John le Carré, RIP

His books have provided me with more pleasure than anyone else's– though a rather bleak, depressing kind of pleasure, to be sure.

Reading roundup

It's been a while! Four novels, each definitely worth your time, ranked from essential to merely recommended...

The Known World
Edward P. Jones

On second reading, I can affirm that it is one of the great novels of our time. The fully formed and ambiguous characters are implicated in multiple layers of historical and moral complexity. The dehumanizing brutalities of slavery and racism are in full view, along with heart-wrenching acts of humanism and dignity, not to mention venality, betrayal, and the full range of human behaviors. Everyone is trapped in a complex web of hierarchies based on race, freedom/unfreedom, gender, class, ancestry, and education. Yet agency and moral responsibility are not absent, even if they are tragically constrained by circumstances. I have made it all sound quite sociological, but the story-telling is simply extraordinary, and the writing is spare and poetic– biblical, I'd say. It's also full of life and love and beauty, and darkly funny in parts. Have you not read it? For all its limited geography, it encompasses our known world.

Fludd
Hilary Mantel

After reading her bloated finale to the Cromwell trilogy, you may find it refreshing to be reminded of what an efficient and lovely writer Mantel can be. In this charming short novel, Satan (maybe) comes to visit a sleepy town. Lives are upturned. Wonderful.

Abigail
Magda Szabó

I loved The Door, but Katalin Street left me a little cold. Abigail is somewhere inbetween– not a masterpiece, but well worth a read if only to get to know its plucky young hero. This is definitely the kind of novel a young person could love... a Hungarian Harry Potter? Perhaps so: According to Wikipedia, it was voted the third most popular Hungarian novel in Hungary. 

Red Pill
Hari Kunzru

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean the neo-fascists aren't out to take over the world, and in the process target you individually and make your life miserable while they're at it. Well-written, in full-on Don DeLillo mode, although I found the story-within-a-story flashback to East Germany more compelling than the main plot. It ends with a note of cautious semi-optimism on the worst political night of your life. 

Crime spree

One fine and four reasonably distracting genre-ish novels...  

The Searcher
Tana French

A return to form for French after her over-plotted and unsatisfying The Witch Elm. The story takes its time, with rather little action for the first two-thirds, but a quietly growing sense of dread, a lovely plot twist, and a satisfying finish. Nice.

Blacktop Wasteland
S.A. Cosby

Cosby's getaway-driver-mechanic protagonist Beauregard "Bug" Montage is a compelling character, a Black man with a history, trying to do right by his family and not get sucked back into the life. But the odds are not in his favor, and the results are tough if predictable. What brought the novel down a notch for me is that Bug is way too smart to involve himself with the low-rent low-lifes he gets involved with here. May he find better partners in crime in the sequels.

Squeeze Me
Carl Hiaasen

This one features the usual cast of quirky human and non-human Floridians, Hiaasen's signature blend of humor and action, and a kickass heroine. His fictional version of Melania is believable and appealing, but his Trump and MAGA ladies fall flat– it's mighty difficult satirizing people who in real life are well beyond parody.

A Burning
Megha Majumdar

The lives of three pretty interesting characters collide in Kolkata. A good literary suspense novel, with some culture and politics in the mix.

The Inugami Curse
Seishi Yokomizo

A kind of Agatha Christie drawing room-style murder mystery set in Japan. I'm pretty bad at figuring out whodunnit in whodunnits, but I dunnit in this one. It's... OK.

No nukes

 An informative post from John Quiggin...

The key problem is not safety but economics. New plants are safer and more sophisticated than those that failed in the past, but they are also massively more expensive to build, and quite costly to operate. The capital costs of recent projects in the US, France and Finland (none yet complete) have been around $10/kw, compared to $1/kw or less for solar. And, whereas solar PV is essentially costless to operate, the operating costs of nuclear power plants are around 2c/kwH. Even when solar PV is backed up with battery storage, it is cheaper to build and to operate, than new nuclear.

A poem for the holiday

Thanksgiving 

Karen Solie

From Modern and Normal (2005)

On an afternoon so still it's possible to see 

how the world can fill the holes we make 

and complete itself again. Or how desperately 

we want this to be so. Downstream, 

Dad hauled an 18-pound pike into the boat 

and we saw no change in the river. 

Water closed as its tail left the surface, 

continued to reflect for us what we needed 

from clear sky, wild poplar, red maple, 

from the last warm day of that year. 

Near Bull's Head, mule deer wander the streets 

of Estuary, a village abandoned when CN tore out 

its only bridge for miles. That they feed 

on wild onion and millet, from gardens flung 

to seed, looked fine to us, if not holy, 

though we knew people who had lived there, 

who cried moving their beds from the valley. 

Even Hutterite cattle blunting through wolf willow, 

sweet sage ghosting around them, 

seemed closer to the animal they once were. 

We drove away at twilight, the fish curled 

in a blue plastic basin, gills reaching for the place 

that had so plainly surrendered it. Our heads 

were full of how seldom we are together now, 

and when my mother prepared the flesh 

my father had provided, we took into ourselves 

its longing to be home. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

 My favorite holiday. And let's de-colonize it: Wisdom from the folks at Cafe Ohlone.

Proud member of the subset...

“Science was on the ballot and this means that a significant portion of America doesn’t want science. … Science is now something for a subset of America.” –Holden Thorp, editor-in-chief of Science

Don't forget to vote!

Can Music Be Perfect? Vol. 98

This rendition of the Kern-Hammerstein standard does go on for a bit, but in large part to accommodate Don Pullen's epic piano solo. His best ever? Well, find me a better one.

My Octopus Teacher

If you don't find octopuses endlessly alien, fascinating, and splendid, well, there's not much I can do for you. But if you do, you will enjoy this Netflix original. The footage of the plucky, clever, and apparently affectionate octopus protagonist is simply exceptional. I was less enthusiastic about her smitten human documentarian Craig Foster and the film's questionable narrative style. Still, there's little doubt that Foster is a remarkable creature in his own right: Here's a guy who refuses scuba gear and instead snorkels (without a wetsuit!) in the bracing and shark-infested waters of a South African kelp forest to interact with his special octopus friend. 

It's well known that octopuses are extremely intelligent and curious, that their whole body is essentially a brain, and that their physical abilities as shape- and color-shifters are almost beyond human comprehension. Our octopus hero is in constant danger, especially from sharks, and she has a big bag of tricks up her tentacles: instantaneous camouflage coloration; forming herself into a rock shape that can slowly scuttle across the ocean floor on two tentacle legs; releasing distracting ink clouds during jetting escapes; wrapping herself in kelp or seashells for protection; and, perhaps most mindbogglingly, escaping from the jaws of a very violent and persistent shark by– well, enough spoilers.

The problem is, I'm sorry to say, dishonest storytelling. For example, it is just not plausible that Foster, who is after all holding his breath for every filmed encounter, could follow the octopus over an extended shark chase scene in the water, out of the water, and back in again. 

One may charitably allow this as narrative license. But given the undeniable beauty, suspense, and pathos of each one-breath encounter, it seems unnecessary at best. And the human side of this story– that somehow the love of an octopus gave Foster back his own life and ability to love his own family– is just too schematic and poorly developed to be anything more than sentimentalism.

All that said, watch it. If nothing else, you'll be less inclined to order that grilled tentacle next time you see it on the menu.

East Bay native plant nurseries

I was in the market for a Quercus kelloggii (California black oak) to replace a walnut we had to take down, and discovered it in the inventories of two native plant nurseries I had not visited before: Oaktown Native Plant Nursery, in Berkeley, and East Bay Wilds, in the Fruitvale district of Oakland. Both are excellent native plant nurseries, each with a solid selection of some of the standards, plus some unusual plants you don't find very often, and friendly and knowledgeable staff. At Oaktown I picked up a few things, including several small pots of Tellima grandiflora, a plant I love to find growing trailside– we'll see if it can take my suburban conditions and neglect. Oaktown's oaks were not what I was looking for, so I headed to Oakland! East Bay Wilds had several very nice specimens of black oak, and the one that called out to me was raised from a Castro Valley acorn. The person who helped me seemed a little reluctant to part with that lovely little tree. $25 for a healthy tree in a 5-gallon pot... the price is right. Cash or check only at East Bay Wilds, but the corner store nearby has an ATM.

Go native!

October on the Hamm's Gulch Trail

Windy Hill OSP. Despite the incredibly dry time of year, the buckeyes are covered in lush moss, thanks to the old Douglas-firs, which harvest the fog near the ridge and create their own moist microclimate. Lovely.

It's so simple that even David Brooks gets it

 At His Core, Trump Is an Immoralist

An excellent mini-series I highly do NOT recommend to any northern Californians right now...

 Chernobyl

Sonora Pass country

I camped up there for a couple of nights last week. The high country along the Pacific Crest Trail is now pretty desolate, the snow largely gone, but the rocks, lichens, and chilly blue lakes remain impressive. Little plants eke out a living, including thistles, gentians, and Whitney's milkvetch (Astragalus whitneyi), a prostrate legume that produces peas in a funny ballon-shaped pod. 

Down the hill to the west, a hike from Kennedy Meadows to Relief Reservoir is a nice workout up a Yosemite-worthy granitic canyon, carved by tributaries of the Middle Fork Stanislaus River. The reservoir itself, filled behind a 1910 dam and part of PG&E's hydroelectric system, is in a spectacular setting, although artificial lakes in beautiful canyons make me sad. The Kennedy Meadows Resort is the kind of place where you see a lot of oversized pickup trucks, enormous RVs, State of Jefferson signs, and not too many masks. I'm sure folks there are friendly. I didn't hang around long enough to find out.

Black-eyed peas

 Freshly shelled, from Full Belly Farms. I like the picture and I like the peas.

Two down, two to go

The Story of a New Name
Elena Ferrante

I finally got around to reading the second of the Neapolitan novels. I didn't like it quite as much as the first, but it is excellent throughout. The personal is political, big time. Once again, Ann Goldstein's translation is so good, you would think it had been written in English.

Your FSA/OWI Photo of the Day

 New England hurricane. Salvaging onions near Hadley, Massachusetts. Sheldon Dick, 1938.

Interview with Amartya Sen

I really cannot recommend this interview/ conversation with Amartya Sen too highly. It is wonderful in its detailed reminiscences about his intellectual upbringing, the place of Marxism in Cambridge economics, the importance of Marx, Arrow, and especially Adam Smith in his thought, name dropping (he actually was friendly with E.M. Forster), the place of philosophy in economics, his prickly intellectual relationship with his thesis advisor– the great economist Joan Robinson– life in India and Indian politics, etc. Throughout, his brilliance, empathy, and humor shine, as well as his false modesty. 

The interview has special resonance for me, perhaps, because during my formative years as a young undergrad economist at the University of Massachusetts in the 1970s, a number of the debates that played out at Cambridge a generation earlier were still raging, such as the so-called Cambridge-Cambridge capital controversy. Sen's takes on most of the matters he discusses seem spot-on to me. His near-reverence for Piero Sraffa, the leading figure of "neo-Ricardian" economics, also struck a chord. I learned much of what I know about Sraffa from an excellent economist who taught me at Stanford, Don Harris (see preceding post). 

Kamala

I think Biden's VP choice is probably second-order in terms of the election outcome. Certainly Kamala checks a number of boxes in terms of gender, ethnicity, and ideology. To me, more than anything she seems like... a Californian! That's a good thing.

Also, her dad taught me neo-Ricardian economics. I don't suppose that will come in handy, but you never know.

Your FSA/OWI Photo of the Day

Circus wagons made by Mr. Whitmarsh. Alger [i.e. Archer], Montana. Russell Lee, 1937

Your FSA/OWI Photo of the Day

Jack Whinery, homesteader, and his family, Pie Town, New Mexico

Russell Lee, 1940

Lakes Basin

Aidan and I managed to snag the last vacant campsite in the Gold Lake Campground, one of several rustic little campgrounds in the Lakes Basin Recreational Area of Plumas National Forest. Is there a prettier place to stake your tent? Directly across the rutted dirt track from awesome Gold Lake and a family of robin fledglings and a short hike to any a number of other lovely mountain lakes and wildflowers, not to mention proximity to Frazier Falls, Butterfly Valley, and the Feather River canyon. And if you failed to catch any trout or are not in the mood for camp cooking, you can take a short drive down to Graeagle and find a quite acceptable restaurant, with distanced outdoor seating, naturally. Dad called that "living off the land."

Darlingtonia and Drosera...

... are the genus names of two of our bog-dwelling California native carnivorous plants. The more conspicuous Darlingtonia californica is a pitcher plant also known as the cobra lily, for obvious reasons once you have seen one. And Drosera rotundifolia is the lovely if smaller and prostrate native sundew. The pitchers entice insects into their bright green vase, from which they cannot escape and are digested; the sundews employ sticky red droplets to hold and then envelope their prey. 

Up in the far northern mountains of California, such as the Trinity Alps, you can find these wonderful plants in various locations, but they are rare in the Sierras. The best place to check them out is the Butterfly Valley Botanical Area, not far from scary Keddie, CA. I try to make a stop there every time I am in the Feather River canyon or Lakes Basin areas north of Tahoe.

On this visit, one of the dirt roads that used to cross the top of the boggy meadow had been closed off and is being restored (see last two photos below), connecting a pitcher-filled drainage ditch with the sprawling meadow below. The strange, waxy flowers of the Darlingtonia were a bit past their prime, but the meadow was still vigorously soggy during a very dry season, and the sundews were abundant. A very special place: Do check it out, but tread lightly. 

Annie Ross, RIP

I'll just refer to my previous post. Here's the NYT obit.

From Clouds Rest

Reading round-up

You'd think being cooped up in the house for several months might facilitate getting some reading done, but not really. Still I've managed to take in a few novels, in addition to the eels.

East Goes West: The Making of an Oriental Yankee
Younghill Kang

Published in 1937, East Goes West is a pathbreaking autobiographical novel about a young Korean man's attempts to make a life in America. It begins with Chungpa Han's arrival in New York City, with nothing but a few dollars, a couple of contacts and references, and a love of literature and learning. Between his traditional family's expectations and the Japanese occupation, he envisions no future in Korea, but a world of possibilities in the United States. Much of the novel revolves around what it might mean to be "westernized," and Han's closest Korean immigrant friends serve as alternative models: George Jum, the wannabe playboy, always on the make, and To Won Kim, the cynical aesthete, who cannot feel at home in either culture.

It is altogether a wonderful novel, for its singular depiction of the immigrant experience from an uncommon perspective, its vivid descriptions of pre-Depression New York, rural Canada, and Boston, its cast of flawed, lifelike characters, and its nuanced vision of the foibles, bigotry, and possibilities of life in the west. It is full of humor and pathos. Some of the best set pieces revolve around Han's various employments– as a traveling salesman, a farmhand, a waiter, and a domestic. Kang writes with an observant eye; his outsider's perspective makes him particularly empathetic in his portrayal of African-Americans and other minority groups. His women, although mostly secondary characters, are fully formed agents.

For all his experiences, Han never seems to settle on his own vision of the American dream or assimilation. Without giving too much away, the ending is indeed unsettled and sad, but not without some measure of optimism. 

Agency
William Gibson

The latest from Gibson is a sequel/prequel to his previous novel, involving a future civilization that has figured out how to access parallel histories ("stubs"), thereby allowing it to meddle with the past without bumping up against logical contradictions of time travel. Between at least one of those pasts and the future's present (!), there was some kind apocalyptic event that we'd like to avoid if possible. In another stub, Hillary won the election. In our real-life stub, of course, Hillary lost, and the victor is eagerly advancing the cause of apocalypse. Isn't it nice to think there could be an alternative path in which the future people will come back and fix things up?

The Mirror & the Light
Hilary Mantel

Fans of the first two installments in Mantel's Cromwell trilogy– and I am emphatically among them– had to wait a long time for the finale, and as the wait grew longer, I worried that she might suffer from writer's block and never get it done, or, perhaps as bad, that she was writing a mountain of words, unable to bring herself to end it by killing off her hero, one of the greatest literary creations ever, her Thomas Cromwell. Well, she got the deed done.

The book is a long one, weighing in at 753 pages. The reviews were mixed, and I'm sorry to report that The Mirror & the Light disappoints. As one would expect from Mantel, stylistically the writing is exquisite, and there are many compelling scenes. But the book meanders and lacks the dynamism of the first two. In part, it seems that history itself is to blame. History, after all, provided Mantel with the key dramatis personae of Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies– Thomas More and Anne Boleyn, respectively– and the key dramatic problem for our hero: how to eliminate each of them. Both are the most worthy of adversaries, from a literary point of view. And there's much more to both novels, including Cromwell's rise from humble origins to nearly the pinnacle of power, the events of his domestic life, the management of a great house and a court, the details of trade and diplomacy, Cromwell's secret support of protestantism, his generosity and earthiness, and always, the King. But these two killings– their calculation, their evil, but also their necessity– drive both stories.

Another execution of course marks the culmination of The Mirror & the Light. The series must end there, because the light glowing in the narrator's soul is extinguished in the act. Unfortunately, by Act 3, the compelling momentum of Cromwell's narrative has slowed. Commerce and organization building have given way to the tiresome workings of bureaucracy (even when it is the bureaucracy of execution); religious conflict has come down to delicate power struggles. And in the end, Cromwell's demise is the consequence of what seems like a most mundane power struggle, over money and political access as much as religion, in which he finally gets outfoxed and earns a taste of his own medicine.

Cromwell remains Cromwell, but the rest of the characters here are less vividly drawn. Henry has become a caricature– though a dangerous one, to be sure. Cromwell's entourage of young men, whom he has pulled up by their bootstraps, turn out to be both unreliable and, increasingly, indistinguishable. Symptomatic of the problem here is that some of the most interesting characters are invented: an illegitimate daughter, Jenneke, and Cromwell's profane and rough-and-ready French servant lad, Christophe.

Oh, am I suggesting you not bother reading it? No, I am not. The novel is still rich in history, intrigue, and language. And you've come this far with Crumb; you owe it to him to find out how it all ends, don't you?

The Koda family grows rice

Given California's water problems, it probably doesn't make sense to grow rice in the San Joaquin Valley, but if someone is going to do it, I'm glad it's Koda Farms. Founded in the 1920s by Keisaburo Koda, who had managed to slip around the Gentlemen's Agreement and arrived in California in 1908, the family company suffered a setback with the imprisonment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, but they returned to the business after the War and made a go of it. They produce various varieties of rice, some of which they sell at my local farmer's market. May I say that the organic short-grain rice is just about the best rice I have ever had? It is the starchy kind that benefits from a couple of rinses before being simmered (5:4 water:rice ratio) for 12 minutes after reaching a boil. Then let it rest a few before fluffing. They don't give it away, but trust me you'll be happy to pay.

Two books about eels

Eels: An Exploration, from New Zealand to the Sargasso, of the World's Most Mysterious Fish 

James Prosek
The Book of Eels: Our Enduring Fascination with the Most Mysterious Creature in the Natural World

Patrik Svensson

I suppose if you are like most people, reading one book about eels would probably be enough; so between these two recent entries, which one to choose? Having now read them both, I can help. I praised James Prosek's wonderful book when it came out nearly a decade ago; it does a good job with the natural history of the eel itself, but it is especially good on the cultural and economic aspects as well. He knows about fish, he admires the eel, and he admires the people who admire and depend upon the eel.

Patrik Svensson's much-hyped recent addition to the eel canon is, sadly, bad, though, mercifully, short. It commits what would have to be the cardinal sin in any a book about eels: rather little of it is actually about eels. Ostensibly, the book alternates chapters of memoir and eel-business. The memoir part involves Svensson eel fishing with his dad as a kid in Sweden. The depiction of father, son, and their relationship is not the stuff of Knausgård, I'm afraid. There is also some description of eel-fishing methods, which I found mildly interesting, but not much about the European eel itself, which remains, as Svensson reminds us repeatedly, mysterious. The eel chapters do provide an overview of eel natural history at a decent Wikipedia level– most notably, the eel's catadromous life cycle and migration, and the mystery at the center of eel existence: their reproduction, which presumably takes place in the vast Sargasso Sea but has never been observed.

Along with a little bit about eels, we learn that Sigmund Freud spent some time in college studying eel sexual biology. That is intriguing, but after noting this, Svensson moves on to a superficial overview of Freud's ideas, including the concept of the uncanny (unheimlich), which Svensson likes to think (without any supporting evidence whatsoever) may have been inspired by Freud's experience studying eels. I would at least have thought something Freudian could have been made of the eel's flaccidly phallic nature, but Svensson's biographical speculations don't go there.

There are other digressions, including a long one about Rachel Carson, who at least did write something significant about the eel in her first book; but most of what Svensson has to say about her is well known and not very enlightening when it comes to the eel.

I suppose I should add that Svensson's prose is pedestrian, but perhaps some blame lies with the translator.

To summarize: If you want to learn about the eel– or its place in human culture and society– Prosek's is the book for you.

Grass

With some chainsaws, bulldozers, and a budget, it's not all that difficult to root out the invasive non-native eucalyptus trees (see preceding post), but European grasses are another matter. They are relentless and, let's face it, here to stay. Outcroppings of serpentine keep them in check and allow native forbs and bunchgrasses to eke out a living here and there. Elsewhere, like Arastradero Preserve, the newcomers thrive– and who can deny their loveliness?

Bye bye "yuta-yippus"

That's how my son Aidan pronounced "eucalyptus" when he was very little. It has its place– in Australia!– but in the Bay Area it is an unwelcome invasive monoculture. Over the years, every time I hiked up the hill in lovely Wunderlich County Park and passed by the thick grove of these untidy trees, I would say to myself, I wish somebody would cut those damn things down... and lo, somebody did! May they in due time be replaced with the live oak, black oak, tanoak, madrone, and creekbed-dwelling redwood and bay laurel that populate these biodiverse foothills.

Pasta night

Grace

Christian Cooper, New York birdwatcher and victim of the scourge of racism in America, had the good grace to express a certain measured forgiveness: “I’m not excusing the racism,” he said. “But I don’t know if her life needed to be torn apart.” As the springtime birds flitted around him, one could imagine a touch of Saint Francis in this Christian.

One less lawyer...

... one more musical legend...

After serving in the Army during World War II, Hendricks went home to attend University of Toledo on the G.I. Bill as a pre-law major. Just when he was about to enter the graduate law program, the G.I. benefits ran out. Charlie Parker had, at a stop in Toledo two years prior, encouraged him to come to New York and look him up. Hendricks moved there and began his singing career.

Have I reminded you lately to donate to Wikipedia?

Can Music Be Perfect? Vol. 97

From Annie Ross Sings a Song with Mulligan! Made for each other. The whole album is simply splendid.

Baby you're my centerpiece

Sure, we all know Joni's excellent bluesy rendition from Hissing of Summer Lawns, acerbically encapsulated within her own avant-depressing "Harry's House." But how about the Lambert, Hendricks, and Ross original? Or Bags & Trane, unexpectedly simpatico? Or best of all, James Carter, in duet with the song's co-composer, Harry "Sweets" Edison, from Carter's Conversin' with the Elders, a fantastic album in which he respects the elders while engaging in a little friendly (?) one-upmanship. Craig Taborn on piano is in on the conversation too, as he always is.

What could possibly go wrong?

My parents live in a central Florida retirement development quite close to The Villages, which bills itself as Florida's friendliest hometown and is now home to more than 120,000 folks, generally 55 and over. Thanks to Florida's Trumpian governor Ron DeSantis, as well as the freedom- and fun-loving population of the Villages, the lockdown seems to be over...

Town squares in The Villages heat up as Coronavirus caution cools off

My parents, being sensible, smart, and respectful of science, are not eager to join the fun just yet, and are venturing out as seldom as possible, wearing masks, etc. I hate to be melodramatic, but if the infection rate in this highly vulnerable population flares, Messrs. Trump and DeSantis will have the blood on their hands.

By and large...

... I like hip-hop and I like country... both maybe more than most pop music genres. Do I like hip-hop country? The jury's still out...

Mayor Tubbs is with me...

He has this to say about Kamala Harris's idea of $2,000 per month to every American for the duration of the coronavirus crisis:

There will be a prolonged economic crisis after COVID-19, particularly for the groups who are oftentimes most impacted by downturns in the economy: people of color, women of color, etcetera. So I would argue that $2,000 a month during a pandemic is a great step, but it's time to really think about a social safety net and understand that we live in a time of pandemics. If it's not an illness, there's an earthquake. If it's not an earthquake, there's a fire. These happen yearly, so we need to make sure that folks have the tools they need to build a great foundation. I feel a guaranteed income is an important part of that solution.

UBI: Just do it. Now.

Andrew Yang had the worst timing. Or rather, the coronavirus had the worst timing, from the perspective of the Yang campaign. The UBI is really the simplest and best solution to so many of our problems, not the least of which is the coronavirus and its economic fallout.

U.S. net national product per person is on the order of $50,000 per year. Yang's UBI proposal was $1000 per month. How's about we double it? Everyone receives about $25,000 per year, plus somewhat less than half of what they earn, on average, taxed progressively to support the UBI and a few other key government functions. Kids get half the adult UBI, some of it going to their parents to pay for cheetos and video games, and some to a fund for their use upon adulthood, to help with paying for college, starting a business, or throwing parties for their friends (on zoom of course).

Some people, economists among them, assert that the UBI will have big work disincentive effects and reduce national income a lot. But really, will you or anyone you know settle for your 25K? Nah, you'll be bored and want to get a decent job, and work toward those nice dinners out, vacations, and maybe a Tesla in the garage. Yeah, the garage... in your house. Mortgage.

I'm happy that Nancy Pelosi is on board for another $3 trillion in emergency spending, but how about we just make the big move once and for all? I bet if Trump went for it right now, he'd be re-elected in a landslide. Nancy, Andrew: time for that chat with Donald. Let's get it done.

Tony Allen, RIP

The education-unemployment gap

Less-educated workers have been hammered by the COVID depression. The four-year degree seems to make the difference between workers who can keep their jobs from home and those who cannot.

Coronavirus and the racial unemployment gap

Dean Baker calls attention to the unusual fact that the unemployment rate actually rose more for white workers than for black workers in April. For decades, the unemployment rate for African Americans has tended to be about twice that for whites, with the differential typically widening during recessions so as to preserve or even expand the proportional gap.

The experience during the current debacle has been a little different. Here are some selected numbers, comparing January with April, stratified by race and gender (BLS data, civilian non-institutional population, seasonally adjusted).

Over this period, the percentage-point increase in the unemployment rate was pretty similar for blacks and whites, with the gap increasing by an extra point for black men and by about a point less for black women. For both men and women, the ratio of black to white unemployment rates fell quite a bit, defying the typical 2:1 pattern. The pattern is similar for the ratio of non-employed to population, which takes account of labor-force "dropouts."

Among the three racial groups here, the most dramatic increase in the unemployment rate was for Latino workers. Given the importance of food-service and related jobs for Hispanic workers, this may not be too surprising. Up next: breakdown by educational attainment.

Our buckeye

Right now our California buckeye is covered in fragrant blossoms, each a confusion of stamens. But the bees don't seem confused– just a little dazed at the abundance. This part of the show will all be over within days, when the flowers will be replaced by swelling, pendulant nuts that pull down the slender branches and contribute to the tree's spreading, horizontal architecture. A beautiful plant for all seasons.

California state animals and plants: proposed updates

California is a great state, and the California poppy is one of the best things about it. Keep the poppy.

I nominate the dark-eyed junco for new state bird. It is found everywhere you go– city, suburbs, farmland, chaparral, forests– and is even more ubiquitous than the admittedly appealing California quail, the current office holder. If it weren't so damn common, we'd find the junco more lovely and charming. Now it is true that our subspecies of dark-eyed junco used to be called the Oregon junco, which may be off-putting to some chauvinistic Californians. But Oregon's state bird is the western meadowlark; I see no big problem here. We'd also be the first state to have a variety of sparrow as state bird.

The current state reptile is the desert tortoise. I've never seen one outside a zoo, and frankly, there's a better option here: the western fence lizard. Not only are they everywhere, brightening your day as they scurry off the trail or fencepost right in front of you, but they offer all of us protection against Lyme disease by killing the bacteria when ticks feed on their blood. Well, it's a nice story anyway, even if it ain't necessarily so. The Pacific rattlesnake would be an excellent alternative.

The incumbent state tree is the coast redwood. I like the redwood just fine, but overall it is not a particularly beautiful tree, selected presumably for its age and stature. Its cousin, the giant sequoia, is a much more charismatic tree, but its range is very restricted and it may not survive climate change.

My nomination is the valley oak, a glorious tree: the largest North American oak, it is endemic to California and widespread in the central valley. Leave it to Wikipedia to offer us a poetic description: "The branches have an irregular, spreading and arching appearance that produce a profound leafless silhouette in the clear winter sky. During Autumn leaves turn a yellow to light orange color but become brown during mid to late fall. In advancing age the branches assume a drooping characteristic. Its pewter-colored rippled bark adds to the attractive aesthetic of this species." Exactly so.

The state mammal, the grizzly bear, is extinct in California, which makes it a sad joke, and, Cal Bears notwithstanding, it ought to be replaced. The black bear would be a good choice, or of course the mule deer, tule elk, coyote, or mountain lion. These are all excellent, charismatic critters, but a little unoriginal. I would go with the dusky-footed woodrat, an industrious if retiring animal, and super-cute.

Republican "distrust of" food stamps?

Dean Baker hits the nail on the head. "Opposition to" or "dislike of" would be perfectly suitable and more accurate combinations of noun and preposition for our newspaper of record.

Russian Ridge

A very nice spot to do some social distancing this time of year. Do watch your step.