The fool and his apprentice
Ivan Turgenev’s The Fool, Dexter and how not to Immigrate to New Zealand.
Last year my father gave me a book of short stories to read, it was called “Gedichte in Prosa” or “Poetry in Prose” by the Russian writer Ivan Turgenev. It was a German translation by Theodor Commichau and published in 1903. There are about 20 stories in total, but one story in particular stood out.
In German it was called Der Dummkopf (literally translated “the dumb head”,) but in English it is known as The Fool.
It is so short, that I will publish it here for you all to read quickly, the 1978 English translation by Isabel Hapgood:
“Once upon a time a fool lived in the world.
For a long time he lived in clover; but gradually rumours began to reach him to the effect that he bore the reputation everywhere of a brainless ninny.
The fool was disconcerted and began to fret over the question how he was to put an end to those unpleasant rumours.
A sudden idea at last illumined his dark little brain…. And without the slightest delay he put it into execution.
An acquaintance met him on the street and began to praise a well-known artist…. “Good gracious!” exclaimed the fool, “that artist was relegated to the archives long ago…. Don’t you know that?–I did not expect that of you…. You are behind the times.”
The acquaintance was frightened, and immediately agreed with the fool.
“What a fine book I have read to-day!” said another acquaintance to him.
“Good gracious!” cried the fool.–“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? That book is good for nothing; everybody dropped it in disgust long ago.–Don’t you know that?–You are behind the times.”
And that acquaintance also was frightened and agreed with the fool.
“What a splendid man my friend N. N. is!” said a third acquaintance to the fool.–“There’s a truly noble being for you!”
“Good gracious!”–exclaimed the fool,–“it is well known that N. N. is a scoundrel! He has robbed all his relatives. Who is there that does not know it? You are behind the times.”
The third acquaintance also took fright and agreed with the fool, and renounced his friend. And whosoever or whatsoever was praised in the fool’s presence, he had the same retort for all.
He even sometimes added reproachfully: “And do you still believe in the authorities?”
“A malicious person! A bilious man!” his acquaintances began to say about the fool.–“But what a head!”
“And what a tongue!” added others.
“Oh, yes; he is talented!”
It ended in the publisher of a newspaper proposing to the fool that he should take charge of his critical department.
And the fool began to criticise everything and everybody, without making the slightest change in his methods, or in his exclamations.
Now he, who formerly shrieked against authorities, is an authority himself,–and the young men worship him and fear him.
But what are they to do, poor fellows? Although it is not proper–generally speaking–to worship … yet in this case, if one does not do it, he will find himself classed among the men who are behind the times!
There is a career for fools among cowards.”
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In the Commichau translation, the last line reads “Leicht hat’s ein Dummkopf unter Hasenfüßen" - which translates to: “it’s easy for a fool to operate among rabbit feet”. Which I took as to mean that if people are gullible enough and easily scared, they will believe anything.
Now we could extrapolate this to politicians or states people but I think the story is not an allegory for human power at all or even an examination of the susceptibility of cowards - it is an open examination of the human condition. Niccolo Machiavelli in his book The Prince taught us how expedient people often use gossip and hearsay, to win people over and learn to control any given society.
Having lived in a small village myself over the last decade, I have experienced this myself on numerous occasions, those who will bend the truth or speak ill of another, just to gain some form of metaphorical advantage. In the end it’s all smoke and mirrors. I have met my fair share of conniving and cunning fools who often through no will of their own, only through a lack of a solid moral compass or a loosening grip on their own ethics have seen it in their power to manipulate and mislead the trusting public. I knew a man once who told me that he was “a different person to different people” because he always had to please everyone. It shocked me as I was used to dealing with authentic and honest people, yet here was a human being who was openly manipulating those around him like Turgenev’s fool, and for what reason I asked myself. Power? Control?
When I confronted a good friend of mine about this, his classic rebuttal was:
“Chris, sometimes people are born assholes, you just have to let them be assholes.”
Golden advice I hold dear to my heart.
It was perhaps because of my inherent dislike for people like this fool and people who manipulate others, play with the truth, bend it to their own will, that I chose to create Dexter, the protagonist in my first fiction novel. Though also a bit foolish and clumsy at times, Dexter is the opposite of Turgenev’s fool: A simple man, born into a small town, without mirror neurons or the desire for eye contact, with a photographic memory and a love for animals. I wanted this unconventional magician to experience the world, especially America. And set about like a quirky and intelligent Jack Kerouac, documenting this strange new world. I set out to write a novel in 27 chapters, stretching the imagination and capability of a man who was the direct opposite of Turgenev’s The Fool. A man who had honesty taped to his forehead, who would approach any situation with the eyes and ears of a child who has not been taught how to lie yet. This lovable character can’t even tell a white lie and as such the adventures he finds him on are pretty hilarious. Part Borat, part Forrest Gump, and a massive chunk of Ignatius J. Reilly (from A Confederacy of Dunces - "I abhor the sight of anything unnatural") who I read when I was about 13 and the character never left my mind.
This is from the book blurb:
“Dexter Paudeville is no normal human being. He is an extraordinary kiwi ‘magician’ (part-time) that has set it upon himself to document the world as it appears to his visual and cerebral cortices. Supposedly he was born in the quaint yet beautiful town of Huntly, on the north island of New Zealand (yet no one is really sure of his true origins.) Some suspect outer space, others regard him as an overweight escapee from a mental institution. But all stigmas aside, Dexter is a lovable caring, sensitively quixotic and sometime, yes, slightly different member of our global family. He loves cats, ice cream and being able to stand on one foot (because other cats can’t do that).
He also likes traveling to strange places, it’s because he loves the feeling of alienation and not being able to communicate with other people. It’s more peaceful that way. The life story commences at birth (as most life stories do) and follows Dexter through his formative years as a teenager, amateur mud wrestler and restaurant critic. The story does not follow a logical sequence from start to finish but more meanders all over the show and eventually does end up at the finish line, which isn't a finish line at all, but more a place to rest.”
I am currently in the final stages of the next iteration of Dexter, so it was intriguing for me to actually meet a real life Dexter. His name is Rory Hennessy and he is an immigration lawyer who lives in Nelson. He was born in Hamilton, which is not far from where Dexter was born (Huntly) and he has traveled the US and Canada extensively! Oh yes and he loves wrestling, especially Brazilian jujitsu and cats, his current sidekick is a cute little cat called Fennel. Did I mention he is also 6 ft 6 like Dexter?
Rory was diagnosed with autism when he was 13 years old and growing up with that condition is never easy. Especially in a country like New Zealand, where men are men and don’t show their feelings often. The colonialist survival ethos has imprinted itself deeply in the psyche of most kiwi men. So much so that if you show any bit of weakness or even self awareness, the mob pounces on you. Emotions are not often discussed in New Zealand men’s circles and if they are addressed it's usually to make fun of them. It’s all about sports or what contraption you have just managed to build in your shed. Manly stuff you know. Certainly not poetry.
And so you can see how difficult and testing it would be to grow up as an autistic human in a world dominated by wannabe alpha males as they exist here in New Zealand.
I explored this theme a little bit in my book, where I showed how Dexter had to create his own imaginary world, replete with imaginary friends, in order to just get by. Here in this imaginary world, emotions were key and it was okay to cry and be sad. One didn’t always have to pretend to be okay. Like Dexter, Rory has an incredible sense of humour and is very, very good at his job. Out of thousands of cases he has proffered over, he has only had 4 applicants rejected!! So he is a savant of sorts and definitely a good contact for you to have if you ever consider moving to this country. Do it!!
Would love to see you here!
And as opposed to my one sided observation of the rugged, manly, rugby loving simpleton males of these islands, there are also many who are versed in the arts and books, lovely people who can recite poetry and have a conversation about philosophy. You just have to look harder than elsewhere
I just wanted to give you an update and hope you are all still doing okay, despite the current state of affairs on this planet. We have gotten through worse as a species and we will get through this.
Just make sure you truly try to understand BOTH sides of every argument and conflict. And don’t allow people like Turgenev’s fool, to play your cerebrum like a chicken drumstick.
Learn to think for yourselves, read books not Instagram or Tiktok posts and get your information from as many sources as possible, allowing facts to form the basis of your opinion and not the other way around.
MOVING TO NEW ZEALAND
As first alluded to in The Dexter Chronicles Vol. 1: Becoming Dexter -
Whether you are seriously thinking about moving to New Zealand or just have some questions about immigration issues and want some stellar advice from a seasoned professional with a near immaculate batting record, then please check out Rory Hennessey of Hennessey Immigration Services - you won’t be disappointed. Maybe even if you mention my name, he’ll give you a good price, who knows?
On Immigration
With the age-old debate raging high in the US about whether immigration is a net positive for any given society (especially ones not having children,) or whether an overt influx of foreigners can actually pull at the very fabric of the society they are trying to assimilate into and unravel it at the seams. Thus, especially in light of the US’s northern Canadian border and the vast amounts of Americans fleeing the country in anticipation of election calamity come this November, I thought it would be a good idea to revisit what it says on the bronze plaque underneath the statue of liberty in New York City.
Let’s hope those Canadians have the necessary compassion and know how to appreciate poetry properly…
Here’s the famous stanza from the The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus, as found on that giant woman:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
And few of you will know these next lines, which preceded that stanza:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips.
It definitely adds more gravitas with the whole sonnet - “you storied pomp”!
The great thing about this poem was that it wasn't just picked at random, Lazarus was commissioned to write it for an "as yet to be built statue," her only direction was "on liberty." The pluralism of the project is what often sticks out most, a tribute to the beauty of multiculturalism:
An Italian sonnet written by an American Jewish poet, that compares the loftiness of an ancient Greek statue with the composed intent of a modern statute built in France, dedicated to freedom and liberty and gifted to the United States of America.
Incidentally, Lazarus wrote The New Colossus five years to the day after Turgenev’s penned and translated short story The Fool was first published in Germany! Coincidence? I think not..
Oh and one more take away, Lazarus was such a gifted poet and writer that at the age of 16 she was commissioned to edit the translated poetry of Friedrich Schiller, Heinrich Heine, Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo! When most of you read English versions of these geniuses work, it will be likely from the hand and brains of Emma Lazarus - whom contemporary and friend Ralph Waldo Emmerson called, ‘a walking poem’ herself.
Have a good week.
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PS oh and thank GOD Oppenheimer won best picture. Phew!