I love brains. In that regard, at least, I have always thought I would make a rather excellent zombie. Both of my parents went back to school when I was younger. My dad got a minor in Psychology and my mom loves to tell of how I would read his neuroanatomy textbook for fun. I was ten.
Now, I'm pursuing my M.A. in Psychology and I still love reading books about the brain: the functions, the wiring, mental illness, developmental disorders, neurological disorders, memory, fear, love, trust- bring it all on.
I have been on a brain binge lately. Two of the books I have read recently take a look at the brain in two very different ways. The first is called Flourish: A Visionary Understanding of Happiness and Well-being by positive psychology pioneer Martin Seligman. The second is Connectome: How the Brain's Wiring Makes Us Who We Are by Sebastain Seung.
A couple years ago, I took a developmental psychology class called Play: The Importance of Happiness Throughout the Lifespan. In it, I became familiar with some of the giants in the fields of both play and happiness research. That's when I learned of Martin Seligman, who is widely considered the father of positive psychology. As Seligman tells it, psychology has historically been concerned with getting rid of neuroses. Psychology focuses on the negative: depression, anxiety and the like. Seligman envisioned a psychology that, rather than solely focusing on the eradication of negative affect, pursues the enhancement of positive affect. His first theory was outlined in the book Authentic Happiness which has been sitting on my shelf, unread, for the last two years. Flourish more fully develops the theory articulated in Authentic Happiness.
Seligman's theory is as follows: Instead of being concerned with a concept like "happiness", which is so closely related to mood that one's perception of happiness can be rather capricious, it makes more sense to focus on well-being. He believes that there are five elements of well-being theory, which are: positive emotion, engagement, meaning, accomplishment, and positive relationships. He thinks our goal should be to work toward maximizing each of these five elements in our life, thus improving our overall well-being.
Seligman then gives a few positive psychology exercises. One that I thought was particularly interesting is called the What-Went-Well Exercise, or the 3 Blessings. Each night, you write down three things that went well that day. I've kept a gratitude journal before and I think it's a lovely idea. However, Seligman takes it a step further and encourages you to then take a look at each thing you've written down and ask yourself, "why did this happen?" and then write that down as well. I think this is a great idea because it helps us look for patterns, see ways in which people have been particularly wonderful, and encourages us to see ways in which we can have repeat "what went well" experiences.
Unfortunately, the rest of the book goes into the development of many of the Applied Positive Psychology programs without giving us more depth to the well-being theory and the practices we can do to enhance it. There is a Master's of Applied Positive Psychology program at the University of Pennsylvania. However, one must be hand-selected to go and the cost is $40,000 a year for tuition alone. Seligman doesn't delve into his theory too deeply for the rest of us. While the beginning of the book felt full of promise and the excitement of exploring a new, potentially helpful psychological lens, the rest of the book is only moderately interesting. We learn that Seligman has used his theories in the military, in education, with leaders of multiple domains, and to create a framework for understanding politics and economics. However, I finished the book feeling that I was treated to only the sketchiest outline of what those theories actually were.
Connectome, on the other hand, covers its theories rather exhaustively. Seung's theory is that our synaptic connections comprise much of who we are. He believes that how our brains wire themselves determines a lot about us: our memories, our personalities, possibly even whether or not we develop autism or schizophrenia. He proposes mapping the brain's synaptic connections, much as the Human Genome Project has mapped genes. He believes this will answer a lot of questions about the brain that cannot currently be answered.
And he is the first to admit that much of what he explains is purely theoretical. Technological capabilities must advance before his connectome theory can be tested. Seung explains how neurons connect to one another; his idea of how memories are made; and the current understanding of the way genetics, synaptic connections, and environment work together to shape our personality. He then painstakingly articulates the history of biotechnology and the evolution of neuroscientific theory.
This book snaked back and forth between entertaining and tedious several times. One of my favorite parts is when Seung compares neurons to an army of paparazzi. In a truly sublime moment, the professor of Neuroscience and Physics at MIT somehow managed to combine my love of neuroscientific research with my much more embarrassing love of trashy magazines. Heaven.
However, I was disappointed that more time wasn't spent covering the connectome theory's potential implications for autism and schizophrenia research. I understand that this is so new and untested that there's probably relatively little to say. Still, it was a let down. Also, the last two chapters were, to use a strictly scientific term, bananas. Chapter 14: To Freeze or to Pickle? examined the merits and potential downfalls of cryonics (freezing dead bodies to attempt future immortality) and plastination (preserving brains by chemical means, also in a bid for immortality). Chapter 15: Save As... discussed a future in which connectome mapping could be used to create a digital replica of a person's connectome, thus ensuring that person's ability to live indefinitely in cyber space. The whole concept gets a little Summer of Love-ish as Seung mentions the idea of people's collective consciousnesses intermingling in cyber space. It's unfortunate that such a well-researched book was reduced to absurd ponderings in the last two chapters- a neuroscientific version of jumping the shark.
While both of the books had their merits, I would suggest reading synopses and passing on the actual books. Seligman has a great website www.authentichappiness.org that offers many of his psychological surveys for free. Seung's subsequent book will most likely be fascinating, once technology has caught up with his ambitious theory.
Day: 65
Currently Reading:
Imagine: How Creativity Works by Jonah Lehrer
Love Always: Harriet Evans
One Girl. One Obsession. Infinite Books.
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
An Available Man
As with many of my favorite books, I found this through a review on the NPR Books website. I purchased it during the book buying frenzy that ultimately resulted in my resolve to go 100 days without buying books (of which I am on day 46. And while I have not spent money on any books in 46 days, I have coerced other people into buying me books enough to feel only modestly pleased with my accomplishments thus far).
I was immediately captivated with this book, which follows Edward Schuyler, a 62 year-old who is recently widowed. As he mourns and tries to assemble a life after the death of his wife, he must also contend with people who try to set him up with other "available" women before he is ready. This includes his well-meaning children, who put an advertisement in the dating section of the New York Review of Books on his behalf that reads: Science Guy. Erudite and kind, balding but handsome. Our widowed dad is the real thing for the right woman. Jersey/Metropolitan New York.
Author Hilma Wolitzer invents a world in which we, too, grieve for Edward and his beloved Bee. Within the landscape of Edward's memories, Wolitzer creates a relationship with which anyone who has been in love can identify: the idiosyncrasies, the inside jokes, the complicit understandings between two like-minded people. Edward often observes situations and imagines what Bee would say. This is particularly funny when he receives a post-funeral casserole with an accidental, suspicious-looking hair at the bottom. Ah! The surprise, he imagines Bee saying. Wolitzer's characters are original and fresh.
We mourn with Edward; but we also cheer for him when he begins to move forward. I have noticed recently that my favorite books tend to be those in which the characters are gentle, introspective people who are kind and funny (intentionally funny or otherwise). Edward Schuyler espouses each of these qualities. I loved to read about him. This is one of the loveliest novels I've read this year.
I was immediately captivated with this book, which follows Edward Schuyler, a 62 year-old who is recently widowed. As he mourns and tries to assemble a life after the death of his wife, he must also contend with people who try to set him up with other "available" women before he is ready. This includes his well-meaning children, who put an advertisement in the dating section of the New York Review of Books on his behalf that reads: Science Guy. Erudite and kind, balding but handsome. Our widowed dad is the real thing for the right woman. Jersey/Metropolitan New York.
Author Hilma Wolitzer invents a world in which we, too, grieve for Edward and his beloved Bee. Within the landscape of Edward's memories, Wolitzer creates a relationship with which anyone who has been in love can identify: the idiosyncrasies, the inside jokes, the complicit understandings between two like-minded people. Edward often observes situations and imagines what Bee would say. This is particularly funny when he receives a post-funeral casserole with an accidental, suspicious-looking hair at the bottom. Ah! The surprise, he imagines Bee saying. Wolitzer's characters are original and fresh.
We mourn with Edward; but we also cheer for him when he begins to move forward. I have noticed recently that my favorite books tend to be those in which the characters are gentle, introspective people who are kind and funny (intentionally funny or otherwise). Edward Schuyler espouses each of these qualities. I loved to read about him. This is one of the loveliest novels I've read this year.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Quiet
Every once in a while, a book comes along that changes the way we look at things: our relationships, the roles we play, the ways in which we interact with one another, even how we view ourselves.
For most of my life, I have equated happiness with gregariousness, eloquence with intelligence, and having lots of friends with having good people skills. Only recently did I realize that subtle shifts have occurred in my understanding of happiness, temperament, intellect, and socializing. I have realized that, while I dearly love spending time with my friends, I also need pockets of solitude in which to "recharge": nights where I shut off the phone and curl up on the couch with a Diet Coke and a lovely book. Also, I love to be around people but often prefer to socialize in small groups rather than in crowded bars or at large parties. Sometimes, when I am happy, I am filled with energy and feel talkative and charming. However, sometimes I'm at my happiest when I experience something in a quiet way.
Cain's definition of introversion immediately interested me. Whereas I have thought of introversion as a synonym for shyness; Cain argues that it is not. Rather, she defines it as "temperamental inner-directedness" and describes introverts as those who are "reflective, cerebral, bookish, unassuming, sensitive, thoughtful, serious, contemplative, subtle, introspective, inner-directed, gentle, calm, modest, solitude-seeking, shy, risk-averse, thin-skinned."
Cain contends that no one is purely an introvert or an extrovert. An interesting way to understand where you fall on the introvert-extrovert spectrum is by taking the informal quiz that Cain supplies in her book. Answer each question as "true" or "false", choosing the answer that applies to you more often than not:
1. ___ I prefer one-on-one conversations to group activities
2. ___ I often prefer to express myself in writing.
3. ___ I enjoy solitude.
4. ___ I seem to care less than my peers about wealth, fame, and status.
5. ___ I dislike small talk, but I enjoy talking in depth about topics that matter
to me.
6. ___ People tell me that I'm a good listener.
7. ___ I'm not a big risk-taker.
8. ___ I enjoy work that allows me to "dive in" with few interruptions.
9. ___ I like to celebrate birthdays on a small scale, with only one or two close
friends or family members.
10.___ People describe me as "soft-spoken" or "mellow".
11.___ I prefer not to show or discuss my work with others until it's finished.
12.___ I dislike conflict.
13.___ I do my best work on my own.
14.___ I tend to think before I speak.
15.___ I feel drained after being out and about, even if I've enjoyed myself.
16.___ I often let calls go through to voice mail.
Regardless of where you fall on the introvert-extrovert spectrum, it's interesting to think about different facets of temperament and what is beneficial about each of them. We tend to value certain qualities over others, but it is time to challenge some of the foregone conclusions about leadership, group work, and socializing?
Whether or not you agree with Susan Cain's assertions about the importance of introversion, I believe this is a discussion worth having. I put forth Susan Cain's Manifesto, as found on her website www.thepowerofintroverts.com and invite your thoughts and opinions.
Manifesto
1. There’s a word for “people who are in their heads too much”: thinkers.
2. Our culture rightly admires risk-takers, but we need our “heed-takers” more than ever.
3. Solitude is a catalyst for innovation.
4. Texting is popular because in an overly extroverted society, everyone craves asynchronyous, non-F2F communication.
5. We teach kids in group classrooms not because this is the best way to learn but because it’s cost-efficient, and what else would we do with the children while all the grown-ups are at work? If your child prefers to work autonomously and socialize one-on-one, there’s nothing wrong with her; she just happens not to fit the model.
6. The next generation of quiet kids can and should be raised to know their own strength.
7. Sometimes it helps to be a pretend-extrovert. There’s always time to be quiet later.
8. But in the long run, staying true to your temperament is the key to finding work you love and work that matters.
9. Everyone shines, given the right lighting. For some, it’s a Broadway spotlight, for others, a lamplit desk.
10. Rule of thumb for networking events: one genuine new relationship is worth a fistful of business cards.
11. It’s OK to cross the street to avoid making small talk.
12. “Quiet leadership” is not an oxymoron.
13. The universal longing for heaven is not about immortality so much as the wish for a world in which everyone is always kind.
14. If the task of the first half of life is to put yourself out there, the task of the second half is to make sense of where you’ve been.
15. Love is essential, gregariousness is optional.
16. “In a gentle way, you can shake the world.” – Gandhi
For most of my life, I have equated happiness with gregariousness, eloquence with intelligence, and having lots of friends with having good people skills. Only recently did I realize that subtle shifts have occurred in my understanding of happiness, temperament, intellect, and socializing. I have realized that, while I dearly love spending time with my friends, I also need pockets of solitude in which to "recharge": nights where I shut off the phone and curl up on the couch with a Diet Coke and a lovely book. Also, I love to be around people but often prefer to socialize in small groups rather than in crowded bars or at large parties. Sometimes, when I am happy, I am filled with energy and feel talkative and charming. However, sometimes I'm at my happiest when I experience something in a quiet way.
Cain's definition of introversion immediately interested me. Whereas I have thought of introversion as a synonym for shyness; Cain argues that it is not. Rather, she defines it as "temperamental inner-directedness" and describes introverts as those who are "reflective, cerebral, bookish, unassuming, sensitive, thoughtful, serious, contemplative, subtle, introspective, inner-directed, gentle, calm, modest, solitude-seeking, shy, risk-averse, thin-skinned."
Cain contends that no one is purely an introvert or an extrovert. An interesting way to understand where you fall on the introvert-extrovert spectrum is by taking the informal quiz that Cain supplies in her book. Answer each question as "true" or "false", choosing the answer that applies to you more often than not:
1. ___ I prefer one-on-one conversations to group activities
2. ___ I often prefer to express myself in writing.
3. ___ I enjoy solitude.
4. ___ I seem to care less than my peers about wealth, fame, and status.
5. ___ I dislike small talk, but I enjoy talking in depth about topics that matter
to me.
6. ___ People tell me that I'm a good listener.
7. ___ I'm not a big risk-taker.
8. ___ I enjoy work that allows me to "dive in" with few interruptions.
9. ___ I like to celebrate birthdays on a small scale, with only one or two close
friends or family members.
10.___ People describe me as "soft-spoken" or "mellow".
11.___ I prefer not to show or discuss my work with others until it's finished.
12.___ I dislike conflict.
13.___ I do my best work on my own.
14.___ I tend to think before I speak.
15.___ I feel drained after being out and about, even if I've enjoyed myself.
16.___ I often let calls go through to voice mail.
Regardless of where you fall on the introvert-extrovert spectrum, it's interesting to think about different facets of temperament and what is beneficial about each of them. We tend to value certain qualities over others, but it is time to challenge some of the foregone conclusions about leadership, group work, and socializing?
Whether or not you agree with Susan Cain's assertions about the importance of introversion, I believe this is a discussion worth having. I put forth Susan Cain's Manifesto, as found on her website www.thepowerofintroverts.com and invite your thoughts and opinions.
Manifesto
1. There’s a word for “people who are in their heads too much”: thinkers.
2. Our culture rightly admires risk-takers, but we need our “heed-takers” more than ever.
3. Solitude is a catalyst for innovation.
4. Texting is popular because in an overly extroverted society, everyone craves asynchronyous, non-F2F communication.
5. We teach kids in group classrooms not because this is the best way to learn but because it’s cost-efficient, and what else would we do with the children while all the grown-ups are at work? If your child prefers to work autonomously and socialize one-on-one, there’s nothing wrong with her; she just happens not to fit the model.
6. The next generation of quiet kids can and should be raised to know their own strength.
7. Sometimes it helps to be a pretend-extrovert. There’s always time to be quiet later.
8. But in the long run, staying true to your temperament is the key to finding work you love and work that matters.
9. Everyone shines, given the right lighting. For some, it’s a Broadway spotlight, for others, a lamplit desk.
10. Rule of thumb for networking events: one genuine new relationship is worth a fistful of business cards.
11. It’s OK to cross the street to avoid making small talk.
12. “Quiet leadership” is not an oxymoron.
13. The universal longing for heaven is not about immortality so much as the wish for a world in which everyone is always kind.
14. If the task of the first half of life is to put yourself out there, the task of the second half is to make sense of where you’ve been.
15. Love is essential, gregariousness is optional.
16. “In a gentle way, you can shake the world.” – Gandhi
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Finding My Voice
There are people in our lives who loom so large that we lose sight of the fact that they are still mere mortals. They may be trainwreck celebrities or historical figures or parents. We admire them, loathe them, or simply find ourselves with our jaws open as they shave their own heads in front of the paparazzi.
Diane Rehm is one such person for me. Diane hosts a two-hour live call-in show on National Public Radio each weekday. Her shows are consistently topical and in-depth, with guests who are leaders in their field. The Diane Rehm Show has won a multitude of prestigious awards, including a 2010 George Foster Peabody Award. Over the ten years that I have been listening to the show, I am constantly impressed by the quality of guests, topic selection, and questions. I have discovered several of my favorite books as a result of listening to Diane's show.
I started listening to the Diane Rehm Show when I was an undergraduate student and I immediately responded to her direct interview style, the respect with which she treats her guests and callers, and the way she handles people who become too loquacious. As someone who is constantly striving to learn new things and explore that which is unfamiliar, Diane is a bit of a personal hero to me.
So imagine my intense enthusiasm when I stumbled across her book on iTunes. I immediately uploaded it and started reading (this was obviously before the advent of my 100 Days of Not Purchasing Books- of which I am on Day 11).
One of the things that draws me to biographies and memoirs is the revelation of raw humanity. Everyone wants to feel connected and I love nothing more than realizing, startled, that I can empathize with how Mary Todd Lincoln felt in that situation or that David Sedaris and I have both pretended to do a crossword puzzle while secretly seething at a stranger in a public area.
What I learned of Diane Rehm was nothing short of amazing to me. First of all, Diane started her career in radio in her thirties as a volunteer. I loved to learn this because I also discovered a volunteer position that altered the trajectory of my life. 2 years after college graduation I was frustrated and unchallenged, working at a bookstore and feeling discouraged about my professional opportunities. My mom strongly encouraged me to volunteer in order to explore potential areas of interest. A few months later, I started working with a book club for St. Louis ARC, an organization for people with developmental disabilities. I fell in love with the world that opened up to me. Now I am finishing my master's in Educational Psychology and hoping to write and work with young children with developmental disabilities. I feel a particular kinship for anyone who wanders for a little while and then discovers her life purpose.
Another element of Diane's story that makes me feel an affinity toward her is the honesty with which she addresses her struggles with anxiety. It never would have occurred to me that someone who is so poised, respected and impactful would have undergone the intense and sometimes devastating journey of managing anxiety and depression. Her ability to pursue that which she ultimately loves to do despite emotional and physiological roadblocks has a profound effect on me.
Diane Rehm is someone I have looked up to for so long that I took it for granted that she has always been confident and assertive and professionally successful. I was grateful to learn about her humanity as well.
Diane Rehm is one such person for me. Diane hosts a two-hour live call-in show on National Public Radio each weekday. Her shows are consistently topical and in-depth, with guests who are leaders in their field. The Diane Rehm Show has won a multitude of prestigious awards, including a 2010 George Foster Peabody Award. Over the ten years that I have been listening to the show, I am constantly impressed by the quality of guests, topic selection, and questions. I have discovered several of my favorite books as a result of listening to Diane's show.
I started listening to the Diane Rehm Show when I was an undergraduate student and I immediately responded to her direct interview style, the respect with which she treats her guests and callers, and the way she handles people who become too loquacious. As someone who is constantly striving to learn new things and explore that which is unfamiliar, Diane is a bit of a personal hero to me.
So imagine my intense enthusiasm when I stumbled across her book on iTunes. I immediately uploaded it and started reading (this was obviously before the advent of my 100 Days of Not Purchasing Books- of which I am on Day 11).
One of the things that draws me to biographies and memoirs is the revelation of raw humanity. Everyone wants to feel connected and I love nothing more than realizing, startled, that I can empathize with how Mary Todd Lincoln felt in that situation or that David Sedaris and I have both pretended to do a crossword puzzle while secretly seething at a stranger in a public area.
What I learned of Diane Rehm was nothing short of amazing to me. First of all, Diane started her career in radio in her thirties as a volunteer. I loved to learn this because I also discovered a volunteer position that altered the trajectory of my life. 2 years after college graduation I was frustrated and unchallenged, working at a bookstore and feeling discouraged about my professional opportunities. My mom strongly encouraged me to volunteer in order to explore potential areas of interest. A few months later, I started working with a book club for St. Louis ARC, an organization for people with developmental disabilities. I fell in love with the world that opened up to me. Now I am finishing my master's in Educational Psychology and hoping to write and work with young children with developmental disabilities. I feel a particular kinship for anyone who wanders for a little while and then discovers her life purpose.
Another element of Diane's story that makes me feel an affinity toward her is the honesty with which she addresses her struggles with anxiety. It never would have occurred to me that someone who is so poised, respected and impactful would have undergone the intense and sometimes devastating journey of managing anxiety and depression. Her ability to pursue that which she ultimately loves to do despite emotional and physiological roadblocks has a profound effect on me.
Diane Rehm is someone I have looked up to for so long that I took it for granted that she has always been confident and assertive and professionally successful. I was grateful to learn about her humanity as well.
Monday, February 13, 2012
All There Is: A StoryCorps Book of Love
One of my favorite things is to talk to people who look relatively ordinary and discover that they have a fascinating personal narrative: they have performed in the circus or survived cancer or lived in one of those Eastern European blocs with amorphous names and allegiances. Old people are especially good for this. Upon first glance, they pretty much just look old. However, once you start asking the right questions, you usually get some truly awesome stories.
My sister and I used to visit the nursing home in which my great-grandma lived when we were younger. I would play on the piano the few songs that I had mastered and the religiously inclined would shout "hallelujah!", despite the fact that the only songs I knew were standards filled with dubious double entendres like "In the Mood". A few of the residents thought we were their grandchildren. One woman mistook my sister and I with our summer haircuts as her grandsons, Patrick and Danny.
But once I got over the cringe-worthy humiliation of being an adolescent girl confused as a boy at an age where gender roles are particularly defined, once I stopped noticing the suspect smells and the occasional unfortunate open pajama backflap on an ambulatory patient, I started to listen to stories.
The one I remember vividly was told to me by a woman named Marie. Marie had been a young bride and, without options or education, spent the majority of her life trapped in an unhappy marriage. At some point she embarked on an affair with her mailman, believing herself to be madly in love with him. By the time I met Marie she was widowed and beset by Alzheimer's, a wizened woman in her nineties. She spent every afternoon at the window, waiting for the mailman who had promised to come back for her and take her away.
Now, before you get all teary-eyed and start evoking the trite emotional manipulation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, let me mention that this scenario was actually really depressing. This woman could have been so much happier had she felt that she had more options when she was younger. And there wasn't anyone reading to her the epic story of their romance: the mailman never showed.
The point is this: I would never have known this woman's tragic, fascinating story simply by looking at her. I never would have known it at all had I not been hiding from people mistaking me for their estranged grandsons.
And that's the raw beauty of StoryCorps. StoryCorps is an organization that helps people share and record the stories of their lives. According to the website, "We do this to remind one another of our shared humanity, strengthen and build the connections between people, teach the value of listening, and weave into the fabric of our culture the understanding that every life matters" (http://storycorps.org). The stories recorded on this website are in turns funny, sweet, heartbreaking, empowering, and hopeful. "All There Is" is a compilation of StoryCorps recordings illustrating the nature of love. A single story will undoubtedly evoke an entire spectrum of emotion.
I am constantly enthralled by that which makes us human. I want to understand how we form connections, how we intertwine our lives and how we impact one another. I want to know everyone's story. I want to be a better listener. I want to learn how to ask meaningful questions.
So read the book. And start talking to old people. They know more than you might think.
My sister and I used to visit the nursing home in which my great-grandma lived when we were younger. I would play on the piano the few songs that I had mastered and the religiously inclined would shout "hallelujah!", despite the fact that the only songs I knew were standards filled with dubious double entendres like "In the Mood". A few of the residents thought we were their grandchildren. One woman mistook my sister and I with our summer haircuts as her grandsons, Patrick and Danny.
But once I got over the cringe-worthy humiliation of being an adolescent girl confused as a boy at an age where gender roles are particularly defined, once I stopped noticing the suspect smells and the occasional unfortunate open pajama backflap on an ambulatory patient, I started to listen to stories.
The one I remember vividly was told to me by a woman named Marie. Marie had been a young bride and, without options or education, spent the majority of her life trapped in an unhappy marriage. At some point she embarked on an affair with her mailman, believing herself to be madly in love with him. By the time I met Marie she was widowed and beset by Alzheimer's, a wizened woman in her nineties. She spent every afternoon at the window, waiting for the mailman who had promised to come back for her and take her away.
Now, before you get all teary-eyed and start evoking the trite emotional manipulation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, let me mention that this scenario was actually really depressing. This woman could have been so much happier had she felt that she had more options when she was younger. And there wasn't anyone reading to her the epic story of their romance: the mailman never showed.
The point is this: I would never have known this woman's tragic, fascinating story simply by looking at her. I never would have known it at all had I not been hiding from people mistaking me for their estranged grandsons.
And that's the raw beauty of StoryCorps. StoryCorps is an organization that helps people share and record the stories of their lives. According to the website, "We do this to remind one another of our shared humanity, strengthen and build the connections between people, teach the value of listening, and weave into the fabric of our culture the understanding that every life matters" (http://storycorps.org). The stories recorded on this website are in turns funny, sweet, heartbreaking, empowering, and hopeful. "All There Is" is a compilation of StoryCorps recordings illustrating the nature of love. A single story will undoubtedly evoke an entire spectrum of emotion.
I am constantly enthralled by that which makes us human. I want to understand how we form connections, how we intertwine our lives and how we impact one another. I want to know everyone's story. I want to be a better listener. I want to learn how to ask meaningful questions.
So read the book. And start talking to old people. They know more than you might think.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Elizabeth's Women
One of my favorite aspects of reading a multitude of biographies about the same person is the familiarity with which I begin to greet each of the main players. Another element I love is how every author portrays the people and the situation somewhat differently. Discerning authors may treat the biography as a narrated lit review: providing judicious and balanced perspectives. Other authors seem to fill in the blanks with their own opinions. While the former is doubtlessly more esteemed, both types play an important role in the realm of historical biographies.
I absolutely love delving into a new biography about someone with whom I have a familiar literary acquaintance. I have developed particular fascinations with anything involving Mary Todd Lincoln, FDR, the Tudors, Zelda Fitzgerald, and the witty elite at the Algonquin Round Table. Historical biographies are astoundingly varied in how they handle their subjects. Some things remain true regardless of the author: Zelda meets her untimely demise during a fire at a mental institution and Anne Boleyn is decapitated no matter who tells the story. Other things, however, are treated differently depending on who is speaking.
"Hello, Robert Dudley," I think warmly as I read, "Who are you this time? A manipulative social climber or Queen Elizabeth's star-crossed lover?"
My cousin, knowing my fascination with Queen Elizabeth I, bequeathed Elizabeth's Women to me as a birthday present. I had just completed a 14 hour car ride from Missouri to San Antonio and there lay Elizabeth's women- draped seductively across the bed. I was thrilled.
The biography tells the story of Queen Elizabeth within the context of the women with whom she surrounded herself. It is a captivating lens through which to tell the story. Author Tracy Borman finds the exquisite balance of reliable historian and compelling narrative.
When I was sixteen, I read the autobiography "Forever Leisl" by Charmain Carr, which tells of the author's experience playing the oldest daughter in "The Sound of Music". I read it during a family road trip to Michigan. The car ride consisted of about sixteen hours of me sitting quietly in the back seat, occasionally stumbling across a particularly juicy behind-the-scenes fact and saying, "D'you remember- in "The Sound of Music", when...". That phrase is now family code for "You're obsessing".
I knew that I loved "Elizabeth's Women" when I found myself performing mental gymnastics in order to "casually" insert a fascinating fact I had read into social small talk.
D'you remember, in the Elizabethan era...?
I absolutely love delving into a new biography about someone with whom I have a familiar literary acquaintance. I have developed particular fascinations with anything involving Mary Todd Lincoln, FDR, the Tudors, Zelda Fitzgerald, and the witty elite at the Algonquin Round Table. Historical biographies are astoundingly varied in how they handle their subjects. Some things remain true regardless of the author: Zelda meets her untimely demise during a fire at a mental institution and Anne Boleyn is decapitated no matter who tells the story. Other things, however, are treated differently depending on who is speaking.
"Hello, Robert Dudley," I think warmly as I read, "Who are you this time? A manipulative social climber or Queen Elizabeth's star-crossed lover?"
My cousin, knowing my fascination with Queen Elizabeth I, bequeathed Elizabeth's Women to me as a birthday present. I had just completed a 14 hour car ride from Missouri to San Antonio and there lay Elizabeth's women- draped seductively across the bed. I was thrilled.
The biography tells the story of Queen Elizabeth within the context of the women with whom she surrounded herself. It is a captivating lens through which to tell the story. Author Tracy Borman finds the exquisite balance of reliable historian and compelling narrative.
When I was sixteen, I read the autobiography "Forever Leisl" by Charmain Carr, which tells of the author's experience playing the oldest daughter in "The Sound of Music". I read it during a family road trip to Michigan. The car ride consisted of about sixteen hours of me sitting quietly in the back seat, occasionally stumbling across a particularly juicy behind-the-scenes fact and saying, "D'you remember- in "The Sound of Music", when...". That phrase is now family code for "You're obsessing".
I knew that I loved "Elizabeth's Women" when I found myself performing mental gymnastics in order to "casually" insert a fascinating fact I had read into social small talk.
D'you remember, in the Elizabethan era...?
Monday, February 6, 2012
Bibliomania: One Month In
It has been exactly a month since I stood in the middle of my living room, surrounded by unread books and filled with the resolve that something needed to change.
I didn't have an exact picture of what I was trying to achieve when I embarked on this literary adventure a month ago. I considered creating a concrete goal: to read a finite amount of books or exhaust a particular subject matter. Instead, I am guided by nothing more than whimsy and vague gut feelings.
However, to my surprise, certain rules have started to take form:
3) I must finish any book I begin. My regular failure to do so until now has always gnawed at me. Time to do something about it.
2) I refuse to create a goal number of books to read per month. I am certain that will keep me away from books in which I have genuine interest but may be too long to complete within a particular time frame. Despite the fact that I do not have a purpose, I am convinced this defeats it. However, I will keep an eye on the number of books I read each month and try to create flexible challenges for myself.
Now here's the big one. The Mother of all Rules. The Big Kahuna (or, as my little sister used to say, "The Big a-HOO-ga!"). This rule is so terrifying and potentially insurmountable that I hesitate to write it down. Deep breath. Courage of my convictions and all that. And here goes:
1) I will not buy any books for one hundred days.
There it is. It looks even scarier in print than I had anticipated. I'm reasonably sure that I have not gone longer than one month without buying a book since finishing my first chapter book (Ramona the Brave, c. 1989). But something has got to change.
For some reason, I believed that forcing myself to read every book I own would somehow stop me from buying books- or at least slow down the process. Instead, I spend my free time scouring reviews and salivating. I have tried going to bookstores or websites purely for information gathering, without purchasing anything. "Make it fun! Start a to-read list!" My pretend-jolly inner voice pathetically tries to convince me. "You'll forget about it in an hour anyway." The voice wheedles.
But that's the weird part: I don't forget about it in an hour. The unpurchased book takes hold of my consciousness, making me feel irritable and a little hungover. It possesses my thought process as I drive, sit in class, eat, and otherwise go about my day. It mocks me as I attempt to socialize naturally. This has got to stop.
So, in the time-honored tradition of nonviolent change, I am staging a protest against my pathologically compulsive book purchasing. It will be a quiet protest, mostly consisting of sitting around and reading without spending money. Diet Coke will be involved.
When I told my boyfriend that I was planning to do this, he said I looked like I was going to cry.
"What's the big deal?" He asked. "100 days isn't that long."
"It's over three months." I reminded him. He looked startled.
"That's a really long time." He said. "What are you thinking?"
I'm thinking that I'm not entirely sure I can do this. I'm thinking that it's probably unnatural how worried I am that every single one of my favorite authors (even the dead ones) will magically release a book next Tuesday. But most of all, I'm thinking that I need to stop deluding myself that spending this much money is not a problem.
So, hesitantly and with a deep breath, I begin the next stage of my yearlong literary adventure. Wish me luck.
P.S. I am currently accepting book donations.
I didn't have an exact picture of what I was trying to achieve when I embarked on this literary adventure a month ago. I considered creating a concrete goal: to read a finite amount of books or exhaust a particular subject matter. Instead, I am guided by nothing more than whimsy and vague gut feelings.
However, to my surprise, certain rules have started to take form:
3) I must finish any book I begin. My regular failure to do so until now has always gnawed at me. Time to do something about it.
2) I refuse to create a goal number of books to read per month. I am certain that will keep me away from books in which I have genuine interest but may be too long to complete within a particular time frame. Despite the fact that I do not have a purpose, I am convinced this defeats it. However, I will keep an eye on the number of books I read each month and try to create flexible challenges for myself.
Now here's the big one. The Mother of all Rules. The Big Kahuna (or, as my little sister used to say, "The Big a-HOO-ga!"). This rule is so terrifying and potentially insurmountable that I hesitate to write it down. Deep breath. Courage of my convictions and all that. And here goes:
1) I will not buy any books for one hundred days.
There it is. It looks even scarier in print than I had anticipated. I'm reasonably sure that I have not gone longer than one month without buying a book since finishing my first chapter book (Ramona the Brave, c. 1989). But something has got to change.
For some reason, I believed that forcing myself to read every book I own would somehow stop me from buying books- or at least slow down the process. Instead, I spend my free time scouring reviews and salivating. I have tried going to bookstores or websites purely for information gathering, without purchasing anything. "Make it fun! Start a to-read list!" My pretend-jolly inner voice pathetically tries to convince me. "You'll forget about it in an hour anyway." The voice wheedles.
But that's the weird part: I don't forget about it in an hour. The unpurchased book takes hold of my consciousness, making me feel irritable and a little hungover. It possesses my thought process as I drive, sit in class, eat, and otherwise go about my day. It mocks me as I attempt to socialize naturally. This has got to stop.
So, in the time-honored tradition of nonviolent change, I am staging a protest against my pathologically compulsive book purchasing. It will be a quiet protest, mostly consisting of sitting around and reading without spending money. Diet Coke will be involved.
When I told my boyfriend that I was planning to do this, he said I looked like I was going to cry.
"What's the big deal?" He asked. "100 days isn't that long."
"It's over three months." I reminded him. He looked startled.
"That's a really long time." He said. "What are you thinking?"
I'm thinking that I'm not entirely sure I can do this. I'm thinking that it's probably unnatural how worried I am that every single one of my favorite authors (even the dead ones) will magically release a book next Tuesday. But most of all, I'm thinking that I need to stop deluding myself that spending this much money is not a problem.
So, hesitantly and with a deep breath, I begin the next stage of my yearlong literary adventure. Wish me luck.
P.S. I am currently accepting book donations.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Night Circus
I was obsessed with playing imagination games as a child. My parents joke of the oft-repeated household phrase "Ok, let's pretend Mom and Dad are dead". My sister and I love our parents effusively. But when you think about it, many of the great children's tales begin with dead or otherwise unavailable parents: The Boxcar Children, The Little Princess, about half of The Babysitter's Club, nearly every Disney movie, A Wrinkle In Time, almost anything written by Roald Dahl... And on and on. In my opinion, the callous disregard afforded to parents by children's authors allows the child protagonists to grow in fundamental and heroics ways, unhampered by such mundane duties as homework and bedtime.
Much of my childhood was happily spent dressed in bedsheets- whether I was a beautiful, extravagantly adorned princess or Amy March, on my way to help Marmie feed the Hummels (a particular benefit of imagination games being the ability to rewrite tragic plot points). To this day, the most acrimonious fight my best friend and I have encountered centered on an imagination game. We were in fourth grade, and after having seen "The Miracle Worker" I was experiencing an obsessive period now referred to as my "Helen Keller stage". I had strong-armed Anna into playing "Blind Girls" (which, as disrespectful as that sounds, was a young child's homage to the amazing feats of Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan). Being the sort of child who didn't want to spend an entire afternoon walking around the basement with her eyes closed, Anna decided to "magically" get her sight back. I bitterly rebelled. You can't just "magically" get your sight back. That's not how it works. We didn't speak for days.
Erin Morgenstern's "The Night Circus" evokes the intense fantastical feelings I experienced while playing imagination games as a child- and not just because nearly everyone's mom and dad are dead or otherwise unavailable. The protagonists are creative and intelligent. The circus is an atmosphere in which any child or childlike kindred spirit would be enthralled. As with my favorite inspired reveries, potentially doomed love is an important plot point. Don't be mistaken: elements of the tale are deliciously dark and insidious. The story has breathtaking depth as well as whimsy.
My last thought is this: after reading "The Night Circus", do not refrain from constructing elaborate circus tents using pillows and blankets in your living room. We all need a little magic now and then.
Much of my childhood was happily spent dressed in bedsheets- whether I was a beautiful, extravagantly adorned princess or Amy March, on my way to help Marmie feed the Hummels (a particular benefit of imagination games being the ability to rewrite tragic plot points). To this day, the most acrimonious fight my best friend and I have encountered centered on an imagination game. We were in fourth grade, and after having seen "The Miracle Worker" I was experiencing an obsessive period now referred to as my "Helen Keller stage". I had strong-armed Anna into playing "Blind Girls" (which, as disrespectful as that sounds, was a young child's homage to the amazing feats of Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan). Being the sort of child who didn't want to spend an entire afternoon walking around the basement with her eyes closed, Anna decided to "magically" get her sight back. I bitterly rebelled. You can't just "magically" get your sight back. That's not how it works. We didn't speak for days.
Erin Morgenstern's "The Night Circus" evokes the intense fantastical feelings I experienced while playing imagination games as a child- and not just because nearly everyone's mom and dad are dead or otherwise unavailable. The protagonists are creative and intelligent. The circus is an atmosphere in which any child or childlike kindred spirit would be enthralled. As with my favorite inspired reveries, potentially doomed love is an important plot point. Don't be mistaken: elements of the tale are deliciously dark and insidious. The story has breathtaking depth as well as whimsy.
My last thought is this: after reading "The Night Circus", do not refrain from constructing elaborate circus tents using pillows and blankets in your living room. We all need a little magic now and then.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Prophet's Prey
It took me a long time to openly confess my fascination with memoirs and biographies about people living in polygamous cults. While other readers may guiltily hide their tawdry romance novels, Star Wars fan fiction or Dan Brown thrillers, I was reticent to crack open my "polygamy books" in the presence of others. I was embarrassed to read something so lurid and trashy. Still, whenever I saw a mass market paperback with a girl wearing the tell-tale prairie dress and FLDS bouffant hairstyle, I felt an inexorable pull to purchase the book. I would furtively hide it in my purse until I got home. Then I would devour it in the privacy of my bedroom. Shades drawn.
In time, though, the facade began to crack. I became careless and started leaving books out. I complained that "Big Love" wasn't "accurate" enough. People noticed. At first I was apologetic, rolling my eyes and laughing in a self-deprecating way. Then I became defensive. Why shouldn't I read my polygamy books? More people ought to know what's going on in this country!
To be completely honest, I'm not reading these books out of a sense of civic duty. As someone who is studying psychology, I find the mental conditioning within these fundamentalist cults to be simultaneously terrifying and intriguing. At first I wondered, "How could anyone live like that?". I've read countless stories about generations raised without exposure to the outside world. Members are psychologically conditioned to follow illogical demands: from "stop wearing the color red" to "leave your son on the side of the road and forget he existed". Anyone who leaves the cult is said to relinquish everlasting salvation. Now I wonder, "How does anyone find the courage to leave?".
I've reached the point in my torrid affair with polygamy books where I'm no longer ashamed of my love. I geniunely admire the people who find the courage to leave everything they have believed and embark on a life in the undoubtedly overstimulating secular world. I am sickened by the behavior of FLDS leader Warren Jeffs and appalled by the government's reticence to take strong action against chronic child abuse. I don't understand why the public isn't asking more questions and demanding changes.
I recently read "Prophet's Prey: My Seven-Year Investigation into Warren Jeffs and the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints" by Sam Brower. I was impressed with its comprehensive nature. Private Investigator Sam Brower exhaustively researches the FLDS cult and impressively supplies insider information into the notoriously secretive society. This is a great introduction for the curious FLDS novice. However, I would also recommend "Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer and "Secrets and Wives: The Hidden World of Mormon Polygamy" by Sanjiv Bhattacharya as well.
It's a landmark revelation in the journey of bibliomania: a book does not have to be critically acclaimed or deemed worthy by some arbitrary cultural standard in order to alter the way we think or see the world. Whether the cover art employs shock tactics or the subject matter lends itself to mockery, it is my belief that any book that invites us to think critically and cultivate empathy is one worth reading.
In time, though, the facade began to crack. I became careless and started leaving books out. I complained that "Big Love" wasn't "accurate" enough. People noticed. At first I was apologetic, rolling my eyes and laughing in a self-deprecating way. Then I became defensive. Why shouldn't I read my polygamy books? More people ought to know what's going on in this country!
To be completely honest, I'm not reading these books out of a sense of civic duty. As someone who is studying psychology, I find the mental conditioning within these fundamentalist cults to be simultaneously terrifying and intriguing. At first I wondered, "How could anyone live like that?". I've read countless stories about generations raised without exposure to the outside world. Members are psychologically conditioned to follow illogical demands: from "stop wearing the color red" to "leave your son on the side of the road and forget he existed". Anyone who leaves the cult is said to relinquish everlasting salvation. Now I wonder, "How does anyone find the courage to leave?".
I've reached the point in my torrid affair with polygamy books where I'm no longer ashamed of my love. I geniunely admire the people who find the courage to leave everything they have believed and embark on a life in the undoubtedly overstimulating secular world. I am sickened by the behavior of FLDS leader Warren Jeffs and appalled by the government's reticence to take strong action against chronic child abuse. I don't understand why the public isn't asking more questions and demanding changes.
I recently read "Prophet's Prey: My Seven-Year Investigation into Warren Jeffs and the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints" by Sam Brower. I was impressed with its comprehensive nature. Private Investigator Sam Brower exhaustively researches the FLDS cult and impressively supplies insider information into the notoriously secretive society. This is a great introduction for the curious FLDS novice. However, I would also recommend "Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer and "Secrets and Wives: The Hidden World of Mormon Polygamy" by Sanjiv Bhattacharya as well.
It's a landmark revelation in the journey of bibliomania: a book does not have to be critically acclaimed or deemed worthy by some arbitrary cultural standard in order to alter the way we think or see the world. Whether the cover art employs shock tactics or the subject matter lends itself to mockery, it is my belief that any book that invites us to think critically and cultivate empathy is one worth reading.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother
I can think of few books in the last couple years that have elicited as much anger and controversy as "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother". At the beginning of last year, heated reactions to Amy Chua's parenting memoir pervaded media and bookstores. And yet I wasn't interested in reading it. I was aware that Chua apparently supported rigorous parenting, arguing that an A- is unacceptable, hours of daily instrument practice is necessary, and children are to be subjugated instead of cultivated.
Perhaps my disinterest stemmed from the fact that I was enrolled in an early childhood program that promoted a philosophy that was ideologically opposed to Chua's supposed concept. More likely, I was disinclined to read the book because I have been exposed to parents who believe their toddlers should be drilled in math and pre-literacy concepts. Two summers ago I interviewed for a job working with one-year-old twins. I had assumed it was a babysitting job but was soon informed that the infants had a full-time nanny and I would be their tutor. "I've been looking for toddler flashcards but I can't find them anywhere!" The woman said in frustration. "Maybe that's because one-year-olds can't read," I said helpfully. I didn't get the job.
I passed on Tiger Mother until a friend whose opinion I respect mentioned it as an interesting read. This time, my curiosity was piqued. I am not currently working with high pressure parents or studying early childhood philosophy. Also, I have been on an absolute memoir binge lately.
So, armed with Pirate's Booty and a Diet Coke, I read it in one sitting. And I absolutely loved it. I thought for a while about the intense and wide-ranging emotions elicited by this memoir and here's what I ultimately concluded:
People who say this is a terrible book because of Chua's parenting style are missing the point. Chua admits toward the beginning of the book that she had intended to write this as a defense of "Chinese parenting". However, as she is writing the book the unimaginable happens: Chua's youngest daughter hits puberty and goes rogue. This sets the tone for some truly epic showdowns between a strong, determined woman and her daughter, the opposition who inherited mom's tenacity and stubbornness. From my perspective, Chua writes with self-deprecating humor and a self-awareness that allows for reflection and, eventually, evolution.
I'm intrigued by her explanations and the rationale behind her strict parenting style. While it is not a philosophy to which I subscribe, I find myself agreeing with her more than I anticipated (DISCLAIMER: It is quite easy for me to debate the various parenting styles in my current childless state, as I sit in my pajamas drinking Diet Coke and writing at 10:30 on a Monday morning). Of course I have many questions about the socio-emotional impact of parenting with such high expectations. I also worry about the potential social stigma placed on children with developmental disabilities in environments with that much pressure to succeed. However, Chua's story is not a psychological study or sociological expose. It is the experience of one family. I felt that she is not necessarily defending or critiquing a particular way of life. Rather, she is telling a story of her experience as a parent: The exquisite, the sublime, and the very down & dirty. Chua is unflinchingly honest. I found myself empathizing with her even if I didn't agree with her decisions.
I recommend this book but with a caveat. Read this for what it is: one woman's harrowing journey through parenthood.
Perhaps my disinterest stemmed from the fact that I was enrolled in an early childhood program that promoted a philosophy that was ideologically opposed to Chua's supposed concept. More likely, I was disinclined to read the book because I have been exposed to parents who believe their toddlers should be drilled in math and pre-literacy concepts. Two summers ago I interviewed for a job working with one-year-old twins. I had assumed it was a babysitting job but was soon informed that the infants had a full-time nanny and I would be their tutor. "I've been looking for toddler flashcards but I can't find them anywhere!" The woman said in frustration. "Maybe that's because one-year-olds can't read," I said helpfully. I didn't get the job.
I passed on Tiger Mother until a friend whose opinion I respect mentioned it as an interesting read. This time, my curiosity was piqued. I am not currently working with high pressure parents or studying early childhood philosophy. Also, I have been on an absolute memoir binge lately.
So, armed with Pirate's Booty and a Diet Coke, I read it in one sitting. And I absolutely loved it. I thought for a while about the intense and wide-ranging emotions elicited by this memoir and here's what I ultimately concluded:
People who say this is a terrible book because of Chua's parenting style are missing the point. Chua admits toward the beginning of the book that she had intended to write this as a defense of "Chinese parenting". However, as she is writing the book the unimaginable happens: Chua's youngest daughter hits puberty and goes rogue. This sets the tone for some truly epic showdowns between a strong, determined woman and her daughter, the opposition who inherited mom's tenacity and stubbornness. From my perspective, Chua writes with self-deprecating humor and a self-awareness that allows for reflection and, eventually, evolution.
I'm intrigued by her explanations and the rationale behind her strict parenting style. While it is not a philosophy to which I subscribe, I find myself agreeing with her more than I anticipated (DISCLAIMER: It is quite easy for me to debate the various parenting styles in my current childless state, as I sit in my pajamas drinking Diet Coke and writing at 10:30 on a Monday morning). Of course I have many questions about the socio-emotional impact of parenting with such high expectations. I also worry about the potential social stigma placed on children with developmental disabilities in environments with that much pressure to succeed. However, Chua's story is not a psychological study or sociological expose. It is the experience of one family. I felt that she is not necessarily defending or critiquing a particular way of life. Rather, she is telling a story of her experience as a parent: The exquisite, the sublime, and the very down & dirty. Chua is unflinchingly honest. I found myself empathizing with her even if I didn't agree with her decisions.
I recommend this book but with a caveat. Read this for what it is: one woman's harrowing journey through parenthood.
Friday, January 27, 2012
The Happiness Project
Is anyone else particularly fascinated by the idiosyncratic pleasures in which people delight? Almost two years ago I quit drinking and smoking. During that time I discovered I love fruit snacks to the point of distraction. Apparently my grandpa's childhood indulgence was orange soda with sardines. In Shift Journal of Alternatives: Neurodiversity and Social Change, Julia Bascom describes "the obsessive joy of autism": positive emotions she attributes to personal characteristics related to autism (http://www.shiftjournal.com/2011/11/30/the-obsessive-joy-of-autism/). I knew my boyfriend and I were kindred spirits a couple weeks into our relationship. I had recently moved and as soon as the cable guy hooked up my DVR, Tommy set Jeopardy to record: something I had intended to secretly do as soon as he left. Together we shout out answers, comment on the ridiculous names of personal injury lawyers (Brad Bradshaw, anyone?) and fast forward through the inane bios.
That's why I picked up Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project. I wasn't anticipating that I would learn anything new. Rather, I was pursuing the voyeuristic enthrall of discovering other people's unique methods of happiness. My expectations were satisfied. It wasn't the most enlightening of the stunt memoir genre (A.J. Jacobs is the master of the "My Year ________" musings) but it was interesting. One of Gretchen's philosophies is to "Be Gretchen". Things that make other people happy may not translate into her personal happiness. I thought this was one of the best messages of the book. Reflection and introspection are critical when determining what will make a person individually happy. I know people whose ideal Friday nights are spent at the casino or getting bottle service at clubs. The mere thought of that makes me want to turn off my phone, put on pajamas and order a pizza. Also, Gretchen clearly researched the topics of happiness, positive psychology and mindfulness. Her book is a helpful reference for anyone interested in doing the same.
As for Gretchen's idiosyncrasies, there are none that particularly stand out. She engages in a multitude of impressively varied hobbies, miniprojects and goals. However, there isn't the voyeur's ideal dramatic reveal: no hidden obsession with decorating taxidermied animals or creating duct tape art or participating in civil war reenactments. Which is, you know, okay... To each her own.
That's why I picked up Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project. I wasn't anticipating that I would learn anything new. Rather, I was pursuing the voyeuristic enthrall of discovering other people's unique methods of happiness. My expectations were satisfied. It wasn't the most enlightening of the stunt memoir genre (A.J. Jacobs is the master of the "My Year ________" musings) but it was interesting. One of Gretchen's philosophies is to "Be Gretchen". Things that make other people happy may not translate into her personal happiness. I thought this was one of the best messages of the book. Reflection and introspection are critical when determining what will make a person individually happy. I know people whose ideal Friday nights are spent at the casino or getting bottle service at clubs. The mere thought of that makes me want to turn off my phone, put on pajamas and order a pizza. Also, Gretchen clearly researched the topics of happiness, positive psychology and mindfulness. Her book is a helpful reference for anyone interested in doing the same.
As for Gretchen's idiosyncrasies, there are none that particularly stand out. She engages in a multitude of impressively varied hobbies, miniprojects and goals. However, there isn't the voyeur's ideal dramatic reveal: no hidden obsession with decorating taxidermied animals or creating duct tape art or participating in civil war reenactments. Which is, you know, okay... To each her own.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Lacuna
The day I chose to embark on my reading adventure, I wasn't entirely sure what structure I would follow or what I wanted this project to be. It seems that year-long endeavors tend to be more successful when they are well defined and have quantifiable goals. I thought about attaching a number to my reading goal-if I read 50 or 100 books, I will definitively succeed. However, I have confidence that this project will evolve into something creatively unique and personally fulfilling if I let the purpose and meaning emerge as I go along.
This was an important philosophy as I read "The Lacuna". The book was given to me by someone who has been particularly influential in my relationship to books: placing in my hand for the first time novels that evoke wonder, such as "The Giver" and "The Never-Ending Story". She has a nearly mystical ability to select books that are timely and relevant to my life. And this time was no different. The story, written by Barbara Kingsolver, follows Harrison Shepherd as he comes of age in Mexico and the United States during the 1930's, World War II, and the insidiously pervasive post-war anti-Communist era. He forms relationships with Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera and writes novels that influence millions. I was excited to read this as I, too, am at a point in which I have to choose one of many paths for my life as I finish grad school and struggle to come up with a plan.
The story is interesting and insanely well written. As I read, I kept a highlighter nearby and used it liberally. However, I never found myself emotionally invested in the characters. I liked Harrison, but I didn't feel for him. As the narrator he attempts to remain a neutral, objective observer. This is interesting in the sense that we as readers become voyeurs of the lives of famously tempestuous artists. However, I found it diminished my emotional investment in the protagonist. The second half of the story, which contains many of Shepherd's letters, made me feel slightly more familiar and intimate with him.
As I was reading I started to get nervous about what I was going to write when I finished. The book is written exquisitely and deserves the positive attention it has received. However, there is undeniably a stark difference between the quality of the novel (high) and my interest in the novel (relatively low).
That's when I realized my project concept is beginning to take shape. I don't want this project to be an exercise in creating reviews that attempt neutrality. In education, we learn that reading is an active relationship between the words and the reader's interpretation of the words. I want to explore my relationship with and response to each of the books. Given the likely nature of 2012 (graduate school graduation and a potentially big move, among the other inevitable and unanticipated events) I want to understand and interpret the evolution that occurs as I read and move through this year. I want to extend the opportunity for readers to connect with me in the familiar, interpersonal way I did not receive from Harrison Shepherd.
Many of the ways I think and feel are most likely fairly universal. I hope my words resonate and create the beautiful "aha!" moment that occurs when you realize you're not the only person who has felt that way.
I'm excited about the adventure!
This was an important philosophy as I read "The Lacuna". The book was given to me by someone who has been particularly influential in my relationship to books: placing in my hand for the first time novels that evoke wonder, such as "The Giver" and "The Never-Ending Story". She has a nearly mystical ability to select books that are timely and relevant to my life. And this time was no different. The story, written by Barbara Kingsolver, follows Harrison Shepherd as he comes of age in Mexico and the United States during the 1930's, World War II, and the insidiously pervasive post-war anti-Communist era. He forms relationships with Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera and writes novels that influence millions. I was excited to read this as I, too, am at a point in which I have to choose one of many paths for my life as I finish grad school and struggle to come up with a plan.
The story is interesting and insanely well written. As I read, I kept a highlighter nearby and used it liberally. However, I never found myself emotionally invested in the characters. I liked Harrison, but I didn't feel for him. As the narrator he attempts to remain a neutral, objective observer. This is interesting in the sense that we as readers become voyeurs of the lives of famously tempestuous artists. However, I found it diminished my emotional investment in the protagonist. The second half of the story, which contains many of Shepherd's letters, made me feel slightly more familiar and intimate with him.
As I was reading I started to get nervous about what I was going to write when I finished. The book is written exquisitely and deserves the positive attention it has received. However, there is undeniably a stark difference between the quality of the novel (high) and my interest in the novel (relatively low).
That's when I realized my project concept is beginning to take shape. I don't want this project to be an exercise in creating reviews that attempt neutrality. In education, we learn that reading is an active relationship between the words and the reader's interpretation of the words. I want to explore my relationship with and response to each of the books. Given the likely nature of 2012 (graduate school graduation and a potentially big move, among the other inevitable and unanticipated events) I want to understand and interpret the evolution that occurs as I read and move through this year. I want to extend the opportunity for readers to connect with me in the familiar, interpersonal way I did not receive from Harrison Shepherd.
Many of the ways I think and feel are most likely fairly universal. I hope my words resonate and create the beautiful "aha!" moment that occurs when you realize you're not the only person who has felt that way.
I'm excited about the adventure!
Friday, January 13, 2012
Franklin & Lucy
FDR intrigues me.
In college, I stumbled across No Ordinary Time, Doris Kearns Goodwin's Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of FDR and Eleanor. I read the first half voraciously and then discarded it, a weakness that plagues me even with books in which I am captivated. Despite my callous abandonment, I found myself fascinated by the interpersonal sagas of the women within the magnetic force of the president.
So I was thrilled to discover Joseph E. Persico's book examining just that. Franklin and Lucy: President Roosevelt, Mrs. Rutherfurd, and the Other Remarkable Women in His Life considers Roosevelt's life in the context of the women with whom he had relationships. Women shaped and influenced FDR in a way that is not often displayed in textbooks. His indomitable mother Sarah would occasionally and successfully rearrange the White House schedule to procure presidential meetings for her socialite companions. His longtime secretary Missy LeHand suffered multiple nervous breakdowns, arguably as a result of her emotional over-investment in the president. Franklin cavorted with witty, attractive women of stature such as Princess Martha of Sweden. However, the case is often made that his heart really belonged to Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd, his one-time social secretary for whom he nearly divorced Eleanor, lost his vast inheritance, and ruined his chances for a political future.
It's funny how one's perceptions and allegiances change with time and experience. When I was younger, I was captivated by Lucy. She was pretty and charming, caught in between social convention and true love, embroiled in a star-crossed affair with this god of a man. In contrast, Eleanor seemed to me humorless, self-righteous and entirely unrelatable. Several years and many experiences later, I encountered this book with a different point of view. I sympathize for Eleanor with her tumultuous childhood and openly criticized looks. I admire her strength and ability to define herself through her social crusades as opposed to her philandering husband during a time in which beauty was highly prized and female community activism was not.
This book is a wonderful piece of narrative non-fiction. Persico is a compelling storyteller who presents historical evidence while allowing the reader to draw independent conclusions. FDR's myriad of female influences are vividly displayed as distinctive, admirable yet flawed. However, the culpability of Roosevelt's behavior is rarely mentioned; his responsibility for the way his actions affect others is treated lightly. Still, Persico addresses fascinating questions concerning the events and people within FDR's life. For example, what would the world look like today if Roosevelt had absconded all in order to be with Lucy Mercer?
Thankfully, we can only imagine.
In college, I stumbled across No Ordinary Time, Doris Kearns Goodwin's Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of FDR and Eleanor. I read the first half voraciously and then discarded it, a weakness that plagues me even with books in which I am captivated. Despite my callous abandonment, I found myself fascinated by the interpersonal sagas of the women within the magnetic force of the president.
So I was thrilled to discover Joseph E. Persico's book examining just that. Franklin and Lucy: President Roosevelt, Mrs. Rutherfurd, and the Other Remarkable Women in His Life considers Roosevelt's life in the context of the women with whom he had relationships. Women shaped and influenced FDR in a way that is not often displayed in textbooks. His indomitable mother Sarah would occasionally and successfully rearrange the White House schedule to procure presidential meetings for her socialite companions. His longtime secretary Missy LeHand suffered multiple nervous breakdowns, arguably as a result of her emotional over-investment in the president. Franklin cavorted with witty, attractive women of stature such as Princess Martha of Sweden. However, the case is often made that his heart really belonged to Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd, his one-time social secretary for whom he nearly divorced Eleanor, lost his vast inheritance, and ruined his chances for a political future.
It's funny how one's perceptions and allegiances change with time and experience. When I was younger, I was captivated by Lucy. She was pretty and charming, caught in between social convention and true love, embroiled in a star-crossed affair with this god of a man. In contrast, Eleanor seemed to me humorless, self-righteous and entirely unrelatable. Several years and many experiences later, I encountered this book with a different point of view. I sympathize for Eleanor with her tumultuous childhood and openly criticized looks. I admire her strength and ability to define herself through her social crusades as opposed to her philandering husband during a time in which beauty was highly prized and female community activism was not.
This book is a wonderful piece of narrative non-fiction. Persico is a compelling storyteller who presents historical evidence while allowing the reader to draw independent conclusions. FDR's myriad of female influences are vividly displayed as distinctive, admirable yet flawed. However, the culpability of Roosevelt's behavior is rarely mentioned; his responsibility for the way his actions affect others is treated lightly. Still, Persico addresses fascinating questions concerning the events and people within FDR's life. For example, what would the world look like today if Roosevelt had absconded all in order to be with Lucy Mercer?
Thankfully, we can only imagine.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Major Pettigrew's Last Stand
I received Major Pettigrew's Last Stand as a gift from one of my oldest friends, a fellow bibliophile with exquisite taste in literary gift giving. She said she hoped it would give me "a break" from what I had currently been reading. It is true, my voyeuristic tendencies had led me on a memoir binge of people dealing with mental illness, death or dysfunctional childhoods. Compared to the gristly details and intense inner turmoil that I was devouring, her gift seemed almost quaint. It is the story of an aging man: a relic of a vanishing culture in which honor, family and properly brewed tea are of utmost importance. As Major Pettigrew deals with the loss of his brother and the inevitable subsequent fallout, he forges a friendship with Mrs. Ali, the Pakistani shopkeeper from the village.
If I had expected the Major to be a cranky, taciturn old man I was very much mistaken. Rather, he is funny and empathetic, beholden to the decorum of his youth in a world that often rewards singular self interest and economic growth. However, his mindfulness toward propriety does not prohibit him from reverently appreciating the companionship of Mrs. Ali, a kindred spirit in many ways. Their amity is strengthened through mutual loss and a love of literature.
Author Helen Simonson explores the effect of death and aging in a way that feels sensitive and true. I empathized with the villagers' struggles as progress rears its (ugly? neccessary? lucrative?) head in the form of overpriced residential development. Major Pettigrew's drily astute observations are funny and poignant. Rather than seeming an antiquated curmudgeon, he warrants respect and admiration. Mrs. Ali is both strong and sensitive. As the Major and Mrs. Ali navigate their way through a myriad of emotionally complex situations, I found myself wishing I could hug them, write an encouraging letter, or at least make them a cup of tea. While the book is at times light and humorous, I ached for our protagonists and each of us as we face the gradual, inevitable process of aging and loss. Simonson reminded me that sometimes, comprehensive human truths are most profoundly and humanely displayed in novels. As I finished Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, I was reluctant to let them go.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Freedom
I read Freedom at a ranch a few miles away from Bandera, Texas: Cowboy Capital of the World. It was a book I had almost read several times before, often picking it up at the bookstore with the intent to purchase and then setting it down before the moment of truth at the cash register. Despite the delusions of grandeur that infiltrate when I set foot anywhere near a purveyor of books, I had known that I would not finish this one. It looked interesting, but not interesting enough. I would enjoy it for a few evenings before putting it down for something more salacious, more instantly gratifying. It would be relegated to the nightstand, where I would look at it with vague guilt and a delusional resolve that I would try again. Several weeks later during an apartment cleaning binge, I would put it on a bookshelf near other good intentions and mostly forget about it.
For Christmas, I received an e-reader. I justified it as a practical, convenient way to keep up with the immense readings assigned in graduate school. It is, however, simply another medium in which to gratify my obsession. Before I left for my weeklong retreat to the Texas countryside, I uploaded several books I'd finally have the time and inclination to read. For an entire week, the everyday obligations and excuses would be as nonexistent as cell phone reception. I couldn't imagine anything better.
I was both interested in and skeptical of Freedom. The novel follows the Berglunds, a seemingly perfect "Whole Foods generation" family living in Minnesota. A series of puzzling actions by members of the Berglund family cause neighborhood curiousity and consternation. Why has Walter, passionate conservationist, taken a job with a coal company? How come the Berglunds' son has moved in with the Republican neighbors? As Patty Berglund, Walter's wife, has a meltdown visible to everyone in the neighborhood, we begin to see the story unfold.
Author Jonathan Franzen grew up in a town neighboring my own hometown. Local reading enthusiasts speculated that the Berglunds' neighborhood was based on Webster, a St. Louis suburb and Franzen's hometown. I am initially cautious of this slice of society: upper middle class families that tout their trendy reusable shopping bags and decry the rapid disappearance of some small animal of which no one had previously heard. I actually staged my first protest at the age of ten, speaking out at Kirkwood City Hall against developers who wanted to cut down the trees behind my elementary school. I agree with a lot of the reusable bag/disappearing animal ideals. However, I feel I often encounter an onslaught of Smug when embarking on conversations of that nature. I do not believe that Smugness is universal within environmental mindfulness, only prevalent enough to warrant the aforementioned caution.
Regardless, I soon found myself wholly immersed in the Berglund family. Each character is so flawed, so funny, and undeniably human. I felt as though I came to know the Berglunds. I instantly recall my mental image of each of them as I write this. My concern that this book was a preachy environmentalist platform melted away as I became engrossed in the multifaceted, fascinating family. As the chapters follow different characters at different time periods, we begin to know the Berglunds as a whole: from their minute irritations to their grand context. As opposed to a moral lecture, Walter's environmental obsession becomes both his savior and his greatest flaw. Rather than a lesson, this is who he is.
The title of the book is relevant on a multitude of levels, examining the nature of freedom in the emotional, interpersonal, familial, and environmental realms. It took on another level for me, as I read it tucked within a large expanse of the Texas Hill Country, sharing my skyline with some of the last remaining cowboys.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Bibliomania.
I'll admit it: I have a problem.
On the surface, an obsession with reading doesn't seem particularly perilous. Friends and acquaintances tend to view my relationship with books as benignly amusing or odd. Bibliophilia is not in the Diagnostic Statistical Manual. A book addiction does not have the dark allure or potentially tragic outcomes of, say, heroin. To my knowledge, no one has died from literary withdrawal.
I think my parents were the first to realize the potential danger of my biblio-fixation. I was grounded for reading while riding my bike during a Boxcar Children binge in elementary school. It is safe to say I did not learn my lesson. As politicians and Oprah harangue against texting while driving, no one seems to notice as I pull out my book at stoplights.
My apartment is an unabashed shrine dedicated to my love of books. Bookshelves line the walls of each of the rooms. The dining room has been re-purposed as a study; a large, wooden desk proudly placed where the dining room table would otherwise sit. My walls feature posters of Dorothy Parker and "Where the Wild Things Are" and a sign that simply says "READ". Even my shower curtain and bath towels display typewriter font letters.
I love my quiet, relatively bookish lifestyle. Coming home to a cozy place overflowing with print evokes a feeling of calm and the thrilling surge that there is so much more to learn, to experience, to read. After the holidays or following a particularly difficult semester, it is not uncommon for me to feel replenished after reorganizing my books into a seemingly whimsical (but to me perfectly logical) categorization. And it was just such an occasion that prompted me to realize the nature of my problem. A few days ago, while embarking on the nearly spiritual task of shelving my literary holiday gifts, I felt the sudden impulse to place every book I currently own but had not yet read on my living room couch. The result was astonishing. As I looked at my haphazard heap of unfulfilled goals and lofty plans, many things ran through my mind. The first was the familiar buzzing excitement of books yet to be experienced. Then came the vaguely guilty reminder that I had an additional fifteen books loaded on the tablet that I've had for less than a week. Finally, my recent frustration with my inability to complete any creative endeavor on which I embark.
The result of these musings is this: I aim to dedicate the next year to reading as many books as I possibly can, chronicling here my experience and thoughts of the books. It is my hope that I stick to the books currently acquired and resting in their newly designated bookshelves (unread fiction and unread nonfiction, not alphabetically placed). However, while running errands this morning, I heard on NPR that Paul Feig has written two memoirs and I'm feeling the irresistible pull to purchase them. The addict's burning sense that only by acquiring "the goods" will equilibrium be restored.
I cannot promise allegiance to a particular genre or even quality of book. I am enthralled by most anything and I am bound by no desire to torture myself with great tomes designated as classically or culturally important. Rather, I delight in junk food as well as literature that helps broaden and shape my idea of what is possible. I love recommendations. I cannot seem to stop reading and will resort to the ingredients on a soap bottle if I find myself in the bathroom sans book. Basically, I have no shame.
I hope to find kindred spirits: literary adventurers and hopeless acquirers of books and magazines. I'd love to share ideas and experiences and books. I'm excited to embark on this quest and see where it takes me.
Happy reading!
On the surface, an obsession with reading doesn't seem particularly perilous. Friends and acquaintances tend to view my relationship with books as benignly amusing or odd. Bibliophilia is not in the Diagnostic Statistical Manual. A book addiction does not have the dark allure or potentially tragic outcomes of, say, heroin. To my knowledge, no one has died from literary withdrawal.
I think my parents were the first to realize the potential danger of my biblio-fixation. I was grounded for reading while riding my bike during a Boxcar Children binge in elementary school. It is safe to say I did not learn my lesson. As politicians and Oprah harangue against texting while driving, no one seems to notice as I pull out my book at stoplights.
My apartment is an unabashed shrine dedicated to my love of books. Bookshelves line the walls of each of the rooms. The dining room has been re-purposed as a study; a large, wooden desk proudly placed where the dining room table would otherwise sit. My walls feature posters of Dorothy Parker and "Where the Wild Things Are" and a sign that simply says "READ". Even my shower curtain and bath towels display typewriter font letters.
I love my quiet, relatively bookish lifestyle. Coming home to a cozy place overflowing with print evokes a feeling of calm and the thrilling surge that there is so much more to learn, to experience, to read. After the holidays or following a particularly difficult semester, it is not uncommon for me to feel replenished after reorganizing my books into a seemingly whimsical (but to me perfectly logical) categorization. And it was just such an occasion that prompted me to realize the nature of my problem. A few days ago, while embarking on the nearly spiritual task of shelving my literary holiday gifts, I felt the sudden impulse to place every book I currently own but had not yet read on my living room couch. The result was astonishing. As I looked at my haphazard heap of unfulfilled goals and lofty plans, many things ran through my mind. The first was the familiar buzzing excitement of books yet to be experienced. Then came the vaguely guilty reminder that I had an additional fifteen books loaded on the tablet that I've had for less than a week. Finally, my recent frustration with my inability to complete any creative endeavor on which I embark.
The result of these musings is this: I aim to dedicate the next year to reading as many books as I possibly can, chronicling here my experience and thoughts of the books. It is my hope that I stick to the books currently acquired and resting in their newly designated bookshelves (unread fiction and unread nonfiction, not alphabetically placed). However, while running errands this morning, I heard on NPR that Paul Feig has written two memoirs and I'm feeling the irresistible pull to purchase them. The addict's burning sense that only by acquiring "the goods" will equilibrium be restored.
I cannot promise allegiance to a particular genre or even quality of book. I am enthralled by most anything and I am bound by no desire to torture myself with great tomes designated as classically or culturally important. Rather, I delight in junk food as well as literature that helps broaden and shape my idea of what is possible. I love recommendations. I cannot seem to stop reading and will resort to the ingredients on a soap bottle if I find myself in the bathroom sans book. Basically, I have no shame.
I hope to find kindred spirits: literary adventurers and hopeless acquirers of books and magazines. I'd love to share ideas and experiences and books. I'm excited to embark on this quest and see where it takes me.
Happy reading!
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