The Sandcastle Girls, by Chris Bohjalian

Looking at the cover of this book, I didn’t expect much.  I didn’t even read the blurb on the back, just gauged it by the cover art--a young woman in white standing in a wind-eroded yellowed landscape--and the title.  I sort of expected a coming of age story about some teenage girlfriends during a formative summer.  But my wife had recommended it, and I was on my way to the airport and didn’t have time to be choosy, so I just grabbed it, kissed her, and ran.  The story was actually about the Armenian genocide of 1915 in which some 1.5 million people perished from murder, starvation, or disease.  Oooops.  As they say, never judge a book by its cover.

Most of the story is set in the Syrian city of Aleppo, much in the news these days as the Syrian government commits heinous atrocities against its own citizens in order to stifle dissent.  This city just can’t seem to get a break.  In 1138 it was the site of one of the most destructive earthquakes in all history, killing possibly as many as 230,000.  In 1915 it was the largest city on the hopeless trek from Armenia to Deir-ez Zor, a mid-desert encampment where thousands of women, children, and elderly were starved to death.  The men had already been executed.  

Laura is a modern day (2010) fortyish writer discovering and chronicling the story of her grandparents.  She knows that her grandfather, now dead, was Armenian, and that there were parts of his past that he was unwilling to talk about.  As the 100th anniversary of the genocide is approaching, she is caught by a photograph she sees in a museum.  It shows a woman, emaciated beyond belief, sitting in the dirt against a wall; she is identified as Karine Petrosian.  The same surname as her grandfather's.  Could this have been a relative of hers?  That question propels her to research in museums, archives, her grandparents’ letters, and eventually a journey to Aleppo where the galvanizing photo was taken.  

This is a story of love, of survival, of perseverance, of remembrance.  Armen, Laura's grandfather, is a young Armenian man who has survived the brutal obliteration of his home city by the Turks, and found temporary safety working with a pair of German soldiers in Aleppo.  [The irony of finding refuge from genocide with Germans is never stated by the author, but impossible to miss as a reader.  We are reminded that people--individuals--are all different, and that we all possess innate abilities to do great harm and great good.]. Elizabeth, her grandmother, is a relief worker from Boston, young and naive, but strong in spirit.  Armen and Elizabeth are attracted, fall in love, are separated, and struggle to reunite against the horrific backdrop of both the Armenian catastrophe and World War I.  

The love story is fiction but sadly the backdrop is not.  For a hundred years Armenian descendants have sought to pressure the Turks to own up to the genocide, the intentional and systematic annihilation of a whole people.  The Turks’ response is that shit happens in war, and it is forbidden in Turkey to utter the word ‘genocide’ in connection with the Armenians. 

This is not, in my opinion, a lasting work of literature, destined for any hallowed place.  It is a nicely told story with straightforward narration and unaccented dialogue.  The romance and the connection between generations is treated with warmth and wistfulness, and there is a twist to the story that caused me to catch my breath.  Much more than that, the story opens a window onto a piece of history that seems to be untold or to have been forgotten.  That is the important thing about history: it must not be forgotten.

The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli

It doesn’t feel quite right writing a review of a book that was written five hundred years ago, shortly after the discovery by Columbus of the western hemisphere, and that has been read by millions.  Like my review will be read by more than three people.  Ever.  Call me audacious, here I go.

The Prince is the original self-help book, advising the reader how to wield power so as to gain it and keep it.  The book was addressed to Lorenzo de Medici, son of Piero de Medici, grandson of Lorenzo “the Magnificent” de Medici, all of whom were rulers of Florence.  In his time, late 15th and early 16th centuries, Italy was divided mainly into principalities--Milan, Venice, Florence, Naples, and lesser ones like Pisa, Verona, Bologna, and Sienna.  The Pope, of course, ruled Rome.  The rulers of these places--the princes--tended to change frequently as power shifted from one family to another.  A treatise on how to keep power would be a very useful and welcome gift for a new ruler to receive.

It’s a short book, only eighty-seven pages in the paperback printing I read.  Not really a quick read though, because it has many footnotes that are important to understanding the text.   I used two bookmarks--one for the text and one for the footnotes, which appeared in order at the back of the book.  I also found myself checking Wikipedia for historical references.

From this book comes the popular modern adjective, ‘Machiavellian’, meaning ruthless, doing whatever it takes to hold onto power.  Murder, deceit, manipulation, bribery (both given and taken) are all among the recommended tools.  No holds barred.  Ironically he places great importance on religion; that is, the wise prince must seem to be religious.  He need not be a true believer himself but his subjects must see him as religious, and he must encourage religion as it is the one most powerful weapon in getting people to do what you wish.  Brings to mind some modern politicians who may have studied Machiavelli.  

The second most powerful tool is fear. He devotes several pages to the question of whether it is better to be loved or feared.  You will have rightly guessed that fear is the winner.  Machiavelli reaches the following very reasonable and unassailable conclusion: “Returning to the question, then, of being loved or feared, I conclude that since men love as they themselves determine but fear as their ruler determines, a wise prince must rely upon what he and not others can control.”

The work is a dispassionate set of principles of power, untempered by any sense of morality. Was he a sociopath?  He showed no sign of enjoying cruelty, which is presented as a tool to be used judiciously, to achieve a purpose, not as an end in itself, but not to be shied away from when necessary.  Of the need for cruelty, for which he uses the euphemism ‘injury’, he says, “Injuries must be committed all at once so that, being savored less, they will arouse less resentment.  Benefits, on the other hand, should be  bestowed little by little, so as to be more fully savored.”  Fascinating reading, really.  The temptation to see his principles in use in the modern world is unavoidable.  

As it happens, Sue and I have been watching some ‘made for Netflix’ historical series, including ones on Louis XIV of France, the English Tudors, Kublai Khan, and the Medici's of Florence.  All of them follow the formula: Sex + Violence + a touch of history = Viewers.  The stories hew pretty closely to known, documented people and events, which makes it at least quasi-educational.  The violence is often graphic, but I know how to close my eyes at the right moment.  The sex is graphic too, and I know how to not close my eyes....  

We are currently in the middle of a 40+ episode series on the Borgia family, one of the competitors for dominance in the time of Machiavelli. Rodrigo Borgia even bribed and threatened his way to the papacy, and held that position for eleven years until he died of poisoning.  Very spiritual.  

Machiavelli was an adviser to Rodrigo’s son, Cesare Borgia, who had a tumultuous career, rife with intrigue, bribery, mendacity, and violence, in short, all the tools Machiavelli endorses for use by the ‘wise prince’.  Though Cesare failed to prevail as a stable and secure prince--he died in battle when his troops abandoned him--he figures prominently in The Prince as the kind of ruler whose methods should be emulated by others who wish to rule.  It must be more than coincidence that the ruler he evaluates most favorably is the one he advised.  To be fair, it must have cut both ways; many of the principles Machiavelli presents must have been developed through observation of Cesare Borgia’s actions and the results. 

I must hasten not to overstate the role of Borgia in The Prince.  Machiavelli cites events in ancient Greece, Persia, Rome, Syria, Carthage, etc. in addition to events in then recent history in Europe.  He was clearly an avid student of history and observer of human nature and current events.   

As I read this book about how to succeed as a ruler, it was natural to wonder which, if any, of the principles could be applied on a much less grand stage; that is, as a manager.  For example, he advises, ”It is the nature of men to feel as much bound by the favors they do as by those they receive.”  If a person does me a favor, it sits in that person’s memory as an investment in me, and consequently tilts that person favorably toward me in the future.  As a manager, the more people I can get favors from, the better positioned I am for future success. Useful advice. 

Needless to say, I don’t agree with everything Machiavelli presents as principles.  After all, Cesare Borgia suffered a violent death at the age of 31, and Machiavelli himself had limited success.  But much is worthy of thought and, better yet, discussion.  A business would do well to include such a discussion in its leadership development program.  Glad I read it, wish I’d done so forty years ago.  I might have been king of the world.