Apparently I have incurred a moral obligation to defend the integrity and intelligence of this lexical art that I have launched.
Daniel Everett
Thirty years ago Daniel Everett and his young family journeyed to South America as missionaries, hoping to convert the Piraha tribe of the Amazon basin. In the intervening years Everett came to reject his faith, lose his family and challenge many of the basic assumptions that Western academics hold dear regarding language, culture and cognition. He tells us about a nerve racking week lecturing to British academics, joy at Obama's election and trying to keep things in perspective.
Like all authors, I would be satisfied with only a few million dollars. I am not greedy.
Saturday
Linda and I arrived in Edinburgh at 8.00am after a quick crossing of the Atlantic. I am to begin a week of lectures and interviews to promote my ideas on language and my new book. When I began writing the book that has brought me here, I was sitting at my dining room table in Louisville, Kentucky, with my Rhodesian Ridgeback, Bentley, all 125 pounds of him, lying beside my chair. And now the words that I worried over so intently between cups of coffee, phone calls, meals, errands and a thousand interruptions and lapses in discipline have been released to the world. Apparently I have incurred a moral obligation to defend the integrity and intelligence of this lexical art that I have launched.
The first defense will be over haggis at a local pub. Two professors from Edinburgh, a philosopher and a linguist, are taking us to lunch. And I need to try the haggis. But I know that this culinary experience will also provide an excuse to interrogate me, so I have to be sharp. Try to be that is.
Lunch went well! The haggis was very good, though not as organ-tasting as I had expected, and we take advantage of the beautiful sunshine to walk out our jet lag among the parks and imposing architecture of the Scottish capital. Night brings rest to two shivering travelers from the American South.
Sunday
Up early for an 8am interview on BBC London's InSpirit radio program. I try to sound alert and animated. Afterwards, I work on tomorrow's lecture for the audience of philosophers, anthropologists, linguists, and psychologists that have invited me to Scotland. I am worried that I have become so accustomed to communicating my ideas to the general public that I might undershoot the highpowered academic audience that awaits me. But such challenges and uncertainty energize me and sharpen my thinking (or so I like to imagine). I work on my lecture and then Linda and I go for another walk. It is still sunny! Edinburgh couldn't be more beautiful. Well, perhaps if it were in Hawaii.
In the evening we go for curry with our hosts. Both eminent intellectuals. Between bites of nan and vindaloo, I answer questions about the nature of grammar and what I mean by the abstract concept of 'culture'. The four of us stroll after dinner. One of my friends comments that if it had been a man, everyone would think that Blackfriar's Bobby, whose statue we are passing, was an imbecile for not knowing its master was dead. As he says this, we are passing the coffee bar where JK Rowling began her journey towards wealth and fame writing Harry Potter. The first literary billionaire. Like all authors, I would be satisfied with only a few million dollars. I am not greedy. As we arrive at our hotel, my friend brings me down to earth by telling me how let down he'll be if I give a bad lecture on Monday. He means this in good fun and I respond likewise: "My lecture is so good, I can't wait to hear it myself." I am so funny.
Monday
Up early and out for a walk. It is fresh and stimulating. I think of the days that I taught at the University of Manchester. And I miss the United Kingdom. But then I think of my home in Louisville, Hopewood, surrounded by trees and warmth, and the nostalgia passes.
How do you satisfy a mixed audience of academics from various specialties and fields? Each person in the audience is likely to think that they are smarter than you are (and they might be). Each one defines science and the nature of knowledge differently and each has his or her own grasp of what is relevant and what is irrelevant in public presentations and the quest for 'Truth' (which I no longer believe in anyway). Ah, but that is what makes academics fun - running the bloodless gauntlet. Coming out with your intellect and reputation intact.
The hour approaches. I have coffee at the University with several of the best linguists in the world. I am psyched. The lecture hour approaches so I walk to the lecture theatre to set up my computer and test my presentation. When the hour arrives the theatre fills. I am very happy. It is depressing for everyone to be in a room that dwarfs the audience. Reminds me of a sexual joke of relative sizes. More than 200 academics fill the seats and even the steps of the auditorium.
The introduction is great, though strange. The one presenting me doesn't say I am a great linguist per se, but that I am as 'honest as the day is long'. Oh wait, I understand. Because of all the controversy about me some folks have suggested that I might have 'fudged' my facts a bit. So this introduction makes it clear that one of the most respected intellectuals at Edinburgh trusts me. An honor to be so introduced.
The talk is off to a good start, then. But it gets off track at the end where I ramble about several things that have nothing to do with the main theme of my talk. Damn. Shut up. But no, I keep talking irrelevantly.
Grateful for the silence when I stop blabbering, I am surprised by a great roar of applause. Then thirty minutes of questions. Then another roar. Well, that is not bad. Not bad at all.
A few buy copies of my book at the exit to the lecture hall and ask for autographs. Never having done this before, I am not sure what to do or where in the book to write. A bumbler still.
Tuesday
Off to London before sunrise. After some confusion at the airport regarding the flight numbers, we leave for the great city, arriving just in time for an interview with the Guardian at 11.30. From there my publicist whisks us off to BBC studios to give an interview on Radio Scotland. Afterwards, Linda and I have lunch at the Ivy. Great food. Supposedly there are famous people there, but I wouldn't know them if they said hello.
In the afternoon we shop a bit and I prepare for a different kind of lecture at University College London, where most in the audience will be opposed to my linguistic theory because they are already committed to the theory of Noam Chomsky. More psychologists, philosophers, linguists, and anthropologists to talk to - with a neuroscientist or two thrown in for good measure.
Wednesday
I am up at 3.30am to look at election returns. HOORAY!! Obama is the new president elect of the United States. McCain and his less than impressive running mate are history. The philosophy of the last 8 years has been soundly rejected. I might actually not mind telling people I am an American for a while.
My first interview of the day is BBC Asia's Nihal show. He begins with questions about Obama. He is delightful. Munching away on an apple while I answer his questions, smiling and joking. After the cheerful banter we talk about the book.
No two interviewers ever interpret the book in the same way. And I like that. They see things in the book that I didn't notice. Things I need to think about more.
I check my email after the interview and see emails from various acquaintances, even some who disagree with my views on language, congratulating me on the election. Though I really had nothing to do with it other than a donation.
What am I doing here? I want what I say to help people think, however briefly, about lessons other cultures have learned about life. I don't want to let my ego crowd anything important out. I need to keep the focus on ideas and the Pirahã people.
The hour comes. I speak at UCL. A very strong introduction. But as I begin, I notice grimaced faces across the room. Ha Ha. They haven't heard anything yet. The linguists are big fans of Chomsky. I expected no mollycoddling nor hero's reception here. And I won't get one. Yet these colleagues have paid me the compliment of attending the lecture and for that I am pleased and grateful.
Following the lecture there is an animated round of questions and objections, then a wine reception. As I am surrounded by people, I see Linda sipping her wine alone in the corner. Academics are so myopic and unable to talk about anything but academics. Linda is probably the smartest one in the room, but she is only an attorney and for academics anyone who is not an academic may as well be an apostate to an Inquisitor. I might be overgeneralizing.
As I talk to people I remember Dad's bar, Everett's Inn, and his work as a cowboy. Anyone who wore a tie was a sissy to Dad. I don't think he was completely wrong, but I do think he underestimated mental rigor in the contesting of ideas. This too is tough. A different kind of pissing contest.
Thursday
Seven interviews on radio and TV today and a visit to the office of Profile Books, my wonderful publisher.
The radio interviews go as expected. I especially like John McCarthy of Excess Baggage. But as usual, I am more nervous on the televised interview for BBC World Service. My first television interview was in 1963 when I was 12. My band was popular in parts of Southern California in the immediately pre-Beatle days of musical virginity. But I was appalled watching the interview later at my appearance. I remind myself of what I learned then: remain engaged with the interviewer; don't stop thinking; avoid saying "uh", don't look at the monitor, look at the interviewer.
After the interviews are over I have some wine with the Profile staff. All heady stuff for a boy from small town California. What would the Pirahãs think of all of this I wonder? Then I laugh to myself, knowing that none of this would be worth a single plate of fish and manioc meal to them. They have their priorities straight.
I end the day with a visit to the headquarters of Survival International, a small group dedicated to offering practical help to indigenous peoples around the world interested in maintaining their traditional cultures and ways of life. Through this meeting, I am brought back to what is really important. The staff at Survival is a great reminder that there are people who do put the powerless before the powerful.
Friday
The last day of a busy week. Tomorrow we fly back to Kentucky and get ready to begin a series of talks at US universities - Princeton, Michigan, Stony Brook, and others. Today, though, I have a lunch at UCL, with linguists and neuroscientists.
The lunch is fun. Good questions and issues to think about.
After the sandwiches and sparkling water, I meet Linda for a walk down Charing Cross to see if the book shops are carrying my book, even though it only came out the day before. Yes! Several are displaying it prominently. Others have it stuck in places that are hard to find, so Linda goes up and asks "Do you have that great new book by Dan Everett, Don't sleep there are snakes?" This gets the clerks looking for it and putting it on the shelves. Linda's efforts won't make it a best-seller, but they feel good.
So my time in the UK is at an end for now. An aberrant week or a new chapter in awareness of Amazonian cultures and the life of one American author? We will see.
Monday, 8 December, 2008
In My week
- Charlotte Grimshaw
- Susan Hill
- Ed Hollis
- Ali Sethi
- Wells Tower
- Con Coughlin
- Dirk Wittenborn
- Kathleen Kent
- Daniel Everett
- Mark Crick
- Glyn Maxwell
- Rabih Alameddine
- Nicholas Hogg
- Charles Boyle
- Mohammed Hanif
- Sarah Hall
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Don't Sleep, There are Snakes: Life and Language in the Amazonian Jungle
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