Sammy's Dot

It’s hard to believe that, until a week or two ago, Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid were flying completely beneath my radar, despite the fact that they live in Toronto and that Mangoes and Curry Leaves has been on my Indigo wishlist since forever. Apparently the book caught my eye, but the names of the authors never registered. I can be kind of oblivious sometimes.

Then I got the book out of the library, because I’m on a bit of a self-imposed book-buying diet, for reasons of cost and space. (This means that expensive and space-occupying cookbooks are right out, and I’m limiting myself to three or four used paperbacks per month. Which is about two to three days worth of reading material. Given the limitations of the local library’s science fiction section, I have a small problem.)

Then I went back to the library and borrowed as many of their other books as I could get my hands on.

Now I’m going to have to acquire all of the couple’s books, even if it takes me some time. And while I’m really enjoying Mangoes and Curry Leaves, as well as Seductions of Rice, and I’ve tried several recipes from each, HomeBaking is the one that’s moved to the top of my list. It’s the banana bread that did it, although I plan to share one more recipe from the book before I (sadly) let the library have it back. (I’m getting anxious for my next opportunity to splurge on cookbooks now, I must say.)

I’ve made quite a few banana bread recipes over the years (that being my favourite way to eat bananas), and Alford and Duguid’s recipe is, hands down, the best one I’ve ever eaten. It’s not the healthiest version, but one must face up to the fact, as I have, that while it’s called banana bread it is in fact a banana cake. “Healthy” is not a requirement. A perfect tight moist crumb packed with banana flavour is. This one delivers in a big way.

And seriously, how is it that I’ve never before encountered a banana bread recipe with shredded coconut? Because that addition is sheer genius. It adds texture and flavour without overpowering the banana-ness the way chocolate chips do, and without making the bread dry the way whole wheat flour or oatmeal might. The sprinkling of demerera sugar before baking is – rather literally – icing on the cake.

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Rosemary Kirstein has a blog.

I discovered The Steerswoman last year after a review was posted on Watch the Skies. Finished the first two books (in their omnibus form) in a day, then went back for The Language of Power. And then I waited obsessively for a used copy of The Lost Steersman to make it’s way to me (I would have very happily bought it new, but sadly it wasn’t available). I loved the story. (Despite the Fellow teasing me about the cover and the title, which led him to conclude that the only logical occupation of the main character was unicorn herding.) Science creeping into what appears to be a fantasy setting makes me happy, and so does the sense of discovery and wonder that is so central to Rowan, the main character.

And then I discovered that there weren’t any more yet.

I googled, and kept googling every few weeks, and got myself on the Random House/Del Rey mailing list for updates about her books. It was clear that there would be more stories about the Steerswomen, but just when that would be was a very open question, and I wanted to know when (because I can get a bit obsessive when I want to read something really badly, yes). I know that Kirstein’s blog doesn’t necessarily mean she’s any closer to finishing the book, but if she’s going to be writing about the process, I’m excited that I’ll have the chance to follow along.

Feminism and Ecology (I’ve been reading a few critiques of ecofeminism, and I want to head back to some primary sources. I actually read The Science Question in Feminism for a paper in a philosophy of science class a few years ago, but I want to re-read it.)

The Science Question in Feminism (Sandra Harding)

Science and Social Inequality: Feminist and post-colonial issues (Sandra Harding)

In a Different Voice (Carol Gilligan)

Environmental culture: The ecological crisis of reason (Val Plumwood)

Feminism and the Mastery of Nature (Val Plumwood)

Political Theory

The Philosophy of Social Ecology (Murray Bookchin)

Food and Food Politics

Safe Food (Marion Nestle)

Having (finally) slogged through both Risk Society and Ecological Politics in an Age of Risk, I think I’ve settled my thoughts about Ulrich Beck and his contribution to the contemporary environmental movement.

His point, that modernization leads to increased risks as a consequence of modern activity, and that those risks spur ever more attempts to fix the problems through technology, makes sense. One issue I take with Beck’s notion of “risk society” is that he attempts to argue that social problems and upheaval will result from “reflexive modernization”. I don’t find his case that there will be significant societal consequences arising from genetic engineering convincing, due to the lack of data discussed in my previous post on the books.

However, Beck’s belief that the lack of clear responsibility for any harm that may be caused by emitters of chemical and radioactive pollution will allow the world as a whole to become a laboratory for the potential environmental consequences seems to me to be more persuasive. As I understand him, though, Beck is arguing that the scientific, naturalistic worldview has become too powerful and too closely linked with capitalist interests. This means that no matter what problems are caused by the (presumably commercial) application of scientific research, science and industry will be able to profit by the damage they create and society as a whole will pay the price. Naomi Klein makes a very similar point in The Shock Doctrine, writing about the defense and security industries and the degree of political influence their leaders have gained. It is here that I think Beck is slightly off-base in his criticisms of the scientific worldview.

It seems to me that Beck is correct that the application of science has led to significant environmental damage, but I disagree that this is a new phenomenon, and the scientific method, unlike earlier explorations into new technology, as Beck himself argues, gives us the ability to examine our past harms and also to extrapolate our future. What we need is greater understanding of the scientific method among a much wider segment of the population, in order to effectively direct science. Beck criticizes the ultra-specialization of the practice of science and its elitist character, but as I understand him, he then argues that to prevent widespread social and environmental damage by these scientific elites, the practice of science itself should be socially limited without much regard for the actual evidence that certain directions for research are inherently risky.

That would limit potential harm, but it would also deprive us of many potential benefits. Of course, as I read Beck, he does not believe that scientific knowledge has led to social and individual benefits. I do accept that we benefit from science, in many ways beyond the wonder of understanding. I’d rather see that understanding expanded across the population, and have as many people as possible be capable of realistic evaluation of the risks posed by scientific research and its applications. Beck and I agree that science can cause problems, but I see the fact that science also contains the tools to fix problems as its great strength, not a reason for mistrust.

In addition to Risk Society (Ulrich Beck), I’m working on Ecological Politics in an Age of Risk (also by Beck). Both books leave me with the same complaint: give me data!

While Ecological Politics is much more accessible than Risk Society, I think it shows the same method of speculation about the social effects of technology without supporting information. In the first chapter, Beck explores the potential of reproductive technology to fundamentally alter the way humans are born. He is particularly concerned with the way that human embryos (may) become a sort of commodity for researchers, and the results of their research leads to greater and greater levels of medical and scientific intervention into the production of children, and presumably this feeds back into the need to do more genetic research in order to feed this new market.

It’s interesting speculation, but all that it is, is speculation. Beck says that in vitro fertilization is indicated more and more frequently (now that it is possible), but does not offer any statistical information on how many couples are using it (or why!), or how many men are depositing sperm at sperm banks, or how many couples are using ova or sperm from donors because their own is not “good enough”. He certainly does not discuss how many people make use of genetic testing – or why some people might choose to do so, while others do not. In the absence of any data, it seems to me that it is equally, if not more, likely that most couples will continue to produce children in the old-fashioned way, that being easier, cheaper, and usually leading to a perfectly acceptable, if not perfect, baby.

Although there is no doubt that techniques such as sex selection and pre-natal diagnosis for conditions such as Down Syndrome are in use, I do not think that Beck has made the case that they will necessarily lead to more and more deliberate shaping and manipulation of the human species. It is a possibility that should be examined – and in my opinion, applied very cautiously if at all – but Beck has given me no reason to accept that his concerns are valid.

Beck goes on to suggest that the burden of proof of harm has been misplaced, in that scientific researchers are free to explore questions that may impact all of society, while society as a whole, which will have to bear the risks and consequences of that research, does not have the opportunity to question or influence the direction and methodology of the scientific establishment. It’s the precautionary principle, and as an environmental studies geek, I’m sympathetic to the argument. However, though I agree that all scientific research occurs within a social context and certainly effects society, I think that Beck’s argument is undermined by the fact that he complains that we are moving toward an unknown future without stopping to ask what the consequences of our decisions will be, and yet he does not take the opportunity to present data that presumably are already available, if his assertions about the use of reproductive technology are credible.

Perhaps that’s a different book, one devoted to exploring the current and future consequences of scientific research. Nonetheless, I find it hard to accept an argument that there will be fundamental changes to society as a result of applied research without some tangible reasons why. “People will use it because it’s available” or “the medical-economic establishment will market it” is not enough. I think that the precautionary principle should guide research and innovation, but I also think that those of us who advocate it need to use, and encourage everyone to use, existing data to good effect.

I’ve been reading Ulrich Beck’s Risk Society: Towards a new modernity over the past few weeks. I have a lot to say about it, but it’s been slow going: I’m not sure if I picked up a particularly awkward translation, or if it’s simply the way sociologists like to write, but picking apart the language has been frustrating.

However, towards the end of the book, I’ve hit on a phrase that I really can’t get past without a brief comment:

“One can argue whether medicine has actually improved the well-being of humanity.” (Beck, 1992, p. 204)

No. No, one really can’t argue about whether medicine has improved the well-being of humanity. One could argue that some medical advances have brought consequences of their own, which I think Beck does. One can certainly argue that the benefits of medicine have been inequitably shared, so that the well-being of some has been improved, but not that of others.

One cannot argue that the possibility of surviving cancer is not an improvement in human well-being. The fact that a diagnosis of diabetes is no longer a death sentence certainly improves well-being. It is a fact that those of us with access to modern medicine can live longer, and often stay active and alert longer, and I would call that a very definite improvement to human well-being. Though these improvements are individual, their social effects are real too: for example, most children in the developed world now grow up without losing a parent or a sibling to  disease. Can it really be suggested that that isn’t a social good?

It’s well worth analyzing the practice of medicine to try to identify where our current knowledge and understanding is inadequate. It’s important that the nature of unintended side effects be studied. It’s certainly necessary to talk about what constitutes an ethical medical practice, and to talk about the social and cultural impact of more people living longer. It’s imperative that we find ways to ensure that everyone, everywhere, has access to decent medicine.

I think it’s hard to have those worthwhile discussions if one starts from the premise that the value of medicine to society is questionable in and of itself.

And it’s barely even started yet.

I haven’t been writing here much (okay, at all) because – as noted in March – I’ve been concentrating on the writing that somebody else is expected to read and then assign me a letter to indicate the quality of my work. Writing, I believe, is one of those things that one gets out of practice in; so is reading books with a bit more meat to them than, say, Honor Harrington novels. Besides, I’d rather write the literature review for my thesis in the next three months, when I don’t have to do anything else. So, the summer project for Sammy’s Dot will be an ongoing series of reflection on a self-directed reading program.

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From Neal Stephenson’s Anathem:

“Our opponent is an alien starship packed with atomic bombs,” I said. “We have a protractor.”

Now that the holidays are over, and the baking and preserving is finished, and I’ve splurged on a third bookshelf and rearranged my books to be layered two-deep instead of three (discovering a number of duplicates in the process), I finally have some time to settle in and read some of the new aquisitions. Two in particular are fascinating: Unbuilt Toronto and HTO. Both are worthy of a review, but I’ll concentrate on HTO in this post.

HTO (Wayne Reeves and Christina Palassio, eds.) is both a history and a geography of water in Toronto, but is also a collection of essays about local exploration, water use, engineering, and architecture. Among other things. I’ve been racing through it, but I’ll be going back to re-read it again.

The essays are full of interesting facts about Toronto (mammoth bones uncovered at Bathurst and Dupont? who knew?), but more importantly, in explaining and discussing the history of the construction of the city, the authors challenge their readers to consider how dramatically we’ve changed the land around us, and whether that can be sustainable. There’s no blanket condemnation of the watercourse diversions and burials that have taken place since the 1800s, but there is a lot of discussion as to how we can achieve the same goal of a safe water supply for humans while allowing space for wildlife to survive. Several of the essays are also concentrated on the interaction between humans and the waters we live around, both physically and culturally. This emphasis on the many dimensions of the value of water, whatever its form, seems like the right approach to me.

While reading this book, I was also struck by how little I know about the city I’ve lived in for years. I know the major streets and the neighbourhoods I’ve lived in pretty well – but on the other hand, I used to live only a few minutes away from the Riverdale Park, and I’ve been there only a couple of times, and I don’t know the Western waterfront at all. I’ve mostly seen the Don River from the Queen Street bridge and the subway. I think I’ll be using HTO as a guide for exploration (though I won’t go as far as the urban infiltrators who explored and photographed some of the city’s storm sewers – I do think that’s an activity that people should be cautious about) as much as an information source. If everyone who reads it feels the same way I do, the book’s most important effect is going to be the number of people who start really getting to know their home.

This is a book I’ll be coming back to for ideas and information on a regular basis.

Let me start by saying that this story is really a tempest in a teapot. Margaret Atwood’s novel The Handmaid’s Tale is a brutal depiction of an ugly future and this is surely not the first complaint about it; I do not think that the Toronto District School Board will be banning it in response to this one. In fact, every board in the country has probably had more than a few since the book was first taught in high school English classes. However, this particular parent’s complaint happens to be in the news at the moment; I happen to have strong opinions on limiting exposure to good books; and I don’t want to get sucked into the stupidity that infects the Toronto Star commenting system.

So: the gist of Mr. Edwards’ complaint appears to be that he finds the novel obscene, and is offended by what he perceives as condemnation of his religion. Both of these complaints are poor arguments for preventing children from reading the book.

Mr. Edwards seems to think that by telling his sons that there are words they should not say, they will choose not to say them; by telling them that there are thoughts that are wrong, they will not think them; by telling them that some actions are evil, they will not commit them. To a point, this might be true – though he might be shocked by the language he hears in the hallway of any high school in Toronto – but how deep does the obedience go? How will his sons respond if they are challenged to break the rules, and the only support for the rules is his word?

By challenging readers with a world in which some of the rules that currently exist in our society have become exaggerated and twisted and backed by overwhelming force, Atwood demands that those rules be questioned. The book also provides a depth of understanding for the reasons behind other, perhaps competing, sets of rules. Someone who reads The Handmaid’s Tale might conclude that it is wrong to accept a religious justification for the subjugation and abuse of women, and they might also conclude, having experienced Offred’s life as a Handmaid, that the laws that demand equality are necessary to prevent injustice. Perhaps, if they also read the afterward, they might see that the small injustices of sexism do their own damage. Perhaps, having read the book and empathized with the results of sexism, they might understand why some words are harmful and should not be used, why some thoughts are unjust and should be challenged, why some actions are evil. Perhaps, having read a book that challenges their own concept of morality, they will build a stronger base for moral action in the future.

I have never understood why some people seem to think that by refusing to challenge their beliefs, they will be stronger, and I have never understood why preventing children and young adults from thinking about their beliefs will make the world a better place. No one would throw a child into a totalitarian world and leave him to fend for himself to learn what will happen. Fiction allows us to explore the possible consequences of our actions, individually and as a society, without actual harm, and with that exploration we have the opportunity to apply what we’ve learned to our lives.