Secret Histories

Powers: Secret Histories is of course the title of John Berlyne's most excellent bibliography of Tim Powers's complete works. It is hard to get copies these days, so if you find one, hang on to it.

The whole idea of secret histories seems to date back at least to the Secret History of the 6th-century historian Procopius, a rather explicit account of the reign of Justinian Imperator. Procopius was, by accident of history, the last major historian of the ancient world.

Last night I sat in the lofty atmosphere of a rooftop reunion and absorbed the details of more secret history. We live in an age of hugely entangled information networks. So, once it is known that a certain history exists, it becomes hard to keep it secret. And that is what has happened to a specific secret history that has lain hidden in the depths of a certain scholastic institution.

It appears that some possibilities of human behaviour seem so at odds with conservative ideas of human behaviour that they become unbelievable. This is not an indictment of what liberals call a 'conservative mindset'. Rather, it is a fact that human thinking is inherently conservative. When things happen to challenge those conceptions, cognitive dissonance is produced; when that is resolved, learning occurs.

So it is with secret histories. From morning to night, I learnt many things which fit well with my own carefully compiled institutional history. The term 'principal researcher' has taken on a new meaning, these days.

But some will argue, why keep secret histories? Why not just bury the facts or expose them all?

The thing about deadly facts (such as how to make a doomsday device) is that to keep them safe but not forgotten is better than to have them forgotten and accidentally misused, or to have them widely disseminated and deliberately abused.

The behaviours of individuals may taint an institution, but that should not always detract significantly from the reputation of that institution. As a wise man once said, "All houses have privies, but that does not make the houses privies."

We keep the secret places secret and honoured, because that is what some things are meant to be. By analogy with the human body, most humans do not insist that there are only two states of being: fully covered or fully exposed. Most of us resort to partial coverings, and many of us cover up the same places.

Now all that remains to be done is to clear up the mess that has been left behind. Of which, more will be made clear in the days ahead.

Detonation

A long time ago, Wolff remembered, they had hidden the sulfur and the charcoal and the nitre in little cases of wrought iron. They had scored the metal and made snowflakes into jet. They had disguised it all in the room of the Grand Inquisitor by making it something that he loved to think about.

And then Wolff had been cast out of the Citadel. He had renounced all ties to the Inquisition and their minions, and they thought this meant everything. But they were wrong. Wolff had not renounced the secrets of the Citadel. He knew where the bodies and the bombs were hidden.

One day, a tired man came riding up the road on a dispirited nag. Wolff saw him from afar off, and declined to command the wolves or the man-traps into action. They greeted each other, acquaintances but not allies or friends. "How go the windmills?" asked Wolff.

The man replied, "Those of God grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine."

Wolff could sense the sand trickling through the hourglass. He knew the time was coming when the sulfur and the charcoal and the nitre would come to life. He brought out the very good liquor of Jerez and the two of them sat down to a small glass each. With stewed pears and blue cheese.

Six Secrets of Change

Michael Fullan has been at it again. In his 2008 work, The Six Secrets of Change, he writes about six key factors which have brought success to all kinds of institutions in his almost 30 years of research on change, reform and leadership.

Here are the six secrets, as listed in the contents page of that book (which proper CEOs of proper learning institutions would do well to read):

1. Love your employees
2. Connect peers with purpose
3. Capacity building prevails
4. Learning is the work
5. Transparency rules
6. Systems learn

It is a sobering and wonderful list, especially as explicated in the usual clear Fullan style.

It is also one of the many reasons why I was laughing so hard today. I think Fullan is wrong in one sense; if context is everything, and drama (and other sleights-of-hand and trompe l'oeil tricks) can prevail over reality, then sufficient unplanned and chaotic action with hyped-up positive outcomes will lead to true success. Then there is no need for any of these factors, and a theory can be put forward which uses this key finding as a fulcrum.

I mean, aren't you afraid that what I've said is true? What if an organisation which displays none of these six secrets evinces all kinds of successful change? Then there are only four main possible conclusions: 1) the secrets are there, but well-concealed; 2) the successful changes are an illusion; 3) the secrets are not necessary for successful change; 4) the kind of success Fullan is talking about is not real success.

See? Nothing to be afraid of: just another opportunity for educational research.

London Bookshops

I still have dim memories of odd moments in and around London, things to do with books and bookshops. I remember walking down to the Forbidden Planet from somewhere north of Highbury (a long walk!) and finding a little F&SF second-hand bookshop with a red façade. On the way back, I never saw it again.

I also remember taking a wrong turn and finding myself face to face with a brass plate which said, "Dylan Thomas lived here." It was a powerful moment for me; the last bard of Wales was a towering influence on my early attempts at poetry.

Over the last few years, I have been a frequent browser at the Folio Society, with offices still at 44 Eagle Street. But only recently have I become a curious visitor at the London Review of Books. I have long been a subscriber with both. In fact, I am now looking longingly at the Folio edition of Newton's Principia Mathematica, with guide, and am only a little deterred by the discount price of GBP 75.00 — and the fact that the postage will be hefty too.

Some day, I will dig up my London diaries and do a more detailed travelogue. Perhaps I will have a Neil Gaiman or Christopher Fowler or China Miéville moment and write about the secret London that I discovered, the dark mirror-image of the living power. But I know I still have time; the ravens still haunt the Tower of London, and I may yet return to the Isles of the Blessed.