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22 June 2020

Going Global - Men (Only) on a Mission


https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2123056.Pathfinders
PATHFINDERS: A GLOBAL HISTORY OF EXPLORATION
by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto
(W. W. Norton & Co., 2007)

This wasn't quite the book I was expecting it to be, given the many quoted "hype" of its sales blurb, my expectations might perhaps have been raised a little too high. Pathfinders: A Global History of Exploration is undoubtedly an excellent, comprehensive, globe-spanning survey of the history of human migration from the earliest epochs to the more recent era of globalised colonial expansion driven by commercial and scientific motives. And it certainly distills a lot of information with an engaging style which keeps the subject fresh and interesting throughout. Yet, I felt there are a few flaws worth highlighting which, for me at least, somewhat deflated the book's grandest plaudits.

Whilst it is inevitable that such a broad-ranging topic, covering such an extended time-period will necessarily or inadvertently omit some details, to miss out any discussion of female explorers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries is very regrettable. There were many women who are worthy of note in this regard, for instance to name only a few: Mary Kinglsey, Isabella Bird, Amelia Edwards, Gertrude Bell, or Alexandra David-Neel. And even when writing about so-called 'travel writers' rather than bonafide explorers, mentioning Peter Fleming without even a passing reference to Ella Maillart seems quite an oversight. Hopefully this is a defect which could be rectified at some point in the future, given the book's success, if ever a revised edition is published.

Plus, (and this is not wholly a criticism) I found the chapters were oddly structured, seeming to start with a largely persuasive conclusion which is then followed by a sequential narrative of linked explorers' personalities/journeys to very deftly get the writer and reader chronologically from the A to B of the relevant time period. This does enable Fernandez-Armesto to lay-out some parallels and make some interesting comparisons which might not necessarily be so readily allied or immediately apparent in terms of geography or substance (this probably being the book's main virtue, and hence its 'global history' tag), but I would have liked it if he had returned to the points made at the start and dug a little deeper into them before closing off and moving swiftly on. That said though, this may well be how the book manages to maintain its remarkable sense of pace and forward momentum.

The book is filled with interesting illustrations, but the sketch maps accompanying parts of the text seem rather artificial devices/distractions, primarily aimed at prompting the reader to see the globe from a perspective which isn't bound to the standard north-point of a compass rose, yet sadly not giving enough geographical detail (i.e. - corresponding place names) to aid orientation with the main body of the text. There are admirably few typos throughout, and only a couple of surprising factual errors given the vast breadth of detail the book manages to encompass and include (for instance, a reference to a "Percy 'Jack' Fawcett" (p.386) - Percy and Jack Fawcett were actually two separate individuals; Jack was Percy's eldest son, who also went missing with his father during their exploration of Brazil's Mato Grosso region in 1925). 

Felipe Fernandez-Armesto
Likewise, there are some curiously personal authorial asides which tend to jut out from an otherwise smoothly academic-style of presentation, such as Fernandez-Armesto's dismissal of the "gigantic folly of wasting billions of cash on space exploration" (p.399). Depending on your perspective, you could see this money as being much better spent in this pursuit rather than the billions+ which gets spent each year globally and locally on developing and stockpiling military armaments and hardware. Also, the rather glib final sentence quoting Monty Python similarly struck me as an oddly flippant note to end the book upon. That said though, as a 'native Briton', I did enjoy the acerbic veracity of the barb about the "self-congratulatory" traditions of early modern English maritime adventurers (p.219). I'm sure other nations do it too, but no sour grapes there, especially if (ironically) the UK is primus inter pares in that respect!

On the whole, not wanting my criticisms above to prejudice any prospective readers against it, this is an excellent book. It does give a very broad yet admirably comprehensive account of mankind's wanderlust for exploration on a global scale across the many epochs of human history and our socio-political evolution from the prehistoric era to the present, which is no mean feat! - From early hominid migrations, Viking explorers, Admiral Zheng He, Columbus, Magellan, and Captain Cook, to Lewis and Clark, Burton and Speke, Robert Falcon Scott, John Hemming, and Robin Hanbury-Tenison, Pathfinders manages, through a deft narrative and discursive synthesis, to make some interesting contrasts and parallels across both time and space giving the breadth of the subject a sense of unity in each of those two dimensions.

This book also clearly demonstrates how, in its later phases from the early modern period onwards, when global exploration seems to accelerate with rapidly advancing technology and scientific know-how, exploration predominantly became the preserve of white men; but it also shows how in certain regions this was either led or assisted (both voluntarily and under violent compulsion) by local indigenous peoples. To give just a few examples it cites: Christopher Columbus kidnapping locals in the West Indies and compelling them to act as guides and pilots; or when certain Mexican polities allied themselves with European Conquistadors in order to overthrow their regional-rivals, the Aztecs; or the Polynesian navigator, Tupaia, who voluntarily joined Captain Cook's crew, and who was of pivotal assistance to Cook's exploration of the wider Pacific region. Yet sadly, as Fernandez-Armesto rightly points out, we are mostly left with the white man's record and perspective on such interactions and collaborations. Likewise, it is an unavoidably male-dominated history, for sure; but this book would, without a doubt, have benefited from making this fact stand out more clearly by nuancing it with an examination of some of the foremost examples of female explorers, for instance as Gerry Kearns has done in a paper contrasting the nineteenth-century African expeditions, respectively led by Mary Kingsley and Halford Mackinder (cf. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, Vol. 22, No. 4 (1997), pp. 450-472).

Generally it is a very well-written and accessible book which isn't overly burdened by academic jargon. Hence it is a highly enjoyable and similarly, a highly recommended read - good for both students of historical geography and for general-interest readers alike.







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15 June 2020

"My Asakusa" - Sadako Sawamura & Me


Asakusa (pronounced “Ah-sack-sah”) is probably one of the districts best known to foreign visitors to Tokyo. It is very tourist friendly. And it has some stunning landmarks which are a real draw for visitors from overseas, and being situated at the end of the Ginza Metro line makes it easily accessible, so it’s no wonder that many first time visitors to Tokyo start off here. It provides a relaxed and comforting welcome, the perfect homely introduction to an enormous and otherwise rather beguiling modern metropolis.

Asakusa Temple, by Shiro Kasamatsu
When I first began visiting Tokyo in the autumn of 2003, I too naturally seemed to gravitate there. For me, as for many foreign visitors, the main attractions were the Kaminari Mon (Thunder Gate) and Senso-ji, a large Buddhist temple, each characterised by enormous paper lanterns, and the street lined with market stalls that connect the two. This market street, known as Nakamise, along with the Gate and the Temple, dates back to the Edo period, when the city was the seat of the Tokugawa Shoguns – the chief samurai lords who ruled Japan in lieu of the Emperor, who was then living in Kyoto. There are many famous scenes of Asakusa, with Senso-ji and the Nakamise market street, depicted in all seasons; rendered in the eponymous ‘floating world’-style known in Japanese as ukiyo-e, and often done by many of Japan’s most famous artists. My favourites, mostly by Ando Hiroshige, are those showing Asakusa deep in the drifts of winter snow. 

Senso-ji - Asakusa, by Ando Hiroshige


Asakusa, by Hasui Kawase
To my eye the whiteness of the snow and the deep indigo blue of the sky seems to perfectly compliment the red painted timbers of Senso-ji and its distinctive pagoda. I’m not sure if the combination subconsciously suggests a winter Christmas scene to my mind or not, but I am sure the winter aspect resonates with me because I spent several weeks over the Christmas and New Year period of 2003-2004 haunting these streets, mostly on my own. During that time I got to know these backstreets like the proverbial back of my hand. I even found a lovely little, very foreigner friendly café there, at which I became I regular – returning to say ‘hello’ and always assured of a warm welcome on my regular trips back to Japan over the following couple of years. The café – Café Rest-Cuzn – is still there, but I think it has since moved a little further down the road from the days when I used to hang out there.

Senso-ji - Asakusa, by Ando Hiroshige


Asakusa was definitely a key part of how and why I fell in love with Japan and Tokyo in particular. And even though Tokyo is now (half) home to me, I rarely visit Asakusa these days. The last time I went there was a couple of years ago, and although much is still the same – the Kaminari Mon, Senso-ji, the old Edo Nakamise market, and the amusement park – Asakusa seemed different somehow. It felt as though the place has been tidied up a bit, and there’s a new tourist phenomenon which didn’t exist when I used to hang out there. This is the fad for overseas visitors to hire very colourful kimono and geta (stilted wooden sandals), with paper fans and umbrellas, in order to go for a wander round the streets near Senso-ji, like characters in Madame Butterfly. This activity seems to be most popular with young Korean and Chinese visitors, and it is rather amusing to watch as Western tourists often stop these kids and politely mime their requests to have their photos taken together, apparently thinking these foreign tourist kids are local Japanese. It seems to thrill the kids nonetheless, who often bow politely afterwards, and then, when safely a few yards away, burst out into fits of giggles!

Senso-ji, Asakusa - 2003

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/877292.My_Asakusa
I guess for me Asakusa has become a kind of nostalgic postcard in my mind of those early days when I first began visiting Tokyo, never dreaming that the place would ever actually become somewhere I’d call home. And even though, for many native Tokyoites, Asakusa is a bit touristy and probably a place to avoid at all costs, especially at the weekend, it does retain a natsukashii (nostalgic) vibe of shitamachi (old town) Tokyo. It used to be a very working class area, famous for its theatres and cinemas, in my mind much like the old East End of London, with its Music Halls and Pubs. Perhaps the best summation of that sense of timeless warmth is perfectly distilled in the memoir, My Asakusa (Watashi no Asakusa), by the actress Sadako Sawamura, published in 1976. This book is a loosely chronological set of essays or pen-sketches in which Sawamura reminisces about her childhood growing up in the neighbourhood. It is one of my most favourite books about Japan.

Nakamise, Asakusa - 2003

Sadako Sawamura
Born in 1908 and passing away in 1996, Sawamura lived a very interesting life through some of Japan’s and particularly Tokyo’s most tumultuous years during the twentieth century. She broke with the conventions of her time very early-on in her life, pursuing an education when this wasn’t really the norm for young girls; then first working as a teacher before becoming an actress, and later getting involved with left-wing activism – for which she suffered during the height of Japan’s right-wing military-imperialist government’s time in power. In later decades though she was very much a well-loved and familiar face, the star of film and TV screens throughout the country. When she retired she lived out her last days in comfort in the town of Kamakura, not too far from Tokyo, but always thought of herself as an “Asakusa girl” to the last.

Nakamise, Asakusa - 2003

My Asakusa is a wonderfully evocative book, full of warmth and charm; it is characterised by a kind of understated whimsy which, in my opinion, is one of the finest hallmarks of the best Japanese film and literature. In that sense, to my mind at least, it has the same kind of feel to it as the recently popular Japanese film, Umimachi Diary (released in the UK as Our Little Sister), which coincidentally is set in Kamakura.

Sadako Sawamura in "When A Woman Ascends the Stairs" (1960)


I was recently reminded of Sawamura’s memoir, and my own reminiscences of my early visits to Asakusa, when I stumbled upon this old newsreel footage of Tokyo in 1915. From around halfway through there are several street scenes of the cinemas and theatres around Asakusa, as well as Senso-ji and the market stalls of Nakamise. It’s tempting to wonder if Sadako Sawamura or some of her siblings might be one among the small children watching the young girls juggling, who knows? – But one thing is for sure; nobody wearing kimono in this old film is a tourist visiting from overseas!


 Tokyo street scenes from 1913 & 1915



Asakusa, 2003



Asakusa, 2018