http://observer.guardian.co.uk/magazine/story/0,11913,1094708,00.htmlOn the railings outside my local train station at Harringay, in north London, someone has carefully placed a series of small white stickers. The stickers, all at eye level, are designed, I suppose, to be the first thing you see on the way to work and the last thing you see on your way home. They are all neatly typed with two words: READ CHOMSKY. Most mornings I find myself wondering for an instant whether the words are an imperative ('If you do nothing else today...'), or a swaggering boast (along the lines of some of the station's other typical graffiti: 'Shagged Karen', say).
Anyone who has read Noam Chomsky will know that both interpretations are justified. His writings, in linguistics (a discipline which he effectively invented) and on the hypocrisy and warmongering of America (and its principal ally) are among the few essential documents of our times. They are also not designed for the intellectually faint-hearted. As the most unforgiving critic of the Washington-run world order, Chomsky is often caricatured as supplying more reality, and more guilt, than many of us care to handle. His books have the manner and certainty of gospels, and they work by accretion, stockpiling the remorseless fact of distant atrocity done in each of our names. They seem to demand not so much readers as disciples, (prominent among whom you would count John Pilger and Harold Pinter, Michael Moore and Naomi Klein). To judge by sales figures (his little pamphlet on 11 September has sold upwards of half a million copies) the faithful are an ever-growing number.
Chomsky's latest book, Hegemony or Survival - a devastating history of American foreign policy since 1945 ('No president in that time, judged on the principles of Nuremberg, would have escaped hanging') as well as a sustained dissection of the motivation and disastrous consequence of the current 'war on terror' - is the newest chapter of this lifetime of compulsive dissent. The transgressive thrill of Chomsky's world view, in which an American elite routinely bombs and terrorises in the name of 'freedom' and in defence of market share, has led fans such as Bono of U2 to describe the 73-year-old professor as the 'Elvis of academia'. In a recent profile in the New Yorker, Chomsky was identified, perhaps more accurately, as the 'Devil's accountant', totting up the foreign corpses sacrificed in America's 'quest for global dominance'.
The interviewer of Chomsky is faced with a series of anxieties. To anyone who has even dipped into his books, the idea of pinning him down or catching him out, or even directing his attention in the course of a truncated hour seems vaguely absurd. In reviewing a volume in which Chomsky debated some of his ideas with America's leading philosophers, one critic noted how the book was like 'watching a grandmaster play, blindfolded, 36 chess matches against the local worthies'.