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Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 10, No. 57, July, 1862 by Various

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 10, No. 57, July, 1862

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"O fool," said Gentil, "I wish I knew what my father meant us to do!"

And the fool tried to comfort Gentil; and they walked together by the
river where the fool had made the boat of the will, without knowing
what it was. They walked a long way, Gentil crying, and the fool trying
to comfort him, when suddenly the fool saw the boat he had made, lying
among some green rushes. And the fool ran to fetch it, and brought it
to show Gentil. And Gentil saw some writing on the boat, and knew it
was his father's writing. Then Gentil was glad indeed; he unfolded
the paper, and thereon he read these words,--for a good king's words
are not washed away by water:--

"My will and pleasure is, that my dearly beloved sons, Prince Gentil,
Prince Joujou, and Prince Bonbon, should all reign together over the
three cities which I have built. But there are only enough child-people
to fill one city; for I know that the child-people cannot live always
in one city. Therefore let the three princes, with Gentil, the eldest,
wearing the crown, lead all the child-people to the city of Lessonland
in the morning, that the bright sun may shine upon their lessons and
make them pleasant; and Gentil to set the tasks. And in the afternoon
let the three princes, with Joujou wearing the crown, lead all the
child-people to the city of Pastime, to play until the evening; and
Joujou to lead the games. And in the evening let the three princes,
with Bonbon wearing the crown, lead all the child-people to the city of
Confection, to drink sweet wine and pluck fruit off the Christmas-trees
until time for bed; and little Bonbon to cut the cake. And at time for
bed, let the child-people go forth into the green valleys and sleep
upon the beds of flowers: for in Child Country it is always spring."

This was the king's will, found at last; and Gentil, whose great long
lessons had made him wise, (though they had tired him too,) thought the
will the cleverest that was ever made. And he hastened to the city of
Confection, and knocked at the gate till they opened it; and he found
all the people sick by this time, and very pleased to see him, for they
thought him very wise. And Gentil read the will in a loud voice, and
the people clapped their hands and began to get better directly, and
Bonbon called to them to lift him down out of the tree where he had
stuck, and Joujou danced for joy.

So the king's will was obeyed. And in the morning the people learned
their lessons, and afterwards they played, and afterwards they enjoyed
their feasts. And at bed-time they slept upon the beds of flowers, in
the green valleys: for in Child Country it is always spring.




REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.

1. VICTOR HUGO. _Les Misérables. Fantine_. New York: P. W.
Christern. 8vo.

2. _The Same_. Translated from the Original French, by CHARLES E.
WILBOUR. New York: G. W. Carleton. 8vo.


"FANTINE," the first of five novels under the general title of "Les
Misérables," has produced an impression all over Europe, and we already
hear of nine translations, It has evidently been "engineered" with
immense energy by the French publisher. Translations have appeared in
numerous languages almost simultaneously with its publication in Paris.
Every resource of bookselling ingenuity has been exhausted in order to
make every human being who can read think that the salvation of his
body and soul depends on his reading "Les Misérables." The glory and
the obloquy of the author have both been forced into aids to a system
of puffing at which Barnum himself would stare amazed, and confess
that he had never conceived of "a dodge" in which literary genius and
philanthropy could be allied with the grossest bookselling humbug. But
we trust, that, after our American showman has recovered from his
first shock of surprise, he will vindicate the claim of America to be
considered the "first nation on the face of the earth," by immediately
offering Dickens a hundred thousand dollars to superintend his
exhibition of dogs, and Florence Nightingale a half a million to appear
at his exhibition of babies.

The French bookseller also piqued the curiosity of the universal public
by a story that Victor Hugo wrote "Les Misérables" twenty-five years
ago, but, being bound to give a certain French publisher all his works
after his first celebrated novel, he would not delight the world with
this product of his genius until he had forced the said publisher into
a compliance with his terms. The publisher shrank aghast from the sum
which the author demanded, and this sum was yearly increased in amount,
as years rolled away and as Victor Hugo's reputation grew more
splendid. At last the publisher died, probably from vexation, and
Victor Hugo was free. Then he condescended to allow the present
publisher to issue "Les Misérables" on the payment of eighty thousand
dollars. It is not surprising, that, to get his money back, this
publisher has been compelled to resort to tricks which exceed
everything known in the whole history of literature.

"Fantine," therefore, comes before us, externally, as the most
desperate of bookselling speculations. The publisher, far from
drinking his wine out of the skull of his author, is in danger of
having neither wine nor ordinary cup, and is forced into the most
reckless _charlatanerie_ to save himself from utter ruin and
complete loss of the generous fluid. Internally, "Fantine" comes before
us as an attempt both to include and to supersede the Christian
religion. Wilkinson, in a preface to one of his books, stated that he
thought that "Christendom was not the error of which _Chapmandom_
was the correction,"--Chapman being then the English publisher of a
number of skeptical books. In the same way we may venture to affirm
that Christendom is not the beginning of which _Hugoism_ is the
complement and end. We think that the revelation made by the publisher
of "Les Misérables" sadly interferes with the revelation made by
Victor Hugo. Saint Paul may be inferior to Saint Hugo, but everybody
will admit that Saint Paul would not have hesitated a second in
deciding, in the publication of _his_ epistles, between the good
of mankind and his own remuneration. Saint Hugo confessedly waited
twenty-five years before he published his new gospel. The salvation of
Humanity had to be deferred until the French saviour received his
eighty thousand dollars. At last a bookselling Barnum appears, pays
the price, and a morality which utterly eclipses that of Saint Paul is
given to an expectant world.

This morality, sold for eighty thousand dollars, is represented by
Bishop Myriel. The character is drawn with great force, and is full
both of direct and subtle satire on the worldliness of ordinary
churchmen. The portion of the work in which it figures contains many
striking sayings. Thus, we are told, that, when the Bishop "had money,
his visits were to the poor; when he had none, he visited the rich."
"Ask not," he said, "the name of him who asks you for a bed; it is
especially he whose name is a burden to him who has need of an
asylum." This man, who embodies all the virtues, carries his goodness
so far as to receive into his house a criminal whom all honest houses
reject, and, when robbed by his infamous guest, saves the life of the
latter by telling the officers who had apprehended the thief that he
had given him the silver. This so works on the criminal's conscience,
that, like Peter Bell, he "becomes a good and pious man," starts a
manufactory, becomes rich, and uses his wealth for benevolent
purposes. Fantine, the heroine, after having been seduced by a
Parisian student, comes to work in his factory. She has a child that
she supports by her labor. This fact is discovered by some female
gossip, and she is dismissed from the factory as an immoral woman, and
descends to the lowest depths of prostitution,--still for the purpose
of supporting her child. Jean Valjean, the reformed criminal,
discovers her, is made aware that her debasement is the result of the
act of his foreman, and takes her, half dead with misery and sickness,
to his own house. Meanwhile he learns that an innocent person, by
being confounded with himself, is in danger of being punished for his
former deeds. He flies from the bedside of Fantine, appears before the
court, announces himself as the criminal, is arrested, but in the end
escapes from the officers who have him in charge. Fantine dies. Her
child is to be the heroine of Novel Number Two of "Les Misérables," and
will doubtless have as miserable an end as her mother. From this bare
abstract, the story does not seem to promise much pleasure to
novel-readers, yet it is all alive with the fiery genius of Victor
Hugo, and the whole representation is so intense and vivid that it is
impossible to escape from the fascination it exerts over the mind. Few
who take the book up will leave it until they have read it through. It
is morbid to a degree that no eminent English author, not even Lord
Byron, ever approached; but its morbid elements are so combined with
sentiments abstractly Christian that it is calculated to wield a more
pernicious influence than Byron ever exerted. Its tendency is to
weaken that abhorrence of crime which is the great shield of most of
the virtue which society possesses, and it does this by attempting to
prove that society itself is responsible for crimes it cannot
prevent, but can only punish. To legislators, to Magdalen societies,
to prison-reformers, it may suggest many useful hints; but, considered
as a passionate romance, appealing to the sympathies of the ordinary
readers of novels, it will do infinitely more harm than good. The
bigotries of virtue are better than the charities of vice. On the
whole, therefore, we think that Victor Hugo, when he stood out
twenty-five years for his price, did a service to the human race. The
great value of his new gospel consisted in its not being published. We
wish that another quarter of a century had elapsed before it found a
bookseller capable of venturing on so reckless a speculation.

* * * * *

_Christ the Spirit_: being an Attempt to state the Primitive View
of Christianity. By the Author of "Remarks on Alchemy and the
Alchemists," and "Swedenborg a Hermetic Philosopher." 2 vols. New York:
James Miller.

Tins remarkable work is said to be by Major-General Hitchcock, of the
United States Army, whose important services in the Mexican campaign
and in our war with the Florida Indians will always command for him the
grateful remembrance of his country. It presents many striking views,
and at first glance appears to sweep somewhat breezily through the
creeds and ceremonies of the external church. The danger, however,
may not be great. The work is written in a spirit of forbearance and
moral elevation that cannot fail to do good, if it is only to teach
theologians that bitter warfare is no way to convince the world of the
divinity of their opinions. The author affirms that he seeks to
reestablish Christianity upon, its true basis. In opposition to
existing churches, he places himself in the position of Saint Paul as
opposed to the Pharisees, and says, with him, "It is the spirit that
quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing,"--or again, with the Spirit of
Truth itself, he declares, "The hour cometh, and now is, when the true
worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the
Father seeketh such to worship Him." General Hitchcock believes that
the New Testament was written by the Essene philosophers, a secret
society well known to the Jews as dividing the religious world of Judea
with the Pharisees and Sadducees. It was written for the instruction of
the novitiates, and in symbolism and allegories, according to the oath
by which they were solemnly bound. Whatever may be said of the truth of
this theory, the interpretations it gives rise to are exceedingly
interesting and instructive.

The law of Moses, which all the Jews regarded as divine, the Essenes
thought contained a twofold signification. They saw in it a letter and
a spirit. As a letter it was the Son of Man, because written by man; as
spirit it was the Son of God, because it proceeded from God. They held
that the Pharisees murdered the spirit through adhering to the letter;
and in the books which the Essenes themselves wrote--the Four
Gospels--they taught this doctrine. In Jesus Christ they personified
the law of Moses,--Christ representing in his double character both the
spirit and the letter of the Law; John the Baptist, the witness of the
spirit, representing the letter exclusively; the Virgin Mary the
"wisdom" constantly personified in the Old Testament. She is also the
Church, the bride of Christ, and that "invisible nature" symbolized in
all mythologies as divine. The Father is the Spirit of the Law and the
Spirit of Nature,--the infinite God from whom all life proceeds and in
whom it abides.

From this brief statement it will be seen that General Hitchcock takes
a view of Christianity widely different from that of theologians. Jesus
of Nazareth, as a person, he regards simply as a great teacher of this
sect of philosophers; and in the Christ of the New Testament, a being
endowed with supernatural powers, he sees a personification of the
Spirit of Truth. The literal history of a series of supernatural
events occurring in Judea two thousand years ago he transforms into
sublime teachings of the great truths inherent in human nature, and
which, wherever man is, are there forever reënacting the same
drama,--in the assumed history of Jesus, divinely portrayed,--not, if
rightly understood, as an actual history of any one man, but as a
symbolic narration, representing the spiritual life of all men.

Many grave reflections are forced upon us in contemplating a view so
original of a subject upon which apparently nothing more remained to be
said. It becomes not only the question, How will this work be received
by the religious world? but, How, in a true spirit of inquiry,
_ought_ it to be received? The theory of the author is peculiarly
simple, but in its simplicity lies an exceeding beauty. The idea that
the Scriptures are symbolical has always found adherents, but never
such an advocate. Swedenborg affirmed this truth, and invented a
formal mode of interpretation, upon which he wrote his multitudinous
octavos, themselves mystical volumes, and whose effect has been to
involve a subject already obscure in still deeper darkness, and to
transfer the adoration of a small portion of the Christian world from
the letter of the Scriptures to the letter of Swedenborg,--a
questionable benefit to his followers, in spite of the many important
truths which this great man advocated. The radical difference between
such a system and that which we are now considering is evident. Not
Swedenborg alone, but many others, through artificial systems of their
own, have sought to interpret the mysteries of the Bible; but it has
remained for the author of "Christ the Spirit" to attempt a discovery
of the key unlocking the symbolism of the New Testament, as it was
understood by the gospel writers themselves.

_The Pearl of Orr's Island._ A Story of the Coast of Maine. By
MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, Author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "The
Minister's Wooing," etc. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 12mo.

Mrs. Stowe is never more in her element than in depicting
unsophisticated New-England life, especially in those localities where
there is a practical social equality among the different classes of
the population. "The Pearl of Orr's Island," the scene of which is
laid in one of those localities, is every way worthy of her genius.
Without deriving much interest from its plot, it fastens the pleased
attention of the reader by the freshness, clearness, and truth of its
representations, both of Nature and persons. The author transports us
at once to the place she has chosen as the scene of her story, makes us
as familiarly acquainted with all its surroundings as if we had been
born and bred there, introduces us to all the principal inhabitants in
a thoroughly "neighborly" way, and contrives to impress us with a
sense of the substantial reality of what she makes us mentally see,
even when an occasional improbability in the story almost wakes us up
to a perception that the whole is a delightful illusion.

This foundation of the story in palpable realities, which every Yankee
recognizes as true the moment they are presented to his eye, enables
the writer to develop the ideal character of Mara Lincoln, the heroine
of the book, without giving any sensible shock to the prosaic mind. In
the type of womanhood she embodies, she is almost identical with
Agnes, in the beautiful romance which Mrs. Stowe has lately contributed
to this magazine: the difference is in time and circumstance, and not
in essential nature. The Puritan maiden, with all her homely culture
and rough surroundings, is really as poetic a personage as any of
Spenser's exquisite individualizations of abstract feminine
excellence; perhaps more so, as the most austere and exalted
spiritualities of Christianity enter into the constitution of her
nature, and her soul moves in a sphere of religious experience compared
with which "fairy-land" is essentially low and earthy. She is an angel
as well as a woman; yet the height of her meditations does not
interfere with, but rather aids her performance of the homeliest human
duties; and the moral beauty of her nature lends a peculiar grace to
her humblest ministries to human affections and needs. The vivid
delineation of this character, from her childhood to her death, we
cannot but rank among Mrs. Stowe's best claims to be considered a woman
of true imaginative genius.

In the rest of the population of Orr's Island the reader cannot fail to
take a great interest, with but two exceptions. These are Moses, the
hero of the novel, and Sally Kittredge, who, in the end, marries him.
But "Cap'n" Kittredge and his wife, Miss Roxy and Miss Ruey, and
Zephaniah Pennel, are incomparably good. Each affords matter enough for
a long dissertation on New England and human character. Miss Roxy,
especially, is the typical old maid of Yankee-land, and is so
thoroughly lovable, in spite of her idiom, her crusty manners, and her
eccentricities, that the only wonder is that she should have been
allowed to remain single. But the same wonder is often expressed, in
actual life, in regard to old maids superior to Miss Roxy in
education, accomplishments, and beauty, and her equals in vital
self-sacrifice and tenderness of heart.

We have referred to Moses as a failure, but in this he is no worse than
Mrs. Stowe's other heroes. They are all unworthy of the women they
love; and the early death of Mara, in this novel, though very pathetic,
is felt by every male reader to be better than a long married life with
Moses. The latter is "made happy" in the end with Sally Kittredge. Mrs.
Stowe does not seem conscious of the intense and bitter irony of the
last scenes. She conveys the misanthropy of Swift without feeling or
knowing it.

In style, "The Pearl of Orr's Island" ranks with the best narratives in
American literature. Though different from the style of Irving and
Hawthorne, it shows an equal mastery of English in expressing, not only
facts, events, and thoughts, but their very spirit and atmosphere. It
is the exact mirror of the author's mind and character. It is fresh,
simple, fluent, vigorous, flexible, never dazzling away attention
from what it represents by the intrusion of verbal felicities which
are pleasing apart from the vivid conceptions they attempt to convey.
The uncritical reader is unconscious of its excellence because it is so
excellent,--that is, because it is so entirely subordinate to the
matter which it is the instrument of expressing. At times, however, the
singular interest of the things described must impress the dullest
reader with the fact that the author possesses uncommon powers of
description. The burial of James Lincoln, the adventure of little Mara
and Moses on the open sea, the night-visit which Mara makes to the
rendezvous of the outlaws, and the incidents which immediately precede
Mara's death, are pictured with such vividness, earnestness, and
fidelity, that nobody can fail to feel the strange magic communicated
to common words when they are the "nimble servitors" of genius and
passion. In conclusion we may say, that, in the combination of
accurate observation, strong sense, and delicate spiritual
perception,--in the union of humor and pathos, of shrewdness and
sentiment,--and in the power of seizing character in its vital inward
sources, and of portraying its outward peculiarities,--"The Pearl of
Orr's Island" does not yield to any book which Mrs. Stowe has
heretofore contributed to American literature.

* * * * *


RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS

RECEIVED BY THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.


The Life and Letters of Washington Irving. By his Nephew, Pierre M.
Irving. Vol. I. New York. G. P. Putnam. 13mo. pp. 463. $1.50.

History of the United States Naval Academy, with Biographical Sketches,
and the Names of all the Superintendents, Professors, and Graduates. To
which is added a Record of some of the Earliest Votes by Congress, of
Thanks, Medals, and Swords, to Naval Officers. By Edward Chauncey
Marshall, A.M., formerly Instructor in Captain Kinsley's Military
School at West Point, Assistant Professor in the New York University,
etc. New York. D. Van Nostrand. 12mo. pp. 156. $1.00.

Instruction for Naval Light Artillery, Afloat and Ashore. Prepared and
arranged for the United States Naval Academy. By William H. Parker,
Lieutenant U.S.N. Second Edition. Revised by Lieutenant S.B. Luce,
U.S.N., Assistant Instructor of Gunnery at the United States Naval
Academy. New York. D. Van Nostrand. 8vo. pp. 120. $1.50.

Manual of Target-Practice for the United States Army. By Major G.L.
Willard, U.S.A. Philadelphia. Lippincott & Co. 18mo. pp. 80. 50 cts.

A Course of Instruction in Ordnance and Gunnery; compiled for the Use
of the Cadets of the United States Military Academy. By Captain J.G.
Benton, Ordnance Department, late Instructor of Ordnance and Science of
Gunnery, Military Academy, West Point; Principal Assistant to the Chief
of Ordnance, U.S.A. Second Edition, revised and enlarged. New York. D.
Van Nostrand. 8vo. pp. 550. $4.00.

Seventh Annual Report of the Insurance Commissioners of the State of
Massachusetts. January 1, 1862. Part I., Marine and Fire Insurance:
Part II., Life Insurance. Boston. William White, Printer to the State.
8vo. pp. xxxvi., 262; xl., 33; 15.

Ballads of the War. By George Whitfield Hewes. New York. G.W. Garleton.
16mo. pp. 147. 50 cts.

The Spirit of the Hebrew Poetry. By Isaac Taylor. With a Sketch of the
Life of the Author and a Catalogue of his Writings. New York. William
Gowans. 12mo. pp. 311. $1.00.

The Channings. A Domestic Novel of Real Life. By Mrs. Henry Wood,
Author of "East Lynne," etc. Philadelphia. T.B. Peterson & Brothers.
8vo. paper, pp. 302. 50 cts.

The Bay Path. A Tale of New England Colonial Life. By J.G. Holland,
Author of "Letters to the Young," "Lessons in Life," etc. New York. C.
Scribner. 12mo. pp. 418. $1.25.

The Church in the Army; or, The Four Centurions. By Rev. William A.
Scott, D.D., of San Francisco. New York. G.W. Carleton. 12mo. pp. 443.
$1.25.

Prison-Life in the Tobacco-Warehouse at Richmond. By a Ball's-Bluff
Prisoner, Lieutenant William C. Harris, of Colonel Baker's California
Regiment. Philadelphia. G.W. Childs. 16mo. pp. 175. 75 cts.

Mount Vernon, and other Poems. By Harvey Rice. Columbus. Follett,
Foster, & Co. 16mo. pp. 221. $1.00.

Last Poems. By Elizabeth Barrett Browning. With a Memorial by Theodore
Tilton. New York. James Miller. 32mo. pp. 242. 75 cts.

Manual for Engineer Troops. Consisting of, I., Ponton Drill; II., Rules
for Conducting a Siege; III., School of the Sap; IV., Military Mining;
V., Construction of Batteries. By Captain J.C. Duane, Corps of
Engineers, U.S. Army. New York. D. Van Nostrand. 12mo. pp. 275. $2.00.

Our Flag. A Poem in Four Cantos. By F.H. Underwood. New York. G. W.
Carleton. 16mo. paper, pp. 41. 25 cts.

A Treatise on Military Law and the Practice of Courts-Martial. By
Captain S.V. Benét, Ordnance Department, U.S. Army: late Assistant
Professor of Ethics, Law, etc. Military Academy, West Point. New York.
D. Van Nostrand. 8vo. pp. 377. $3.00.







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Extract: The Whales by Evie Wyld

Christos Tsiolkas and David Mitchell, both much-tipped when they appeared on the award longlist, have been overlooked in the six finalists

It headed the most controversial Man Booker prize longlist in years, but Christos Tsiolkas's The Slap has failed to make the final cut for the literary award, as has David Mitchell's much-tipped fifth novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.

Judges overlooked Australian novelist Tsiolkas's tale of the consequences when a child is slapped at a suburban barbecue – which is either "unbelievably misogynistic" or "riveting from beginning to end", depending on who's asked – and Mitchell, twice shortlisted for the prize in the past, to select a shortlist which ranges from two-time former winner Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America to Emma Donoghue. The Irish writer has also stirred up debate with her Josel Fritzl-inspired Room, the story of a boy and his mother imprisoned in a tiny room for years.

Orange prize winner Andrea Levy's The Long Song, about the last years of slavery in Jamaica; Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question, a cerebral comedy about grief and Anglo-Jewishness; experimental novelist Tom McCarthy's C, which tells the story of Serge Carrefax, a first world war radio operator who escapes from a German prison camp; and South African writer Damon Galgut's tale of a young man travelling through Greece, India and Africa, In a Strange Room, complete the six-strong shortlist for the £50,000 prize, announced this morning.

"It's been a great privilege and an exciting challenge for us to reduce our longlist of 13 to this shortlist of six outstandingly good novels," said chair of judges Andrew Motion, the former poet laureate. "In doing so, we feel sure we've chosen books which demonstrate a rich variety of styles and themes – while in every case providing deep individual pleasures."

The panel of judges had previously read 138 books to select the 13 titles for their longlist, with Martin Amis's new novel The Pregnant Widow and Ian McEwan's venture into comic fiction Solar both overlooked and Carey the only previous Booker winner on the longlist.

His inclusion on the shortlist today for Parrot and Olivier in America, a reimagining of Democracy in America author Alexis de Tocqueville's visit to the New World, gives him the chance of becoming the first ever writer to win the Booker three times, having previously taken it in 1988 for Oscar and Lucinda and 2001 for True History of the Kelly Gang.

"The omission of both David Mitchell and Christos Tsiolkas from the shortlist is a real shock. While both writers might rightly feel aggrieved at being overlooked, I imagine it took some wrangling amongst the judges to reduce one of the best longlists in years to six," said Jonathan Ruppin at independent book chain Foyles, who, while praising all six books for their "lightness of touch which means the reader doesn't get bogged down in something worthy or dull", predicted that Room was the most likely title to go on to win the award.

Waterstone's tipped C to take the prize, with fiction buying manager Simon Burke calling it "a challenging yet dazzling novel". "The news that David Mitchell has not made the shortlist will cause great wailing and gnashing of teeth across the bookworld, but perhaps is a useful reminder of the independence and unpredictability of the Booker," he said. "But this is still a hugely varied and exciting list, worthy of the Booker brand. Carey and Levy have to be strong contenders, but our money is on Tom McCarthy. The more people that read [C] the better."

The bookies agreed, with William Hill immediately installing McCarthy as 2/1 favourite to win the prize. "There has been a considerable media buzz around all of the books on the shortlist, and literary punters have staked more money in total on Tom McCarthy to win than any of the other authors, so he is a worthy favourite," said spokesman Graham Sharpe. Donoghue and Galgut came in second at the bookmaker, both at 3/1, with one customer so sure that In A Strange Room would win that they placed £400 on Galgut at 7/1, the largest single bet on the prize "for a few years", said Sharpe.

Carey came in fourth, at 5/1, with Levy at 7/1 and Jacobson the 8/1 outside to take the prize.

The opinion-splitting novels picked for this year's longlist have helped make it the most popular since 2001, with Tsiolkas's novel selling the most copies, followed by Donoghue's. The winner, who will join a roster of former winners including Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle and JM Coetzee, will be announced on 12 October. Last year's winner Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is the fastest-selling Booker winner ever, with sales of around half-a-million copies to date.

The Man Booker shortlist in full:

Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America

Emma Donoghue's Room

Damon Galgut's In a Strange Room

Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question

Andrea Levy's The Long Song

Tom McCarthy's C


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The books that send me back to school

For Ralph Miliband governments could never tame capitalism. New Labour thought otherwise – and then came the financial crisis. But what will David or Ed do if they gain the leadership? By John Gray

Viewed from one angle Ralph Miliband was a theorist of revolution who failed to notice the radical transformations going on around him. A lifelong Marxist, he never doubted that the future would be shaped by the struggle against capitalism. In fact it was capitalism that proved to be the revolutionary force in the late 20th century, consigning socialism to the memory hole. By the time Miliband died in May 1994, the Soviet system had been replaced by a type of resource-based authoritarian capitalism, while China's Communist party was overseeing the development of an unbridled market of a kind that Milton Friedman could only dream about.

In Britain in the 1980s Miliband managed to convince himself that Labour, which he had always bitterly attacked, might, under the influence of Tony Benn, turn into a genuinely socialist party. In fact Labour split, which more than any other single factor enabled the continuing dominance of Thatcher. Probably only the battles fought by Neil Kinnock prevented Labour disintegrating altogether. When John Smith became leader, the party began the "prawn cocktail offensive", a rapprochement with the financial sector pursued through private lunches with leading City figures, which formed the prelude to New Labour. Only weeks after Smith died (in the same month as Miliband) the party would start burying any trace of its socialist past.

When he gave the Bennite wing his intellectual support, Miliband was colluding in the politics of make-believe. Yet in one vital respect this intractably oppositional Jewish refugee from nazism had a firmer grip on reality than the social democrats who eventually prevailed in Labour's internecine conflicts, and when he ridiculed Anthony Crosland's vision of a domesticated and pacified capitalism, he left the party with a dilemma it has not been able to resolve. Like Marx, Miliband understood that states and governments are never autonomous actors; their options are shaped, and often foreclosed, by the distribution of power and resources. This was the central theme of Miliband's The State in Capitalist Society (1969), a penetrating assault on social-democratic thinking in which he developed and extended the argument against revisionism of his earlier Parliamentary Socialism: A Study of the Politics of Labour (1961).

In The Future of Socialism (1956), Crosland had argued that Labour must distinguish between means and ends (a theme pursued later by Blair). Capitalism had changed fundamentally, and rather than opposing it Labour should use the market to advance socialist values. Properly managed to ensure steady economic growth, free markets could be used to promote an egalitarian society in which everyone could live the good life. Against this rosy vision, Miliband urged – rightly, I've always thought – that the world had not changed as much as Crosland and his fellow-revisionists imagined. Capitalism remained an unruly beast, and the idea that governments had learnt how to tame it was just an illusion.

The oil shocks of the 70s were an early warning of the fragility of the postwar order. The shocks were not fatal, and capitalism survived the crisis (as it will survive the present crisis, in one form or another). But it was already becoming apparent that while governments could withstand upheavals in the global economy, the state was not the directing agency social democrats imagined it to be. As Miliband saw it, the state was a servant of these forces rather than their potential master. Of course he exaggerated. The interests of capitalists are often at odds, and in any case politics is driven by far more than class conflict. Even so, Miliband's view that the state is constrained, reactive and hemmed in by market forces has become increasingly plausible with the passage of time. But if this is so, what role can there be for a party that aims to make capitalism a force for the collective good? Can a future Labour government succeed where past governments have failed and harness capitalism to a vision of social improvement? Or should Labour accept that it is capitalism itself that must be changed?

These are precisely the questions that face Miliband's sons as they contend for the Labour leadership. The clash between the two has an undeniable drama, and it is not just a matter of sibling rivalry. It occurs at a time when the world economy is in a crisis the founders of New Labour believed to be impossible. Lacking the Marxian insight that capitalism is inherently volatile and constantly mutating, they never doubted that the deregulated finance-capitalism that developed in the US towards the end of the past century would last. The left had to overcome its suspicion of the free market, and accept that only by exploiting its productivity could government improve society: social democracy and neo-liberal economics were actually complementary.

Just like Crosland, though without his Keynesian grasp of the dangers of recurring boom and bust, New Labour believed capitalism had been tamed. But as Ralph Miliband suspected and events have confirmed, the anarchic energy of the free market is not so easily controlled. The fall of communism was celebrated as a triumph of capitalism, which now became practically world-wide; but the effect was to make capitalism more unstable, as disturbances in one part of the system were rapidly transmitted to all the rest. The fragmented world of the cold war was more resilient to shocks, and also more hospitable to social democracy, than the world that ensued. Governments found that few of the levers they used to control the economy worked as they had before. New Labour did not want to control the market. A feature of the understanding it reached with the City was that financial markets would continue to be deregulated. In part this was accepted as the price for power, but it also reflected New Labour's Fukuyama-like faith that market capitalism was the final stage of economic development; the future lay with the self-regulating market.

As could be foreseen, things turned out rather differently. With regulatory controls relaxed or scrapped the financial institutions whose support Labour had wooed became predatory, raking in vast profits from strategies whose risks they did not understand. Inevitably this hubris led to their downfall, and the financial system imploded. The market millennium lasted hardly more than a decade, leaving a legacy of unsustainable debt.

The happy conjunction of neo-liberal economics with social democracy on which New Labour was founded is now history. This is the truth evaded in Tony Blair's autohagiography. If New Labour is obsolete it is not because of the personal defects of Gordon Brown, Blair's delusional moral certainty and incessant war-mongering or even the dysfunctional relationship between the two leaders. It is because American finance-capitalism, the model for virtually everything that New Labour ever did, has blown itself up.

The problem with the debate between the Milibands is not that it risks turning into a public family feud. It is that neither of the two contenders has come to terms with the bankruptcy of the New Labour project in which each of them was involved. Neither has acknowledged, or perhaps fully understood, the implications of the financial crisis for a future Labour government. It can only mean an erosion of the very foundations of Britain's social democratic inheritance. Yet in different ways, each of the Miliband brothers still sees government as capable of controlling market forces – the illusion their father presciently exposed.

In his Keir Hardie lecture in July, David Miliband spoke eloquently of moving away from state paternalism and reviving Labour traditions of mutualism. The state can no longer be the centre of knowledge and initiative – its function is rather that of empowering society. Top-down Fabian control must be replaced by open democratic relationships. No doubt these are desirable goals, if very much in the spirit of the prevailing conventional wisdom and perhaps not so different from Cameron's fluffy "big society". The larger difficulty is that Miliband is harking back to Crosland (whom he recently cited as his political hero) at a time when Crosland's thinking is no longer applicable.

Crosland's vision was based above all on economic growth – steady, continuing and robust. Following Keynes, he believed that wise economic management could create a society of abundance. But the effect of the financial crisis has been to curtail growth, at least in developed economies. Even if the economy recovers, governments will not have the largesse he assumed would be available. Bailing out the banks has passed the burden of debt on to the state, and no British government can expect to avoid large-scale cut-backs in borrowing and spending. Instead of the market generating wealth that could be used by governments for collective purposes, the resources of government have been pre-empted for the repayment of debts incurred by the market's excesses. Against this background, the post-paternalist state is likely to mean higher unemployment and cash-starved public services.

Unlike his brother, Ed Miliband has chosen to define his candidacy explicitly in terms of New Labour's failings and argues forcefully for the need to remodel capitalism. "Britain's big question of the next decade," he has written, "is whether we head towards an increasingly US-style capitalism – more unequal, more brutish, more unjust – or whether we can build a different model, a capitalism that works for people and not the other way around". Once again these are noble aspirations but far removed from reality. Globalisation is an idea that has been greatly over-hyped, yet governments' freedom of action has without question been reduced as capital has become more mobile. Even the US may soon find it difficult to fund its ballooning federal debt. But if American capitalism is entering a crisis zone, Britain will not have the luxury of forging a new economic model; it will have trouble just staying afloat. Ralph Miliband's pessimistic assessment of the future of social democracy could well be vindicated.

If one of the Miliband brothers wins the Labour leadership and becomes prime minister he will confront in an acute form the constraints on the power of the state his father astutely identified. Rather than controlling or reshaping capitalism, a Miliband government would find itself struggling to preserve Britain's social democratic inheritance in the face of capitalism's renewed disorder. Ralph Miliband seems never to have lost the Marxist faith that history would eventually open the way to a truly socialist society. He would surely have appreciated the curious dialectic through which it has fallen to his sons to defend the social democracy he so fiercely attacked.


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Booktrust teenage prize shortlist spans time, space and genre

It's the start of another school year and I'm dreaming of new pencil cases, satchels and the books I read in class. But what are the books you remember from your own school days?

Fourteen years after I finished school, there's still something about September which feels like the start of the year, and I'm nostalgic this morning for new pencils and felt tips, satchels and packed lunches. As the hope of the nation barrels back into classrooms, I'm also thinking back to the books I read in school.

I was away last weekend and talking about how we all read William Golding's Lord of the Flies (and no, the weekend wasn't that bad, it's just that one of my friends is currently making her way through his complete works, to settle a bet). I was 14, and I think there couldn't have been a more perfect book to pick for kids of that age – if you're not going to be hooked by Ralph and Piggy and Simon and Jack, and "kill the pig, cut his throat, spill his blood", then you're not going to be hooked by anything. This was the edition we had – just looking at it casts me back to yellow highlighters and doodling and the horrors of reading aloud.

Anyway, the shocking gloriousness of Lord of the Flies made me hungry for more Golding. Our school library was pretty small, but it did, impressively, have a copy of Pincher Martin. I am quite sure I failed to get any allegorical, existential meaning from the book, but it successfully terrified me, burning an image of Martin clinging to his lonely rock into my brain. In typically disorganised fashion, I promptly lost the book for about a month and was subsequently banned from the school library for giving it back so late – obviously as a sop to all those Golding fans clamouring for more of his work.

Golding and my thieving tendencies aside, Jane Eyre bored me, King Lear enthralled me, and I described Romeo and Juliet in my mock GSCE as a novel – so something clearly went wrong there (thankfully I'd got the right end of the stick by the time the real thing came around). But the other book which really stands out in my memory from schooldays is Wuthering Heights. I was on to A-levels by then, but for some reason we were still going through the purgatory of reading (droning) aloud in class – possibly one of the best ways to make a group of teenagers lose interest in a novel. I was lazy, more interested in messing around than working, but I was so caught up in the melodramas of Cathy and Heathcliff ("Do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you! Oh God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!") that I'd be pages ahead when it came to my turn to read and would get in trouble for not concentrating. And I distinctly remember spending a break time racing to the end.

The rest of it, though, the years of English classes and essays, revising and exams, has largely faded into oblivion, which is rather worrying. But how about you? Indulge my nostalgia and tell me what you remember of your own literary school days.


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