, saying something like, “So, next time you go to Japan you can impress the Japanese with your knowledge of classical Japanese poetry. Although, actually, they’ll probably just think you’re strange.”Never a truer word was spoken.
Justin Isis writes:
“to publicly state an interest in Tanizaki Jun’ichiro was “dangerous”. Someone else interpreted later that this meant Tanizaki could be used as subtle code to indicate that you are… open-minded.”God, is this for real? This is like something that would happen in one of my daydreams. I think the closest I came was when Momoko (okay, this is a public forum, so I’ll qualify that as “a girl I was seeing”) had a Yamada Eimi book in her purse (for those not in the know, Yamada Eimi’s novels are mostly about sleeping with foreigners and working in hardcore violent S&M clubs), and I had to assume, from experience, that it had at least influenced her a bit. But I always assumed that, these days at least, Tanizaki would just connote “Some jiji name I have to memorize for my middle school exam.” But it’d be awesome if people actually paid attention to what he was writing and realized how fucked up it was.
“God, is this for real?”Yes. A true story. Maybe I didn’t make the most of the situation. I suppose that’s the story of my life. I remember a conversation with Thor, God of Thunder, in which we were dreaming up different Japanese bank notes with literary figures other than Soseki on them, and what designs might have been appropriate. One design that was mentioned was of Tanizaki sucking someone’s foot.