I.O.U.: Why Everyone Owes Everyone and No One Can Pay
by John Lanchester
Simon & Schuster, 272 pp., $25
Among the more trenchant touches in John Lanchester’s study of the financial bust is his framing of the new finance as Wall Street’s answer to post-modernism. Wall Street, too, in Lanchester’s account, engineered “a break with common sense, a turn toward self-referentiality and abstraction, and notions that couldn’t be explained in workaday English.” If post-modern art has often seemed like an arcane conversation among the cognoscenti that was meant more to confuse the onlooker than to satisfy or inform, one could barely say less of collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) and the welter of alphabet securities that underlay the new finance. The parallel should not be pushed too far, but Lanchester is right that the financial crisis sprang from the esoteric principles and practices of an insulated elite.
Wall Street has been so smitten with itself that it lost sight of the purpose—to provide credit and capital to the rest of us, remember?—that society entrusted to it. Lanchester, a British novelist and a banker’s son, excels at recalling, in comprehensible terms, this original—and betrayed—purpose. If his penchant for metaphor occasionally leads him off the rails, more often he spots latent truths that conventional banking reporters miss. Thus he nicely observes that ATMs, with their creation of “frictionless” and seemingly ownerless money, can induce a frightening vertigo; and that Alan Greenspan was so robotic in his defense of new financial instruments that he sounded like “a computer program written to impersonate [what] Alan Greenspan would have said: Free market good. Trust free market.”
Though he is essentially a tourist to his subject, Lanchester understands perfectly that the man behind the curtain was no wizard—that markets, far from being God-given instruments of perfection, were human constructs. He understands, too, that the precision embedded in financial models was a false precision, and that the idea that risk could be “boiled down to a [single] number” fatally endowed practitioners with an undeserved confidence. And the central error of the era, Lanchester suggests, was cultural. Quoting Senator Byron Dorgan, whose prescient warning went unheeded, “The culture is that Wall Street knows best.” The corollary was that the market was “magically self-regulating,” and thus not in need of government regulation or adult supervision.
Lanchester sees the flaws of bankers in cultural terms as well. They and the other troubadours for the new finance errantly believed that ordinary people thought like experts did—or as they imagined experts did: arithmetically and flawlessly. But since most people are neither experts nor computers, millions of them mortgaged their homes for more than they could afford. He frames the greed of bankers by correctly pointing out that no sooner is a regulation crafted than bankers set to figuring ways around it. This observation is hardly new, but Lanchester delivers it with added force by contrasting financiers with health care workers: “Doctors don’t, for the most part, pride themselves on saying ‘What the hell, nobody’s looking, so I’m just going to reuse this dirty needle.’”
