THE STORY SO FAR: PART 137

A VIEW ABOUT VIEWS—DO WE REACT SPONTANEOUSLY, OR ARE WE CONDITIONED?

I often wonder about the extent to which our thoughts are conditioned—in contrast to whether they are original. I have to say, based upon observation, that conditioning wins out by a wide margin.

If true, such a conclusion has all kinds of implications—mostly disturbing. And it also raises serious questions about free will? Religion makes a great feature of free will; but, if we are as manipulated to the extent I believe we are, then free will has, at best, a supporting role. So, in essence, we are being conditioned to believe we have free will.

Who says the gods don’t have a sense of humor!

These thoughts arose because I have been thinking about the view from this apartment. I’m leaving the place shortly; and, after hearing one of the new owners rave (to excess) about the view,  I have been wondering: Will I miss the view?

The apartment, itself, is another matter. It has been an excellent place to work from for the last couple of years—and, above all, quiet. As to the view, apart from the fact that it has been rather pleasant to be high up, it has left me unmoved.

In direct line of sight, it consists of some docks full of leisure craft. and a rather unattractive apartment building. True, Lake Washington is to my right, if I go out onto the balcony—chilly this time of year—but the wonders of Lake Washington leave me unmoved. It has none of the majesty and endless variety of the sea, nor the beauty of the small Irish lakes that dot Connemara in the West of Ireland. I first encountered them while on a walking tour during my early teems, and have returned many times to contemplate them—and I never cease to wonder. That part of the West is a wild land, and uniquely wonderful. In fact, as far as I am concerned, it is magic.

My late (and very special) friend, Niall Fallon, lived in that part of the world for some years—he was writing a book on the Spanish Armada amongst other things—and was less than flattering about the reality of day-to-day life in Connemara. Overall, he had a tough time making a living there. I seem to recall, he bred dogs there as well. We writers will try anything. Either way, it was not a successful time for him, though his book was excellent. He was not only a fine man, but an excellent writer.

Nonetheless, after I had fallen in love with the Aran Islands as well, I based the protagonist of my first three books, Hugo Fitzduane, in that part of the world—albeit just off the coast on his very own (entirely fictional) island—and gave him an old Norman keep to live in into the bargain. A plain keep is a rectangular stone tower—normally a statement of dominance over a given area of land, and preferably within signaling distance of a neighbor who could send help if needed. It was a simple, but extremely powerful, system of control, and it underpinned the feudal system.

In Fitzduane’s case, his keep has been somewhat expanded to a size many would refer to as a castle—but it remains relatively small. This entirely fictional place is now as real to me as if it actually exists. I based it on several castles; but, arguably, the nearest to my mental model is Dunguaire. However, there are a number of distinct differences. The keep of Duncleeve (Fitzduane’s castle) has a flat roof—or fighting platform. Secondly, it is taller. Thirdly, it has a larger bawn or walled courtyard. And fourthly, it has a larger gatehouse complete with a portcullis. Still, Dunguaire does convey the general idea.

Was I conditioned to take to that wild, bleak, wind-and-rain swept, and stunningly beautiful part of the world—or did I react spontaneously?

My ego (which I try and regard with some skepticism, since it is scarcely unbiased) says I certainly was not conditioned—my parents, for instance, were not remotely interested in that part of the world, nor were any of my relations and mentors—but I guess I’ll never know. Certainly, I was impelled to visit the West on that first walking holiday for some reason.

These days, while Fitzduane and his island are forever in my mind, my own favorite locations are in South West France (Perigord Pourpre and Perigord Noir). The area was the scene of great contention between the English and the French back in the Middle Ages, and it is not hard to see why.

As best I can determine it, Perigord and Aquitaine overlap—which makes life very confusing. Aquitaine, which includes a whole chunk of the French Atlantic coast, was a kingdom in its day—and bordered on Spain.

I have thought of either living there—or at least spending some months there every year.

Much of my latest Fitzduane book, THE BLOOD OF GENERATIONS, is set there. It is the fourth in the series.

Will there be more Fitzduane books?  I like to think so. I have written four so far. Seven seems a nice round total because I want to write other books as well. Nonetheless, it has been put to me—many times—that  since Fitzduane hasn’t taken off like James Bond, I should abandon him.

Perhaps so, if money was my only goal. But it is not. The truth is that I am very fond of my fictional protagonist, have spent a great deal of time in his company, regard him as a fundamentally decent man (if somewhat prone to be dragged into adventures of some violence), and don’t regret growing old in his company. Beyond that, many of those readers who have discovered him, not only positively long for his return, but have said so in writing—and they tend to be impassioned.

Two  impossible dreams? In these cases, I look forward to finding out.

The above is Aquitaine.

Think Eleanor of Aquitaine who had an impressively contentious marriage to Henry II of England.

See also that marvelous movie The Lion In Winter starring Peter O’Toole and Katherine Hepburn. The movie makes a great deal more sense if one knows the historical background. Eleanor was a major historical figure—and Aquitaine was worth fighting for. That, they certainly did.

 

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 136

THE WOMAN OF A THOUSAND AND ONE INTRIGUING STORIES

Let me quote:

Tina Rosenberg was the first freelance journalist to receive a five-year MacArthur Fellowship "genius" award. Her writings have appeared in The New Republic, The Washington Post, The New Yorker, Harper's, and The New York Times Magazine. She is the author of the acclaimed Children of Cain: Violence and the Violent in Latin America, and The Haunted Land, Facing Europe's Ghosts After Communism. Formerly a Visiting Fellow at the National Security Archive, and a senior fellow at the World Policy Institute.

Though no one would describe me as a bubbling optimist, beneath my crusty exterior I hold the absolute belief that the answers to most of our problems are out there—and that our primary fault as human beings is that we don’t look hard enough (if we look at all).

To prove my point there exists Tina Rosenberg—who is not only attractive enough to die for (she seems very happily married)—but who, again and again, comes up with stories about people (and methodologies) who originate solutions to our travails; and which, mostly, are not conventionally commercial.

Her latest piece in the New York Times concerns a Doctor V. who gave up his regular job as an eye surgeon in order to do something about blindness in India—whether you could pay or not. The result was the Aravind Eye Care System System, which—to date—has treated more than 32 million patients and performed more than 4 million surgeries—and which is financially sustainable in itself.

Awesome.

Well, that is just one story, but Tina Rosenberg comes up with similar stories again and again to the extent that one has to wonder how well we are served by the conventional news media—and whether winner-take-all American-style capitalism is really the best possible answer to the human condition.

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 135

SEEK—AND YOU WILL NOT BE SHOT AT SO OFTEN (you hope—arguably with good reason)

The above aircraft is THE SEEKER. It bears a remarkable resemblance to the Optica which featured in my first book, GAMES OF THE HANGMAN. Both were designed for reconnaissance, to be significantly cheaper to operate than a helicopter, had bubble cockpits, were equipped with pusher propellers, and could take off and land on rough terrain in extremely short distances. Both were inexpensive to buy and to operate.

I thought such an aircraft was a superb idea, and flew all the Optica scenes that feature in my book in the Optica. The whole experience was such a rush I don’t think I came down to earth for several days. What I particularly recall was the astonishing visibility from the bubble cockpit—plus the interesting experience of flying so low, we had to climb to get over a hedge. At over 120 mph, that gets your attention. Since the propeller was behind the cabin—which is why it is called “a pusher—engine noise was minimized, and you could see everything below and ahead. Add the necessary electro-optical equipment, and you can do much the same at night, and under most weather conditions. Beyond that, you can transmit what you see to the ground.

My good friend, Lieutenant Colonel Greg Wilcox—now retired from the Army—served no less than three tours in Vietnam—he was seriously wounded during his second tour—and spent much time in the air in a light FAC (Forward Air Controller) aircraft.

While airborne he learned that if you flew relatively low and slow, you could get to know the terrain below, and its inhabitants and their patterns of behavior, intimately—and keep the unit on the ground that you were overwatching relatively safe. You could warn it about ambushes, advise about the terrain, detect almost any unusual enemy activity—and call in artillery and/or air support if needed. In short, he learned that the combination of eyes in the sky, a keen intellect to interpret what was observed—the human factor—and boots on the ground, was extremely powerful. It was also common sense.

During the Iraq War, Greg wrote a paper recommending an airborne carpet made up of inexpensive Cessnas. True, the Army had helicopters, and the Air Force had fixed wing aircraft, but both were such expensive assets, and so costly to operate, that the skies were frequently empty. Much the same restrictions applied to drones.

Greg’s paper was ignored.

In 2005—while the situation in Iraq was deteriorating—a series of experiments was carried out using Seeker aircraft in the air and Jordanian forces on the ground. The idea was to see if Greg’s “aerial carpet” would work. Greg was not the only proponent of this concept, and the resultant paper was written by Navy Captain Dan Moore and others. It’s findings, in brief, were that the concept of combining inexpensive light aircraft with ground forces was highly effective.

This was scarcely a new discovery. During the invasion of France in World War II, Army Air Force General Quesada encouraged close cooperation between air and ground forces—to the extent that he had Air Force radios placed in tanks so that air and ground could communicate. At the time the Air Force was fighting to become an independent service, and Quesada was described as a “traitor” by some of his Air Force colleagues for cooperating with the Army. Appalling as it may seem, inter-service rivalries have long blocked inter-service cooperation to a degree that still threatens National Security.

The paper describing this successful series of tests was written for the IDA—the highly regarded Institute for Defense Analysis.

It was buried.

The U.S. Army was once described to me as “a curious anthropological institution.” It is a marvelous phrase, though I have no idea what it really means. What I can say is that the Army, though a commendable institution in many ways, is authoritarian, dominated by the MICC (Military Industrial Congressional Complex), and quite remarkably resistant to innovative thinking. It’s a sad thing; and who knows how many lives have been lost because of it.

It is noteworthy that again and again, when a less expensive alternative is put forward, that the military almost always opt for the more expensive options—even when the less expensive item is operationally superior. The reason for this is that a great many senior officers have plans to retire into the MICC—and the MICC is powered by the money flow emanating from the Department of Defense. The money flow is based on expensive weapons systems—on programs that last for decades like the F-35 aircraft. In fact, some would argue that the best weapons procurement programs—as far as the generals are concerned—are decades long programs that never result in a usable weapons system. However they do make excellent retirement platforms. Recall the Crusader artillery system that never saw the light of day—and the Comanche helicopter.  They are far from unique, and kept the money flowing. And then there was the Future Combat System—a truly massive program that was supposed to transform the American Way of War; and which was given to Boeing to manage in a deal that neither reflected well on Boeing nor on the Army. Massive amounts of money have a disturbing tendency to corrupt.

It is informative to examine where generals go when they retire. Almost without exception they join the MICC. They join the corporations they have been buying from. The issue of conflicts of interest does not seem to occur to them. They rationalize that defense contractors need their expertise and experience. That is rarely true. Contractors hire retired generals for their influence and—above all—their access. Retired generals can almost always get to see, and influence, serving generals. Serving generals want to see gainfully employed retired generals so that they can negotiate the job offers they will receive upon retirement. Much is done through suggestion and implication to preserve a façade of probity. The results speak for themselves.

Do all generals behave this way? No. Some are men and women of true integrity. However, the majority “go along to get along,” pay their dues to the club of generals, and feather their nests. Such behavior has become part of their culture, and thus considered acceptable—and we are all the poorer for it.

And so sound military thinking gets buried—and soldiers die—and the American Way of War becomes the most expensive in the world. But resources are limited so tough choices have to be made. Economists refer to this decision as: “Guns or Butter?” Typically, “Guns” wins out. A consequence of that is the U.S. has the worst social support system in the developed world and the worst healthcare system. As a result, not only is there vast misery, but Americans die younger—and are sicker before they die.

It is often argued that the first duty of a government is National Security. Most would agree. However, the security of a population is not just about fighting wars and killing terrorists. The real threats—the mass killers—stem from poor health, industrial food, a polluted environment, and acute stress stemming from lack of economic opportunity.

By the way, below is a picture of the Edgley Optica. As you will note, the cockpit fuselage is remarkably similar to that of the Seeker, but instead of an exposed propeller, the Optica used a five bladed ducted fan. This made the Optica extremely quiet—but adds weight. Beyond that, the Optica has a twin tail boom.

Though the Optica’s history has been unhappy, I thought it was a great little aircraft and am glad to hear it is now back in the hands of its original designer.

Which aircraft is superior—The Seeker or The Optica? I have absolutely no idea. My flight experience—which was entirely positive—was confined to the Optica. Either way, I like the concept.

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 134

FALLING IN LOVE WITH THE (MOSTLY) UNATTAINABLE

One of the things I have learned in life is that –where the opposite sex is concerned—the unattainable is not necessarily as unattainable as one might think. Here the SAS motto—He Who Dares Wins—is worth considering.

Mind you, holding on to one’s target is another matter. But better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. And I’m not sure ‘lost’ is the right word. Some relationships are innately transient, and none the worse for it. Others, of course, are just plain impossible. They happen nonetheless—sometimes for a considerable period.

I have never been too sure of the dividing line between “having a crush on” and “falling in love with.” I guess it is a matter of degree. Both states are painful, wonderful, and extremely distracting. Given the latter, writers—who need to focus with considerable intensity—arguably shouldn’t fall in love. But we do, nonetheless—sometimes regularly. We are a difficult and troublesome bunch. That elegant phrase “Illuminate the human condition” includes not just entertaining people through our written work—which I, personally, thoroughly enjoy doing—but raising issues which many people would prefer were never mentioned. We are stirers of the pot and fomenters of change. We are not really restful, reliable, good providers—and women tend to pick-up on such things and regard us with appropriate suspicion. Still, good sexual chemistry conquers all—at least for a while.

I was still a baby when I felt seriously attracted to a woman for the first time. I have been told I was far too young to have such thoughts, but I vividly remember that rather gorgeous young woman as she cuddled me against her breasts. In fact I remember more detail than might be appropriate to put into print. She was dark haired, and rather luscious, and moved on to South Africa—never to be heard from again. She was my temporary nurse and a friend of my mothers. She broke my heart at the age of about one.

Disillusioned with life after such a traumatic erotic experience, I waited four long years before falling in love with my neighbor when we lived in England for a while. Her name was Jean Clifford and, for a considerable time, it was assumed we would get married—well, assumed by us anyway. On the basis of that understanding, I persuaded her to take her clothes off when she came to stay at my grandmother’s farm several years later, but then rather ran out of ideas. Still, it was exciting. I was about eight at the time.

I was unfaithful to Jean—at least in my mind—in that, concurrently, I fell madly in love with a girl called Miriam who, with her parents, used to stay in a little holiday home on my grandmother’s farm most summers. Miriam had long blond hair, was about twelve to my six or seven, and I thought she was the most gorgeous creature who had ever walked the face of the earth. In fact she looked like the kind of princess who tends to be locked up in a tower for knights to rescue—but somehow that never happened. Or, if it did, I was never told. I find the thought that she might still be locked up—waiting for me to rescue her—mildly worrying.

I’m not quite sure how I lost touch with Jean, but I suspect our moving back to Ireland must have had something to do with it. Also, I was sent to boarding school—and that rather cramps one’s style where the opposite sex is concerned. In fact after a while, you long for the mere sight of a woman; and school matrons become the object of lust. Frankly most were not worth it, though I recall two who probably were. One had a severe face but a truly superb figure—and watching her walk could make one’s day. The other, who was chubby but pretty, fell in love with a monk. I never did learn how that particular relationship played out. They made a very sweet couple.

Well, I’m now getting to the interesting part—so I’m going to stop. The balance will be in my memoirs CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK-WRITING MAN.

I will say that I wrote this particular piece for a reason. I received an e-mail today that brought back some very special memories.

 

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 133

A FUNNY THING HAPPENED WHEN I WAS IN TOKYO—I SAW MY FIRST BOOK DISPLAYED—AND DIDN’T BELIEVE IT (AT FIRST)

This isn’t Tokyo, by the way. This is a recent photo taken by my daughter, Evie, in Chicago. I’m still thrilled. It’s nice to know my books are still out there—second hand or not.

Tokyo happened in the early Nineties—and it came as a total surprise because I had been told the paperback wouldn’t be out for another month. I recall just staring. I was in shock. I was beyond pleased. I was absolutely ecstatic. You know you work for years just trying to get your book right—but never sure it will see the light of day. Then it gets published—and that is fantastic. But when I realized it was going global, I just flipped. And then to see it in Japan… WOW! I needed a considerable quantity of sake to recover. Fortunately, that is rarely in short supply in Japan. The Japanese drink like—the Irish.

My Tokyo trip was the most successful research trip I have ever made—and I attribute that my wonderful research assistant at the time, Jill Kennedy, plus the fact we took our time preparing the expedition. In fact, I believe we worked on it—on and off—for about a year. It was time well spent. I saw everybody I had planned to see—and many more besides. Perhaps the highlight of a trip that had many highlights was meeting one of my great journalist heroes, Murray Sayle (Illustrated above while receiving an honorary doctorate. The attractive woman next to him was his wife, Sadly Murray died a couple of years ago).

At the time he lived in a little village outside Tokyo—and I find it hard to imagine a finer host. This was a man whose work I had admired for decades, but who was as unpretentious as they come. We talked for hours and he was hugely helpful. Murray was an empath and not only fascinated by Japanese culture, but extremely fond of the people. They help him in equally high regard, and when his house in the village burned down, they all got together and provided him with another.

My Japanese trip led to my second novel, RULES OF THE HUNT. It featured terrorism, A critic on Irish radio said my plot was ridiculous because everyone knew that the Japanese were remarkably law-abiding and there was no terrorism in Japan. About three weeks later, in 1995, the Japanese terrorist group, Aum Shinriko, released Sarin gas in a Tokyo subway. 13 commuters were killed, 54 were seriously injured and 980 were affected.

My critic never did broadcast a retraction.

You know it is truly amazing how few Americans really understood that terrorism posed a very real threat until 9/11. It still does. Nonetheless, the trick is not to over-react. To spend several trillion dollars waging endless wars in Afghanistan and Iraq in response to 9/11 was playing into Bin Laden’s hands. Not only did we waste a prodigious amount of money and an untold number of lives, but we lost the moral high ground too.

All in all, it has been a tragic decade for the U.S. Have the right lessons been learned? I’m far from sure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 132

THE AMERICAN WAY OF HEALTH—GROWING OLDER SICKER—AND DYING SOONER

NOT A GOOD RECORD FOR THE RICHEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD

A few days ago, an authoritative report was issued by the Institute of Medicine which states quite categorically that, on average, Americans experience higher rates of disease and injury, and die sooner, than people in other high income countries.

Americans grow older sicker—with all that such implies in terms of quality of life.

That news should have been devastating enough—we came last out of 17—but it also pointed out that even upper income Americans with health insurance and college educations appear to be sicker than their peers in other rich nations.

The first observation I would make is that the report received surprisingly little publicity. I read about it in the New York Times on January 10 2013, but have detected no follow-up stories of substance. That is terrifying in itself. Once again, America has been singularly ill-served by its media. Painful truths of national significance—which might disrupt the advertising flow—have a way of not being discussed. So much for free speech.

But why should U.S. health results be so alarming? For instance, this country ranked last, or close to last, in nine areas including heart disease, chronic lung disease, obesity and diabetes, injuries and homicides, and sexually transmitted diseases.

I don’t pretend to know the answers, but let me hypothesize:

• A significant section of the population does not have adequate healthcare.
• Medical practice, in itself, is profit rather than results driven, and is deeply flawed.
• The nation is over-medicalized, particularly in relation to prescription drugs.
• The American diet is arguably the worst in the developed world. Industrial food, and fast food, are killing us. Our food ingredients—from beef to our water supply—are largely contaminated.
• The American aversion to vacations is contributing to a singularly stressful environment—with all its attendant consequences.
• The U.S. environment is heavily polluted.
• The U.S. way of life—sedentary, highly stressed, largely uniformed, and aggressive—is scarcely conducive to a long and healthy life.

I make these observation reluctantly. I’m a guest in this country. Still, this is too important an issue to remain silent about.

It is salutary to think that these terrible results exist despite the fact that the U.S spends roughly 18 percent of its GDP on health—vastly more than other developed nations. The top end—countries such as Germany, Switzerland and France—spend roughly 12 percent of GDP to achieve vastly better results. In effect, the U.S. spends 50 percent more to achieve an inferior result. That difference of 6 percent of GDP, which could be used to improve the quality of American life, in effect functions as an additional tax.

U.S. politicians, particularly Republicans, like to trumpet that the U.S. has the best healthcare in the world. The facts do not support that statement; or come close.

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 131

PRETTY SISTERS—NEPHEW 21

My sister Lucy—dark haired on the left—is the youngest member of the family, and arguably the sanest.

Frankly, that is not saying a great deal—but, for all that, I live in hopes that she is as sensible as she seems. A nephew recently referred to her as “the matriarch of the family.” Strange that the youngest should be awarded such a title—but there it is. It is a title, and an honor, she has earned. She anchors those of us who still survive. I am the eldest of twelve—69 in May—and four of us are prematurely dead.

On the right is my sister, Leslie—the blond—and as appealing as ever. Leslie lives in Northern France. If she lived in Southern France—preferably South-West France—she would be a perfect sister. My plan is to live, write and die in that part of the world. I don’t quite know why--the area just resonates with me. The family—well, part of it—originally comes from Normandy, which is in Northern France. We come from the city of Calvados—a name much associated with its fine apple brandy.

What can I say! Evidently the counts of Lentaigne de Logivieres (the family name before the French Revolution and the guillotine interrupted their progress) liked to live well. Then came accelerated social change in the form of the guillotine. Benjamin Lentaigne escaped that rather undesirable experience—supposedly by making love to the jailer’s daughter—and thus started a new branch of the family in Ireland. He had been a soldier. He became a doctor. Two generations later, his grandson, Sir John Lentaigne, became doctor to the viceroy of Ireland and was knighted into the bargain. Evidently, the Lentaignes were an able and socially mobile lot.

The good-looking young man in the center is my nephew, Errol. . I have never met him and regret that such is the situation. Shortly, I hope to fly 6,000 miles to remedy that deficiency.

Happy twenty-first birthday Emanuel—not pictured, unfortunately! You have quite a tradition to uphold—and I have no doubt that you will do just that.

This is what Lucy said on Facebook about Emanuel.

"Tomorrow my son Emmanuel will be 21, it only feels like yesterday when at the age of 4, on hearing classical music in McDonalds, whilst in the queue, he grabbed me and demanded I do a waltz with him. It was soooo cute. Now he is a young man and has already accomplished a great deal in his life. I hope his birthday is as special as he is."