Song of a Reformed Headhunter

An immense scholarly achievement. Erudite, persuasive, and gracefully written, it is the kind of intellectual history that changes our understanding of ourselves, our ideas, our cultures, and our world. Yes, it focuses on the strain of anti-Judaism in Western thinking, but it is also about the making and writing of history more generally. Particularly I learned from its analysis of Marx. That in critiquing the evils of capitalism, Marx not only deployed the hated figure of the Jew, but also claimed the figure's reality in society. He thought he was doing sociology as well as economic theory, and so opened the possibility to future persecution of "real" Jews. It is too easy to slip from capitalism to Jewry in one's thinking. A fault that plagues the Left. 

"Ethnographies are mountains and endure," writes Dentan, but "theories are mayflies and don't." This work of ethnography is certain to endure like the mountain it is, and its theory about Semai peaceability is likely to be developed, strengthened, and affirmed by future ethnographers. To state its theory simplistically, Dentan argues that Semai peaceability originated as a functioning adaptation to Malay and British invasion, colonization, and child slavery. The Semai response to overwhelming violence, rape, and kidnapping is to flee, and when they cannot flee from the encroaching hegemonic state, to "surrender," in the author's specific sense of acting with the understanding that success is not within their control. The alternative is death and extinction. Semai elaborated this response into a religion of demon lovers (identification with one's oppressors), protective rituals, an egalitarian ethos, and a respectful way of raising kids, all des...

Yu-Mei is a good friend, and she gave me a copy of this, her debut novel. I read it over two afternoons and enjoyed it very much. It is tightly plotted, inhabited by memorable characters, and written in a lively style. A Singaporean on the run from the law encounters other overseas Singaporeans who are pursuing lives considered illicit in the country. It is a very clever conceit, executed with verve and pathos. It calls into question the untoward criminalization of Singaporean lives and loves.

It is a novel about family as much as it is about romantic love, a novel about art-making as much as it is about immigration, a novel about dispossession as much as it is about privilege, a novel about ghosts as much as it is about the living. As Sonia the fiction writer asks and answers herself, "What united these wayward stories? The ocean. When she swam, she felt swimming beneath her in the depths a chimera. She couldn't see its form, but it was still an intimacy." Desai makes me intimate with an ocean of feelings.

I read the novel quickly in two sittings, even though it is not terribly well written. The plot is only serviceable, the characters are cardboard thin, and the writing is merely functional. I kept reading to the end, even though the ending was disappointing, because, as I discovered on reflection, that the novel appealed to some of my own worst instincts. I like reading about success, especially literary success, and how it is not truly merited; it sates my envy of others. I also like having my biases confirmed—biases against the publishing industry, against white people, against wealthy and good-looking people; I like to be right. This is not to say that my biases are unfounded; they are an outgrowth of my interactions with a racist, classist and superficial society. However, the angel of my reading self likes to think that great literature challenges our preconceptions and enlarges our understanding, but that was not what happened with my encounter with YELLOWFACE.

 An acute account of Morocco's transition to modernity and independence as depicted through a well-to-do family living in the ancient capital of Fez. The earlier chapters, which establish the seemingly static world of the past, were too leisurely paced for me, although they offer pleasurable descriptions of the old medina and its physical and social environments. The story quickens with the entry of the second son Abd al-Rahman to a "secular academy," where he learns to question authority and, ultimately, to fight for national independence. The daughter Aisha is mainly used as an illustration of the intellectual and social restrictions confronting upper-class Moroccan women; her story does not become integral to the main political plot. The third and youngest son merely hovers at the periphery of the novel. Most interesting is the dark-skinned son from the patriarch's concubine and enslaved servant, whose understanding of his status leads him to become a judge, a cog ...