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"Fannie: The Talent for Success of Writer Fannie Hurst"
A life of one of the great trash novelists argues that (clunky metaphors aside) it's time for a revival.
By Daniel Mangin
[08/17/99]

Dear Mr. Blue
Secrets and lies
I have a past life that would raise the hair on your neck. Do I have to tell my boyfriend?
By Garrison Keillor
[08/17/99]

Book Bag
Smart and sexy
The author of "Fear of Flying" selects six novels for those who believe that the brain is the most important erogenous zone.
By Erica Jong
[08/16/99]

Ivory Tower
Who owns the clones?
A scientist sues the University of Hawaii for the rights to his research.
By Alex Salkever
[08/16/99]

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"Crimes of War"
A mixture of reportage and legal discussion adds up to an encylopedia of evil.
By Akash Kapur
[08/16/99]

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Jaynes postulates that human consciousness as we know it -- the ability to "metaphorize" in mind-space -- is a relatively recent development. And we're not talking geologic time here; we're talking 1250 B.C. Until then, the two halves of the brain worked independently of each other. The motor centers in the left brain -- which could not function on their own and needed to be told what to do -- got their instructions in the form of "auditory hallucinations" (i.e., they heard voices), which emanated from the now-dormant speech centers in the right brain.

To help illustrate how this might have worked, Jaynes points to vestiges of the bicameral mind in modern life, and trots out some fascinating case studies of schizophrenics (who commonly hear similar voices) to back up his arguments. He also explains a surprising number of phenomena through his theory. Here, he argues, is the origin of the gods humanity has worshipped throughout history, including those we know today. To what else would early modern man ascribe such voices? And what other rational explanation is there for the belief in these beings, present in every civilization that's ever existed? (Note how rationality slips in to support an irrational thesis.)

Jaynes displays a hallmark trait of the crackpot authority in drawing from widely disparate disciplines to back up a hypothesis that would never even occur to most scientists, let alone to laymen. Whether he's right or not, though, his book is a fantastic tour of primitive societies, of the history of literature and of thought itself. In recounting the earliest examples of writing, from cuneiform inventory ledgers through "The Iliad" and the Bible (the Old Testament is really the story of the loss of the bicameral mind and its replacement by subjective consciousness), Jaynes shows that not until surprisingly late in the development of the written word do terms appear that even begin to describe consciousness. Why would humanity's first authors omit those terms in describing the world, Jaynes asks, unless consciousness wasn't part of the world they were describing?

Besides being a true joy to read (who else would refer to "the many-poemed comparison of love to a rose"?), Jaynes' book is a marvelous example of inductive rhetoric. Few book-length essays surpass it in the elegance with which it lays out its material. And where else can you read the word "extispicy"? (No, it's not on the menu at Kentucky Fried Chicken.)

The case of French theologian Denis de Rougemont, who, in 1938, answered just about every question you'd care to ask on the nature of romance, is more complex. The thesis of de Rougemont's "Love in the Western World" is sound (sort of), but it's in his singular explication of the myths and conflicts that have fed the modern conception of love -- "formal" love ended with World War I, he asserts -- that he ascends to the crackpot stratosphere.

What Western culture has inculcated in us, from the Tristan and Iseult legend through "Runaway Bride," is that love is not worth having without passion, de Rougemont writes. And since marriage is not worth having without love, we are stuck searching for the "passionate marriage" -- a condition known everywhere to be exceedingly rare.

Though less than optimistic, D. de R., as he signs himself, offers an eye-opening opinion as to just what we in the West should expect from romance. His book begins with a 12th century heretical sect in France whose desire to be united with God -- a unity possible only in death, if then -- gave birth to the idea of "passion" as distinct from "love." In good crackpot-authority style, de Rougemont goes on to delve deeply into the arts, borrowing from Petrarch, the Marquis de Sade and Wagner to make his case, and even managing to conflate D.H. Lawrence and Hitler along the way.

Though it's a pleasure to follow him through nine centuries of literature, war and trysting -- right down to our penchant for "the slim lines of the open-air girl" -- it is hard to fully credit de Rougemont's contention that our desire for both heated passion and sublime love is really a death wish that is fallout from the Albigensian Heresy. On the other hand, if it's true, as de R. seems to argue, that we subconsciously want marriage to lead to our deaths, that might help explain the high divorce rate. The solution? Disentangle passion from the idea of love and marriage, and lower your expectations, de Rougemont says. But before you do, enjoy his book.

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