“Ants Among Elephants” by Sujatha Gidla

This is a quasi-biography of K.G. Satyamurthy, the renowned poet and Communist organizer from Andhra, India, written by his niece. The family are dalits or untouchables. As such, this book also serves as a window into the lives of untouchables and the caste system in general in post-colonial India. One sees how untouchables are still discriminated against both in the rural villages and the modern cities. One out of every six Indians is born an untouchable. Gidla’s family was well-educated, not unusual for untouchables, many of whom converted to Christianity during the colonial period and, therefore, were taught in missionary schools. Despite being practicing Christians, untouchables never can escape their caste, which is considered a social institution as opposed to a religious one. They are forced to live outside the village proper or segregated in urban ghettos, must kowtow to any caste Hindu of whom they cross paths, must eat from separate bowls, and drink from separate wells. Even untouchables with money or doctorates do not escape these indignities. Often those most brutal to untouchables were not the highest caste Brahmins, but those from the lowest castes, such as ditch diggers and barbers. Even within the untouchables there are subcastes such as the “malas’, who were servants, and the “madigas” who hauled away dead animal carcasses to make leather goods. Perhaps the vilest tradition was “vetti”, where every untouchable family had to give up its first born son, as soon as he learned to walk and talk, to the “dora”, the local landlord, as his household slave. This was not an ancient tradition, but was instituted, with British acquiescence, in the late 19th century. Untouchables generally despised Indian leaders such as Gandhi and Nehru, who supported the traditions of the caste system. Their hero was Ambedkar, a fellow untouchable, who fought for equal rights both socially and politically. Under this oppressive background, the Communist Party grew. Its first slogan was, “land to the tiller!” K.G. Satyamurthy, known as Satyam, joined the Party while studying at A.C. College. He was also enamored by the traditional poems in his native Telugu langauage, as well as contemporary poets such as Sri Sri. His motto from college was “write like Sri Sri. Fight like Lenin. A pen and a gun.” Satyam would end up organizing students in universities across his state, as well as railway workers, dung collectors, and field laborers over the years. Eventually, he was forced underground, hiding in the forests, not able to see his own wife, children, or the rest of his family for many decades. Before his marriage, he had warned his wife that his life’s work might require this fate. As Satyam put it, “only revolution is truth. Everything else may come or go.”

“Friedrich Holderlin’s Life, Poetry, and Madness” by Wilhelm Waiblinger (translated by Will Stone)

Holderlin was one of the greatest German poets of the late 18th and early 19th century. He studied Lutheran theology in a seminary along with Hegel and Schelling, before writing the epistolary novel “Hyperion” as well as his major odes. He sustained himself with various jobs from being a tutor to the German nobility to being appointed court librarian for a German prince. However, the last thirty-six years of his life he spent raving mad, in the care of a kindly carpenter, Ernst Zimmer, in his hometown of Tubingen. His family refused all contact with him and he spent most of his days locked up in the carpenter’s tower, part of the old city’s fortifications. This short book is a memoir of Waiblinger’s effort to meet with Holderlin from the years 1822-1826. Waiblinger was a young Romantic poet, with anti-establishment tendencies, who was to die of syphilis in Rome, before his memoir was published. According to Stone, for Waiblinger, as well as other Romantics, “Holderlin was a lesson, a terrifying example of the physical and mental health potentiality of imaginative thought unrestrained.”

Waiblinger begins his memoir by recounting what was known of Holderlin’s youth. “This soul then was composed of an infinite delicateness, noble, fine, deep of feeling but all too sensitive, with an audacious and daring imagination…. constructing a world in which the most bitter sufferings were perceived as the necessary creative element of inwardness.” By the time Holderlin reached seminary, he was still suffering bouts of melancholy, along with producing first drafts of what would become some of his greatest works of poetry. “He would sometimes retire for weeks on end and converse only with his mandolin…. his sufferings exacerbated by a love too delicate and sentimental, by his zeal and impetuous cravings for fame and honour, the loathing of his circumstances, the aversion to his course of study.” Throughout his life, “it was nature itself which he most worshipped and adored.” After two doomed love affairs, Holderlin was already teetering on insanity. “He took on a translation of Sophocles, which proved a curious blend of the wondrous and the deranged.”

Soon, Holderlin had been committed to an asylum, where he spent two years, only let out under the care of the carpenter Zimmer, who was a fan of his poetry. When, in 1822, Waiblinger was to first meet Holderlin he was already thoroughly insane. Waiblinger rented rooms in Tubingen and venturing to introduce himself to his hero, went “to the room of Herr Librarian—for this is how Holderlin prefers to be addressed…. The visitor now finds himself addressed as ‘Your Majesty’, ‘Your Holiness’ and ‘Merciful Father’.” Holderlin talked to himself incessantly, repeated the same simple tunes on his piano for days on end, babbled incoherently, and invented new words and languages. Waiblinger recounts, “I gave him paper to write on. Then he would sit at his desk and produce a few lines, metrically rhymed. Admittedly they were senseless, particularly the last ones, but at least they were consistent in their rhyming form…. His head is still brimming with a host of sublime metaphysical notions, indeed even original poetic expressions, but can only communicate them in the most obscure and fantastical manner. He lacks the capacity to retain his vaporous imaginings.” Zimmer summed up Holderlin’s existence, “It was too much inside him that caused his mind to give way.” Towards the end of his days, Holderlin, himself, wrote, “Now for the first time I understand humankind, because I dwell far from it and in solitude.”

“On the Calculation of Volume: Vol. I” by Solvej Balle (translated by Barbara Haveland)

This is the first novel in a seven volume collection by Balle. The conceit, in a nutshell, is simple, “He is waiting for me. My name is Tara Selter. I am sitting in the back room overlooking the garden and a woodpile. It is the eighteenth of November. Every night when I lie down to sleep in the bed in the guest room it is the eighteenth of November and every morning, when I wake up, it is the eighteenth of November. I no longer expect to wake up to the nineteenth of November and I no longer remember the seventeenth of November as if it were yesterday.”

Tara’s husband, Thomas, is not living through whatever it is that she is. “We were living in two different times. That was all. Two times that had flooded their banks. At a place where rivers meet and converge, a kind of temporal Mesopotamia where the Euphrates and the Tigris are merely two different names for water. We were doing fine in Mesopotamia.” But, inevitably, the day(s) start to wear on Selter’s psyche. “76 days was too many. The distance was too great. I stood in the kitchen with the notebook in my hand and knew that too many days had come between us…. I couldn’t carry on with our repetitions. The fog had lifted, the landscape stretched out clear and sharp before me and we were not waking to the same day.” Still, life, for both husband and wife, moves along, of sorts. “The distance is shortest at night. When Thomas is asleep there is only the ceiling between us, a thin line between two forms of time. I sit in a room that holds the world open and keeps the distance between us as short as possible. He calls the ceiling the floor. I call the floor the ceiling. But these are just words, not a distance but a line that keeps us connected.”

“The Viennese Students of Civilization: The Meaning and Context of Austrian Economics Reconsidered” by Erwin Dekker

Dekker correctly emphasizes that Austrian Economics is better thought of as the study of the social sciences more broadly: the study of human action and, specifically, the study of human interaction and exchange with one another- praxeology and catallactics. There were various "circles" who met regularly during the fin de siecle and inter-war eras in the many cafes of Vienna. They would argue, drink, and even sing songs, but most often they debated about the bigger questions of what made civilization tick- culture, history, institutions, and traditions. The stars of what became labeled the "Austrian School" tradition were Menger, Bohm-Bawerk, Mises, Hayek, and Schumpeter. While differing in economics widely, what largely connected them was their methodological individualism, their radical subjectivity, and their use of marginal analysis in evaluating the economy. While maintaining that economics was a value-free (social)-science, they exposited that markets were the best means of conveying dispersed information widely, through the price system. Markets contained both civilizing and restraining urges by creating a space for the communal interaction of goods and ideas. The lasting contribution of the students from Vienna was to approach economics with humility, that knowledge is too immense, too dispersed, and too diverse to be accumulated by any one man, and thus it is best for the economist to think of himself as a constant learner of partial knowledge and fragments of ideas, rather than a scientist, teacher, or technocrat. Furthermore, economics cannot be studied without studying “the stuff in between”: language, law, tradition, and history- the things that make up a culture and create a civilization.