My Top Ten Halloween Short Stories

Top ten Halloween Short Stories that I’ve Read so Far

The Fall of the House of Usher, by Edgar Allen Poe

Roderick Usher has a ‘family secret.’ Years of inbreeding have warped the family tree, to the point its rotten to the roots. When the unnamed narrator comes to the abode of the said gentleman, he finds the house, and its inhabitants wasting away from disease and dereliction. Here, Usher, and his consumptive sister roam through the dark vestibules and chambers, like lost ghosts without a cause. When Usher’s kindred finally succumbs to her degenerative illness, the proprietor has plans for her disposal. However, something goes wrong, and even the doors of death can’t be closed up forever. ‘You have not seen it. But stay! You Shall.’ So says Usher, and with it, he hearkens in the archetypal buried alive story. A tale of hysteria, claustrophobia, and pot-boiler tension, this has to be one of the best gothic tales ever written.

The Monkey’s Paw, by W.W. Jacobs 

This short story deserves much more praise and attention, for it is one of the most chilling I’ve ever read. It also happens to be my favourite ghost story. It begins in a cottage in midst of wilderness and countryside. Here, a family wile away the hours in the candlelit darkness. One night, an unexpected visitor knocks. It is a passing soldier, and with him, he carries a cursed monkey’s paw that grants its owner three wishes. The family decide to procure the talisman from the soldier and keep it in their home. Their first wish is to have two hundred pounds worth of gold delivered to them. This comes the next day. as an insurance payout. Their son, who was only with them the night before, has been found dead, apparently killed while operating machinery. The Monkey’s Paw inevitably grants a second wish. Later, in the dead of night, scratching is heard on the door, rattling at the chain. Someone wants to be let in. 

The Rocking Horse Winner, D.H. Lawrence.

Paul is a young boy who grows up in an unlucky family. Indeed, so much so, that the house he lives in becomes haunted. Whispering is heard around the rooms: ‘There must be more money, there must be more money.’ To please his mother he takes to gambling to increase his chances of success, in tandem he rides his nursery rocking horse. Time passes and he becomes obsessed with the contraption. He rides it harder, faster, more incessantly. He pants, laughs, moans upon it. Every moment of every day is spent in a frenzied riding of the rocking horse. Even as adolescence dawns, Paul can’t relinquish his uncanny past time. But he has a secret. By riding the rocking horse he has clairvoyant epiphanies of the races and who is most likely to win. The price of this success, could however, be too high to pay. What makes this tale even more creepy is the underlying theme of burgeoning sexuality and incest. 

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, Ambrose Bierce 

On the surface this short story doesn’t seem particularly Gothic. Nevertheless it is really quite a devilish tale, written by quite a devilish man. The narrative begins with Peyton Farquhar, a confederate sympathizer in the American Civil War, who after plotting to sabotage owl creek bridge is arrested by union soldiers and sentenced to death. There we see him, all set to be hanged from the bridge and his patriotic life will come to a miserable end. Something goes wrong though. The rope snaps. Peyton finds himself flung into the tumultuous waters beneath. Sodden and shivering, with bullets flying over his head he makes it to the river banks. In a delirium he runs through the forests woods. He finds his house and his wife greets him. All is saved or so he thinks...

At the Mountains of Madness, H.P. Lovecraft 

- A university led mission to Antarctica uncovers a vast underworld necropolis of an ancient Alien Civilization. Here the ‘Elder Things’ still roam the labyrinthian trails. Awakened from their slumber, these cryptoids slaughter and dissect the terrified group now trapped under the ice. Further horrors awake, when the group discovers evidence that the ‘Elder Things’ are themselves falling victim to an even more dangerous creatures. These are ‘Shoggoths’ giant parasites, that feed off living life forms. Grisly ends, and frantic escapes. Lost civilizations, arcane monstrosities. The Mountains of Madness is a tour de force of terror and suspense.

The Mist, Stephen King 

  Some of you have seen the brilliant cinematic rendition of this scary story. Imagine seeing a false widow spider clinging to your bathroom wall. The shudder that runs through you, the creeping of flesh, that would undoubtably accost you, is magnified tenfold in King’s masterpiece. A government experiment has gone wrong, a miasma and fog has obscured everything. Living inside it, are giant spiders, cockroaches, beetles and lice. With no other place to go a small community is trapped in the local supermarket, with only a thin wall of glass separating them from the insects outside. Interestingly, King’s version has a different ending than the film’s

The Yellow Wallpaper, by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

On the surface, John is a doting husband and physician to his sick wife. She has got what the nineteenth century called a nervous disease, and as a result he has decided to relocate them both to a colonial mansion for a respite. Here John’s wife, our narrator, is looked after very carefully, holed up particular room with yellow wallpaper. The problem is, ‘There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.’ The narrator tells us people are lurking in the walls, ‘Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over’ Living with such a bedfellow constantly seeking to climb out the yellow wallpaper, means the narrator descends into madness. But what is more sinister, a ghost hiding in the walls? or a woman locked up and sent mad by a tyrannical patriarch? The question means this story will continue to enthrall many generations to come.

The Black Cat, Edgar Allen Poe

 A memoir of a wife murderer. The narrator calmly states ‘I buried an axe in her brain.’ However, the chilling quality of the story is achieved by Poe’s magisterial depiction and internal thinking of a psychopath. He is charming, superficial, glib and wholly lacking in empathy, but he is the protagonist, meaning we are forced to empathize with him. This only adds to our unease. Nevertheless the narrator has a strange preoccupation with cats, sometimes he likes them, sometimes he plucks out their eyes or hangs them from trees. Through all wanderings of his twisted mind and body, black cats haunt his journey, and even after his wife’s death the feline companions still has something left to give.

Child that Went With The Fairies, by Sheridan La Fanu 

a little gem of a story. A poor family live in the Irish countryside of Limerick; a place replete with fairies, sprites, banshees and goblins. While three children are playing, a mysterious carriage approaches but it is the creatures on board are what really scares them: ‘Sallow features, and small, restless fiery eyes, and faces of cunning [...] The little coachman was scowling and showing his white fangs under his cocked hat and his blazing beads of eyes quivered with fury.’ The youngest boy is kidnapped, by such entities, and so begins a mad desperate search to find him.

The Man in the Black Suit, by Stephen King.

Gary is an old man when the story begins but he is haunted by a terrible memory. One day out fishing in the backwoods he wakes up to find a man in a black suit sitting next to him. He has eyes made of fire, roll on his back when he cackles, and spread lies. He tells the boy, his mother’s dead, his father will molest him, that he will eat the his flesh. Gary eventually learns, this perverse and evil man is actually the devil. One summers day in the 1930’s, in the woods and by the creeks, the oldest villain has appeared and looks set to devour his plump little companion. The race is on to find the escape. 

The Last Fighting Tommy, by Harry Patch, and Richard Van Emden

The Last Fighting Tommy, by Harry Patch with Richard Van Emden

If you are British, you may have heard of Harry Patch. He was until his death, the last surviving veteran of the trenches in World War One. He also reached the remarkable age of 111 years, and upon his centurion, the British public became enamored by him. Popping up for interviews here and there, he became an quasi mythical figure, a man from another world, so to speak, and the last to have witnessed the horror of war, and able to deliver its testament.

I must admit though, I was reluctant to read the book. Until we stop glorifying war we are destined to repeat it. Despite Wilfred Owen’s wonderful poem Dulce Et Decorum Est, it seems the love affair with the British Military is still going strong. Percy Shelley said: ‘Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: He only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.’ While I would not go quite as far, I’m inclined to agree with him.

Of course, from 1914-18, British men didn’t have a choice in the matter, and poetic maxims were useless. Despite this, Harry is quite adamant, he never wanted to go to battle. He states ‘I had no inclination to fight anybody. I mean why should I go out and kill somebody I never knew, and for what reason?’ He even goes as far to call war, ‘legalized mass murder.’ What comes across in the story is Harry’s humility. There is not a trace of ego in his reflections, and he seems simply a good man, who lived an honest life. This is something so refreshing, in today’s world. 

The autobiography is also a record of the trenches. Harry states: ‘It doesn’t matter how much training you had, you can’t prepare for the reality, the noise, the filth, the uncertainty and the call for stretcher bearers.’ It was a time of perpetual terror, and sometimes boredom. Lightning flash scenes of bombed out villages, eviscerated soldiers, and pulverized bodies. However, war only made up a small portion of Patch’s life and a part he’d rather forget. His recollections are overall an intimate vision into life in both the Edwardian Era before the War, and then the era of the Empire’s decline, after it. The author is a fantastic storyteller, and his thoughts are rich with sensual detail. This makes the book a evocative read.

The biography is called the Last Fighting Tommy but perhaps it shouldn’t be. Unfortunately we define Harry Patch, as a veteran of the trenches and an extremely old man. Both are destinies he couldn’t help! Behind this, he was also a husband, father, plumber, business-man and quiet celebrity, whose life spanned ten decades. It is nice to see, that this other side of Patch was also felt and explored in the book. 

Harry died in 2009. At his state and ceremonial funeral, he requested, no guns were to be carried. Of Armistice day, he stated, ‘it is nothing but a show of military force. I don’t think there is any actual remembrance, except for those who have lost someone they really cared for [...] That day the day, I lost my pals, 22 September 1917 - That is my Remembrance.’ I think the biggest tragedy of human nature is our ability to forget, and our ability to be fooled. With the death of the last fighting tommy we lost a man who had really seen the reality of war in all its ugliness, and as such he was indispensable. This is a profoundly moving autobiography, of love, loss and trauma. Behind the soldier was man just like me or you.

Doctor Sleep, By Stephen King

Doctor Sleep, By Stephen King - A Review, with a dash of literary criticism

Who can forget Mrs Maissy in The Shining. The dried up old hag of the Overlook Hotel, that lurks in room 217 and climbs out the bath to strangle any intruders. Certainly not Danny Torrance! Doctor Sleep, begins with her reappearance:

‘Sometimes you had to know. You had to see [...] Naked on the toilet with her legs spread, and her pallid thighs bulging. Her greenish breasts hung down like deflated balloons [...] Her eyes were also grey like steel mirrors. She saw him and her lips stretched back in a grin.’

Yikes! The hero of the story, now an adult, intuitively recognises: ‘The Overlook hotel hadn’t finished with him yet.’ 

So begins a journey of rediscovery, where the future is always begotten by the past, and destiny begins in childhood. Like his father, Danny is now an alcoholic. He still possesses what the old caretaker of the Overlook, called ‘the shining,’ a psychic gift of clairvoyance. Like his father, he too will wrestle with his own inner demons, and ultimately confront the original trauma, in more ways the one. When Abra an adolescent girl contacts him telepathically, he is swept into a life or death struggle, with a band of life-sucking vampires, the ‘True Knot,’ who will stop at nothing to capture them.

One of the central themes of the novel is intoxication. Danny is a drunk like his father, but the story’s arch-villains, are also drunks. The only difference is, that the ‘True Knot’ rely on a different sort of spirit, to gain their inebriation. The sought-after drug, is known as steam, (also called shining) but they can only ingest it, by torturing children until the magic vapour, leaks out the pores of their victims. Danny belongs to the Alcoholics Anonymous, Rose the Hat (the lead vampire) belongs to the True Knot. In affect both are part of a community with an addiction problem. Nevertheless, it is Danny, and his fellow brethren, that are able to take responsibility for their actions, and reduce whatever destruction they have caused. The True Knot, in contrast, revel in it.

The other theme is sleep, and the books title, is of course Doctor Sleep. Danny works at a hospice where old people go to die. Here he develops a cherished gift of helping the terminally-ill crossover to the next world. He says to each patient: ‘Theres nothing to fear, you just need to sleep.’ The problem is, that the ‘True Knot’ also have a gift of helping people fall asleep (permanently), and their tagline - ‘don’t you need to sleep?’ echoes Danny’s message.

We get to a point where, the heros and villains share uncomfortable similarities. Hamlet wonders, ‘To sleep, perchance to Dream [...] For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.’ For Stephen King, the psychic gift of ‘the shining’ is indeed a power that can lead its recipients into dream worlds, which are sometimes nightmares, sometimes fantasies, but both a world’s beyond this life. Clearly sleep is not the peaceful crossing over it’s made out to be, and there is something to fear from it after all!

Whether it is because I read the Shining when I was twelve, or because I have studied literature at university, I found Doctor Sleep just not that scary. It is an exciting and enjoyable page-turner, but it doesn’t contain that original claustrophobic scare the original novel provoked. In fact, reading King’s work has now become a sort of guilty pleasure for me, simply because his stories are unliterary and the monsters are adolescent.

Nevertheless the overall story is more profound and complex than the surface ghosts make it. King has matured in his style, to write about some pretty hefty philosophical topics. His writing, is also contemporary, true to life, and more importantly invested with insight and love. As a result we care about the characters. Can Danny, and his little shining prodigy, Abra defeat the True Knot? This is what makes the book so exciting and unputdownable.

Overall, this is an good novel, albeit not as good as its predecessor. However, King is to much of a gifted storyteller for his readers to ever outgrow him completely. Behind all the ghosts, ghouls and dream landscapes, is the real world of love, compassion friendship, life and death. These are the real hallways through which King continues to weave his fiction.

'The Better Angels of Our Nature: A History of Violence and Humanity' by Steven Pinker

'The Better Angels of our Nature' by Steven Pinker

Renowned Harvard Psychologist Steven Pinker has written what must surely be one of the most important non-fiction books of the last decade. His aim, no less, is to present a history and study of violence.

War, conflict and barbarity are considered hallmarks of being human, and one would be forgiven in thinking that in today’s world humanity is sunk in barbarity, and that the present era is the worse ever.

Pinker argues that this is a mistake. In truth we live in the most peaceful and enlightened periods, 

unprecedented in human history. However, this is not a fluffy philosophy of idealism, it is backed up by hard statistics and evidence. 

The first part of the book is a history lesson. We learn on the evolutionary predispositions of our early ancestors, tribalism, classical conquest, medieval crusades, and finally what can be considered the enlightened era from the seventeen century onwards. It is the Renaissance that saw the promotion of reason and rationality. From it came humanitarian reform, and human rights which continue to make strides even today. 

However, the aim is not simply to delineate a tapestry of colors, but show where the threads end and begin. The trajectory of violence is radically going down in both quality and quantity. Unlike what the media would have us believe, we are all becoming more civilized, empathetic, clever and peaceful as a species. There is a well founded belief, that we are coming of age. and that fairness, equality and even happiness, will continue to make positive contributions to our societies.

There is, of course, a major anomaly. The twentieth century saw two particularly devastating wars, not to mention a flurry of genocides. It is a cliche, and one which almost comes without question,

 that truly this was the worse century for human brutishness. However, what Pinker suggests, and the statistics also collaborate, is that these wars are red herrings or anomalies in scientific terms. It seems almost crass or idolatrous to view them as such, because it belies the suffering they caused. Nevertheless in scientific terms, we have every reason to be hopeful for the future.

The second part of book aims to explore some of the reasons that violence and conflict have decreased over the millennia in both the individual and the state. We learn of the innate chemical and biological tendencies that lodge in the heart, or more likely, or head. How globalism and novels have expanded our viewpoints and thus our empathy. How the Enlightenment helped us understand ourselves and society by triumphing reason. And finally, how the harnessing power of the state has curbed our enthusiasm for conflict. In todays era, the state is construed as a beast that curtails human liberty. At worse it is imprisonment, at best, conservative and undemocratic.

 However, in truth the ‘Leviathan,’ first described by Thomas Hobbes, actually tames our primitive instincts, by instilling within us taboos, rules and utilitarian philosophy. These contribute to our happiness in innumerable ways. Pinker talks about the myth of pure evil, and what came across is the fact that ‘evil’ can be explained. Often it is comprehensible and relates to such things as power, honour and justice. Our intellect, democratic rule, and cosmopolitan culture have all made lasting and beneficial changes to the human condition.

The book is truly magisterial. A staggering nine hundred pages, bursting with facts, figures, and stories. The writing is irreverent but penetrative, cheerful but though-provoking. What came across to me, is just how consistent the argument is. Pinker is in pursuit of one of the fundamental question marks of being human, and there is a zeal and joy in his exploration. To a certain extent, any review of such a book is bound to be inadequate, I have trouble reading a book of nine hundred pages, let alone imagining someone writing it! The omniscient scope is testament to the writer and scientist. 

However, Pinker is no idealist. He is aware that the radical peace we now live under has been forged on a crucible of savagery. The brutality of our species often seems so pointless and stupid in hindsight. As such, he is right to argue optimism is not the right word. Instead we should feel gratitude. Gratitude that humanity out of the mire, has managed to forge for itself ‘better angels.’ He sees our own reason as something truly worthy and sacred, because it does not depend on force or superstition but has been painfully worked out by our fellow human beings. It is a wonder, how far we have come considering our genetic dispositions. In truth with have inherited a testament of man.

I don’t read to many science or psychology books but I have to say this is surely one of the best. An exciting passionate read which has opened my eyes to the real pathways humanity is marking for itself.

Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, by Reza Aslan

Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, by Reza Aslan

I have always been fascinated by religion, particularly Christianity. Not by it’s dogma or rituals, but by the story it tells. Like our best literature, the Bible is filled with heroism, sacrifice, suffering, life and death, all of which make it an evocative read. Christ particularly, is a captivating figure behind the New Testament at least, because, like all great heros, he marches to the summons without flinching. Even when it takes him into the valley of the shadow of death. The gospels are founded upon his message and sacrifice, but for me personally the beauty of the accounts is their portrayal of the man behind the mask, Jesus the human being not Jesus the Savior.

 Like many people I came to know of Reza Aslan’s book Zealot after the car-crash interview he was subjected to by the good old sly fox, Fox News. Rather than refute the book and its argument it propelled it into the national consciousness. But beside this, it is a fascinating read. 

Aslan argues that Jesus imbibes two meanings, the first is that of the Christ, who rose from the dead and redeemed all sins, the second more elusive is of the rural Palestinian, who out of the back woods of Nazareth, ‘a place that doesn’t exist on the map,’ marches into Jerusalem calling for revolution. This is the central argument of the account. Jesus was a Jewish Zealot, a ‘peasant and revolutionary who challenged the rule of the most powerful empire the world had ever known.’ A remarkable story if ever there was one.

The first part of the book discusses Palestine, at the turn of the millennia. Awash with preachers, prophets and rabble rousers, embroiled in political and social strife. Jerusalem, under the subjugation of Roman law and the temple elders, became the locus of many exalted men. The Jewish people had a particular belief in zeal, which, ‘implied a strict adherence to the Torah and Law, a refusal to serve any foreign master [...] and an uncompromising devotion to the sovereignty of God. To be zealous for the Lord was to walk in the blazing footsteps of the prophets.’ On such a backdrop Jesus of Nazareth appeared.

The story of Jesus the man is in some ways more extraordinary than the gospels Jesus the Christ. Here was an illiterate pauper, a magician and exorcist, who after developing a band of ever-growing followers commits the ultimate act of treason when he gives the command: ‘Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.’ This was, ‘a capital offense [...] Considering the temple’s tangled relationship with Rome, [it] is tantamount to attacking Rome itself.’ There is only one pathway left to such a man and after such an act, and that is the path to crucifixion: ‘Like every bandit and revolutionary, every rabble rousing zealot and apocalyptic prophet [...] Jesus of Nazareth is executed for daring to claim the mantle of king and messiah.’ His message is clear, ‘the kingdom of God is about to be established on earth [...] But God’s restoration cannot happen without the destruction of the present order.’ 

Depending on how much we believe of the gospels account, Jesus had the astonishing ability to mythologize himself even while alive, but his death and reported rising was what propelled the carpenter, ensconced in the Jewish faith, into the all-encompassing God of humanity. Aslan gives a wonderful account of how Christianity was formed, from its beginning with James the Just, to its emerging with Paul the Apostle, who more than any figure made the religion what it is today. The New Testament itself is shown to be a cacophony of voices, a blending of fact and fiction, myth and history, but Jesus of Nazareth is the unusual individual who stands behind such an edifice.

The book is a brilliant read, prodigiously sourced and researched, with an engaging style. The most fascinating part of the story of Jesus, however, is that for some reason outside the bounds of history, and research, the early Christians were convinced that Christ had risen from the dead, not as a spirit but as a man of flesh and blood. The kernel of this belief remains elusive even to Aslan’s magisterial scope, but I suppose this last part is the matter of faith. For everything else this account sheds an illuminating light of Jesus the man, who somehow against the odds and propelled by destiny, founded one the great Western religions. Like Aslan thinks, this is man, in his very humanness, is one I could read about all day.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Infidel: My Life

A Review of Ayaan Hirsi Ali's Autobiography, Infidel

Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s autobiography Infidel, is as an amazing and provocative read. admittedly. To some extent, my views converge with hers, but this is probably because she is a persuasive and passionate writer. However, first and foremost, beyond the fiery polemic, I found her book an inspiring read. Ayaan’s life has been one of survival against odds. She has overcome childhood trauma, abuse, displacement, apostasy, family abandonment and finally death threats and murder attempts. All of these are linked to the Islamic culture she grew up within, and which has now permeated the West. 

Her tale of suffering is personal of course, but it’s entwined with an ideology that perpetuated it. As such her argument is both experiential and analytical in it’s judgements. The writer has also had the unusual opportunity to live in several countries spanning three continents. Her childhood was spent in the Islamic states of Somalia, and Saudi Arabia. She was then relocated to the Christian countries of Ethiopia and Kenya. Finally she claimed asylum in the secular societies of the Netherlands and the United States. As a result she has developed a nuanced understanding and knowledge of a cultural, political and religious aspects of the world states.

The first part of the book deals with Ayaan’s early years in Somalia, and Saudi Arabia and she is able to tell us much about the limiting beliefs and rituals that prevail in the area. As a writer, she has a remarkable ability to convey such scenes through the eyes of a child. Insight comes later, at present all we have is the core suffering. Thus we hear: 

‘Somalia children must memorize their lineage: This is more important than anything else.’

‘If a girls virginity is despoiled, she not only obliterates her own honour, she also damages the honour of her father, uncles, brothers and male cousins.’

She is told by her grandmother: ‘A woman alone is like a piece of sheep fat in the sun [...] Everything will come to feed on that fat. Before you know it, the ants and the insects are crawling all over it, until its nothing left but a smear of grease.’

A woman is meant to be ‘a devoted, welcoming, well-trained work animal. This is baari’

‘In Somalia [...] little girls are made “pure” by having their genitals cut out [...] The practice is always justified in the name of Islam [...] the entire procedure was torture for us.’

‘Everything about Saudi Arabia was sin.’

‘If you married outside the rules [...]You sank into a hideous destiny of impurity, godlessness, and disease.’

‘Everything that went wrong was the fault of the Jews [...] the Jews controlled the world [...] Islam was under attack and we should step forward and fight the Jews.’

‘Our goal was a global Islamic government for everyone.’

Now at this point it would be quite easy to conceptualize the above quotes, as pithy maxims or soundbites that reveal little truth. However, this is the point entirely, for we must remember this is how the author herself came to such “knowledge.” It is not to the detriment of her writing skills that she recalls it as such, but to the detriment of a state which ingrained such 'maxims'. Luckily, as time goes on, Ayaan is able to grow and develop as a person, and eventually analyze and challenge such religious beliefs. 

After an arranged marriage is ordered, Ayaan flees to Holland. Here her new life begins, and period of personal  development occur. First she registers as a refugee, then she becomes an asylum seeker, finally she is given Dutch citizenship. She goes from being a Somali translator, to a university graduate in political sciences, and finally a member of the Dutch parliament. 

The criticism of Islam now becomes more apparent. For genital excision she claims: ‘What was between my legs was not mine to give. I was branded.’ Of holland she states: ‘This was infidel country, whose ways of life we Muslims were supposed to oppose and reject. Why was it then so much better run, better led, and made for such better lives than the places we came from [...] Of all the countries were war had broken out, so many seemed to be Muslim.’ Later she adds, ‘this man-made system of government was so much more stable, peaceful, prosperous and happy than the supposedly God devised systems I had been taught to respect.’ It is only when America is attacked on September 11th do her real views suddenly emerge fully formed and ferocious.

Of the attacks she states: ‘It is about Islam. This is based in belief. This is Islam [....] It was not a lunatic fringe who felt this way about America and West. I knew that a vast mass of Muslims would see the attacks as justified retaliation against the infidel enemies of Islam. War had been declared in the name of Islam [....] This was the core of Islam,’ for ‘jihad was a historical constant’ of the religion.

She is equally baffled by some appeasing commentators who seek to excuse perpetrators of such acts from moral responsibility. She states: ‘People theorized beautifully about poverty pushing people to terrorism; about colonialism and consumerism, pop culture, and western decadence [...] None of this pseudo intellectualizing had anything to do with reality.’ It is in fact, akin to, ‘analyzing Lenin and Stalin without looking at the works of Marx [...] By declaring our prophet infallible we had set up a static tyranny.’ 

After sharing her views both on a journalistic and political platform, inevitably the death threats came in. We hear how Ayaan is driven around in armored cars, sleeps in aircraft hangars, is shadowed by bodyguards, moved from place to place like a nomad. All while this is occurring her family have broken off all ties with her as she has now declared that she is an atheist. Finally after collaborating with Theo van Gogh for a movie on the plight of Muslim woman entitled Submission, things become ugly. Theo is murdered, stabbed in the chest with a note attached to the blade of the knife; another death threat to the writer in the name of religion. The Dutch political party suddenly becomes very and her citizenship is revoked. Nevertheless, she moves to the USA to continue a career in a think-tank capacity. At this point the story ends, and we can assume that Ayaan continues her role as an advocate for Muslim women, as well as a opponent of the religion itself.

Two possible criticisms could be leveled at the book. The first is that some will say Ayaan has an axe to grind against Islam because of her own upbringing. To me, this putting the cart before the horse. Her upbringing, did not occur in a vacuum, religion permeated every part of her life. For this reason, it makes her a better candidate than any to discuss it. Her own suffering is bound to the ideology of the religion and so she has quite reasonable grounds to criticize it. The second, is that some will argue Ayaan has betrayed her roots and succumbed to Western Imperialism or Western Culture, but this only begs the question. There must be something about such culture to make her take such a strong stance on each. Shouldn’t we rather ask, isn’t there such a thing as Arab imperialism and culture, that could equally limit or colour a person. 

The fact that Somalia now has a terrorist cell in Al Shabab, and which has recently merged with Al Qaeda, show that Ayaan was presciently aware of the troubles laying dormant in the war-ravaged country, but it also suggests how intrinsically religion is bound to the state.

All of this she is able to link back to the Koran, and indeed this seems a good a place to start as any, for we sometimes underestimate the power of texts in shaping ideologies and culture. To draw an analogy, we can say Nazism arose due to the political and social circumstances of the time, or the psychological profile of Hitler. However, we can equally explain it via Mein Kampf, and Nietzschean doctrines which preceded it. It is such an ideology that offered as motivation and justification of war. The only difference with Islam and the Koran is its scope.

The Netherlands is not much different from Britain. It struggles with the same issues of migration, integration, extremism, and polarised politics. The real change for the better will come from such women as Ayaan Hirsi Ali. She is an inspiring and courageous woman. After undergoing such hardship, she has not only forged a new happy life, but continually has the bravery to speak out on one of the most divisive topics of our time.

Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada

Alone in Berlin

When I was studying for my A Level in Modern History, I got wind of the controversial book, entitled Hitler’s Willing Executioners, by Daniel Goldhagen. It put forth the argument, that ordinary German citizens were as guilty as the Nazi regime, and complicit in the atrocities. This culpability is apparently due to Germany, being a deeply anti-Semitic nation-state, that fostered such an atmosphere of hatred, that Hitler was able to come to power easily.

I must admit, rather ashamedly, and despite not having read the book, I bought into the interpretation. I just couldn’t understand how an entire population could cave to a pack of murdering thugs, without a squib of resistance or ounce of defiance. It seemed the equivalent of a dog laying down to be shot. 

Thankfully, today my views have changed. Fiction had a way of reaching us that historical records can’t and after reading Vassily Grossman’s masterpiece Life and Fate, it dawned on me what tyranny is really about. The devastating affect it has on ordinary citizens. Since reading Hans Fallada’s, Alone in Berlin, my belief has only been confirmed. Living under a such a government is akin to being a caged mouse, with a hungry cat watching just outside the bars!

Written in 1946, by a German who lived through the Nazi regime, Alone in Berlin fictionalizes the true story of Otto and Elise Hampel, who waged their own little war of resistance against Hitler, writing inflammatory postcards and planting them across the capital. In the novel these two individuals become the Quangels, a quiet working class couple, who litter the city with pamphlets, after the death of their son on the frontline. The novel depicts a dangerous and oppressive world where the ordinary citizen lives under the perpetual blade of a guillotine, where the ‘Gestapo was the state.’ 

Despite this, life goes on. The reason for the government's continuing existence, is because of the self-perpetuating ideology of Nazism which was backed up by violence. This breeds either ignorance or fear. On one hand we have: ‘Hitler apotheosized. Hitler in excelsis, lord of the universe, all-powerful, all-seeing, all-forgiving. [...] The war rages on slaughtering millions and still they believe in him.’ On the other, ‘Quangel is right to call Hitler a murderer and me his henchman [...] it disgusts me to keep those fellows supplied with fresh prey [...] I also want to fight./But its impossible [...] They would catch me [...] and my flesh screams when they torture it. I’m a coward.’ The cogs of the state are rusting on the axle but somehow still continue to turn, because in one way or the other, society has bought into the myth.

As such, the citizens of Berlin are caught up in their own doublethink. On one hand each individual is well aware of the danger that encompasses them, on the other, they pretend it doesn’t pose a threat. This little bit of false hope, driven by barely contained dread, is what gives rise to justification and conformism. But how people respond, differs according to their type. 

In the novel, Berlin has a wide variety of people. Megalomanic officers of the Reich such as Judge Feisler and Officer Prall. The sadistic thugs of the Gestapo and SS like Balder Persicke and officer Karlemann. The hapless dispossessed fools like Enno Kluge and Borkhausen. The politically smart Jobsworths like Inspector Escherich and Dr Martens. And finally a small segment of good people. These are the heros of Alone in Berlin. Leading the charge are the Quangels, then Judge Fromm, Trudel Baumann, Chaplain Friedrich Lorenz and Dr Reichhardt. The last group are all effectively playing russian roulette with their lives, and for such heroic acts only few are brave enough. The other Germans, who conformed to the party ideology we can only pity. The novel makes clear its a matter of survival, they had loved ones, children and wives to protect.

In this world, those who resist Hitler and his regime often come to harm, but this only reasserts the dangers of a totalitarian government. ‘These days everyone has something to hide.’ Inspectors, Party-Stalwarts, Attorneys, Doctors, the foolish, the weak, and the strong, all fall foul of the Nazi regime. Tyranny is so encompassing, so prevalent, that no-one can possibly be outside of it. Each character will try to navigate the treacherous waters, but most will drown because a chain of association will eventually forge a link to their own life.

On face value, the Quangels do more harm than good and their campaign endangers others. Despite this we all know they are heroes and acted out of the goodness of their hearts. As such, their act should be judged by intention rather than result. Ultimately, it is an outstanding display of human courage, and emblem of the human spirit and its eternal belief in freedom. As Quangel himself learns:

‘It would have been a hundred times better if we’d had someone who could have told us, such and such is what you have to do; our plan is this and this. But if there had been such a man in Germany Hitler would never have come to power in 1933. As it was, we all acted alone, we were caught alone, and everyone of us will have to die alone. But that doesn’t mean that we are alone, Quangel, or that our deaths will be in vain. Nothing in this world is done in vain and since we are fighting for justice against brutality, we are bound to prevail in the end.’