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The intellectual autobiography of a leading figure in the field of Latin American Philosophy. In 1961, at the age of nineteen, Jorge J. E. Gracia escaped from the island of Cuba by passing himself off as a Catholic seminarian. He arrived in the United States with just a few spare belongings and his mother’s diamond ring secured in a hole in one of his shoes. With a Diamond in My Shoe tells the story of Gracia’s quest for identity—from his early years in Cuba and as a refugee in Miami to his formative role in institutionalizing the field of Latin American philosophy in the US academy. Committed to integrating into Anglo America without forgetting his roots, Gracia reflects on his struggles and successes as an immigrant and academic, bringing a philosopher’s eye to bear on his personal and professional development as a leading Latinx scholar. “Gracia is a writer in full control of his material, and yet someone who in his own search for identity as a philosopher, as a Cuban, as a Cuban American, as a Hispanic, as a Latino, as a Latinx, leaves many questions open, as any good philosopher should, allowing his readers to answer for themselves. The strength of his authorial voice resides in his honesty.” — Rolando Pérez, author of Severo Sarduy and the Neo-Baroque Image of Thought in the Visual Arts
Fleeing Cuba in 1961, Jorge J. E. Gracia arrived in the USA at the age of nineteen without family and unable to speak English. Ten years later he was assistant professor of philosophy at the State University of New York at Buffalo. Over the next 50 years Gracia published dozens of books and hundreds of articles, making major contributions to numerous areas of philosophy: Latin American philosophy, race and ethnicity, Medieval philosophy, philosophical historiography, metaphysics and ontology, and theory of interpretation. This book is a critical response to Gracia’s work and a tribute to his legacy. It includes a comprehensive bibliography of Gracia’s philosophical works.
Spanning from the time he talked Babe Ruth into signing his tennis shoe at the age of 12 to his last Tiger broadcast more than 60 years later, this book is a personal scrapbook of Hall-of-Famer Ernie Harwell's life-long love of baseball.
The academic study of diamonds is as multi-faceted as the precious stones themselves. Mineralogists and geographers have written about them, as have historians and economists and students of art and fashion. They each shine their light on a different aspect of this source of luminous radiance. But who would venture to describe the entire complicated worldwide system starting in the diamond mines and ending with the consumers of Western metropolises? In The Mazzel Ritual: Culture, Customs and Crime in the Diamond Trade, Russian-Israeli cultural anthropologist and criminologist Dina Siegel follows the route of a diamond from the mines of Africa to the shops of Europe and the United States, as it passes through countless hands and places and is smuggled, stolen, cut, polished, sold, exchanged and, finally, worn as jewelry. In the course of this long and exciting journey, a wide range of people face all sorts of risks and criminality, as well as various moral and ethical judgments. Siegel describes the range of ethnic groups that are active in the diamond trade and the culture and customs that are specific to this business. She analyses the dangers and threats to the industry and aims to uncover the strategies and tactics to deal with them. Finally, this story of risk, trust and crime examines the vulnerability of diamond production and distribution to illicit and criminal activities. This book is about the diamond business itself as well as about those involved in it. It tells the story of people who simply cannot stay away from this expensive and alluring commodity.
"I am not moving to Iraq to teach." How does a liberal American girl in red suede boots end up teaching English to conservative Muslim Iraqis in headscarves? Gretchen Berg has met the recession: she has eaten cereal for dinner, given up the gym membership, and come face to face with looming unemployment. To cope, she decided to uproot her life and move to the Middle East. She expected to make some good money, pay off some bad debt, and take some photos of camels. She did not expect to feel at home. She did not expect to fall for a student. She did not expect Diet Coke withdrawal. Irreverent, hilarious, and completely relevant, I Have Iraq in My Shoe takes a single, broke, fashion-conscious American female who prefers Project Runaway to CNN and tosses her into Iraq in exchange for cash and vacation time. Watch the desert sand fly!
Aharon Golub is the kaddishel for his family - the only son upon whose shoulders falls the responsibility to recite the prayer for the dead, the Kaddish, for his parents. And as the kaddishel, he honors his parents by remembering both the joys of his early childhood in Ludvipol and the hatred that sought to destroy Ludvipol, and his childhood. Aharon bears the burden of an entire generation of children who made promises to their parents, promises that are relived at every Yahrzeit, every anniversary of the death of their parents: Never to bask in the luxury of forgetting.
Bible of the Gun is a collection of stories, from the novel of the title, to the novella of Bathory and the State, to the long shorts of The Destructive Urge and The Rose of John Hamlet. The stories have several things in common. The first of these is brevity; none of the stories have anything that is inessential, not a single line that the author did not enjoy writing that was not a curiosity or a puzzle to be solved. The second is surrealism. All the stories are surrealist in one sense or another, all steal something from dreams, and all try to unlock something of the animal from the Id. The author aligns himself with Bizarro, because the work clearly is, however, it is also seriously surrealist. Thirdly, violence in all the authors work is never treated morally, but let loose, you dont have to read the stories from the point of view of a good person being shown bad things, which fascinate, and yet you are never allowed to be a part of, but just as if you were in a dream or were a child, you have no moral compass and are lead into violence without condemnation, are told to identify with it, even when its source is apparently evil. To go back to surrealism before we discuss the actual stories. I, the author, am a surrealist anarchist, and a surrealist creator, for three reasons. One is a fascination with dreams, their strangeness and wonder, where they come from, their unrestrained adventures. Two is a political interest, from the point of view that the super ego, the restraints of the opinions of society, therefore, the opinions of the state through all aspects of media and coercion, is a cowardly internalised source that restricts our freedom and makes everyone slaves. Thirdly, is an attempt to unpeel this onion even further, let out the Id, the creativity, the desires, without the restraints of ego and super ego, to see the core of who we are, even if this is bad, I want to find good, but I do not want to find it at the bottom of being afraid because I do not want to consent to the pressures of every one and thing I despise, even if I am instead lead to evil that I despise more, and yet I find as a child, or in a dream, I am rarely lead to evil through lack of social inhibitions, in my work, I often am., but then, I have had a very violent life. Most of these stories however are rather more restrained than the earlier works of Unrequited Zombie and Urban Book of the Dead, except for The Destructive Urge, also the most surreal here and the most recent. Bathory and the State is from an earlier period, and a little primitive, which only means it is eighteen months old. Bible of the Gun is a story about a man, who after strange events of a dream like and schizophrenic nature, goes to see a female psychiatrist. I was lying on the leather couch, so much like a dental chair, the smell of leather had a clinical effect on the memories she extracted, as the sense of smell alerted me to smells from the past. Light fell on the couches black leather in shiny checks from the window light as the warm rays that read my mind with their heat signatures fell on us, they made the plant on the coffee table, with its lush green leaves, burble to me happily in a language I could not understand. Like pulling teeth she grasped each memory, examined it through her glasses leaning forward, she tapped each one with her pen looking for rottenness, tore it painfully from its protective flesh. Her mobile phone sat on the coffee table. Dismantled at my request, slim, orange and black, a Sonny Ericsson 880i, it had its spying guts removed. That is; its battery lay at its side so that the secret services or who ever they were could not pick up through its microphone, my conversation with my psychiatrist. My psychiatrist sat in a swiveling chair; I looked down at her red shoes, the sharp heels pointing from one side and then the other as she turned the chair from side to side with her long legs, occasionally