The Sweet Remnants of Summer
Alexander McCall Smith’s fictional philosopher Isabel Dalhousie continues to delight. Many of the remnants in the title concern mundane conflicts. While the lives of Isabel, Jamie and their young sons are quite ordinary, inevitable philosophical questions creep in.
Should parents impose music lessons on young children? Jamie’s history provides context but no definitive answer. He took the lead in his own musical education, asking his parents for bassoon lessons. But he now plays for the orchestra, so is his case typical?
How do we answer our children’s questions when we don’t know the answer? And then there’s religion. Hard to know what to tell them about spirituality while pondering our own imprecise views of God.
As Isabel drops her sons at school, Charlie’s teacher takes her aside to tell her he bit a classmate, the son of a Scottish MP. Fearing the teacher has mistaken the identity of the culprit, Isabel is inclined to doubt the veracity of this accusation. At the same time, she knows she must guard against a natural parental tendency to defend one’s own. And Charlie has form — he once bit his little brother. But that was ages ago.
Alas, the teacher goes on to say that Charlie also bit another child, the son of a dentist. Seeing the alleged victim with his father outside school, she takes the bull by the horns and asks little Rory if Charlie bit him. The the boy denies it and his father seems unconcerned. Walking home, Isabel reflects on the virtue of dentists, who bring relief from suffering. Retreating to her “tangential mental life,” she deems one dentist “worth twenty hedge fund managers — no a hundred hedge fund managers.” Since such people are no more than glorified gamblers.
Depressed by a conversation about the contemporary tendency of people to demonize those who disagree with them, Jamie fears that “the wrong sort of politicians” have “seized the upper hand” and “poisoned the wells of our public life.” Living in Edinburgh, surrounded by architecture that is sturdy and well-proportioned, “the very embodiment of reason,” he is saddened by the fact that many now seem to consider decency an outmoded virtue — “rather old-fashioned, like turn-ups on trousers, or shoes with laces.” He wishes they were “back in the age of reason.”
Problems keep cropping up, as “life, like cheese, is a smelly affair.” While Jamie cooks them a delicious dinner, Isabel reflects on the worries of the day and allows herself a second glass of wine. The first is to unwind, the second to “make the world seem a nicer place than it actually [is].” Gentle joking counterbalances the parental concern over the biting question.
As Isabel Dalhousie fans have learned to expect, she is approached by someone for help. This time it’s a woman called Laura, whose family is suffering from a rift. Even though she is doubtful about her ability to make a difference, Isabel of course agrees to try. As Laura describes her family situation, Isabel thinks about misunderstandings — how they arise, and the consequences they entail. This puts her in mind of her American cousins, one from Mobile, and one from Dallas. “They both believed in the good — neither was malicious by temperament — but when they used the same words [America, for instance], they were often talking about radically different things.” The result is that they never have a conversation. Laura’s husband and son are also not speaking. It seems her husband thinks his son’s friend — or boyfriend — has “mindnapped” him into becoming a Scottish Nationalist.
On a committee Laura belongs to, Professor Lettuce is making trouble. When his name comes up, Isabel admits to having “crossed swords, or salad forks…with him on a number of occasions.” The conversation then drifts to other matters. When Laura stops herself from using the word “old,” Isabel fears that is “a word that contemporary squeamishness [is] on the point of retiring, in favour of a euphemism.”
She also holds the view that “Things of no apparent importance are often of great importance.” In a conversation with her brand-conscious niece Cat, Isabel admits to being “determined not to know anything about Louis Vuitton luggage because that was exactly what they wanted you to do.” Then, to sideline an incipient argument, Isabel redirects the talk onto the former King Zog of Albania, once part of “a drifting population of displaced royalty…grand riff-raff” that lived in England somewhere. His connection to baggage? He went into exile with 2000 suitcases in tow.
Jamie experiences a moment of regret for a promise made, and a moment of indecision about where his responsibility to other people ends. Long married to a philosopher, he remembers Kant’s Categorical Imperative, that we “should act as if our actions were to be performed by all.”
Even though Grace, Isabel’s housekeeper, sometimes wishes her employer was “less of a philosopher and more of an ordinary person,” she has nevertheless been influenced by Isabel. Ironing a blouse before she sets out for her new psychic group, she mulls over some dominant philosopher personalities. Aristotle, she thinks, would politely stand when you entered a room. He might prefer Earl Gray tea, but would be too polite to complain if given “ordinary Assam.” Kant, on the other hand, would be dull and fussy.
Pleated blouse ironed, Grace is pleased when her group gets a brief visit from Mary Queen of Scots — speaking with a Morningside accent — along with “the more mundane traffic from the other side.” She is also dismayed to receive one of those messages herself and downright alarmed that it arrives in the form of a stern warning.
On returning home, Grace’s mind returns to philosophers — including one of Isabel’s bugbears, the all too real Christopher Dove. This leads to a brief but frightening image of what it might be like to be married to such a man, whom she imagines “slouching about in his pyjamas.” Though the idea of marriage has limited appeal, she realizes that “sex is here to stay.” An antidote to the thought of men like Dove is to admit there is “something to be said for” being married to “the right sort of man,” someone like “Jamie, for instance.” “But then, he is already taken. Her mother had taught her to have no dealings with men who are taken. She even went so far as to warn that “plenty of men pretend they’re free, and they aren’t. Don’t look at those men, Grace. Just say ‘No thank you,’ and if they persist, tell them that you look forward to meeting their wives. That stops them in their tracks most of the time.”
If one dentist is worth a hundred hedge fund managers, one book by Alexander McCall Smith is worth scores of lesser tomes. We are edified and entertained by conversations and musings about a staggering variety of topics, from the most serious life questions like whether it is easier to be happy or unhappy, to the utterly mundane concerns like an outbreak of head lice in school and a moustache that is “not convincing enough” to earn its wearer a modelling job.
Stories shared involve “bargain basement kidnappers who preyed on Western backpackers in Marrakech.” Knowing that “a small demand would always be paid promptly and with little fuss,” they set their sights low. Asking for only $200 US dollars, they invariably get their price.
Plenty of space is given to whimsical questions. Why do the Italians who play in restaurants never get back to Sorrento, or the Scottish songsters back to the Isle of Skye? Why are so many writers of masterpieces — from Evelyn Waugh to Patricia Highsmith — such cantankerous characters themselves? And why is there such a “strong magnetic field around the things we shouldn’t look at?”
Meanwhile, life nudges us forward, obliging us to adapt to change. Checking the proofs of the Applied Review of Ethics, Isabel suspects that the day will come when printers cease to exist. When it does, she will “miss the smell of ink,” even though for the most part, it is metaphorical. This makes her think of how we appreciate things we do not necessarily see or touch. We are in some way reassured by knowing of their existence “because the world is better for their presence.” Though she has never seen Machu Picchu or the cave paintings at Lascaux, she is grateful they are there and would miss them if they were not.
Jamie is also grateful for life’s many gifts. Looking at his wife, he thinks how fortunate we are “to have somebody to smile at, somebody to kiss.”
Oh, and the book has recipes too. Mustard potatoes, anyone? Or perhaps mushroom risotto flavoured with truffle oil, a favourite of Jamie’s. Truffle oil is expensive, but a cheaper ersatz form has now been invented — olive oil with a truffly-smelling chemical added.
I rest my cake. To find out what that means, you’ll have to read the book.