They’ve been responsible for publishing Doris Lessing’s “attempt at autobiography” Memoirs of a Survivor and the later works of its founder Idries Shah – books that have had a life-shaping effect on Jane. And they’ve also very kindly donated a picture book and a copy of World Tales to Hope Readers .

Have a look at their new Facebook and Twitter pages for some reading inspiration…

A good fact about Achebe, author of Things Fall Apart, No Longer At Ease and A Man of the People, is that when he started at university in Nigeria he was admitted as a Major Scholar to study medicine, only to change subjects after a year to English, history and theology. Who knows, maybe if it had not been for this change of heart the world may never have been treated to Achebe’s brilliant literature.

The book featured in the list, An Image of Africa, attacks Joseph Conrad for his depiction of the African as an unruly savage in Heart of Darkness.

Other books to make it on to the Guardian’s list include Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant, The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon, A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking and The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer.

But what are YOUR favourite non-fiction books? Everyone loves talking about their favourite novels/poems/short stories, but how often do you sit down and think about your favourite piece of non-fiction?

I don’t know exactly where it began, this predilection for pithy philosophies…perhaps I can trace it back to a present I received two birthdays ago, which linked in to my love of literature and reading. Something really quite simple, not in the least extravagant, but probably the present that gave me the most delight at the time and continues to do so. What was it? A sheet of fridge magnets containing a range of quotations from the supreme master of wit and wisdom himself, Oscar Wilde. Each one just as brilliant as the next, and firmly placed within the top of my most favoured quotes (my personal favourites are “The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray” and owing to my disposition as a creature of the night “Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast”). Guaranteed to bring a smile to my face each time I reach for a drink or handy snack. Since then, I have been bought or otherwise bought myself items that feature life-affirming sayings of phrases, including a cushion that adorns my bedspread which reads “Live Well, Laugh Often, Love Much” and on the wall next to that, a framed picture that contains what is quite possibly my overriding, one-size-fits-every-situation mantra: “Keep Calm and Carry On”, the slogan actually never used by the Ministry of Information at the outbreak of World War II but has gone on to gain such great resonance in modern times (I certainly can never imagine tiring or indeed having little need to use it). I also possess a day-to-day calendar which every 6 days or so features a new quote to feast upon and ponder. They don’t always have to contain some earth-shattering, thought-provoking philosophy; indeed, it can be often better if they’re just simply silly or do nothing more than provoke a chuckle, as what is life without a lot of light relief?

In terms of poetry, I’ve always found one poem in particular to be defining when attempting to describe the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations of life and how best to deal with them; If by Rudyard Kipling. A poem in a similar vein – perhaps somewhat idealistic, but a ‘checklist’ if you will for a fulfilling life – one which predates Kipling’s most famed work by several centuries is The Character of a Happy Life by Sir Henry Wotton. The poem succinctly summarises the formula for a happy life, with the founding principle of it being freedom. Freedom from being dictated by others; freedom from the more often than not negative ‘passions’ that chip away at us, such as greed, envy or anger; freedom from wanting material possessions and the impositions of society. For a poem first published in the 1600s it appears quite prescient, especially when you consider the lines ‘The deepest wounds are given by praise’ and ‘Whose state can neither flatterers feed’, which to me says a lot about the fleeting and unsustainable happiness that is provided by the rather soulless talent or ‘reality’ television shows to those who want their quick-fix of fame and some space in a celebrity magazine. No, instead the ingredients for a happy life are as follows; a capacity for ‘honest thought’ and ‘simple truth’, a lack of expectation but instead a graciousness for whatever comes your way, clarity of conscience, a healthy dose of scepticism, the company of good friends and a ‘well-chosen book’. It sounds pretty good to me.

The Character of a Happy Life

How happy is he born or taught
That serveth not another’s will,
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill;

Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the world with care
Of princes’ grace or vulgar breath;

Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
The deepest wounds are given by praise,
By rule of state but not of good;

Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat,
Whose state can neither flatterers feed
Nor ruins make accusers great;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than goods to send,
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.

This man is free from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall,
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.

Sir Henry Wotton (1568-1639)

Malcolm Gladwell is the author of international bestsellers Blink and The Tipping Point. Outliers is his new book, and this time he deals with the subject of successful people. He argues that real secrets of success can be found in people’s life stories, exploring the culture they have grown up in, twists of fate, and how they have spent their time. All this ensures Outliers makes for a very liberating and inspirational read, and it is the content of this book which forms the basis for Malcolm’s show at the Liverpool Philharmonic Hall, which he describes in his own words:

Just so we’re clear, there will be no tap-dancing, mime, or impersonations of pop stars during my shows. It will just be me, giving you what I hope to be some of the most interesting bits from Outliers. I’d be delighted if you could come.

Malcolm Gladwell will be performing at the Liverpool Philharmonic Hall on Wednesday 24th June 2009, 7.30pm. Tickets are £16 and £21, for more information please click here or contact the Liverpool Philharmonic Box Office on 0151 709 3789.

he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast.

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail :
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A Damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
S.T. Coleridge, 1816.

Coleridge’s explanation of his inspiration for the poem may clarify some of its more unusual aspects. The opening lines ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan / A stately pleasure-dome decree’ immediately immerses the reader in a strange and unfamiliar environment, which the poem then goes on to explore in more detail as it progresses. Images of majestic ‘greenery’ in the poem soon give way to the supernatural, and a chasm ‘Haunted / By woman wailing for her demon-lover!’, before concluding with a warning to ‘Beware!’ the ‘flashing eyes’ of the demon, and to receive him with holy dread’. The subtitle: ‘A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment’ reminds the reader that the poem is not completed exactly as Coleridge had envisaged: the alleged interference from someone calling at his house left the dream ‘scattered’ within Coleridge’s mind: the remnants of which make up the entirety of Kubla Khan.

he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast.

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail :
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A Damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
S.T. Coleridge, 1816.

Coleridge’s explanation of his inspiration for the poem may clarify some of its more unusual aspects. The opening lines ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan / A stately pleasure-dome decree’ immediately immerses the reader in a strange and unfamiliar environment, which the poem then goes on to explore in more detail as it progresses. Images of majestic ‘greenery’ in the poem soon give way to the supernatural, and a chasm ‘Haunted / By woman wailing for her demon-lover!’, before concluding with a warning to ‘Beware!’ the ‘flashing eyes’ of the demon, and to receive him with holy dread’. The subtitle: ‘A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment’ reminds the reader that the poem is not completed exactly as Coleridge had envisaged: the alleged interference from someone calling at his house left the dream ‘scattered’ within Coleridge’s mind: the remnants of which make up the entirety of Kubla Khan.

‘Song on a May Morning’ is taken from Milton’s volume of 1645 Poems: a collection written in a variety of genres, and including some of his more famous work such as ‘Lycidas and Comus’. This particular poem celebrates both the youth , innocence and ‘mirth’ that is generally associated with the coming of Spring, and the  ‘blessing’ of new life and colour that the month of May provides us with. The image of dawn breaking in the first two lines of the poem emphasises the start of a new time in life: the coming of the ‘flowery May’.

Song on a May Morning

Now the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

John Milton, 1645

‘Song on a May Morning’ is taken from Milton’s volume of 1645 Poems: a collection written in a variety of genres, and including some of his more famous work such as ‘Lycidas and Comus’. This particular poem celebrates both the youth , innocence and ‘mirth’ that is generally associated with the coming of Spring, and the  ‘blessing’ of new life and colour that the month of May provides us with. The image of dawn breaking in the first two lines of the poem emphasises the start of a new time in life: the coming of the ‘flowery May’.

Song on a May Morning

Now the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

John Milton, 1645

I want to read a book of thinking about ‘community’.

I mean, by those inverted commas, something like a particular take on community: how people can be together, or why they do, or why it is in our DNA (is it?) and why the word has so much in the way of  religous overtones… and is ‘community’ always  semi-religous? I’d like it to be a thought-book rather than fiction… but I’m not very good at reading heavy duty philosophy.

I’d be happy if it was old… if it was great… but I’ll take what you got.  Reading lists please.

Philosophers do not have a strong reputation for being active types. In the popular imagination philosophers spend their time in armchairs, eschewing physical pursuits in favour of the life of the mind. Athletes on the other hand seem quite happy to enter the philosophical fray. After attacking a fan who tried to direct him in no uncertain terms off the field of play, Manchester United hero Eric Cantona confounded the sports media in 1995 with his statement that “When the seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.” No less puzzling was former England midfielder Paul Gascoigne’s statement on intentionality: “I never predict anything,” he once told an interviewer, “and I never will.”

It doesn’t help that sports stars are regularly asked to make pronouncements on subjects as diverse as the off-side rule and world religion. Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich once said that football is the ballet of the masses, but this sort of thing just doesn’t happen at the ballet. She may have been a darling of the world’s media, but Margot Fonteyn never had to comment on her private life in the theatre wings while the sweat was still dripping from the end of her nose. But then, unlike Cantona, she never felt the need to launch a Kung-Fu style kick at a critic in the stalls.

In fact when they do stray into athletic pursuits professional thinkers tend to have more success with the world of sport than the other way around. Sport has proved a fertile ground for exploring ideas about ethics, rules of behaviour, and collective experience. Jerry Katz, an American philosopher of language who was prevented from becoming a professional (American) football player only by his small stature, once explained the difference between types of language rules in terms of the difference between sportsmanlike behaviour and the way the rulebook defines a touchdown. Eric Hobsbawm saw the national football team as a way of making the nation itself seem more real. In his 1990 book Nations and Nationalism Since 1780 he wrote: “The imagined community of millions seems more real as a team of eleven named people.”

Certain philosophers have always found sports interesting in an intellectual sense. Take Ludwig Wittgenstein for example. Wittgenstein had quite a lot to say about sports and games and even attempted a definition of sport, claiming that sports are defined not by a shared set of characteristics, but by new activities borrowing certain aspects from existing sports while retaining characteristics that other sports do not share. For example, synchronized swimming, something Wittgenstein never had the pleasure of watching, is a skill and a spectacle that became a sport when an element of competition was introduced. Wittgenstein may have revolutionized twentieth century philosophy, but he was not a dedicated sports fan. After attending a rowing regatta with Bertrand Russell he remarked that “The way in which we have spent the afternoon is so vile, we ought not to go on living.”

Using sports as a way of explaining ideas is one thing, but a surprising number of philosophers have played competitive sport, sometimes at quite a high level. The ancient Greek philosopher Plato, whose name translates roughly as “broad,” is thought to have been named for his strength as a wrestler, but probably the best known sporting philosopher of the twentieth century is Albert Camus. Camus, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature at the age of 44, and whose 1942 novel L’Étranger ranks as one of the great works of Existentialism, played in goal for a professional football team in his native Algeria. He once declared “All I know most surely about morality and obligations, I owe to football.”

For some reason football is a favourite with philosophers. The British philosopher A.J. Ayer was a dedicated Tottenham Hotspur fan and spent many Saturday afternoons at White Hart Lane, though it is not known whether his experience of watching them play had any bearing on his lack of belief in God. Jacques Derrida, another French philosopher who harboured dreams of being a professional footballer was probably not describing the feelings of highly-paid stars for their loyal supporters when he noted that “Beyond the touchline there is nothing.” But philosophy is represented in other sports too. Paul Grice, an Oxford philosopher who moved to California in the 1960s, played cricket at county level and spent the long summer vacations on tour. His biographer Siobhan Chapman notes that his Times obituary describes him as “an inelegant but extremely effective and prolific opening batsman.”

Like everyone else, philosophers are frustrated, overjoyed and at times ambivalent when it comes to sport. But like it or not, it is a backdrop to their lives, a source of inspiration, and a way of explaining life’s conundrums. And sometimes footballers get it right. As Dennis Bergkamp, former Arsenal star and Holland international once observed, “Behind every kick of the ball, there has to be a thought.”

by Chris Routledge

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