#45 / JAN 14 2014: OF COURSE, WE WRITERS DON’T JUST HUNT IDEAS (AND OTHER THINGS). WE HUNT WORDS TOO—SOMETIMES IN MORE THAN ONE LANGUAGE

I have learned to check on the meaning of words constantly.

Sometimes they don’t quite mean what I think they mean—and sometimes they have have just changed their meaning. There is nothing new in language evolving, but I suspect the rate of change—given modern communications and globalization—has speeded up significantly.

In that context, I would expect English—a truly global language—to change faster; and for the French to fight a formidable delaying action. Where the latter is concerned, I truly hope so, because it’s an especially beautiful language. Besides, I have French ancestors so I’m hopelessly biased. They came from Normandy, just like Roland Barthes (see photo—and read on).  He was borne in Cherbourg whereas my lot came from Calvados.

Picking up yet again from my WILD MEN, WILDER WOMEN & THE WILDEST PARTIES blog, I was intrigued to find that a French euphemism for orgasm is La petite morte or “little death—”and that it also covers post-coital tristesse. Did I know that? I feel fairly sure I did—but sometimes you don’t know what you know (if you know what I mean).

However, I was particularly intrigued to find that literary critic Roland Barthes used the concept to describe the feeling one should get when experiencing any great literature.  As I have just written, I had approached the same concept from the point of view of a writer—but I confess that I hadn’t thought about it from a reader’s perspective. Odd, because I was a reader before I became a writer.

Either way, writing and sex seem to be inexplicably linked. Consider me much relieved. I knew there had to be a reason why I abandoned a financially profitable way of life for this strange occupation—which doesn’t even attract groupies.

Poets get all the literary groupies. Though maybe times have have changed. Still, at my age it’s politer to think of a groupie as a muse.

Incidentally, I once had a girlfriend—a truly elegant and beautiful young woman—who ended up as a groupie with the Kinks.  If you haven’t heard of the Kinks, shame on you. Rod Stewart used to be one of them.

The photo is that of Roland Barthes who absolutely looks the role. He was—needless to say, French; and was a French literary theorist, philosopher, linguist, critic, and semiotician. Barthes' ideas explored a diverse range of fields and he influenced the development of schools of theory including structuralism, semiotics, social theory, anthropology and post-structuralism. He died in 1980.

But, of course, you knew all that. And he wrote books too.

#44 / JAN 13 2014: SOME WOULD CALL IT “CAPTURING THE CONSTITUTION.” OTHERS CALL IT “ABUSE OF CORPORATE POWER.” EITHER WAY, MOST AMERICANS LOSE OUT.

Traditional dictatorships rule through fear and secrecy. You will certainly be well aware of the climate of oppression, and of the consequences if you step out of line, but you will rarely be able to determine how they operate in any detail until the regime falls. Even then, you won’t learn much.

The U.S. is neither a traditional dictatorship, nor, any more, a democracy (though it has the trappings of one). Instead it has become—fairly blatantly—a plutocracy.

Merriam-Webster define a plutocracy as: “A country that is ruled by the richest people.” That is demonstrably the fact.

One should probably expand that definition to read: “A country that is ruled by the richest people for their own benefit.”

We are not talking about a benevolent plutocracy here. The American brand of plutocracy is predatory. The deck is stacked to ensure that the rich get richer, and the rest—which is most of us—get poorer, for as long as the rich retain power (which will be forever if they have anything to do with it).

The interesting thing about American plutocracy is that it relies less on secrecy—though it is secretive when it can get away with it—than on the sheer mass of information that is out there. The system counts on the near certainty that volume, detail, technicalities, and complexity will conceal its malfeasance even if all its behavior is a matter of public record. It also holds the decided advantage that even if some of its more egregious behavior comes to light—since it holds the levers of power, it will either not be prosecuted, or will escape with a slap on the wrist (a  token concession to public opinion).

In truth, it is not that afraid of public opinion since it controls both Congress and the media. It can and does manage public opinion with ever increasing sophistication—and has the resources and expertise to do so.

The Great Recession and its consequences (or lack of them)  is a perfect sample of this pattern of behavior. Has there been a mass reaction against the people who caused it?

No. The plutocrats have us pretty much where they want us. Rugged individualism has been replaced by docile conformity. Concessions on social issues? They have granted a few. The legalization of marijuana? Gay marriage? They like us drugged and distracted. What they don’t want is for us to focus on their financial activities—and how they control the levers of power.

Pullitzer Prize winner David Cay Johnston is one of the very few who has the guts and talent to expose our plutocrats and the underlying fact that the U.S. economy is rigged to favor them.

His latest book, THE FINE PRINT, shows:

 “a gamut of ways in which big corporations, especially regulated utilities, cheat ordinary people (as well as each other) out of their money. Some of the examples could leave you feeling so disgusted and powerless that you might wonder if you were better off not knowing. But if you enjoy learning about the dirty little secrets behind the ways powerful businesses make their profits, you probably will like this book.”

Let me quote a little more from the Washington Post review:

Yet each chapter validates what many Americans have come to believe: Much of our economy is rigged. Johnston posits that a big reason it has gotten this way is that we’ve let huge corporations take over our political system, so that laws and regulations too often are written and enforced primarily for their benefit. Rather than encourage competition, which holds down prices, government lets our most influential companies escape it. So in telecommunications, for instance, we wind up with the AT&T-Verizon duopoly, which, through one technology or the other, controls more than 60 percent of the U.S. telephone business.

To repeat myself, the information—and the answers—are out there if we are prepared to look.

But do we look, react and make use of this ammunition? No, largely we do nothing (apart from an alarming number voting against our own interests).

Buy the book. It might just fire you up. The present situation is unsustainable.

 

 

 

#43 / JAN 12 2014: THE EXTRAORDINARILY IMPRESSIVE SHEILA BAIR

I went book-browsing yesterday. I look at books on the web all the time—and try and keep track of the most interesting (a near hopeless task) but for all the advantages of the internet, it is not an adequate substitute for a physical bookstore.

There is something very special about real printed books. E-books will certainly go a long way towards replacing and supplementing them—for reasons of cost and convenience, apart from anything else—but I don’t think physical books are going to vanish completely ever. If they did, I would be inexplicably sad (though also dead, fortunately). It’s nothing that’s going to happen in the balance of my life.

I owe books more than I can ever express—and though we authors are supposed to be a crotchety bunch, I have been very fortunate in my author friends as well. Idiosyncratic? Certainly – but overall they are—and were (some are dead) a decent bunch of decidedly talented people. I would like to be able to say the same thing about agents and publishers, but I cannot. There is a sharp divide between creative people and those who exploit them.

I tend to browse by theme and will happily buy books by completely unknown authors if the content looks likely to help me on my quest to understand a particular area. Exploring the unknown is one of the many pleasures of book browsing. Since I’m currently much preoccupied with the economy, two books drew my particular attention. In this case, neither were by unknowns.

One was BULL BY THE HORNS by the redoubtable SHEILA BAIR—a woman I admire greatly because she is a beacon of integrity in a remarkably corrupt financial world. She is also an attractive character, both to look at and in terms of her demeanor—and when she speaks or writes to an issue, there is content, commonsense, calmness, and passion (and humor).  Contrast that with the performances of various bankers in Congress and you will see exactly what I mean. And she is a thoroughly entertaining writer.

Who is she? Sheila Colleen Bair was the Chair of the FDIC (Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation) until recently. Remarkably, she was a Bush appointee in 2006—but she is clearly a moderate Republican (as rare as hens’ teeth) who actually cares about the average American—as opposed to fighting solely for the financial elites and their interests.

Since the FDIC is the outfit that insures the banks, she was an insider during The Great Recession. Her book is an insider’s look at how events unfolded and it does not paint a flattering picture. But, it’s a terrific read.

The following is Sheila Bair’s Graph of the Year. It appeared in the Washington Post in Wonkblog on December 30 2013. It makes the point that for a large number of American households, there has been no economic recovery.

This chart, drawn from a report by the Sentier Research Group, shows that for a large number of American households, there has been no economic recovery. Caught in a vice of chronic unemployment and falling wages, real median household income (excluding capital gains and losses but including cash government benefits) has declined 4.4% since the “recovery” began in 2009. For many households, the drop has been more severe.  For African-American households, it is 10.9%.  For those under 25 years old, it is 9.6%.  For single females with children, it is 7.5%. Indeed, the only households to experience an increase in real income are those 65 to 74 years old.

So as the investor class celebrates the stock market’s bubbly 25% gain in 2013 courtesy of quantitative easing, let’s not forget the plight of those Americans who work for a living. And in 2014, let’s face up to the ineffectiveness of monetary policy to help them and the desperate need for fiscal leadership to generate real, sustainable growth.

Hear! Hear! But, are the movers and shakers facing up to such realities? So far, I fear not.

I’ll write about the second book tomorrow.

#42 / JAN 11 2014: THE WILDEST OF MEN, BUT PHENOMENAL WRITERS

I was thinking about my blog WILD MEN, WILDER WOMEN & THE WILDEST PARTIES when I realized that I had understated one important thing: Being wild—in the context of my description—does not mean that you don’t work both hard and effectively.

In fact, virtually all those I named in my piece produced quite outstanding work over extended periods of time despite drinking to excess, sleeping around, and doing much else besides—and they virtually all smoked.

They were not, in the main, into drugs. I guess that was a generational thing. I was never tempted by drugs either—probably for the same reason. Under different circumstances I might well have been. I think everyone needs a way to relax and we should accept that fact and not be judgmental. As always, it’s a matter of degree, whether your constitution can handle it—and whether you can work as well as your inner voice tells you when you are under the influence of some substance or other.

Where creative work is involved, that inner voice is decisive. It takes time to develop it—years rather than months—but once it starts to speak, you’d be well advised to listen to it. It doesn’t care whether you drink to excess, breakfast on heroin, or sleep with your best friend’s wife—providing you are producing the best work you are capable of. It is unforgiving in that regard.

Two of the most talented writers I have ever met were the playwright, Brendan Behan, and the columnist and author, Brian O’Nolan.

Both drank so much that I was truly amazed they could stand let alone write, yet both produced truly exceptional work.

Brendan Behan died in 1964 (the year I graduated from university) at the age of 41. Brian O’Nolan lived to the ripe old age of 54 and died in 1966. I guess you could say they pushed it a bit.

America’s drug of choice today seems to be some kind of legal medication, or—more likely—a cocktail of the same. Roughly half the population are so addicted, and virtually all seniors. Personally, I find that frightening beyond belief, but it may explain some of the voting patterns. Meds are powerful enough in themselves, but who knows their effects when used in combination?

But, each to their own.

Is writing a drug? You know I have a sneaking suspicion that it is. It gives a wonderful high.

 

Top photo: Brian O’Nolan better known as Myles na gCopaleen

Brian O'Nolan (Irish: Brian Ó Nualláin; 5 October 1911 – 1 April 1966) was an Irish novelist, playwright and satirist, considered a major figure in twentieth century Irish literature. Born in Strabane, County Tyrone, he is regarded as a key figure in postmodern literature.^[1] His English language novels, such as At Swim-Two-Birds, and The Third Policeman, were written under the nom de plume Flann O'Brien. His many satirical columns in The Irish Times and an Irish language novel An Béal Bocht were written under the name Myles na gCopaleen.

O'Nolan's novels have attracted a wide following for their bizarre humour and Modernist metafiction. As a novelist, O'Nolan was powerfully influenced by James Joyce. He was nonetheless sceptical of the cult of Joyce which overshadows much of Irish writing, saying "I declare to God if I hear that name Joyce one more time I will surely froth at the gob."

Lower photo: Brendan Behan

Brendan Francis Behan (/ˈbiːən/ bee-ən; Irish: Breandán Ó Beacháin; 9 February 1923 – 20 March 1964) was an Irish poet, short story writer, novelist, and playwright who wrote in both English and Irish. He was also an Irish republican and a volunteer in the Irish Republican Army. Born in Dublin into a republican family, he became a member of the IRA's youth organisation Fianna Éireann at the age of fourteen. However, there was also a strong emphasis on Irish history and culture in the home, which meant he was steeped in literature and patriotic ballads from a tender age. Behan eventually joined the IRA at sixteen, which led to him serving time in aborstal youth prison in the United Kingdom and was also imprisoned in Republic of Ireland. During this time, he took it upon himself to study and he became a fluent speaker of the Irish language. Subsequently released from prison as part of a general amnesty given by the Fianna Fáil government in 1946, Behan moved between homes in Dublin, Kerry and Connemara and also resided in Paris for a period.

In 1954, Behan's first play The Quare Fellow was produced in Dublin. It was well received; however, it was the 1956 production atJoan Littlewood's Theatre Workshop in Stratford, London, that gained Behan a wider reputation – this was helped by a famous drunken interview on BBC television. In 1958, Behan's play in the Irish language An Giall had its debut at Dublin's Damer Theatre. Later, The Hostage, Behan's English-language adaptation of An Giall, met with great success internationally. Behan's autobiographical novel, Borstal Boy, was published the same year and became a worldwide best-seller.

He married Beatrice Ffrench-Salkeld in 1955. Behan was known for his drinking problem, which resulted in him suffering fromdiabetes, which ultimately resulted in his death on 20 March 1964. He was given an IRA guard of honour which escorted his coffin and it was described by several newspapers as the biggest funeral since those of Michael Collins and Charles Stewart Parnell.

 

 

 

 

 

#41 / JAN 10 2014: WILD MEN, WILDER WOMEN, & THE WILDEST PARTIES

What do I mean by “wild?” Where animals are concerned, I guess the answer would be “untamed.”

Where human animals are the focus, I’m not sure the definition should be much different. Nonetheless, other words like “uninhibited,” “non-conformist” and “unconventional” come to mind—and you could add “drinks too much,” “sexually adventurous,” and “unpredictable” to the mix. But almost all of the wild people I have known (and I still know a few) were fun, warm of heart, and generous of spirit—or at least able to convey such qualities when socializing.

Such were the common characteristics of many of the family friends who influenced my youth when I wasn’t locked up in Alcatraz (a string of boarding-schools). As a consequence, I’m not surprised that I have never been able to truly settle down.

Despite the harsh discipline and other efforts of my expensive public schools, I was singularly ill-prepared to be socialized into conforming, and to accept the compromises that went with conventional family life such as a regular job. In addition, at an early age, through books, I fell in love with the challenge of adventure, of doing something different.

My mother virtually defined wild – at least in her younger years – and she was ably abetted by my step-father, Alfred Lyons, an impressively good-looking and amusing man of considerable intelligence. I adored him and insisted that we siblings call him “Daddy” despite his step status, and the fact that he was ten years younger than my mother, and more like a big brother.

Her maternal skills left a great deal to be desired—something of an understatement—but she was charismatic, attracted some fascinating people, and gave the wildest parties—and often at that. 

They weren’t orgies, or anything of the sort—though they certainly led to plenty of sexual adventures—but her real skill was her talent for mixing guests and then getting them all to relax and enjoy themselves. That’s a very special skill, and one that has little to do with careerism or social climbing. In her case, she was entirely confident of her social standing and tended to choose her friends primarily because of their entertainment value and interaction potential. She had a strong bias towards creative people, the diplomatic community and the media, little interest in business, and regarded most politicians with contempt. She also had an affinity for celebrities, but more as equals than as distant figures to be admired. In their eyes, of course, she was the celebrity—and shone in the role.

Essentially, she picked her guests as if creating a recipe for a highly spiced dish. Add in a big house, servants, plenty of alcohol, excellent food, and some emotional drama (and there was always emotional drama) and the results were consistently spectacular.

Beyond that, when I started having my own adventures—independent of the family—I  found they were as much fun as I had always thought—and, frankly, they still are. Wildness and adventures are addictive. Arguably, they aren’t good for your health, finances, peace of mind, or longevity—and they are considered to be the height of irresponsibility—but they are such fun in a scary sort of a way, and the antithesis of a comfort zone. 

I don’t think of myself as a natural adventurer—I’m not sure I have adequate degrees of either recklessness or nerve in my nature—but my role models certainly have had, and I guess after a while, whatever about your hidden fears, you become what you do. Besides, my tolerance of risk increases dramatically if a good story is involved. You’ve heard of ‘Dutch courage?” Well, let me introduce you to “writers’ courage.” If the situation calls for it, you can mix the two. 

The word ‘wild’ came to mind while writing about Godfrey Quigley yesterday. He was one of a wild bunch of Irish actors, all of whom knew each other, caroused together, made extraordinary contributions to theater, film, and creativity generally—and most whom I was privileged to know. They are now passing on, as is the way of things, but they certainly knew how to live.

The most recent to die was Peter O’Toole—and the first of the Wild Irishman to die was the playwright, Brendan Behan (who was as wild as they come). Other included Godfrey, Richard Harris, Norman Rodway, TP McKenna, Noel Purcell, Desmond Leslie, John Kilbracken—and those honorary Wild Irishmen, movie director, John Huston, and movie star, Robert Mitchum. Huston lived in Ireland. Michum filmed RYAN’S DAUGHTER there though  I recall him better from Grooms Hotel.

My mother apart, tact prevents me mentioning the wilder Irish women—until I write my memoirs—but there were plenty (and doubtless still are) although my first great love, Bunny Bennett (who was actually American, albeit living in Ireland) would certainly qualify. Bunny would dare just about anything—and did. Together, the wild ones made it impossible for me to stick to to the straight and narrow, or be confined to a comfort zone.

Could have I been a contender for that mantle of respectability that so many long for, and which society purports to hold in such high esteem?

Not a chance in hell.

Is there a price for living an adventurous life?

Yes there is, and it’s a high one by conventional standards—a very high one. I have no illusions concerning my choices.

Do I have regrets in that regard?

None. Above all I have craved an interesting life, spiced with adventure, and that I’ve had and continue to have. I feel damn lucky.

The photo, by the way, is of highly successful Irish actor, TP McKenna—who in that shot bears a passing resemblance to Godfrey. Sadly, I don’t have a photo of Godfrey himself, but I have the fondest of memories.

 

 

#40 / JAN 9 2014: MOST OF MY ‘UNCLES’ (a courtesy title) WERE MY MOTHER’S LOVERS—ONE WAS MARRIED TO MY STEP-FATHER’S SISTER—AND THEN BECAME A FORMER GIRLFRIEND’S LOVER. I WAS EXCEEDINGLY FOND OF THE MAN. HIS NAME WAS GODFREY QUIGLEY

I think of Godfrey often. He was an exceedingly kindly man—at least to me—and generous with it. He was also a talented actor who enjoyed considerable success until Alzeimers stole his career and, eventually his life in 1994 at the age of 71. I was deeply saddened and I miss him to this day.

His last movie role was in 1989 in ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN. He was Terrier’s voice. 

Prior to that, he was with MICHAEL CAINE in that excellent thriller, GET CARTER (1971) and in EDUCATING RITA (1983). But theater was his first love. He had stage presence, craggy good looks and a truly marvelous voice. He always excelled and he was totally brilliant in THE TEMPEST.

Director Stanley Kubrik liked him and gave him leading character roles in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971) and in BARRY LYNDON (1975). In fact, all in all, he had quite a spectacular acting career in both the theater and the movies. That apart, self-discipline was not his strong suit. He drank, he gambled, and money slipped through his hands like water. But, he was a delightful man, generous to a fault, and great company.

I adored the man. I first met him when I was nine or ten and serving drinks (and emptying ashtrays) at one of my mother’s always excellent parties. I had been doing that for years—when not away at boarding school—but, though I knew how to pour wine and mix cocktails at that stage, somehow I hadn’t learned how to pour a beer without it frothing to excess. I guess my mother’s friends were not beer drinkers, or too busy drinking to notice how I poured. I don’t think she knew a teetotaler—or would have wanted to. 

Godfrey did notice my lack of pouring skills—and, beaming, he showed me how to tilt a glass and pour a beer correctly. He did this in the middle of a busy party while temporarily ignoring the many who were trying to get his attention. That thoughtfulness impressed me greatly. He was in his thirties, a successful actor, director and producer, and much in demand. He had also just married Genevieve, one of my stepfather’s two devastatingly attractive sisters, and a successful actress in her own right. Personally, my preference was for Maria—who was to win a very special place in my heart. Unfortunately, she chose to live in Rome so I rarely saw her. Then, when I met her at a party years later, I didn’t recognize her. But, that is another story.

My mother had met my step-father at an experimental theater and my sister, Maxine, was a budding actress, so of my first three girlfriends, two were actresses. Sisters have their uses. The third was a judge’s daughter, a true delight, who—to the great regret of all her admirers—married one of her college lecturers while still in her teens.

Older men seem to feature in this piece.

Having a girlfriend while still attending boarding school was something of an exercise in frustration—both sexual and emotional—but I still maintained an on and off relationship with one of the young actresses, Liz Davis, for many years, and became very close to her family. In fact, I even taught her young brother, Martin, Latin—a skill of debatable utility given that he embarked on a career in the oil business in the wilder parts of the world.

Martin was eventually to give up his career in the oil business after a grenade was thrown into a café where he was sitting somewhere in South East Asia, and he found himself drenched in blood and body parts from the late occupants of an adjacent table. You don’t think of such things when you put gas in your tank, but blood and oil maintain a close relationship.

To say I was taken aback when I learned that Liz and Godfrey were living together doesn’t get close to describing my initial reaction to the news. I was incredulous and just plain stunned. Godfrey, something of a father figure to me, was roughly 20 years older and I still felt somewhat proprietorial about Liz—though without good reason because we had gone our separate ways some years earlier, though we remained friends.

But my initial shock faded, and I soon got used to Liz and Godfrey being an item, and to appreciate that, in a way, it was somewhat predictable. Attractive and ambitious young actresses and successful actors (and Godfrey was also a producer) have been getting together since the acting profession was founded—and the Irish theater scene was not that large. And Godfrey and Genevieve were divorced by that stage.

Over time, I was to learn it was a true love match. After Godfrey’s death, Liz then announced quite calmly she couldn’t live without him, and that she intended to kill herself. Despite considerable efforts by myself, her sister, Ruth, and others, she did just that some months later—and in such a way that death was certain.

I find it hard to know whether this is a sad story or a happy one. Liz and ‘Quig’ had about 25 happy years together—and that’s a pretty good showing in the world of the theater. And not only did they love each other, but they loved what they did with a passion. To love, to be loved, and to revel in your profession is as near as good as it gets.

Though I find it hard to remain unaffected when I think of them both—to the point of being near to tears—I think it is a happy story.

I would have preferred a happier ending.

 

#39 / JAN 8 2014: JAPAN & THE BEANSTALK CONUNDRUM—PLUS ARE WE (THE U.S) FIDDLING OUR FIGURES? IT SEEMS LIKELY THAT WE ARE

Much has been written about Japan’s lost decade—actually more than two decades since the stock market crash which set off their lack of GDP growth occurred in January 1990.

Yet contrary to what much of our our media has tended to indicate, this lack of growth decidedly did not limit Japan’s progress.

Impossible, you will say!

Let me quote that interesting journalist Eamon Fingleton on the subject. The extracts are from the New York Times of January 6 2012.

 

THE MYTH OF JAPAN’S FAILURE

But that presentation of Japan is a myth. By many measures, the Japanese economy has done very well during the so-called lost decades, which started with a stock market crash in January 1990. By some of the most important measures, it has done a lot better than the United States.

Japan has succeeded in delivering an increasingly affluent lifestyle to its people despite the financial crash. In the fullness of time, it is likely that this era will be viewed as an outstanding success story.

Japan’s average life expectancy at birth grew by 4.2 years — to 83 years from 78.8 years — between 1989 and 2009. This means the Japanese now typically live 4.8 years longer than Americans. The progress, moreover, was achieved in spite of, rather than because of, diet. The Japanese people are eating more Western food than ever. The key driver has been better health care.

• Japan has made remarkable strides in Internet infrastructure. Although as late as the mid-1990s it was ridiculed as lagging, it has now turned the tables. In a recent survey by Akamai Technologies, of the 50 cities in the world with the fastest Internet service, 38 were in Japan, compared to only 3 in the United States.

• Measured from the end of 1989, the yen has risen 87 percent against the U.S. dollar and 94 percent against the British pound. It has even risen against that traditional icon of monetary rectitude, the Swiss franc.

• The unemployment rate is 4.2 percent, about half of that in the United States.

• According to skyscraperpage.com, a Web site that tracks major buildings around the world, 81 high-rise buildings taller than 500 feet have been constructed in Tokyo since the “lost decades” began. That compares with 64 in New York, 48 in Chicago, and 7 in Los Angeles.

• Japan’s current account surplus — the widest measure of its trade — totaled $196 billion in 2010, up more than threefold since 1989. By comparison, America’s current account deficit ballooned to $471 billion from $99 billion in that time. Although in the 1990s the conventional wisdom was that as a result of China’s rise Japan would be a major loser and the United States a major winner, it has not turned out that way. Japan has increased its exports to China more than 14-fold since 1989 and Chinese-Japanese bilateral trade remains in broad balance.

Why, then, is Japan seen as a loser? On the official gross domestic product numbers, the United States has ostensibly outperformed Japan for many years. But even taking America’s official numbers at face value, the difference has been far narrower than people realize. Adjusted to a per-capita basis (which is the proper way to do this) and measured since 1989, America’s G.D.P. grew by an average of just 1.4 percent a year. Japan’s figure meanwhile was even more anemic — just 1 percent — implying that it underperformed the United States by 0.4 percent a year.

A look at the underlying accounting, however, suggests that, far from underperforming, Japan may have outperformed. For a start, in a little noticed change, United States statisticians in the 1980s embarked on an increasingly aggressive use of the so-called hedonic method of adjusting for inflation, an approach that in the view of many experts artificially boosts a nation’s apparent growth rate.

On the calculations of John Williams of Shadowstats.com, a Web site that tracks flaws in United States economic data, America’s growth in recent decades has been overstated by as much as 2 percentage points a year. If he is even close to the truth, this factor alone may put the United States behind Japan in per-capita performance.

This is pretty staggering stuff which reinforces what I wrote yesterday. One obvious point is that GDP growth by itself is a hollow figure. It’s what you do with it that counts. In our case, we boosted our GDP by conducting two wasteful wars and by constructing a surveillance state.

The Japanese seem to have planned—and executed—rather better.

As to the accuracy of U.S. Government Statistics, it appears we have every reason to sweat. In that context, www.shadowstats.com is well worth visiting.

Do our politicians, economists and media seem concerned?

Not in the slightest.

 

Declaration of Interest: My second book, RULES OF THE HUNT is set largely in Japan – and I spent some time there doing research. It was fascinating.