Richard Rothstein, The Color of Law ***

The Color of Law argues that residential segregation in the United States is largely attributable to de jure governmental action at the local, state, and federal levels. For example, the FHA wouldn't ensure mortgages for African Americans, and local governments used zoning laws to control where African Americans could live. Rothstein makes this specific argument because several Supreme Court decisions, not to mention public opinion, assume that segregation results from de facto prejudice on the part of individuals and is therefore not entitled to remedy by governmental action.

Rothstein makes a convincing case, although he does sometimes rely too heavily on anecdotal evidence. His examples are all from the past, which opens him up to the objection that we're all better now. He clearly explains how past discrimination has led to current wealth discrepancies, but such an argument won't persuade anyone who doesn't already agree with him.

I picked The Color of Law because I've wanted to read something about the history of U.S. housing policy and I'm interested in the ways that well-intentioned programs can have unexpected negative side effects. I got neither of these. The governmental actions that Rothstein describes were all too conscious of their racial impact, and US housing policy is a small part of the story.

As an aside, it was painful to be reading this book during a week where the Supreme Court upheld President Trump's travel ban, which is just the kind of government action Rothstein laments: racially motivated under a cloak of fair-mindedness. Then Justice Kennedy announced his retirement...

Karin Tidbeck, Jagannath ***

Most of the stories in this collection blend realistic everyday activities with an edge of the uncanny. In "Some Letters for Ove Lindstrom," for example, a daughter writes letters to her dead father in an attempt to make peace with her estrangement from him... and implies in passing that her mother was a vittra. They are narrated in a straightforward style, with supernatural elements taken for granted.

The name Ove Lindstrom and references to vittra confirm that Tidbeck is Swedish. Scandinavian touches such as holiday villages, cloudberry jam, and dansband music contribute to the slightly exotic atmosphere for an American reader. Tidbeck translates the stories herself, and she includes a short essay at the end of the book about how that affects their "taste."

I enjoyed the book. The stories were pleasurable and short enough not to wear out their welcome. The final few stories were more completely fantastical, and I found them less interesting.

Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia ***

The Vintage edition of In Patagonia refers to it as "the book that redefined travel writing." I'm not sure I would characterize it as travel writing at all. It's certainly not a book to read to learn about the country or its people. Chatwin approaches Patagonia as a mythical land that attracts restless wanderers and displaced Europeans.

The landscape descriptions are short and tend to the primary colors. Nearly everyone Chatwin meets is European: Welsh in the north, English in the south, with Germans in the middle. The indigenous population plays a decidedly supporting role in the stories he tells about people trying to recreate home in a remote part of the world. There's far more about Butch and Sundance than about gauchos; the ringleaders in the Socialist rebellions were exiled Russians.

Joy Williams, The Visiting Privilege ***

Frankly, I'm not sure how to rate The Visiting Privilege, new and collected stories from Joy Williams.

How would you describe the tone of this passage?

They took them to the cemeteries, from which the children would return with rubbings which Constance found depressing—

     This beautiful bud to us was given
     To unfold here but bloom in heaven

or worse!

     Here lies Aimira Rawson
     Daughter Wife Mother
     She has done what she could

The children affixed the rubbings to the side of the refrigerator with magnets in the shape of broccoli.

Kinda dark but sharply funny. Whatever it is, I love it. I'm also impressed with Williams' prose, interesting characters, and ability to direct the reader's attention to multiple tableaux at the same time. (For example, "White" takes place at a party, but the main character Joan also notes the goings-on of the dog next door.) All arguments for a high rating.

But there wasn't a single story whose narrative arc made sense to me. Literary short stories are often more like sketches than self-contained accounts, but that's not what is happening here. Williams' stories go in a more unpredictable direction than that. For example, "Congress" starts as a relationship drama, shifts gears when due to a hunting accident "a large portion of [the man's] brain lost its rosy hue and turned gray as a rodent's coat," becomes a travelogue through the Southwest (with a hilarious party scene), and ends with the woman taking over a famous taxidermy museum. I enjoyed almost all of it, but the conclusion didn't bring it home.

If it's about the journey and not the destination, The Visiting Privilege gets four or five stars. 

David van Reybrouk, Against Elections ***

Against Elections reminds us that elections are not synonymous with democracy, despite the rampant "electoral fundamentalism" that treats them as the same. "After all, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948 states as such: 'the will of the people shall be the basis of authority of government; this shall be expressed in periodic and genuine elections....'" Van Reybrouk argues that the current problems with our democracies stem from a disconnect between the governors and the governed, and that elections can do nothing to ameliorate that disconnect.

He recommends that we return to the Athenian method of sortition, aka the drawing of lots. Appointing (certain) officials in the same way we create juries would be far more democratic and would also increase engagement. Van Reybrouk provides several examples, both ancient and modern, where aleatoric methods have been incorporated into decision making.

The book does a good job making me question unexamined assumptions about democratic governance, and it describes the current crisis well (especially for Europe, since the author is Belgian). I find the recommendations less convincing. None of the modern examples, such as revising the Icelandic constitution or Canadian electoral reform, was an unqualified success. The description of van Reybrouk's preferred system sounds like the summary of an alien civilization. After pointing to jury selection as a model, the author should have explicitly addressed the problems in that system such as unrepresentative juries, outrageous verdicts, and everyone's desire to get out of jury duty.

Mohsin Hamid, Exit West **** 1/2

Exit West follows Saeed and Nadia as they fall in love while their home city descends into civil war and deal with the complications of living under the threat of violence. It is written in a very Saramago-esque style: the tone of a folk tale, long sentences, social commentary, offhand acceptance of magical elements, an empathetic take on terrible circumstances.

I especially enjoyed the first half, in which everyone continues with their day-to-day lives as the situation worsens. I also appreciated how Hamid tells Saeed and Nadia's story from beginning to end, and that their story was ultimately neither a fairy tale or a tragedy.

The apocalypse appeared to have arrived and yet it was not apocalyptic, which is to say that while the changes were jarring they were not the end, and people found things to do and ways to be and people to be with, and plausible desirable futures began to emerge, unimaginable previously, but not unimaginable now.

Junichiro Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows ***

The final selection from my Kyoto collection of Japanese literature is this essay about Japanese aesthetics. I chose this particular Tanizaki book based almost entirely on its title.

The middle section of the essay is an interesting and atmospherically written mediation about how the spareness of Japanese taste in art and architecture flows from an appreciation of darkness, which contrasts with the Western tendency to illuminate everything as clearly as possible. This idea made me think about three artworks that we saw on Naoshima during our recent trip to Japan:

• The dark room below the lobby of our hotel, which displayed Hiroshi Sugimoto photos with titles like "Coffin of Light" in purposely low light
• The Chichu Museum, which is entirely underground and uses only natural light
• The Ishibashi house that was part of the Art House Project, with its abstract landscapes on its traditional paper walls

In Praise of Shadows starts with a surprisingly long discussion of Western toilets and ends with a questionable hypothesis about a racial dimension to Japanese preferences. The essay enhanced my appreciation of Japanese art and architecture while also making me think of Tanizaki as a grumbler.

The Westerner has been able to move forward in ordered steps, while we have met superior civilization and have had to surrender to it, and we have had to leave a road we have followed for thousands of years.