Just Can’t Find the Love

Did you ever read a book that you didn’t like – and you didn’t know why?  It doesn’t happen to me very often (I can usually tell you exactly why I didn’t like it), but this is the story of one of those books.

Chatterton by Peter Ackroyd is a book I read in my graduate Contemporary Fiction class.  The book follows several writers in a few different eras, all connected to each other.  Sounds good so far, right?   Thomas Chatterton ( a real person) was a young poet in the mid-1700s that invented a medieval poet monk and published poems he himself had written, claiming that he’d found them in a church.  The poems were very popular and critically acclaimed.  Chatteron died before his 18th birthday – apparently a suicide – so we’ll never know if his talent would have grown.  He is known as a forger, but of course he wasn’t really a forger.  He just lied about being the ghost writer for a non-existent person.

We also meet George Meredith, a real poet who posed for a ‘portrait’ of Chatterton fifty years later, painted by Henry Wallis (the portrait image is on the cover of the book).  In modern-day England , we have Charles the poet (fictional) and his family as well as Harriet the novelist (also fictional).  Harriet is getting old and still ruled by her guilt and shame for plagiarizing the plots of a few of her novels, and Charles is ill and thinks he’s discovered new information about Thomas Chatterton – like the fact that he faked his death and wrote some of the most famous works of the late 1700s pretending to be famous poets.

The whole book is an exploration of art: What makes art great?  Do we read/see art differently based on biographical information about the artist?  Where is the line between inspiration and plagiarism?  Is any work of art ever truly original?  And how can you really know, even if you are the one who ‘created’ it?  I don’t think there are any simple answers to these questions, and the book does not try to answer them, it merely gives the reader plenty of food for thought.

I can’t explain why Chatterton does nothing for me.  It’s not a bad book. It’s not a boring book.  It has interesting themes and characters, and my favorite professor loves it.   I reread it to see if I could figure out what I missed the first time around.  I did like it better this time around.  But in the end, it just didn’t excite me.  No light bulb in my head.  Maybe because I didn’t feel like Ackroyd really added anything to the conversation on art he was so interested in.  Maybe because all the writers in the book are sad creatures that come to sad endings (not poetically sad or lyrically sad, just sad).  I don’t know.  Still.

What have you spent 10,000 hours doing?

I wrote a fan post to Malcolm Gladwell a few weeks ago after reading Blink, so it should be no surprise to any of you that I picked up another of his books, Outliers – this one about successful people and how they did not get that way alone.  As with Blink, this book was filled with much food for thought – and that is exactly why I am now officially a Malcolm Gladwell groupie. He looks at everything from the birth dates of leading hockey players to the rice patties of Southeast Asia to the garment district in New York City during the Depression to show that time and place had as much to do with success as a particular person’s individual skills.

What he’s NOT saying is that people like Bill Gates aren’t talented, hard-working and motivated. What he is saying is that things like where you live, who your parents are and what you spend your time doing count as much as individual effort.  Mr. Microsoft wasn’t just bright and skilled in math, he went to a school that had one of the earliest on-demand computers in the country, and virtually unlimited access to that computer where he could practice his programming skills.  Without that, he may have become Bill Gates, regular joe.

The part I remember most about Outliers is the 10,000 hours theory.  According to many different sources referencing many different skills, 10,000 hours of practice is what it takes to become a master at something – whether it be playing the violin, programming a computer or playing hockey.  Ever since I read that chapter, I’ve been thinking about those 10,000 hours.

While I was reading it, I immediately thought of what I’d spent my 10,000 hours on – reading! Now, of course, I always knew that the reason I was good at English and analyzing literature was because I spent so  much time reading, but this is ‘knowing’ in a different way.  If 10,000 hours of practice is the amount of time it takes to master a skill – well, I hit that a long time ago – before I got to college.  Obviously, I am an expert at reading because I love it – but I also had a big sister who taught me to read before kindergarten, and parents who encouraged reading, took me to the library when we couldn’t afford books, and never told me to put the book down and do something else.

I’m not here to make judgments, but I think – for some people at least – a re-framing of the definition of talent/expertise would be valuable.  How do you get to be a professional ball player? – 10,000 hours of practice. That is a finite – if rather large – goal a person can chip away at.  I find myself wanting to impress this knowledge upon my son somehow – not in a ‘what are you wasting your life on’ kind of way, but more of a ‘you can choose what you will be a master of – what is it that you will choose?’  And if what you want to be a master of is wasting time on the internet – well, at least you should be consciously choosing it!  I wouldn’t be surprised if web-searching wasn’t something you could be employed for in the future.  So maybe we should be less uptight about all that time our children waste on the weird things that interest them – those things could turn out to be something incredible if they are willing to put the time in.

It also puts new spin on those ‘mid-life’ career changes that used to be such a big deal (though increasingly, anyone who hasn’t changed careers 3 times by mid-life is an anachronism).  But if you hadn’t hit 10,000 hours on something by your early 20s (when you had to hit the workforce), you may well have done it by your mid-40s and ‘suddenly’ have a new skill to market.

Maybe I’m making more of this than there is, but, as you can see, Gladwell’s got me thinking in new and interesting ways.  And this is just one facet of a book full of insights like this!

Yes, I am a big fan of analysis and the human experience – why do you ask?  Pardon me, I must get back to working on my second 10,000 hours of reading – or is it my third?  Feel free to tell me what you spent your 10,000 on.

A Master of Illusion

Paul Auster sticks in my mind as one of the most challenging authors I read while working towards my B.A. in English.  We read The New York Trilogy and I liked him mostly because he was really difficult, yet I could understand him. Not to say it wasn’t a great book – it was – just a very complicated, multi-layered text full of obscure references and stylistic flourishes not always easy to understand.  When I had to write my first ten-page paper ever, I chose his book because I knew there was more to write about in that book (all 384 pages) than any two other novels we read that semester.  I got an A, and my professor (thank you, Patty) suggested I present it in a Student Showcase, which I did.  Maybe that was more information that you really needed to explain my positive associations with Auster, but I have a bit more.  I picked up The Brooklyn Follies early this year and thoroughly enjoyed it – another great book by Auster, but much less challenging (though no less interesting).

The Book of Illusions I picked up on that fabulous sale rack at Powell’s.  Now looking at it, the eyeball shot on the cover brings hints of Lost (which I’ve recently become addicted to and watched voraciously for weeks on end).  I must have bought it before I started watching that show, because it never occurred to me before.  I suppose at some point you’d like me to actually tell you about the book I read?  If you insist.

I really enjoyed The Book of Illusions.  It is the story of a man who loses his wife and children when their plane (which he was not on) crashes.  He drinks and drifts for almost a year until he sees a clip from an old silent film on TV that actually makes him chuckle for the first time since their deaths.  He becomes a bit obsessed with the comedian in the film and decides to find and watch all the films he made.  In the process, he discovers the actor is alive and is invited to meet him.  It is a sad, powerful story about grief and guilt and the strange things it makes us do.

I liked the book for several reasons.  It is written almost completely in the first-person (as many of Auster’s books are) and the internal monologue rings true,  painting a vivid picture of David’s internal life.  The narrative is convincingly erratic (like the thought processes of a human being) without being inconsistent or difficult to follow. I love a story that takes the scenic road to get to the point and doesn’t always give you clear directions.  His descriptions of the movies he ‘sees’ are so rich, you feel as if you are watching the films with him.

Some of the themes embedded in this narrative are also favorites of mine – the mechanics of how and why stories work, and why they are important.  The conviction that we all write our own lives (stories), and therefore we can change our lives if we work hard enough.  Affirmation that – regardless of the present moment – the future always offers hope.  So it’s not surprising that I devoured the book and closed it feeling happy, uplifted and wishing I could write half as well.  He is never boring, never predictable, yet entirely convincing.

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Bad Bev

I’ve been a big slacker lately when it comes to keeping my blog up-to-date – partly because it’s no longer a part of my real job and partly because it was making reading feel like an obligation – like I was a bad girl if I didn’t blog about what I was reading.

Not reading is absolutely not an option – that would be akin to being cheerful in the morning or not drinking tea.  But not blogging – hell, that’s as easy as making toast.  To add to the fun, writing has always been a weird thing for me.  I love it, but the avoidance maneuvers I have in place make it difficult to be disciplined about getting it done – especially if there is no real ‘deadline.’  School papers, magazine articles, cover letters – these all come with built-in deadlines that force me to sit in front of the computer and shift gears from the Verbal Bev to the Written Bev. And the Written Bev is a happy girl, it’s just the gear-shifting that is a significant speed-bump.

I know this is yet another thing that – as a supposedly-mature adult – I should be doing.  That is, living up to my promises (not blogging; one need not be mature nor an adult to blog, and many a mature adult has made the cut without a blog to their name, phew!).  And I’m pretty good at living up to my promises and responsibilities – except when they are promises to myself, and responsibilities that affect only me.  No one gets fired if I don’t write, my ‘A’ is not in jeopardy if I go 10 days without updating my blog.  I just have to listen to the increasingly-irritated voice in my head that says I’m a loser for not doing it.  It’s the same voice that yells when I send birthday presents late and don’t call my mother.  I can ignore a certain level of bitching, but when the volume gets loud, something has to be done (and we all know I’m not going to call my mother).

So, to recap some things I’ve read lately – that I’ve decided in my all-powerful position as The-Boss-of-Me do not require a full write-up on this here fabulous blog:

I read the entire series of The Chronicles of the Cheysuli by Jennifer Roberson, borrowed from a fellow sci-fi fan and infinitely enjoyable.  The books tell the story of a magical race (the Cheysuli, of course) who have been persecuted and lost many of their powers. If they can fulfill the multi-generational prophesy, there will be peace and a return of powers they’ve lost.    No deep-thinking required here – like dessert for the hard-working brain.  The first book and the last two books were the best (there are eight total).

I re-read Jack of Kinrowan by Charles de Lint.  This is a two-book compilation of Jack the Giant-Killer and Drink Down the Moon.  JoK is a fun re-telling of the Jack and the Beanstalk fairy tale in a modern urban setting.  Not his greatest stuff, but – again – a good read.

I have also read The Book of Illusion and Outliers, but those deserve a space all their own, so look for them soon.

I apologize to those oodles of faithful readers out there who have come recently to BoB and been disappointed – but I can’t promise it won’t happen again.  I may be a slacker, but I’m not a liar.  Happy Reading!

What to read about what to eat

Many of you already know that I started paying close attention to what I eat a few years ago – and have become steadily more informed and therefore more picky about what I put in my mouth (take that one any way you like).  It started (of course!) with a $3 book, written in 1979 called (I believe) Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Nutrition, which has since disappeared from my collection.  Then I gave up beef because I had a craving I couldn’t get rid of. Then I read Fast Food Nation.  And on and on.  I told my son I would have to stop reading or I wouldn’t eat anything at all.  Thankfully, there are farmer’s markets, cool organic grocery for mindful eaters – such as New Seasons and Natural Pantry – and a growing awareness in the world, so I haven’t starved just yet.

I bring all this up because I read another book on the human-food relationship, this one called The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan, the author of In Defense of Food and other books, and the co-writer of the film Food, Inc with Eric Schlosser (author of Fast Food Nation).  What first surprised me about the book was the dilemma referred to in the title.

In Pollan’s mind, the current U. S. omnivore’s dilemma is too many choices and not enough history.  He’s not supporting the industrialization of the food supply – and he gives economic, gastric and nutritional reasons why – but he puts the current situation of fad diets and flip-flopping nutritional advice into a historical context.

Being an omnivore allowed us to flourish in difficult times, since we could eat so many different things.  But now the availability of so many different things all the time creates a different kind of obstacle.  Culture has always assisted us in making food choices, and it is the absence of a stable, universal culture in the U.S, coupled with the economical success our country enjoys, that make us vulnerable to the crazy food fads and yo-yoing advice on what to eat – much of that advice profit-driven, not health-driven at all.

I really liked the fact that Pollan is not on a fanatical crusade to indict the industrial food complex and those who eat from it. He approaches his research like a journalist and uses his personal experiences for description, not to sensationalize. He does not confuse exposition with indoctrination.  He doesn’t assume that his perspective is universal – he shares his experience and allows you to draw your own conclusions.  He works through the economic calculations with the reader before he shares the results of those equations.  And it’s only those kinds of details that he takes as facts to be applied universally.  Numbers are not subjective.  And if he includes expenses or other factors you don’t consider important or germane, you can see them and re-work the equations for yourself (not that there’s a math test or anything…).

What you get is a treatise on four different food chains – the industrial complex, the organic industrial complex, local and personal.  He puts together four meals, following each item from its origin to his plate, and takes you along with him.   This includes his very first hunt, mushroom gathering, a sustainable farm, the new large-scale organic operations, and the typical corn plant and slaughterhouse cow.  I’ve read a lot on this subject, and I’ve never seen anything this comprehensive, even-handed and enjoyable to read.

Read the book – it’s good for you.