Far From Brooklyn

Orientalism, by Edward Said

There are certain books that become cultural touchstones and that you can almost discuss intelligently without ever having read them. “The Communist Manifesto,” for instance.  I’m sure that somebody has read this, but I have not.  "The Wealth of Nations,“ likewise, and in the same vein of economics.  (I have read some but not much of that.)  Whether I have read a very little or none at all, I probably give the impression of having read those books – or I should say, I attempt to give that impression.  Because what kind of moron hasn’t read "The Communist Manifesto” and “The Wealth of Nations” for heaven sake?  Two of the most important volumes of our era!

“Orientalism” is certainly not at quite that level, but nevertheless it was a lesser but still significant touchstone, like Foucault’s “Madness of Civilization” or Levi-Strauss’s “Tristes Tropiques.” You couldn’t truly be leftishly intellectual in the second half of the 20th Century without at least a passing familiarity with Said.

And since I am sporadically leftishly intellectual, I on occasion had to pretend perhaps a bit more familiarity with “Orientalism” than I rightfully should have.  So when I saw it on the shelf at the bookshop, I figured this was a good chance to repair my deficiency.

But, as Paul Simon wrote, “When something goes wrong, I’m the first to admit it.”

I hadn’t anticipated the dusty donnishness of the book, or the seriously dated feel.  I get it, I get it, it was revolutionary in its time.  I’m not cutting the book – I just didn’t get through it.

However, I can act like I’ve read it…