My Blog can be found

HERE

from now on.

I hope you will give me the benefit of the doubt and will move along with me.

This also means my twitter and email account changed to:

@irisonbooks

irisonbooks [at] gmail [dot] com

I was born, raised and am currently living in the Netherlands. That’d make my primary language Dutch. When I started my blog, it never once crossed my mind to write in Dutch, instead I felt blogging in English was the more natural choice. I love the feeling of being part of an international community of bloggers, I wanted to practise writing in English and I simply enjoy reading English and wouldn’t be able to share as much of my English reading on a Dutch blog. I love the English language and I’ve read primarily in English ever since I was 15 years old. I do read books that have been translated in Dutch sometimes, but that’s mostly because I got across them really cheaply, or because I got them as a gift. Somehow, English appeals to me more. Obviously I like to read books that were written in English in the original language. But I even prefer reading books that were written in other languages in English, although I do not mind reading those in Dutch generally. I do not read Dutch books often. I have a deep dislike for Dutch literature, although I do like the Children’s literature by Dutch authors, and have been avoiding it ever since my years of obligatory reading of Dutch literature in high school are over.

In the Netherlands, you are supposed to learn to read/listen/write/speak 3 foreign languages: English, German and French. Most of your education in foreign languages is spend on English, but German and French take up quite some time as well. Because I took the route in high school that prepares for university education (out high school system is different than the US or UK), most attention in German and French class has been spent on reading these languages, since you have to be able to read scholarly articles in those languages once you’re at university. I cannot say I loved learning them, I always was more of a math/science nerd who then decided she loves history and religious studies best. I do however sometimes feel the pull of wanting to learn these languages better. When I was in France last year, I couldn’t resist looking for a French translation of Pride and Prejudice in every book shop, wanting to buy and read it, because I had a feeling I could learn and appreciate the languages more thoroughly through one of my favourite books. And then last week I shared my thought on considering reading Night Train to Lisbon in German sometime. I might not ever get around to reading literature in French or German, as I’m usually fed up with both languages when I have to struggle through complicate passages in scholarly books in either language, but I like to dream about it every once in a while.

Do you read (or speak/write/listen) in any languages other than English? What do you like or dislike about it?
If English is not your primary language (I know I cannot be the only non-US or non-UK blogger out there!) what made you decide to blog in English? Do you read in your primary language or in English more often and why?

I have done some reading on China, but mostly historical China: Communisms take-over, the Cultural Revolution, Taoism and what remains of it because of the communist regime, but I had never read a story about contemporary China. And it was surprising to me how rural China felt like I was still reading about the China of 50 years ago. Is that some evolutionism creeping into my thinking? It might be, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. It’s more that this book made me realise how big the differences are between rural areas and cities in China. Sure, we joke about the backwardness of farmers in the Netherlands (ask anyone from Amsterdam about the East of Holland and they’ll think we’re all farmers that talk silly – I’d know, I’m from that particular area), but the differences aren’t all that great. In the description of Xinran, the gap is so striking that it’s hard to stop thinking about it once you’ve finished the book.

I know a lot of people know Xinran from her book “The Good Women of China”, but I have never read it. After reading Miss Chopsticks, I sure hope I’ll get to read it soon.

In Miss Chopsticks, Xinran describes the lives of three girls from the countryside that try to make it in the big city. She’s taken the stories from her meetings with girls similar to those in the story, but changed them around a little and combined their storylines into the story of three sisters: Three, Five and Six. Girls aren’t thought of as important in rural villages in China, as we can read on the back cover of the book: ‘Women, their father tells them, are like chopsticks: utilitarian and easily broken.’ That’s why they only merit a number as a name. At the beginning of the story, Three goes to Nanjing to flee her impending marriage and start a life of her own. When she returns home for the spring festival a year later, her other sisters and all the girls in the neighbourhood want to come to the city as well. After her second return home, she takes Five and Six, her younger sisters with them. We follow all three of the sisters on their journey that they hope will lead to a self-fulfilled life. The story is somewhat hopeful, but can also make you feel hopeless. The girls run into a lot of differences in attitude and expectation in the city and sometimes find it hard to cope. It’s more of a struggle than an easy transition, which makes this story all the more interesting.

Xinran writes the story in a voice that I can only call “naive”. The style is thus entirely fitting to a story of three ‘naive’ country girls coming to a big city, trying to find their way. It also got on my nerves sometimes. That had nothing to do with bad writing; however, more likely the writing was too lifelike. One of the sisters, five, is said to be stupid (as in: not smart at all and she can’t read or write) and seems very naive. I found it very hard to read some parts of her story; she was so childlike that it sometimes bothered me to no end. On the other hand, I felt like I could relate to Six so much. She is a girl who loves books, who likes to learn all she can, even though she hasn’t had much of a chance in early life. I loved her for her observations, her determinism to try and understand things she didn’t get, but also her shyness in asking what people meant by the things they said. One of her observations that really got to me was what she said about the growing distance between yourself and your relatives once you go to college (or just start higher education in general) and start living on your own. I know I sometimes feel this tinge of sadness, just imagine how Six must’ve felt chasing her dream and yet slowly losing part of the connection to her family and friends.

“But when she got back to the teahouse that evening, her happiness was tinged with sadness. She knew that, every day, she was learning things that would take her further and further away from her sisters. And what about her mother – her best teacher of all? Could she leave her behind? Much as she rejoiced at her entry into the world she had dreamed of, at the same time she felt a sense of loss at her fading attachment to home..”

Miss Chopsticks by Xinran would be a great read for the Women Unbound Challenge, but I’m counting it towards the China Challenge, since I have faith I’ll end up with a lot of books in the Unbound Challenge anyway. What makes this book extra fitting for women-unbound is the connection all three of the girls feel with their mother, their first teacher in everything. Those parts of the book were so touching to read.

I filled in the words after the red ones.

Btw, I can’t believe how hard it was to list so many things I liked (I tend to be a bit of a pessimist), but then I got around to the section on things I “hate” and found that that was even harder!

I like books.
I like tea.
I like candles. (obviously)
I like dancing and feeling like I can finally let go.
I like hanging out with friends.
I like bookblogging (it’s been the best these last couple of months).
I like the ‘aha’-moment you sometimes get when reading hard theories or working on a project you can’t seem to find your way out, when suddenly..
I like fruit.
I like vegetables.
I like sunny spring days.
I like the secure cuddled-up feeling of being at home somewhere or with someone.
I like watching corny feel-good romantic comedies.
I love my boyfriend and the time we spend together (I know this sounds corny, but it’s true).
I hate the word ‘hate’. (going to leave that up, because it’s too true)
I hate the poor planning I do.
I hate barking dogs.
I hate gossip/betrayal by friends.
I hate people who think they know everything better.
I hate the crazy traffic in the city where I life, having to cycle through it & worse learning to drive with all the crazy cyclists around.
I hate not writing and talking English as well as I’d wish.
I hate meat (I am a vegetarian, but honestly think the taste of meat is gross)
I (secretly) like any of the obsessions I have/had in weird phases: the libertines, Finn Andrews/The Veils, Twilight, Lost in Austen, etc.
I love it when people make a small comment that makes me smile for the whole day.

There aren’t many books out there that would make me consider rereading it in German. German is often conceived of as a pretty harsh language and doesn’t instantly cry out the words “beautifully poetic”. However, Night Train to Lisbon is one of those books I would love to read in German sometime. Why? The writing is incredibly beautiful in such a way that it made me think that it could even make German sound beautiful. I know, I might sound extremely prejudiced towards German and I know Germany has brought forth some of the best literature in the world, but whoever shares my experience of a scolding German teacher who liked reciting poetry about dead meat will recognize my feelings.

Night Train to Lisbon is about high school teacher Raimund Gregorius who has an accidental meeting with a Portuguese woman in the street that tilts his world upside down. When he arrives in class after this incident teaching his students Greek (his life work) suddenly doesn’t hold any interest anymore. Instead, he flees his classroom out of the sudden recognition that time is slipping through his hands. After his departure from school he walks into a bookstore looking for Portuguese books, because the language suddenly fascinates him. He picks up a small work by Amadeu de Prado. His writing about existential question gets to Gregorius in a way that makes him pack up and leave on a train to Lisbon the following day, trying to trace the life story of Amadeu the Prado, as well as trying to find his own life again.

As the summary must have made clear, this book is all about an existentialistic journey. Gregorius tries to find meaning to his own life, while tracing Prado’s life and reading his existential writings. Even though this book might seem a bit more appropriate to slightly older readers (as long as we’re on the subject of age and authors, please visit farmlanebooks for an interesting discussion of the subject), I absolutely loved this book. What makes the book even more beautiful is the poetic writing of Amadeu de Prado. His lines capture some of the most fascinating philosophical questions that I think everyone must’ve struggled with from time to time. Especially his reflections on how you are perceived by others and on religion struck a chord with me.

While reading I had written down ever so many passages to quote, but I have read this book in the Dutch translation and I do not know if I can capture the beauty of the language when I translate it to English myself, so I’m not even going to try. Also, I’m hoping the English translation of this book is done as well as the Dutch translation has, otherwise half of the beauty of the book will be lost to English readers.

The only thing that slightly annoyed me was that towards the end of the book, it was heavily suggested that Gregorius was experiencing this difficulty of reframing his own life because he was suffering from a disease. Even though you never find out if it is true that he is suffering from medical issues, I found that this took away part of the strength of the book. The fact that this book is about the life-questions that everyone asks himself, the boundless opportunities that are represented in the specific choices a human makes, is what makes this book come to life to the readers.

During the course of last week I’ve picked up several books to read. First of all, on the topic of women unbound related books I picked up Gender and the Politics of History from the Library. I’ve read the first 2 chapters and I’m looking forward to reading the rest. I’m hoping to review the book before the end of March, in order to match a book on history and gender with the end of Women’s History Month. Apart from that, the post by Eva of A Striped Armchair on menstruation and the whole challenge currently revolving around Flow (because of the contest Rebecca of The Book Lady’s Blog is having)has led me to find out about my own limitations: I feel very much ashamed f my own body & sexuality. These posts have stimulated me to pick up a few books about these subjects that will hopefully make me feel more comfortable. I got both Women, an intimate geography from the library and the Vagina Monologues.

I also got some of my recently ordered books in the mail. Most of these books were ordered during my Austen spin-off period, so I’m not sure if I’ll be reading them anytime soon, but I am excited about finally getting them delivered anyway. First of all, Jane’s Fame. I have been looking forward to reading this cultural history on the fame of Jane Austen through the last 200 years ever since it was released in hardback. Recently, the paperback version came out and I couldn’t help but order it right away. Also, I ordered Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict after hearing so many good things about it in Austen-blog-land. Apart from those two books I ordered Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell (North and South is one of my all-time favourites, but I haven’t yet read this book) and Traitors of the Tower by Alison Weir. The latter is a very small book (I was hoping it would be larger), but that also made it very cheap. Weir is one of those authors you often come across looking for women’s history of England, so I’m curious to see whether I enjoy this small booklet.

I also found my first bookcrossing book ever. I have been hoping to find one for years and suddenly I was copying some of those 500 pages of articles at the library when I came across this book: Dreams of Trespass. Tales of a Harem Girlhood, written by Fatima Mernissi, who has worker for Unesco and researches the position of women in Islam. I think this book might just be perfect for the women unbound challenge.

I’m currently reading an impossibly hard theory book on missionaries for class, but apart from that I started reading Miss Chopsticks by Xinran. I’m only at the second chapter, but I have a feeling that I will enjoy this book immensely.

(I wanted to enhance this post by all the covers of the books mentioned, but I can’t get them aligned right)

I started reading Sanditon last Sunday because I originally wanted to participate in Austenprose’s group read titled By the seaside with Sanditon. However, due to a huge amount of required reading to be done and a obligatory conference starting tomorrow, I will not be able to participate in the discussion of the book. That’s why I finished reading the book last night, as my light bedtime reading before going to sleep and that’s why I’m writing about all twelve chapters of the book and not the planned first four. This book now counts towards both the Typically British Challenge and the Jane Austen Challenge.

Sanditon is strangely different and yet remarkably familiar to Jane Austen’s other novels. The introduction of Mr. and Mrs. Parker through their carriage overturning on their way home, and their subsequent meeting with a family that lives nearby the site of the accident, Mr. and Mrs. Heywood with their children, of which Charlotte is the older daughter seems a different sort of introduction to a story than Austen usually provides. The set-up of the story is different as well: instead of revolving around one family, the story seems meant to revolve around a small community of people. This community is Sanditon, a seaside resort that Mr. Parker and Lady Denham (a rich widow) hope to turn into a successful business establishment. Within the first chapters, Charlotte Heywood is travelling to Sanditon to stay with the Parkers. Presumably Sanditon is the setting in which the rest of the story was meant to evolve. What makes this a familiar Austen novel is I think predominantly her social satire and meticulous look at characteristics of certain persons. Sanditon reminded me of Northanger Abbey in a way, because I couldn´t help but shake the feeling that Austen was poking fun at the booming business of seaside resorts in this novel, just as she did with gothic novels in Northanger Abbey.

I think I might have gone into reading this story differently than I´ve done with other Austen novels in the past. Maybe just the thought that this story will never get to the finish line made me more perceptive of all the small remarks made in the narrative. Knowing that there´s no plot to find out about, makes wanting to know how it will end sooner rather than later a useless manner of reading this book. I think it has made reading Austen more enjoyable to me in a way. I cannot but look forward to rereading her other finished novels with just as much attention to detail.

What I loved about this novel was first of all her satire of hypochondria. Two sisters of Mr. Parker and one of his brothers is constantly complaining of being unwell. I once read that hypochondria was one of the means by which women could acquire some sense of power over a situation and that it functioned as a guarantee of attention. I did not know that people at the time realized much of what was going on in these situations. In chapter nine, Austen remarks:

“It would seem that they must either be very busy for the good of others or else extremely ill themselves.”

The hypochondriac behaviour of Susan, Diana and Arthur, and the subsequently inserted commentary on their situation by the author made for some very entertaining fragments.

I liked the attention for characters in general. Most of the time we see characters and their flaws through the eyes of Charlotte Heywood. I think I found it the hardest to depart from her thoughtful and entertaining views on the people around her when I got to the end of chapter twelve. Sometimes, the remarks of the author made me laugh out loud. As happened when the seemingly very silly, but full of himself character of Edward Denham starts one of his long-winding and boring conversations:

“Still extolling the pleasures of bathing, he sought to entertain them with his longest syllables and most edifying sentences.”

I also enjoyed the contrast between many of the characters. Lady Denham who seems to be involved in Sanditon’s sea bathing business principally for money and Mr. Parker who seems genuinely interested in making the place a popular hit. Mr. Parker who is all about travel and moving forward, and Mr. Heywood who seems most interested in staying in his safe home environment. And then there’s the poor Mrs. Parker who seems quiet and obedient and hardly able to have her own say, while she’s being pushed through all these modernisations, while her remarks on the house where she used to live with Mr. Parker suggest that she rather liked the way things were.

I honestly cannot share any thoughts on how I think it will end. I think possibly Mr. Parker’s  borther Sidney was meant to become the love interest of Charlotte and I expect Arthur Parker would’ve broken away from his hypochondriac sisters in due time, but apart from that I’m blank. I cannot say that I mind not knowing how it will end, because I think the story hadn’t progressed far enough to get that feeling that you really just have to know what will happen next.

I’ve decided that I do not currently participate in enough challenges (note the sarcasm) and so I am joining the China Challenge, hosted by Jennie of Biblio File. I came across this challenge through Eva’s blog A Striped Armchair and when I thought about it I noticed that I actually have four books on China on my bookshelves, waiting to be read. Thus, it wasn’t all that hard to decide what books I want to read for this challenge. I am still looking for a good non-fiction book on China and I could do with some more fiction-recommendations as well. I am joining the Fast Train to Shanghai level, which has the following rules:

Read 5 books about China before september 2010
1 should be a translated work of fiction by a Chinese author (or not translated if you have the language skills.) I will make exceptions for Chinese authors that also write in English– their English works are fine.
1 should be nonfiction

I’m thinking that I’d like to participate on some of the activities mentioned for the Silk Road Trek (for example, reading a Chinese blog, watch a Chinese movie, eat Chinese food, etc), but I know I won’t be able to read 10 books on China this year. So I might just cheat and report on these activities anyway.

The books that I have selected for now are:

• Red Dust by Ma Jian: A book about a journey through China by the author. I picked this book up a few years ago at a book sale. It’s part of the Vintage books “Take Your Imagination East” series.
• Miss Chopsticks by Xinran: Another booksale buy. Part of the blurb is the fascinating sentence: “Women, their father tells them, are like chopsticks: utilitarian and easily broken.” I think I could read this for the Women Unbound Challenge as well, but we’ll see. [Finished reading 03/24/10: Read Review]
• Becoming Madam Mao by Anchee Min: This has been on my shelves for forever, I don’t even remember when or where I got it from. I’ve never read it, because the size of the book makes me hesitant to pick it up. I think this book will be the hardest to actually start reading for this challenge.
• Wu. The Chinese Empress Who Schemed, Seduced and Murdered Her Way to Become a Living God by Jonathan Clements: This might be my non-fiction pick for this challenge, although I might want to read more non-fiction about China this year. It’s advertised as “the true story of the first and only woman in Chinese history to become ruling emperor’. Something about this line tells me that this might be a rather too-popular non-fiction read. Actually, I bought it thinking that it would be a fiction book. But there are some notes at the end of the book, so let’s just say I’m curious to see what I’ll think of it when I’ve read it.

I have a copy of Wild Swans by Jung Chang waiting to be reread on my shelves. I remember how I loved this book when I was a fourteen-year-old, but I’m thinking that I might want to add a book that I haven’t read already.

Do you have any recommendations on books I might like to read about or related to China?

When I picked up this book at the library the normally ever so silent librarian remarked “So you were the one who wanted to loan this book. I just wanted to tell you that it features one of the scariest pictures I’ve ever seen.” In a way, she’s right. The front of the book shows a bag of sand?, cement? of which half displays a female breast and the other half a male nipple-area. I had to look a few times before I actually recognized these as such. Before I did, the image did scare me as well. After having read the book however, the remark of the librarian made me wonder: Does this image scare people because subconsciously we don’t expect both something female and something male combined into one item? I think that that is what the book would tell you, if the authors had articulated somewhere why they choose this artwork by Robert Gober (1990).

I wanted to read this book because I’m always saying that I want to specialize in gender-studies, but I felt I had never read something that provided me with the background material to understand the basic theories in the field. The book did not disappoint. Anyone who wants to be introduced to the field of gender studies would I think be helped enormously by reading this book. What I particularly liked is that even though the authors clearly liked the social constructionist theories of the likes of Judith Butler best (I for one won’t disagree with them, I think discourse analysis is a highly useful tool when it comes to gender studies), they never forgot to mention the areas that remained obscure by these theories. Also, they never criticize other theories without explaining their apprehensions thoroughly. And in the end, they leave a lot of their book open to interpretation. The authors leave you with many questions that still need to be resolved, with the room to make up your own mind about your position in these theoretical debates and with suggestions on how none of the mentioned theories are complete and that it might be best to keep a combination in mind. Instead of exaggerating a stark contrast between different approaches, the authors imply that all of them might be useful, without losing their differences out of sight.

“The construction of gendered and other subjectivities takes place as a complex negotiation of public meanings, derived both from cultural representation and signifying material practices. What has become evident from our discussions is the multiplicity, contrariness and complexity of the meanings available.” (239)

Basically, this book was all I expected of it and more. I read the book particularly because of my own interest in the combination of gender theory with theories on ethnicity and even though the authors mentioned in the introduction that they were not going to pay specific attention to postcolonial theory (which is I think a shame), they did refer to the interplay of gender, ethnicity, class etc. in almost every chapter.

“Within a performative account of gender, gender is mutually constituted alongside other categories. There is no performance of gender that is not also a performance of race, class, or dis/ability. Attention to the regulatory ideas constraining such performances draws our attention to the operations of power within them and the privileges and exclusions which retain them.” (199)

The book also made me think about my own presumptions.I’ll give two examples. For one, I always feel hesitant about psychoanalytical theories. The book mentions how many of these theories imply a unified nature of mankind and are also usually based on male experiences. Females are often defined as lacking something (i.e. a penis) which is why they go through certain psychological troubles, according to psychoanalysts. This is I think at least part of the reason of my annoyance with these theories. Let alone when they use them to explain why certain saints in the Middle Ages had certain visions, while the theories are based on experiences in western modernity. The second thing I often find troublesome is the link between gender studies and homosexuality. Not only do people usually mention that if you study gender, you’ll probably be gay (which annoys me to no end – I can’t stand prejudices), I also find that I often think books on women are terribly interesting, but that as soon as it’s only about homosexuality, I’m hesitant to read more by those authors. I am by no means against gay-relationships or anything, I really am not (why, I live in Holland, and I’m proud of living in the first country that made gay-marriage legal). The book mentioned that gay people or queer people are often found troubling, because they do not fit into one of the two sex-categories we often insist exist naturally (male-female), they cross boundaries and people often feel threatened by people who cross what we think are normal identity-markers. I have to admit, it was hard reading this and hard admitting that this might have to do with my own feelings of hesitancy towards reading about the subject, but I think it’s true.  I don’t think it’s the only reason why I find it difficult to pick up a book that’s only about gay-gender-theory, but it probably plays a part in it. I ‘m troubled by this insight, because I do not want to act like I do. To me, it shows how cultural discourses do have a strong hold on people. I think realising things like this is important and I’m actually pretty glad about finding out about it. Now I know where I have to start on changing my own feelings.

Last, I loved that the book took the trouble of discussing the link between gender studies and feminism. Once you accept that there is no uniform category called ‘women’, how do you suppose to be an active feminist campaining women-rights?

“If ‘women’ is a constantly shifting signifier, variable according to the discourse in which it is located. how can we conceptualize ‘women’s interests’, let alone defend them?” (221)

I often feel this way in relation to gender studies within history. There are some students that explain that they study gender in the 17th century, because they want to change the situation of women nowadays. And I think that that’s impossible. Gender studies to me has shown that women (and men) are defined by context and the context of the 17th century is so different from ours today (especially if you recognize that there isn’t a uniform context in the world we live in) that you cannot expect your work on the 17th century to change anything in the present. You can only try to show that women have always been defined differently and by succeeding in that, you might succeed in showing that what we view as ‘typically female’ today might not be all that natural. Also, it contributes to ‘writing women back into history, which is let’s face it, very important.

—-

I ended up with a list of books referenced in the text that I am interested in reading. I’m writing them down here for my own reference and maybe for others who feel they might want to read some of them. Twenty Two, hopefully not all my Women Unbound Books will contribute this many titles to my reading list.

• Sarah Ahmed, Strange Encounters: embodied others in post-coloniality (2000)
• G. Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera: the new mestiza (1987)
• S. Lee Bartky, Femininity and Domination: studies in the phenomenology of oppression (1990)
• Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: feminism and the subversion of identity (1990)
• Judith Butler, Bodies that Matter: on the discursive limits of ‘sex’ (1993)
• Stephen Goldberg, The Inevitabilty of Patriarchy (1973): To annoy myself to no end, but I couldn’t resist noting it down
• Rosemary Hennessy, Materialist Feminism and the Politics of Discourse (1993)
• b. hooks, Yearning: race, gender, and cultural politics (1990)
• Genevieve Lloyd, The Man of Reason (1993)
• Anne McClintock, Imperial Leather: race, gender and sexuality in the colonial contest (1995)
• H.S. Mirza, Black British Feminism: a reader (1997)
• R. Morgan ed., Sisterhood is Global (1984)
• L.J. Nicholson, Feminism/Postmodernism (1990)
• Kaja Silverman, The Threshold of the Visible World (1996)
• B. Smith ed., Home Girls: a black feminist anthology (1983)
• Gayatri Spivak, In Other Worlds: essays in cultural politics (1987)
• H. Stecopoulos and M Uebel ed., Race and the Subject of Masculinities (1997)
• V. Ware, Beyond the Pale: white women, racism and history (1992)
• G. Weiner and M Arnot ed., Gender under Scrutiny (1987)
• S. Westwood, Racism, black masculinity and the politics of space, in: J. Hearn and D Morgan ed., Men, Masculinities and Socialn Theory (1990)
• Iris Marion Young, Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays in Feminist Philosophy and Social Theory (1990)
• Iris Marion Young, Gender as Seriality: thinking about women as a social collective (1995)

Anyway, the first book is Religious Commitment and Secular Reason by Robert Audi. This is supposed to be one of the modern classics when it comes to religion and politics, together with the books by John Rawls. Both philosophers are supporters of liberal democracy and formulate an ideal of ‘discursive citizenship’ in which citizens have to engage in discussion on the basis of secular morals to come to the right kind of policy. Of course, Audi differs from Rawls on certain points, but this is the general idea.
Audi’s book isn’t a book that I’d usually pick up. Of course, the problem of whether religion and politics can be combined is a rather interesting one, but ethics or political philosophy tends to be a bit dry. And I have to be honest, so was this book. Yet, some of Audi’s ideas are interesting. He manages to combine a respect for religious people with a strict separation of church and state. And he makes some great observations on how people shouldn’t only be able to give secular reasons in supporting policy decisions, but should also feel motivated by them. Yet, his argument clearly comes closer to an ideal than reality. If you stop to think about what he’s asking from virtuous citizens, you soon realise how many things could go wrong. And he seems to sidestep the fact that most citizens don’t want to base their decisions on sophisticated rational considerations a bit too easily. The feeling the book left me with was thus more of a fear that the combination of religion (or any other form of “belief” like a radical believe in socialism or capitalism, etc) will always lead to subordination of certain groups and conflict.

The other book I read that is related to this idea of subjecting certain groups of people, and how religion and politics can intertwine dangerously is Persepolis 1: the Story of an Iranian Childhood by Marjane Satrapi. Surely, this book fall into a wholly different genre then Audi’s book does. Persepolis is a graphic novel about a girl growing up in revolutionary Iran. It is rather interesting to see the Iranian revolution from the viewpoint of a little girl. Seeing her move from a belief in being a saviour to being a communist so rapidly and her pointing out the duplicity in much of the ideals of her elders is.. and I feel weird saying it, kind of funny. Of course, there is nothing funny about the way the revolution turned out, but it was refreshing to see it through the medium in which it was represented here. I have to say that I really liked the style of the drawings. Yet, I have to say that I feel hesitant about saying that I enjoyed reading this book. There was something about it that makes me unable to say that I did. Having read a few more things about the revolution for classes I felt that this book put things too simply sometimes. I know that it’s a memoir and that the simplistic nature of the stories probably also have to do with the fact that it is supposed to tell the story from the viewpoint of a child (and believe me, that sometimes works to make it funny), but I couldn’t help but feel that it was lacking somehow. I wish I could explain it better, which is why I hesitated to write about this book at all. I’ve heard that Embroideries by Satrapi is more enjoyable however and I’m looking forward to finding it and reading it someday.