The author argues effectively that Madero’s manual is essential to understanding his revolutionary zeal.
An introduction to and translation of Mexican revolutionary Francisco Madero’s Spiritist Manual.
In the winter of 1911, as Mexican revolutionaries battled to oust the dictator Porfirio Diaz, an author identified only as “Bhîma” published Manual espirita, a slim volume that promised to provide readers with “the foundations of a very lofty philosophy” known as Spiritism. The human spirit, the author wrote, “is a higher entity than our body,” its life not limited to one incarnation but reincarnated repeatedly as it evolves into ever greater states of consciousness. Bhîma, it turns out, was not some Eastern mystic but none other than Francisco Madero, who helped depose Diaz and served as president of Mexico from November 1911 to his murder in February 1913. In her book, Mayo, the pen name of Catherine Mansell, wife of a prominent Mexican economist, provides not only an English translation of Madero’s Spiritist Manual, but also a lively introduction to a text that had sunk into “almost complete obscurity” but, she argues, is essential to “understanding Madero himself, why and how he led Mexico’s 1910 Revolution, and the seething contempt of those behind the overthrow of his government and his assassination.” Madero discovered Spiritism, Mayo writes, as a student in Paris in 1891 when he stumbled upon a magazine called La Revue spirite. After reading the works of Spiritism guru Allan Kardec, he became convinced “he had incarnated on this planet in order to usher in a golden age.” But while he was motivated by his Spiritism and detailed messages he believed were sent to him by the dead, Madero had to promote his philosophy anonymously in Catholic Mexico, remaining “coyly, and sometimes very lumpily, behind the curtains.” In one message, a spirit named José purportedly reminded him, “You have been selected by your Heavenly Father to fulfill a great mission on Earth.” Mayo’s frequent digressions may irritate some readers, but she makes an effective case for taking Madero’s Spiritist beliefs seriously rather than simply dismissing them as “plumb crazy.” “One does not have to be a Spiritist to champion freedom and democracy,” Mayo concludes, “but for Madero, Mexico’s Apostle of Democracy, metaphysics and politics were inseparable.”
The author argues effectively that Madero’s manual is essential to understanding his revolutionary zeal.Pub Date: Jan. 23, 2014
ISBN: 978-0988797000
Page Count: 298
Publisher: Dancing Chiva
Review Posted Online: Jan. 9, 2015
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2015
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
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From the national correspondent for PBS's MacNeil-Lehrer Newshour: a moving memoir of her youth in the Deep South and her role in desegregating the Univ. of Georgia. The eldest daughter of an army chaplain, Hunter-Gault was born in what she calls the ``first of many places that I would call `my place' ''—the small village of Due West, tucked away in a remote little corner of South Carolina. While her father served in Korea, Hunter-Gault and her mother moved first to Covington, Georgia, and then to Atlanta. In ``L.A.'' (lovely Atlanta), surrounded by her loving family and a close-knit black community, the author enjoyed a happy childhood participating in activities at church and at school, where her intellectual and leadership abilities soon were noticed by both faculty and peers. In high school, Hunter-Gault found herself studying the ``comic-strip character Brenda Starr as I might have studied a journalism textbook, had there been one.'' Determined to be a journalist, she applied to several colleges—all outside of Georgia, for ``to discourage the possibility that a black student would even think of applying to one of those white schools, the state provided money for black students'' to study out of state. Accepted at Michigan's Wayne State, the author was encouraged by local civil-rights leaders to apply, along with another classmate, to the Univ. of Georgia as well. Her application became a test of changing racial attitudes, as well as of the growing strength of the civil-rights movement in the South, and Gault became a national figure as she braved an onslaught of hostilities and harassment to become the first black woman to attend the university. A remarkably generous, fair-minded account of overcoming some of the biggest, and most intractable, obstacles ever deployed by southern racists. (Photographs—not seen.)
Pub Date: Nov. 1, 1992
ISBN: 0-374-17563-2
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1992
Necessarily swift and adumbrative as well as inclusive, focused, and graceful.
A light-speed tour of (mostly) Western poetry, from the 4,000-year-old Gilgamesh to the work of Australian poet Les Murray, who died in 2019.
In the latest entry in the publisher’s Little Histories series, Carey, an emeritus professor at Oxford whose books include What Good Are the Arts? and The Unexpected Professor: An Oxford Life in Books, offers a quick definition of poetry—“relates to language as music relates to noise. It is language made special”—before diving in to poetry’s vast history. In most chapters, the author deals with only a few writers, but as the narrative progresses, he finds himself forced to deal with far more than a handful. In his chapter on 20th-century political poets, for example, he talks about 14 writers in seven pages. Carey displays a determination to inform us about who the best poets were—and what their best poems were. The word “greatest” appears continually; Chaucer was “the greatest medieval English poet,” and Langston Hughes was “the greatest male poet” of the Harlem Renaissance. For readers who need a refresher—or suggestions for the nightstand—Carey provides the best-known names and the most celebrated poems, including Paradise Lost (about which the author has written extensively), “Kubla Khan,” “Ozymandias,” “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” Wordsworth and Coleridge’s Lyrical Ballads, which “changed the course of English poetry.” Carey explains some poetic technique (Hopkins’ “sprung rhythm”) and pauses occasionally to provide autobiographical tidbits—e.g., John Masefield, who wrote the famous “Sea Fever,” “hated the sea.” We learn, as well, about the sexuality of some poets (Auden was bisexual), and, especially later on, Carey discusses the demons that drove some of them, Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath among them. Refreshingly, he includes many women in the volume—all the way back to Sappho—and has especially kind words for Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop, who share a chapter.
Necessarily swift and adumbrative as well as inclusive, focused, and graceful.Pub Date: April 21, 2020
ISBN: 978-0-300-23222-6
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Yale Univ.
Review Posted Online: Feb. 8, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020
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