THEIR HEADS ARE GRN & THEIR

A collection of magazine articles and essays make-up Paul Bowles’s reflections of his travels of the world Their Heads are Green and their Hands are Blue, Scene From the Non-Christian World. Derived from a line from Edward Lear’s poem “The Jumblies”. And like Bowles a well-traveled man who reflected his experiences through his writings in a nonsensical manner, especially the ever famous “The Owl and the Pussycat.” All noted in the introduction, “travel pieces, exoticism, strongly against homogenizing force of westernization” (19). Meshed with cultural and traditional observations, Bowles takes readers to the southern bounds of India to the former Ceylon, which is now Sri Lanka. Very vivid descriptions of the landscape-natural resources, climate, diverse people of native Tamils, Singhalese, colonial, Christians, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims that breathes Bowles interest within general religious connotations. In addition, he focuses upon the Colombo-Chinese immigrants in the markets, cityscape of the aroma and sights that are depicted in the first 18 pages. Thereafter, Morocco becomes the focal point within the rest of the book and symbolic to Bowles personal journey to understanding traditions outside of his own but much within the lines of a travel log that is formatted with nine separate articles.Well before Bowles finally called Tangier his home in 1952, one can see that he drew a great interest before that with much poetry, metaphysical, philosophical perception of the landscape around him and more so with the sky “arid landscape is the final arbiter. When you have understood that – great trinity of monotheistic religions – Judaism, Christianity and Islam (19). He suggests out of the three religious traditions Islam is the greatest strength upon daily routines. For instance, from rituals and customs that disperses to cultural circles that radiate to the native population of Berbers with their artistic crafts; Moslem paint, abstractions that also influenced writers that played out in the late 1940s and 1950s, ex-patriots that ventured off once again into a brave new world that was different from 30 years before with the Lost Generation when most lived in Europe. Bowles followed that generation that continued to reverberate with common cultural friendships, Bowles established with Gertrude Stein and Beats William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg that traveled and spent time in Tangier, Morocco. One of the interesting chapters in the book comes quite early in “Africa Minor” and the assertion of North Africa as a haven for the beat generation; music-mad, through radio, phonograph and tape recorder, exotic items as congo drummer or American Jazz of Art Blakely (22). These elements comprise of a somewhat hybrid culture of influence that Bowles writes as a roller coaster ride, but acculturation contributes to placing things into perspective of an ancient past of Muslim to European in a country that during the writing of the book still living in the colonial present. Furthermore, the landscapes speak with distinction; the mountains and deserts show a clear window to the country’s past.In essence, readers may perceive after reading Their Heads are Green and their Hands are Blue, one looking in from the outside and how Bowles takes that stance of the exotic as an alien one worth understanding. And with that the articles and the photographs that are also near the end of the book exhibit parts of a changing world that have preserved their long-lived traditions.

I like this book better than some of Mr. Bowles' longer fictional efforts. He is good at relatively short accounts, where his rich life experiences are related through highly descriptive prose. Bowles captures the abnormal psychology of the planet itself moreso than that of the individual, which is better left to Camus or Faulkner. Also, he is able to find some humor and meaning in the Western-Arab relationship, which helps relieve some of the strain of our current showdown, which Mr. Bowles foresaw. Especially funny to me is an account by Bowles of finding a filthy rag at the bottom of a pail of murky water he and his Arab travelmate had been using for drinking water. They up and left the "hotel" (and town) that day.Also of interest are chapters on Ceylon.Bowles seems to be more capable writing about real people and events than he is when functioning in the only slightly altered world of his fiction. I think it has something to do with him being an emotional loner. Like Sartre, he is more of an observer, more of a thinker, than a writer, so his fictional characterizations are, like Sartre's, often wooden and unconvincing (to me at least). To this viewpoint, he would strongly object I think. But, notice I refrain from calling him a moralist or a philosopher. If he were a painter, I would classify him as a post-impressionist like Matisse (great colorist, intriguing designs, romantic, but limited by "decorative" priorities.) And, like Matisse, he never really shocks me like a true Fauve because, no matter how gruesome the details of the narrative, his narrative voice is always too cultivated. He can't help it; he's from New England. For his fictional style to match the content, his manner would need to be cruder, like Kirchner or Vlaminck. And he is really not a portrait artist like Dickens, Joyce or Faulkner either. Or, maybe it's that his portraits capture places and milieus moreso than individual psyches. In this book, it doesn't matter because he is truly in his element: he travels wildly, observes meticulously and remembers creatively.

I first read this book 20 years ago, then forgot about it till recently. Now I love it, but also hate it a little. It is dated in some ways. Very, very eloquently and vividly written, long before "political correctness" cast a pall of blandness over all our discourse. You could read it as a privileged white guy traveling in little-known and often dangerous areas for kicks, or sometimes to collect music. It can also serve as a narrative for what happens when 2 cultures collide, with differing assumptions. Bowles doesn't always insist that his assumptions are the right ones; the best part of the book is his unflinching dissection of his own reactions, and his amateur but penetrating analyses of what he sees as the motivations of "the Other".

Although this was written long ago, many mannerisms still apply as the impact of colonialism still exists. Do yourself a favor, read this book for the beautiful language as well as the timeless ideas.

It's an exceptional book to inspire any traveler to any land, and who was certainly ahead of his time by many decades.

John T, who had been to Morocco recommended this book when he found out I was going there. The book was a delight, letting me know once again the enrichment of travel especially to places that have the potential of causing discomfort. Having been to a Berber village and to Moroccan cities and also to a small place connecting with a man bringing grain on a donkey to be ground. All these memories were pleasantly recalled. I will now read another Paul Bowles book.

Bowles at his best as a travel writer - tells it as it is but offers many useful insights into other cultural values He has often been regarded as a colonial writer but he was experiencing the end of the colonial period and regarded the loss of cultures as a disaster caused by modernisation, industrialisation etc,. He had little time for American culture ( hence his self imposed exile in Morocco and other parts of the world) for him the shallowness of US culture and its need to export it around the world was the problem!

Une des plus agréables lectures de récits de voyage que j'aie jamais lu. Paul Bowles est un très grand écrivain, voire génial! Il nous fait voir réellement ce que même des photos ou un film documentaire ne réussirait pas à nous faire voir.

Travelling without moving. A good winter book.