What is written without pain, said Doctor Johnson, is rarely read with pleasure. Rarely perhaps, but not, I hope, for the little essays in this book were written, I must confess, without much angst. In part this was because, in writing them, I had no thesis to prove, no axe to grind, except that the world is both infinitely interesting and amusing, and provides us with an inexhaustible source of material for philosophical reflection. Many of the subjects treated of in this book were found by serendipity or came to me in flashes – it would be immodest to call them of inspiration – of previously unsuspected connection and interest. I can only hope that they entertain the reader as they have entertained me. At least they will do no harm, in compliance with the first principle of medical ethics. — Theodore Dalrymple
Anthony Malcolm Daniels, who generally uses the pen name Theodore Dalrymple, is an English writer and retired prison doctor and psychiatrist. He worked in a number of Sub-Saharan African countries as well as in the east end of London. Before his retirement in 2005, he worked in City Hospital, Birmingham and Winson Green Prison in inner-city Birmingham, England.
Daniels is a contributing editor to City Journal, published by the Manhattan Institute, where he is the Dietrich Weismann Fellow. In addition to City Journal, his work has appeared in The British Medical Journal, The Times, The Observer, The Daily Telegraph, The Spectator, The Salisbury Review, National Review, and Axess magasin.
In 2011, Dalrymple received the 2011 Freedom Prize from the Flemish think tank Libera!.
I enjoy a good essayist, especially those that choose brevity first and foremost, and this is a shining example. In bite sized chunks lasting no longer than 3-4 pages, Mr. Dalrymple paints a fascinating character. It's clear he is a traditionalist, constantly mocking tattoos, modern architecture and the like, but at the same time is clearly very touched by oddball figures that forge their own paths through the world. His writing style is very concise once one becomes acclimated to it and if you like very dry humor that produces no laughter but rather a wry grin, try this one on for size.
A while ago, someone who tried to make a feminist out of me gave me a book to read. Always obedient, I did and read Invisible Women, by Caroline Cryalot-Pinez (or something like that). A succession of carefully selected anecdotes and statistics, lots of bad faith, no insight whatsoever. This was one of the most disheartening book I'd read - I didn't learn anything, except that poor Caroline seems like a very bitter person, who for some reason seems to entertain a strong dislike of men, children and the very concept of family.
Hold on, you are thinking, he is reviewing the wrong book.
Not at all. I am talking about invisible women because Threats of pain and ruin made me think of it, as they are precise opposites. I felt such a closeness of mindset with Mr Dalrymple that I felt like I'd met a friend. I now want to read everything this gentleman has written.
Although I would find it difficult to say what the book is about, or what the title has to do with the content, I deeply loved it.
The style is simple yet elegant. The humour is subtle yet ever-present. The tone is nostalgic yet light at the same time. The author takes serious things lightly, and trivial things seriously. He is a traditionalist, but remains open-minded. As English as it gets.
On evenings after a stressful day I will read the chapter on butterflies again, and things will feel lighter.