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Some reading
Aug. 22nd, 2007 11:10 pmI've been reading some more-or-less worthy books in amongst the usual sort of tripe I read.
Firstly, Ozonomics - Inside the Myth of Australia's Economic Superheroes by Andrew Charlton, who lectures at the LSE. It's an excellent read, and demystifies economics nicely - in fact, deconstructs economics with three words: productivity, jobs and equality. His essential premise is that all the credit that Howard and Costello have grabbed regarding the strength of the Australian economy has in fact been nothing to do with their policies. All they have done is meddle in social policy, and erode workers' rights. As Charlton points out, there is no way in hell Australia can compete with cheap Asian or third-world labour, and joining in to a race to the bottom in terms of worker's rights is a zero-sum game. Also, and crucially, he points out how too much inequality in an economy is bad overall.
( lots of rantings on economics )
But despite my minor quibbles (there are a few more), it really is a good overview into the myths and legends of the Australian economy.
Then I read The Weather Makers by Tim Flannery. He nicely explains the whole climate debate, and discusses the science behind the conclusions that the vast majority of climate scientists have reached about climate change. He also nicely debunks the idea that higher temps overall and increased carbon dioxide in the air may be beneficial. It's just difficult to be optimistic - as long as governments and business bullshit about the potential costs (and he points out regulatory costs are always wildly overestimated when environmental impacts are involved), nothing will happen fast enough. Hopefully the argument that it'll cost a lot less to do something now, and take the chance that the artificially-caused nature of climate change might be wrong, than to do nothing at all.
Finally, I read Sarah Waters' latest, The Night Watch. God, if she heads down the Winterson route... Anyways, it struck me as 98% of "literary" fiction does. Depressing and ultimately meaningless. Ok, the take on people (mostly queers) who lived in the interstices of post-war London is interesting, and it's obviously beautifully researched, and is nicely consistent, but why is it that "literary" authors seem to think it's more real if the story is miserable? Basically lots of aimlessness, internal dialogue, dull drama and eventual pointlessness (ie. no plot to speak of - I don't mind if it's non-linear, even). Not even particularly gripping prose, either (at least you can say that Winterson has a distinctive style).
Anyway, I blame the Modernists. Can anyone think of any literary fiction since Woolf, Joyce et al (actually, probably Hardy and Eliot, although at least they had plots) that isn't miserable? Various critics wah on about the dearth of people reading "quality", but, leaving aside their dismissal of any number of a ton of fantastic genre books, it's no wonder that people aren't keen to read pretentious and stultifying stuff, even if it's "good" for them.
Firstly, Ozonomics - Inside the Myth of Australia's Economic Superheroes by Andrew Charlton, who lectures at the LSE. It's an excellent read, and demystifies economics nicely - in fact, deconstructs economics with three words: productivity, jobs and equality. His essential premise is that all the credit that Howard and Costello have grabbed regarding the strength of the Australian economy has in fact been nothing to do with their policies. All they have done is meddle in social policy, and erode workers' rights. As Charlton points out, there is no way in hell Australia can compete with cheap Asian or third-world labour, and joining in to a race to the bottom in terms of worker's rights is a zero-sum game. Also, and crucially, he points out how too much inequality in an economy is bad overall.
( lots of rantings on economics )
But despite my minor quibbles (there are a few more), it really is a good overview into the myths and legends of the Australian economy.
Then I read The Weather Makers by Tim Flannery. He nicely explains the whole climate debate, and discusses the science behind the conclusions that the vast majority of climate scientists have reached about climate change. He also nicely debunks the idea that higher temps overall and increased carbon dioxide in the air may be beneficial. It's just difficult to be optimistic - as long as governments and business bullshit about the potential costs (and he points out regulatory costs are always wildly overestimated when environmental impacts are involved), nothing will happen fast enough. Hopefully the argument that it'll cost a lot less to do something now, and take the chance that the artificially-caused nature of climate change might be wrong, than to do nothing at all.
Finally, I read Sarah Waters' latest, The Night Watch. God, if she heads down the Winterson route... Anyways, it struck me as 98% of "literary" fiction does. Depressing and ultimately meaningless. Ok, the take on people (mostly queers) who lived in the interstices of post-war London is interesting, and it's obviously beautifully researched, and is nicely consistent, but why is it that "literary" authors seem to think it's more real if the story is miserable? Basically lots of aimlessness, internal dialogue, dull drama and eventual pointlessness (ie. no plot to speak of - I don't mind if it's non-linear, even). Not even particularly gripping prose, either (at least you can say that Winterson has a distinctive style).
Anyway, I blame the Modernists. Can anyone think of any literary fiction since Woolf, Joyce et al (actually, probably Hardy and Eliot, although at least they had plots) that isn't miserable? Various critics wah on about the dearth of people reading "quality", but, leaving aside their dismissal of any number of a ton of fantastic genre books, it's no wonder that people aren't keen to read pretentious and stultifying stuff, even if it's "good" for them.