Go Darke

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it

Books, Fundamental Joeyism

Taboo books

I’ve grown bored of reading Julia Donaldson to the four year old every night. I mean not that I mind Mrs. Donaldson. Its just started feeling a little ground-hog-day-ish and I know pretty much all the words by heart by now.

‘…a Gruffalo, why didn’t you know?’

So I this afternoon I bought this…

The Enid Blyton’s Famous Five boxset.

I’m not sure how well these have aged now with the modern norms of tablets, wifi and on demand streaming, but I loved these books growing up.

I’ve taken a stab at reading Roald Dahl to her… but I’ve realized Roald Dahl is actually kinda scary. Well, if you’re four. I’ve gotten some traction with Fantastic Mr. Fox (which I’ve read twice now) but stuff like the BFG (with the evil scary giants) and the Witches (with… well witches) is likely on the higher end of what is reasonably possible at this age.

Anyways, I remember the Famous Five and I suppose, the Secret Seven, being quite tame.

Then I bought this…

…because I kinda like historical biographies. Emily Hobhouse, outside South Africa or Britain is virtually unknown. She was the lone voice of descent when the British killed 27,000 women and children in concentration camps during the second Anglo-Boer war.

… and then… slotted in next to the Hobhouse hardcover was this…

… which made me go, ‘Hmmm…’

I have NEVER seen a print version of this book. And not only that, a new print version! Wtf? In an actual book store? Who owns the rights to this? And who receives the royalties I wondered vaguely…

I gingerly pick it up, looking left and right down the aisle to make sure I was… you know… alone.

We are going to the seaside at the end of the month. And I need some light reading for my pool side lounger. I suddenly envisioned the glares I would get sitting under my umbrella, reading Mein Kampf and sipping on my little pink umbrella drink. Which, mean’t obviously, that I had to get it. (I veer naturally towards antagonism)

Although I turn the book face down on the counter at the register. The black* teenager who is behind the till, has trouble scanning the book… and so calls over her manager to help her enter the barcode onto the computer.

*I only mention her phenotype because… you know… it makes me feel even more like a tit than I already am.

They both regard me with serious looks. I smile… weakly. Fuuuuuuck. I add two lego minifigs that are in a box next to the register to the bill… to you know… lighten the mood. I’m not sure if it works. Would I like a bag? ‘Eh… yes please’.

I am suddenly less keen on reading this by the pool.

Well… in my defence… I’ve read the Bible. And it can’t be worse than the Old Testament right?

I don’t hold high hopes for me actually finishing it… I tried with some enthusiasm to read Karl Marx Das Kapital once… and damn… I would rather stab myself with a rusty screwdriver than try that again.

But I’m also, morbidly perhaps, interested in what Adolf Hitler had to say for himself. Vaguely I wonder if it will lose something in the translation. I know I definitely don’t have the Standhaftigkeit to attempt this in the original. (I tired reading Faust in the original venacular once… Jesus… that was hard). In any event, I’m sure German versions of this don’t exist anymore.

I wikipedia it. I doesn’t explicitly say… only that Hilter only sold 89,000 copies of his seminal work… earning him about 14,000 Reichmarks… or roughly (after tax) a thousand pounds.

This seems quite low ball to me. I wonder how he would have done with a twitter account?

I’m also fascinated that (my) people followed him into the very maws of hell. And so willingly. Mind you, I look at the insane, cult like following attached to Donald Trump and I wonder if we (as humans) are naturally drawn towards fanaticism and madness.

I mean clearly we are. You’d think that would be something we would have out-grown by now. You know, having to be ‘led’ by someone. But clearly our monkey brains still need that Alpha male in charge.

But then we don’t ever choose Alpha males. We choose these odd looking dweebs like Hitler. Or frumpy demagogues with bad hairdos. The worlds ‘strong-men’ are all uniformly pathetic… at least in terms of physique.

I don’t get it.

Anyways, we’ll see how it goes.