Author: Andrew Sullivan

Jest vs Joyce, Cont’d

by Conor Friedersdorf

Eamon writes:

I couldn't get into Ulysses either, the first time I tried to read it, in my early 20s. I forced myself to slog through the first 100 pages, then gave up. I tried again in my mid 30s and it blew my mind — one of the two or three most transformative, moving encounters with art I've ever experienced. And incredibly enjoyable. I really believe that I had to read about 5,000 other books, and live through the 12,000 or so days that I had lived by then, before I was ready for Ulysses. The mileage of others may vary.

A couple of keys to it, from my experience: First, I read it slowly — three, four, five pages a day. Took me several months. And I physically read each sentence slower than I typically read. It's dense. It can't perform its magic if you're skimming over it. For anyone who wants to create stuff that moves people (art, literature, music, whatever) Ulysses is a lodestar of total commitment. Its creator agonized over every sentence. You get the overwhelming sense that Joyce never said to himself, "Fuck it, that's just going to have to be good enough." The monumental self-discipline and determination that takes is staggering, I think, to anyone who has ever tried to create something really good. (Which is not the same thing as saying that everything he tries in that book works. Some of what he tried fails but never because he took the easy way out.) The other thing I love about Ulysses is its total respect for your intelligence — Joyce doesn't make things easy for you if doing so would diminish what he's trying to achieve; he grants you the respect that you're smart enough to get it. I love that.

Secondly, and somewhat in tension with what I just said, I didn't fret about what I didn't understand. I just kept going.

Third — and this is crucial — it's a joyful novel. Easily the funniest novel I've ever read but also filled with sheer beauty just for its own sake, in image but especially in language. Nobody loved the sound, taste, and feel of English more than that guy. It's not meant to test your resolve; it's meant to give pleasure, and it does, enormously, when you meet it at the right time.

I hope you pick it up again at some point and give it another look. I can't emphasize enough how happy I am that I did.

The Evolutionary Case For Monogamy: Heartbreak

by Patrick Appel

Jesse Bering complicates the Sex At Dawn discussion:

Heartbreak is every bit as much a psychological adaptation as is the compulsion to have sex with those other than our partners, and it throws a monster of a monkey wrench into the evolutionists’ otherwise practical polyamory. It’s indeed natural for people—especially men—to seek sexual variety. My partner once likened this to having the same old meal over and over again, for years on end; eventually you’re going to get some serious cravings for a different dish. But I reminded him that people aren’t the equivalent of a plate of spaghetti. Unfortunately, we have feelings.

Bering, who is gay, explores jealousy in gay and lesbian relationships:

[S]exual jealousy in gay men can only be explained by some sort of pseudo-heterosexuality mindset simulating straight men’s hypervigilance to being cuckolded by their female partners. All this is to say that I reacted the way I did [to be cheated on] because, at an unconscious level, I didn’t want my testiculared partner getting impregnated by another man. I don’t consciously think of him as a woman, mind you; in fact, if I did, I assure you I wouldn’t be with him. But tell that to my gonads and amygdalae. I would imagine the same is largely true for lesbian relationships; at an unconscious level, a lesbian’s bonding with another woman may trigger concerns in her partner about her “male” spouse’s disinvestment in real or prospective offspring.

Ending Torture and Not Much Else

by Conor Friedersdorf

This interview has a concise summation of what I regard as the most accurate line on President Obama and civil liberties:

A lot of people on the left were hoping that Barack Obama would wipe away everything George W. Bush had done to restrict civil liberties. Obviously, that hasn't happened. But what would you say is the best thing the Obama administration has done in this area, and the most glaring omission in its policies?

I'd say the single best thing the president has done in this arena is to renounce extraordinary/coercive interrogation. Ending torture is a big deal, period.

Having said that, the failure to impose accountability has invited more torture in the future by eroding the international legal prohibition and effectively declaring that it's OK to consider and repeat as a policy matter. While I'm disturbed by the continuing, and expanding, surveillance regime, I think torture demonstrates the best — and worst — of the administration's performance so far. 

That's certainly the worst case scenario. Should it turn out that torture never makes a comeback (and that future presidents don't abuse their power by assassinating innocent American citizens), President Obama's most glaring policy error will be increasing the surveillance state, some aspect of detainee policy, or continuing to wage the tragic, hopeless, enormously destructive war on drugs. And the worst of it is the unlikelihood that the Republicans will be better on any of these issues — the libertarian voter's impulse is completely stymied here.

The Folly of Needless Alcohol Laws

by Conor Friedersdorf

In Orange County, California, as in many American communities, the approach planners take to bars is as follows: they're generally located in close proximity to one another, so that on a weekend night, bar goers congregate around Main Street in Huntington Beach, the pier in Newport Beach, the Irvine Spectrum, and Newport Boulevard and 17th Street in Costa Mesa, among other spots. This arrangement means that most neighborhoods are free of bars, something that a lot of homeowners appreciate. There are, however, drawbacks.

When all the bars are next to one another, and the state mandates that no alcohol can be sold after 2 am, the result is that a lot of people who've rushed to finish their last drink stumble onto the same street at the same time. Sometimes fights ensue. There is always noise. Folks who were kicked out before having a chance to use the restroom are known to substitute nearby alleys. Almost all of these patrons drove to the bar since few people live close enough to walk to one. Being in an entertainment district, space is at a premium, and regulations often prohibit overnight parking, so a lot of people wind up driving home despite blood alcohol levels that would get them a DUI.

The status quo seems insane to me. Wouldn't it be better to put bars within walking distance of where people live, allow overnight parking, and permit them to close whenever they want, so that a sudden congregation of drunk people on the street would never occur? Traveling the nation, I've found alcohol laws outside of California to be even worse. In New York, supermarkets aren't allowed to sell liquor. What possible reason could there be for this? Were members of the New York Legislature to tour California, they'd see that supermarkets are the most responsible sellers of alcohol, and that high school kids with fake ideas always seek out small liquor stores.

Away from the coasts, in the part of America that is alleged to prize freedom, the alcohol laws are even worse. A friend of mine in Birmingham, Alabama, spent years fighting a cap on the alcohol content of beer that could be sold in the state because he likes IPAs that taste like hops, but the limit was set so low that all you could get were mass market brands like Budweiser. (The effort had a significant success, but container size remains an obstacle.) On a road trip across the south I passed through dry counties, always with a cluster of liquor stores and bars across the county line, and doubtless some extra drunk driving too.

In Europe the alcohol laws are generally far more liberal. I miss that. On nice nights in Seville, I'd buy a liter of Cruzcampo beer, situate myself in a picturesque plaza or along the bank of the Guadalquivir River, and cultivate enjoyment of everyday moments. On Bastille Day in Paris, I once stood with friends atop a quay on the Seine, swigging wine from a plastic jug as fireworks burst overhead. It vexes me that on the Fourth of July, most public firework shows prohibit adults from consuming an alcoholic beverage, and to everyone who thinks it would be anarchy if America allowed drinking outdoors, I can only say that I've by now been to places that lacked every regulation practiced here. By and large, their attitudes toward alcohol were healthier than ours, and the associated problems no greater.

That the police are permitted to ticket those who are drunk in public doesn't bother me in principle, so long as those fined are bothering someone. Neither do I object to anti-drunk driving efforts, nor harsh penalties for transgressing against that law. But it offends my notion of the freedom due every man and woman that I cannot sip a single cold beer or craft cocktail as I walk down the beach with my girlfriend, enjoying the West Coast sunset.

These small laws are costing me everyday pleasures and fond memories.

A toast to their repeal.