Arts, Books, Environment, History, Science

Book Review: Otherlands

LITERARY REVIEW

Intro: A history of Earth suggests humanity will eventually perish – but new life forms will rapidly evolve to take our place

IF you were to dig deep below contemporary London gravel you would find among the clay astonishing fossilised remains of crocodiles, sea turtles and early relatives of horses.

They lived and frequented the earth in an era when London was “forests of mangrove palm and pawpaw, and waters rich in seagrass and giant lily pads, a warm, tropical paradise”.

More recently there was a time when, instead of carved stone lions built on plinths looking at people, real lions lived in what is now Trafalgar Square, gazing down on herds of elephants and hippos grazing beside a wide and meandering river.

This somewhat mind-boggling scene introduces us to the concept of “deep time”, explains Thomas Halliday, as he leads the reader on a mesmerising journey into those vast stretches of Earth’s pre-history that lie behind us. He does so on such a scale that you experience a kind of temporal vertigo just thinking about it.

Halliday is a Fellow in Earth Sciences at Birmingham University, but he is also a brilliant writer. His lyrical style vividly conjures a myriad of lost worlds from the patchy but sometimes startling fossil records. Each chapter takes us further back in time, to an older and more alien earth with every passing epoch.

It begins a mere 20,000 years ago, in the heart of the last Ice Age, and on the dry plains of Alaska: the eastern end of the awesome Mammoth Steppe, an unspoilt grassland that stretched all the way from the Americas across Russia to Ireland (sea levels being much lower then).

Over those plains roamed vast herds of herbivores: camels, bison, horses and mammoths. Camels were originally American which later migrated to the Old World over the Bering Strait.

The last mammoths survived until just 4,500 years ago, contemporaries of the Pyramids and Stonehenge, a small and increasingly inbred group on Wrangel Island near Russia.

Top predator of the Steppe was unquestionably the short-faced bear, which on its hind legs towered a metre above the three-metre-high shoulder of a mammoth.

But there were also humans around. We know this from “the footprints of a gleeful group of children, running through the ditchgrass into the mud of a chalky lakeshore, 22,500 years before the present,” and still visible “in the white sands of New Mexico”.

Imagine, then, what stories they must have told each other by the evening fire, sharing their landscape and territory with creatures including mammoths and short-faced bears.

APOCALYPTIC

By chapter three, we have dived back 5.33 million years to a truly apocalyptic moment. Then, the Mediterranean was sealed off from the Atlantic by a land bridge at Gibraltar, joining Africa to Europe.

The inland sea had evaporated, so where the Med now sparkles there was only a huge dried-out salt lake, in some places 4 kilometres below sea level, with temperatures down there reaching 80C – some 25C warmer than anything ever recorded even in the hotspots of California.

This burning saline desert was dotted with cooler volcanic island plateaus covered in cedar trees, and “a shrubland of pistachio, box, stooping carobs and gnarled olives”.

One day, a trickle of Atlantic sea-water began to seep over the top of the Gibraltar land-bridge, eroding the dry earth as it went, until the trickle became a stream, then a river – then an unstoppable cascade.

A mile high and several miles wide, the torrent roared over and dropped at 100 miles per hour, throwing up a “tumultuous cloud mist”, with the eastern Mediterranean becoming a sea once more in just one astonishing year.

Sicily and Malta became islands in that sea, populated by hippos, dwarf elephants and the Terrible Moon-Rat.

There are so many wonders here: a rock wall in modern Bolivia where dinosaur footprints climb gecko-like up a sheer vertical cliff, because the surface of the earth has tilted 90 degrees over 32 million years; beavers and hedgehogs, Asian arrivals, wiping out native European primates; the incredible fact that it was on huge rafts of vegetation riding the ocean currents that many animals, including monkeys and guinea pigs, travelled accidentally from Africa to South America, surviving an ocean voyage of at least six weeks on their uncertain craft.

Going back 550 million years ago, our world seems like another planet altogether.

Then there were animals so strange that scientists have named them Hallucigenia, and there was no North Star in the sky, nor a single star of the seven in Orion, nor brilliant Sirius. None of these familiar stars had even been born yet.

Journeying into the abysses of deep time in Otherlands will certainly make the reader feel very small and transient – a feeling both humbling and comforting – and surely reminds us that we pay too much attention to many of our own minor daily troubles.

Barring some miraculous and unprecedented effort of global cooperation, which seems rather unlikely at present, the world will rapidly head back soon to something like the swampy Eocene epoch of 50 million years ago, bringing a mass extinction of today’s flora and fauna (including us, unfortunately), and then, after a few more million years, a huge explosion of unimaginable new biological species better suited to this hothouse earth.

As the book’s subtitle aptly reminds us, this planet is still “a world in the making”.

Otherlands is a carefully and skilful choreograph of the earth’s evolution and has a very good chance of being shortlisted for Book of the Year. It is a stunning and exquisite narrative and the author deserves huge acclaim for it.

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Arts, Books, History, Politics, United States

Book Review – ‘Watergate: A New History’

LITERARY REVIEW

Intro: A masterful retelling of the Watergate scandal reveals the very human flaws that surrounded it – from a paranoid president terrified of losing his grip on power, to a security chief piqued at being passed over

In August 1974, President Richard Nixon was engulfed by the ever-expanding scandals of the Watergate affair. It had become a way of life. Nixon was often alone, depressed, anxious, and drinking heavily. He was uncertain of what to do as the scandals intensified.

A couple of days before he became the first man to voluntarily resign the presidency, he told his Chief of Staff, Alexander Haig: “Al, you soldiers have the best way of dealing with a situation like this. You just leave a man alone in a room with a loaded pistol.”

Haig knew Nixon was speaking figuratively about suicide. But Defence Secretary James Schlesinger believed it went beyond that.

He recalled an alarming remark Nixon had made to U.S. politicians when asked about fighting Communism: “I can go in my office and pick up a telephone, and in 25 minutes millions of people will be dead.”

Increasingly concerned about the President’s mental state and fearful that he could plunge the world into a holocaust, Schlesinger took an extraordinary step. He told America’s military leaders that if the President gave them any orders, commanders should check either with him or the Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger. In other words: “If you’re ordered to push the button, make sure you run it by me first.”

In the event, the final days of the Nixon presidency passed off without alarms.

This extraordinary insight into the pressures engulfing the most powerful man in America is just one of countless rich anecdotes in Garrett Graff’s monumental history of the Watergate affair.

Graff, a prolific and award-winning journalist and historian, vividly and effortlessly clarifies the strands of one of the most complex episodes in modern history. The narration is full of vivid characters: doomed advisers, diligent journalists, and assiduous political investigators on Capitol Hill.

“My goal,” writes Graff, “was not to reinvestigate.” Instead, he relies on voluminous sources and documentary evidence to tell the story as clearly as possible.

RUIN

WATERGATE might have started with a failed robbery, but it led to dozens more arrests, the ruin of several political careers – including two Attorneys-General – an alleged kidnapping, investigations by the FBI and Congress, an FBI director imprisoned, the sinking of a Vice-President (Spiro Agnew was convicted of bribery), and the ruin of the President as well as most of the President’s men.

It is one of the most reported stories ever. There are more than 30 memoirs from key participants, hundreds of pages of transcripts of Nixon’s tapes and 30 volumes of a senate committee report.

For people in this country and elsewhere, the defining image, from the Oscar-winning movie All The President’s Men, will be of Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman as the Washington Post’s investigative reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, leaping over newsroom desks in their haste to uncover the scandal after another meeting with their source, Deep Throat, and bring what turns out to be a corrupt President to justice.

The driving force behind the scandal was the insane levels of paranoia in the White House, which became critical in 1971 when the Washington Post and New York Times published what became known as the Pentagon Papers, thousand of leaked documents chronicling decades of U.S. involvement in Vietnam and revealing the insidious lies told to the American people.

With Nixon furious at the leaks, hostile to the Press and determined not to have his re-election jeopardised, a ruthless attitude of “win at all costs” developed in the White House. To this end, the President signed up a team of former CIA and FBI operatives to do his dirty work. Determined to smear Daniel Ellsberg, the man who leaked the Pentagon Papers, one of their first jobs was to break into the offices of his psychiatrist, hoping to find something damaging.

But the scandal really began on June 17, 1972, with a 2:30am break-in at the Watergate building, a mile from the White House.

When police arrived, they found five men in the offices of the Democratic Party National Committee, wearing suits and latex gloves, and carrying bugging devices and walkie-talkies, as well as hundreds of dollars to bribe security.

Not your typical burglars, then. That became even more apparent at the first court hearing a few hours later, when one of the defendants, James W. McCord Jr, told the judge he was a security consultant, recently working for the CIA. The judge was visibly taken aback. It was clear this was no normal break-in.

Graff argues that there were two conspiracies. The first, to burgle the Democrats, was part of the Republican Nixon world’s paranoid obsession with dirty tricks – bugging, smearing, stealing documents. It was chaotic, but it was a worked-out plan to subvert the 1972 presidential election. Quite why is beyond anyone’s guess: Nixon won it by a landslide.

The second conspiracy – the cover-up – just grew and grew because no one stopped it. And it went right to the top.

As the shockwaves of the break-in widened, with allegations of slush funds, corruption, misplaced campaign funding, bribery and tax fraud, the proliferating scandal was blown wide open in July 1973 when it was revealed that Nixon had routinely taped every conversation and call in the Oval Office.

He fought hard to keep his profanity-strewn recordings secret but lost in the Supreme Court – and the crucial tape, The Smoking Pistol, was revealed.

On it, in a conversation that took place just six days after the Watergate break-in, Nixon and his Chief of Staff Bob Haldeman are heard plotting to persuade the CIA to tell the FBI to drop any inquiry.

The cover-up had started in the Oval Office, but within days Nixon was gone.

MASTERFUL

THE tragedy was that in many ways he should be regarded as one of the greatest men to occupy the White House. Nixon wound down the Vietnam War, signed the Clean Air Act, created the Environmental Protection Agency, hiked social security, declared war on cancer, tripled the number of women in policy-making roles, calmed the Cold War and was the first to visit Peking and Moscow.

But he was betrayed by his darker side: paranoid, fearful of his opponents and the media, and determined to do them down.

Even now, the Watergate scandal retains its mysteries, admits Graff. Who ordered the break-in? What was the purpose and target? Were they looking for blackmail material – there were rumours of a call girl ring at Democratic HQ – or disruptive political intelligence?

For anyone growing up as a journalist in this period, the role of the anonymous source Deep Throat was heroic.

Graff is more sceptical. Deep Throat was outed decades later as Mark Felt, the deputy director of the FBI. But for Graff, Felt’s actions were the payback of an embittered man, furious that he had been passed over to succeed J. Edgar Hoover as FBI director.

This is a masterful and epic look at a story that is still barely believable. Adeptly, Graff guides us through the mass of supporting players, crooks, conmen, business aides, judges, lawyers, miscellaneous wives, White House operatives, spooks and cops. If anything, for those readers not totally steeped in the story for decades, a few pages listing the various players would not have gone amiss.

For America, the scandal ushered in an age of greater transparency and hard-nosed investigative journalism that still, thankfully, exists.

But despite the lessons of Watergate, in our own time President Trump not only wanted to screw up his opponents, just like Nixon, but unlike Nixon, refused to accept an election result.

He even fomented a revolt on the Capitol Building that has not lost its power to shock.

Perhaps we should go back to Watergate and re-learn its lessons. In politics, as in everything, morality matters.

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Arts, Books, First World War, History

Book Review – The Searches: The Quest for The Lost of The First World War

LITERARY REVIEW

Intro: Half a million families were left with the agony of not knowing where their loved ones lay under the battlefields of World War I – among them Rudyard Kipling, who lost his son John – but their devotion unearthed amazing tales

HIS MOTHER’S recollection was vividly clear. The young lieutenant stood tall and straight in the doorway, immaculately smart in his Irish Guards uniform. He was just 17 – two days away from his 18th birthday – but duty was calling, and so proudly he was off to the Western Front in France, in September 1915.

As John Kipling left the family home in Sussex, he called out: “Send my love to Daddo.”

“Daddo” – Rudyard Kipling, one of Britain’s foremost men of letters, poet, novelist, holder of the Nobel Prize for Literature – did not see his only son off because he was already in northern France, a journalist and foreign correspondent sending back despatches.

Six weeks later, John was dead. He had just written a letter home, telling his parents the assault he was about to take part in would end the war. (It didn’t.)

He had signed off: “Well so long, old dears, love John.” That was the last they ever heard from him.

On the third day of the Battle of Loos, he was leading his platoon over open ground when machine guns opened- up from the German line. No one knew for sure how he died. His body could not be found. Officially he was not dead but “missing”.

For “Rud” and Carrie Kipling, it was a special sort of torture – hoping against hope John was still alive, a prisoner perhaps, or lying in some remote hospital. Their pain never really ended. There was no grave they could visit, no focal point for their grief, no closure.

The trauma left Rud a broken man, dried up and drained, his vigour completely gone; he wrote no more novels but devoted his immense skills and talents to the mission of the War Graves Commission, to find and honour the missing.

It was he who chose the biblical words that became the national language of remembrance: “Their name liveth for evermore.” And for the headstones of graves whose occupants were unidentified, the simple “Known unto God”.

The story of the Kiplings is at the heart of Robert Sackville-West’s deeply moving and emotive book on the quest for those soldiers who went missing and were never found.

There were some 500,000 heart-broken families in the same position as Rud and Carrie, bereaved but cast adrift.

Of those half-million who died in this way – nearly half of all British Empire war dead – about 180,000 were buried as unknown British soldiers. A greater number, however, like John Kipling, had simply disappeared, blown to pieces, or drowned in the mud of no man’s land.

Desperate for any information, men of influence such as Rudyard Kipling were able to use their high-level contacts in the military to try to find out what had happened to a lost loved one. He even had leaflets printed in German asking for the whereabouts of his son, which were dropped by the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) behind enemy lines.

Others, such as the distraught but determined Lady Violet Cecil, whose 18-year-old son George was last seen lying in a ditch during the retreat from Mons in 1914, travelled to the battlefield while the war was still raging to search for her boy.

DESPERATION

GEORGE’S remains were eventually uncovered in a mass grave of 94 British soldiers, their faces and features brutally beaten and disfigured beyond recognition. George was identified by his initials on his vest and by the exceptional size of his feet. Three buttons from his tunic were sent home to his mother.

For most mothers there was no such consolation. Whenever trainloads of wounded men arrived home, there would be lines of women holding up photographs and pleading: Have you seen my son, husband, brother?

Documenting all these grim and sad stories with compassion, Sackville-West writes of relatives “tormented by knowing so little about their loved one’s last moments. How had they been killed? Had they suffered?”

He rightly lauds the Graves Registration Commission and its successor, the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, for acknowledging this desperate desire to know, for their recognition that each of the dead was an individual and that relatives needed the reassurance that the graves were tended and properly cared for.

Photographs of headstones were taken and sent to those who could not get there in person – “consolations of death at a distance,” as the author movingly puts it.

Thousands, however, did make it to the now quiet battlefields, paying their respects at a graveside. “I came all the way from home for this,” one little old lady in a black bonnet said at her son’s grave. “Now I can die in peace.” There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and likely in others too as they read her story.

The persistence of relatives was astonishing.

Lieutenant Eric Hayter died, shot through the head, in March 1918, and his father was told there was no sign of his body. A year later, Hayter senior received a letter from a German soldier who enclosed a map showing where Eric had been buried by the Germans. A search followed, which was unsuccessful. But Hayter continued to visit the battlefield in France, digging up land owned by a local farmer where he believed Eric had fallen.

He then tried to buy the land to erect a memorial, but the farmer said no. So, in 1924 – more than six years after his son’s death – he purchased a nearby plot for a nominal sum from a sympathetic local countess and was digging the foundations there when, amazingly, 3 feet down, he came across a body.

Regimental buttons, badges of rank and five gold teeth confirmed who it was. Father and son were reunited.

The Kiplings had no such reunion. John’s body was eventually found, though not for another 70 years, long after his father’s death in 1936.

A diligent researcher at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission spotted an entry in the register of an unknown soldier dug up in no man’s land near Loos. The body had been reburied as “an unknown lieutenant of the Irish Guards”. The coincidence was too great.

John Kipling’s name could now be taken off the Menin Gate memorial to the missing. He had been found.

If Rudyard had been alive, he might have pointed to the final words of perhaps his most famous poem, If:

“Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!”

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