An excellent collection of timeless philosophical essays

books:


	• Their Heads Are Green and Their Hands Are Blue: Scenes from the Non-Christian World Paul Bowles The Ecco Press, New York, 1987 - 192 pages average customer review:based on 8 reviews
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highly recommended

Their Heads are Green and Their Hands are Blue

Unable to write a review of the above title; the book was given to someone as a gift. The book was chosen because the author is a favorite of the person who received it.

An excellent collection of timeless philosophical essays

I must disagree with the review written by T. Ross. The essays on travel are not dated any more than Paul Bowles wonderful prose is, which borders on the poetic. Certainly these essays were written in the fifties, but Bowles portraits of North Africans (and European settlers) are so vivid one can almost feel them breathe. The essay concerning Mustafa, a male Muslim and his beliefs should be required reading for the State Department, the Pentagon, and the Administration. As a poet and writer I appreciated Bowles style and his skill in presenting physical, philosophical and emotional landscapes. I highly recommend this book.

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Tonally challenged

Bought as a gift. Have not read it, though I will eventually

Equals His Better Short Fiction

I like this book better than some of Mr. Bowles' longer fictional efforts. He is good at relatively short accounts, where his rich life experiences are related through highly descriptive prose. Bowles captures the abnormal psychology of the planet itself moreso than that of the individual, which is better left to Camus or Faulkner. Also, he is able to find some humor and meaning in the Western-Arab relationship, which helps relieve some of the strain of our current showdown, which Mr. Bowles foresaw. Especially funny to me is an account by Bowles of finding a filthy rag at the bottom of a pail of murky water he and his Arab travelmate had been using for drinking water. They up and left the "hotel" (and town) that day.

Also of interest are chapters on Ceylon.

Bowles seems to be more capable writing about real people and events than he is when functioning in the only slightly altered world of his fiction. I think it has something to do with him being an emotional loner. Like Sartre, he is more of an observer, more of a thinker, than a writer, so his fictional characterizations are, like Sartre's, often wooden and unconvincing (to me at least). To this viewpoint, he would strongly object I think. But, notice I refrain from calling him a moralist or a philosopher. If he were a painter, I would classify him as a post-impressionist like Matisse (great colorist, intriguing designs, romantic, but limited by "decorative" priorities.) And, like Matisse, he never really shocks me like a true Fauve because, no matter how gruesome the details of the narrative, his narrative voice is always too cultivated. He can't help it; he's from New England. For his fictional style to match the content, his manner would need to be cruder, like Kirchner or Vlaminck. And he is really not a portrait artist like Dickens, Joyce or Faulkner either. Or, maybe it's that his portraits capture places and milieus moreso than individual psyches. In this book, it doesn't matter because he is truly in his element: he travels wildly, observes meticulously and remembers creatively.

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Classic travel writing of place and time gone by

Paul Bowles's collection of travel pieces dating from 1950-1963 reveals a love of solitude and the unfamiliar road in a time when American influence began to dominate the post-war world. Seeking refuge from growing American conformity at home, Tangier, Morocco became Bowles's permanent address in 1947. Tangier made an ideal jumping-off point for Bowles, who visited Sri Lanka (Ceylon) in 1950, Cape Coromin, India in 1952, Istanbul, Turkey in 1953, and made frequent trips into Morocco and the Sahara, where he documented and recorded its music and musicians.

His travel writing can be at once witty and withering. Many of his observations are about the discomforts and disappointments of traveling; reading the more sour reports one might wonder why he put himself through all the trouble. Bowles obviously relished his role as the cultural outsider, and enjoyed writing about drugs, sex, and traditions the West found taboo. The people he describes are individuals, sketched boldly and without reserve. A trip to Ketama, "the kif center of all North Africa," becomes a chance to provide an extensive description of Morocco's drug culture.

His willingness to describe the whole of his experience makes Bowles's writing more than mere reporting -- from an unexpected swarm of flies, to the unrelenting sun, to the cool desert night and the noisy neighbors in an overcrowded hotel. He was blunt about writing these pieces for pay (and published in American travel magazines) but the result remains an engaging and entertaining collection.

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reviews: page 1, 2

"Bowles, one of the four or five best writers in English in the second half of the twentieth century, embraced the desert as a Christian saint embraces his martyrdom. His self-abnegation and his love of traditional culture made him one of the keenest observers of other civilizations we have ever had in America. Unlike his countrymen he did not brashly set out to improve the rest of the world. For Bowles, Americanization was the problem, not the solution. As these startling, sober travel pieces show, Bowles, because of his powers of negative capability, was able to enter into the inner truth of even the most remote places and peoples."

-- from the Introduction by Edmund White

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