Book 6: Pride and Prejudice

Pride and Prejudice (1813) by Jane Austen

It’s been about 2 months since I finished Pride and Prejudice, so I’ve lost some of the connectedness and enthusiasm that accompanies reading the book. That’s just the way things seem to go after you finish a book–the vivid memories recede and the book’s impacts attenuate until they flat line into some compact, long-term impression that stays with you. In the case of Pride and Prejudice–my first encounter with Jane Austen–what I’ve been left with is a deep, enduring fondness. It was definitely a good read. As a matter of fact, I vow to read a couple more Austen novels.

Now, if I put more energy into self-recollection I can start to remember why I have this lingering fondness for the book. I simply got caught up. Caught up in the plot and the games: Who will marry whom? What’s up with Mr Darcy’s behavior? What went wrong with Jane and Mr. Bingley? Caught up in sympathizing with characters. At times Elizabeth. Other times Mr. Darcy. Much of the time, Mr. Bennett. Caught up in loathing others. Austen makes it very easy to feel that way towards characters like Lydia, Mr. Collins, and Lady Catherine.

I suppose I could hardly have imagined that I’d get caught up in a love story set in 19th century England, wherein most of the time characters are just standing or sitting around doing seemingly nothing. I mean, on the surface, it’s simply just people continually inviting other people over to each others houses. Where’s the intrigue there? Plus, it’s a “chick book;” how can I relate or possibly find this interesting?

How naive.

Yes, it is about love, but what greater topic is there? And more than that, it’s also about making  decisions in a world with clearly defined rules, expectations and preconceptions. Although it seems like nothing is really happening on the surface, in actuality there is a complex game of observing, acting and positioning going on between the characters through their conversations and actions. When you’re immersed in this world and eventually pick up its rules, its easy to identify with the characters and get where they’re coming from. That means I don’t need to be a woman or part of the landed gentry in 19th century England to understand them.

Austen makes this world easily accessible through her writing. She strikes a balance with flowery and comedic in her prose. If 19th century English love stories are like shots of the harshest alcohol, she soothes and balances this harshness so that one is left with a most sweet and effervescent cocktail. It also helped that the book was divided into relatively short chapters. This moved things along so that there are really no lulls. Overall, I got through the book quickly and effortlessly. I did not want to put it down.

I suppose all of this is why this book is so popular and why it is often reread by fans. One simply gets caught up in Elizabeth’s world. The plot’s conflicts, misunderstandings and near-misses act as playful irritants that only heighten the effect of the book’s resolution–a resolution that is obvious, but steadfastly fulfilling. In the end, that’s much of why readers come back. And after 2 months, that’s why I still have a certain fondness for the book.

Book 5: The Sea Around Us

The Sea Around Us (1951) by Rachel Carson

Sometimes you get known for something and that becomes how people define you.  For me, in the cruel world of grade school it was Mr. Poopy Pants… but let’s not get into that. A better example is Eli Whitney… cotton gin.  What the hell is a cotton gin and who the hell was Eli Whitney in the first place!?!?  This man’s life has devolved into a Jeopardy answer (or should I say question) and 1 point on a high school U.S. history test.

But hey, it is a compliment as well. In the annals of history there have been scores of useful inventions and billions upon billions of humans beings.  Few of either are committed in any semblance to our long term memories. So Eli Whitney/cotton gin, stand proud! Same goes for you Soft Cell/Tainted Love!

I suppose in a similar manner–for many at least–Rachel Carson is solely synonymous with her most famous book Silent Spring, which put the spotlight on the effects of synthetic pesticides and helped launch the modern environmental movement. As a symbol of what can be a very politically polarizing subject, this association–Rachel Carson/Silent Spring–can get twisted into undue monstrosities and idolatries, derived from melodramatized disagreement or respect. I suppose that’s just the dangers and corrupting amplifying power of symbolism.

Prior to Silent Spring however, Carson was already a successful science and nature writer. As a New York Times Bestseller and winner of the National Book Award for Nonfiction, The Sea Around Us is a sterling example of this. In the book, Carson serves as a most eloquent docent of the oceans, explaining natural processes and illustrating the wonder of prehistoric and unexplored worlds. Unlike Silent Spring, where Carson is more defender of the environment and public health through argument and elucidation of negative effects, here Carson is more admirer-navigator of the seas.

To summarize the book’s topics would take pages and is beyond the scope of this post. Due to the vastness of subject matter, the book covers a lot of ground including the formation of the oceans, the topography of the ocean floor, the history of exploration, the movement of the seas (e.g. currents), and the differing habitats of marine life to name a few. Being published in 1951 (some chapters were serialized in the New Yorker prior to its publication as a book), some details may be dated by virtue of new research and theory. However, through its clarity and eloquence, its readability likely remains undiminished. Here’s a snippet from a chapter entitled The Long Snowfall describing the perpetual discharge of sediment to the ocean’s floor. :

“For the sediments are the materials of the most stupendous ‘snowfall’ the earth has ever seen. It began when the first rains fell on the barren rocks and set in motion the forces of erosion. It was accelerated when living creatures developed in the surface waters and the discarded little shells of lime or silica that had encased them in life began to drift downward to the bottom. Silently, endlessly, with the deliberation of earth processes that can afford to be slow because they have so much time for completion, the accumulation of the sediments has proceeded. So little in a year, or in a human lifetime, but so enormous an amount in the life of earth and sea.” (pages 75-76)

As someone who only knew a couple of isolated factoids about the ocean from past experiences, tangential information from school, and films like Finding Nemo, The Sea Around Us was a cohesive and excellent primer on the subject matter that simultaneously piqued and satiated my curiosity. I now know that much more about how the natural world around us works, yet I also better understand how little we actually do know, as there is a great deal that remains a mystery. Regardless, through expanding my knowledge of the world or by alerting me to the still unanswered questions, I have a greater appreciation for the mysterious and magnificent ocean. And for that I have to thank Rachel Carson/The Sea Around Us.

“When the church came to itself…”

Reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens right now. Being over 450 pages long, this could take a while. That being said, I am thoroughly enjoying the read so far. This is the first time I’ve read Dickens since I read A Tale of Two Cities in high school and that encounter barely qualifies as reading since I pretty much just blankly stared at text, skipped pages, and half-assed a reading journal–all within the span of an hour to boot!

I particularly like Dickens’ imagery.  Here are a couple passages that struck me:

• “The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself–for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my feet–when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously.” (page 4)

• “‘Mrs. Joe,’ said Uncle Pumblechook: a large hard-breathing, middle-aged slow man, with a mouth like a fish, dull staring eyes, and sandy hair standing upright on his head, so that he looked as if he had just been all but choked, and had that moment come to.” (page 24)

• “She was an orphan like myself; like me, too, had been brought up by the hand. She was most noticeable, I thought in respect of her extremities; for her hair always wanted brushing, her hands always wanted washing, and her shoes always wanted mending and pulling up at heel. This description must be received with a week-day limitation. On Sunday she went to church elaborated.” (page 43)

I can vividly imagine the characters and their movements in my head. The exaggerated imagery reminds me of old-time Looney Tunes cartoons. Awesome stuff.

Update – August 2013

I am so behind. Not with reading, but with writing. Since Mrs. Dalloway, I’ve finished six books… but haven’t had the time to fully flesh out journal entries.  Soon I’ll be at seven books once I finish Wild by Cheryl Strayed (which is for a local book club that I joined on a whim).

Here’s the bookshelf so far (with books that are finished but without an entry on here lying flat):

My Bookshelf – August 12, 2013

Here’s another pile of books I have laying around in my place (conveniently–but not intentionally–posed near my synthesizer and kettlebell weights to show how well-rounded I am):

I am a hoarder!!!

Here again is the closet of the spare room freshly restocked from a couple trips to various Goodwills, library book sales, and the Last Bookstore:

Hoarder!

Anyways, just wanted to do an update.  I have been busy reading.  New posts to come soon!

Book 4: Mrs Dalloway

Mrs Dalloway (1925) by Virginia Woolf

“I’ve never seen so many semicolons in my life,” was one of the first things that I thought as I was reading Mrs Dalloway. Woolf’s penchant of stringing together a bunch of clauses, the collective effect of which is compounded with each additional clause, can be jarring for someone not accustomed to “modern” novels. However, the skill with which this running-on is employed makes the end product easily digestible; palatable even.

I usually get sleepy with books like this.  My short-term memory reaches its capacity. My mind starts to wander. Focus shifts from the prose on paper to my afternoon activities, what I will have for dinner, mischievous scheming, the meaning of life, the correct way of wiping oneself with toilet paper–front to back or back to front. My eyes scan the words but don’t process them, for processing has been shut off two or three paragraphs ago. The printed words merely visual noise as the cacophony of tangential thoughts dance in the foreground.

I guess the fact that I was able to easily focus on Mrs Dalloway shows that I have grown as a reader. I stumble on less words; need to reference the dictionary less (though still quite often). As you read more and more, you get accustomed to things. Descriptions are more easily understood. Differing rhythms and styles of prose no longer novel. In some respect it’s like appreciating certain mathematical subjects: you need to internalize rudimentary arithmetic and algebra before calculus problems become simple and elegant, as opposed to an exercise in recursively referencing old proofs and postulates.

Or it could also indicate that my focus has improved. I go into books with a clearer mind, and a clearer intention and motivation to read. Maybe the external stresses in my life aren’t like they were before. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve learned how to deal with them better. Whatever the case, the interaction between my mind and the pages is operating more smoothly. Rather than my inconsequential thoughts spilling over into the page, the book’s story, ideas, and emotions are flowing into and germinating in my mind.

Some quick points about the book since I don’t want to make this post too long:

• The layering of detail in the book is beautiful. Woolf’s long descriptions give the depth of nuance and history to the characters.
• This layering is also accomplished by looking at the same event or same period of time through multiple perspectives.  This is introduced early on in the book as Clarissa Dalloway walks the London streets to do shopping and Woolf seamlessly shifts the focus and perspective to the different characters (mostly minor) in the scene. On a larger scale, Clarissa’s dinner party is the big event of the book, and Woolf shifts between the thoughts, activities, and feelings of different attendees leading up to and during this event.
• The cover illustration (by Susan Gallagher) of my copy of Mrs Dalloway is eerily well done. I remember a couple of times darting back to the cover of my book after reading one of Woolf’s descriptions of the title character’s appearance and demeanor and being immediately struck.
• I think I am equally vexed and intrigued by the dinner parties of this time period and social class.

Book 3: A Farewell to Arms

A Farewell to Arms (1929) by Ernest Hemingway

There is a sense of inevitability in A Farewell to Arms.  As Lieutenant Henry’s courtship of Catherine Barkley proceeds so simply; as the collective feelings towards the war turns sour so abruptly; and as Lieutenant Henry’s escape from the front (by foot, river current, and rail) back to Catherine and then safely to Switzerland goes so perfectly—there is a sense, as one notices the pages dwindling down and sees things proceeding too uneventfully, that, just like in the hopeless war, triumphs are short-lived and, ultimately, reality will fatally strike our characters as a matter of course.

This inevitably is to a great extent due to Hemingway’s writing style, which is direct and economical.  The narrative does not get sidetracked with flourishes of rhetorical bravado or tangential stream-of-consciousness. Even dialogue between characters tends to be efficient, with the characters speaking in a manner congruent to Hemingway’s writing (i.e. terse). Instead of probing the minds of characters and entering the infinite world of thoughts, conflicting motivations, and memories, Hemingway focuses on the resulting end product of such processes.

This focus does not mean that Hemingway merely leaves the reader with the worthless husks of the novel’s characters. The end products of internal processes are actually the seed from which things happen.  They are the choices ultimately made. What is said as opposed to what is thought.  Man’s interaction with his environment. In the real world, these are the only things that we can look at in others to judge their character.

However, a byproduct of this is the feeling that the characters are automations. Perhaps the strings of fate are pulling them along. Or perhaps they are acting in accord with an algorithm precisely attuned to their personality and circumstances. Whatever the case, a sense of inevitability pervades.

Book 2: The Social Animal

The Social Animal: The Hidden Sources of Love, Character, and Achievement (2011) by David Brooks

The non-fiction, pop science Malcolm Gladwell genre.  It weaves peer reviewed research and striking data into some perspective-altering thesis.  It’s a potent cocktail; a New York Times Bestseller List tour de force that hits multiple audiences.  For business management types, its big picture insight is a natural pheromone: 200 or some odd pages just waiting to be mined and converted into some in vogue management mantra. For self-help/self-improvement seekers, it is a veiled source of therapy–not as blatant or effective as something like How to Win Friends & Influence People, but definitely not as embarrassing to be spotted with either.  For the general population, it’s interesting conversation material.  Something to draw upon or get an opinion on when amongst friends or on a date.

The Social Animal is sort of like a compilation of several books in the aforementioned genre.  It doesn’t have that one perspective-altering theme, but instead relies on a narrative of a fictional married couple, Harold and Erica, as a canvas to cite studies and research that demonstrate how humans truly act.  Taking the reader from birth to death of these fictional characters and jumping from topic to topic makes the book a bit exhaustive. Still, there are some really interesting chapters (which would probably greatly vary from reader to reader depending on where one’s interests lie).

Surprisingly, I was able to get attached to the Harold and Erica characters. They are in a sense hollow, composite beings whose lives were shaped by sterile experiments and statistically significant relations in the real world. They are mere vehicles for the author to cite psychologists like Kahneman and Tversky.  They are tools.  But is this really that much different from characters in literature? I don’t think it is.  However mechanical it may be and regardless how pedantic the asides explaining human behavior are, journeying with these characters from childhood to old age made me care for them.

Book 1: Siddhartha

Siddhartha (1922) by Hermann Hesse

I read Siddhartha a couple weeks ago as the first book in this reading journey.  I started with this novel for a couple of reasons:

1. It’s a relatively quick read.  The small Bantam Classics paperback copy that I have is only 152 pages.
2. I have heard great things about it.
3. I have been really interested in Buddhism the past year or so–e.g. visiting a temple, watching documentaries, listening to talks by Ajahn Brahm on youtube (he’s a relatively famous monk who heads a monastery in Western Australia).
4. I was sucked in by the story after only a couple of pages.

—

One aspect of the novel that particularly caught my attention was the juxtaposition of the title character’s search for enlightenment with the path taken by the Buddha, Gotama. (NOTE: Gotama appears to be a representation of the historical Gautama Buddha, also known by the name Siddhartha Gautama.) In particular, I was struck by a conversation Siddhartha has with Gotama after the two meet. Siddhartha recognizes that Gotama has achieved the enlightenment that he himself is trying to achieve, but objects to the idea that following Gotama’s teachings would be the correct path for him.  As he explains to Gotama:

“‘I have not spoken to you thus to quarrel with you about words. You are right when you say that opinions mean little,  but may I say one thing more. I did not doubt you for one moment. Not for one moment did I doubt that you were the Buddha, that you have reached the highest goal which so many thousands of Brahmins and Brahmins’ sons are striving to reach. You have done so by your own seeking, in your own way, through thought, through meditation, through knowledge, through enlightenment. You have learned nothing through teachings, and so I think, O Illustrious One, that nobody finds salvation through teachings. To nobody, O Illustrious One, can you communicate in words and teachings what happened to you in the hour of your enlightenment. The teachings of the enlightened Buddha embrace much, they teach much–how to live righteously, how to avoid evil. But there is one thing that this clear, worthy instruction does not contain; it does not contain the secret of what the Illustrious One himself experienced–he alone among hundreds of thousands. That is what I thought and realized when I heard your teachings. That is why I am going on my own way–not to seek another and better doctrine, for I know there is none, but to leave all doctrines and all teachers and to reach my goal alone–or die.'” (pages 33-34)

How I understood this passage is that Siddhartha is positing an answer to a simple, but important question: can wisdom gained through personal experience be taught and perfectly transmitted to others?

Say there was a famously successful businessman (or businesswoman) that achieved enlightenment.  Just to make things more tangible, let’s say that this modern Buddha was Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg.  Could this Illustrious One condense her experiences into a book (with a promotional tour that includes a 60 Minutes piece) to teach others how to achieve enlightenment? And, more importantly, would solely and completely following such a venerable tome be the correct path to enlightenment for any reader?  (To be fair, Sandberg is only writing to offer some advice, not indoctrinate a new generation of superwomen. Secondly, most reasonable persons would not follow a book’s advice to a T and disregard their own experiences and other sources–though some people treat holy books this way.)

—

Say in the future there is a computer scientist Buddha: one who has achieved enlightenment, yet is a superstar programmer and designer.  Can this Illustrious One make a program that condenses his realizations into a set of instructions that a common person can download into their brain (because in the future people would be able to directly download instructions, data, and routines into their brains) and would allow the common person to achieve enlightenment as well?  I think, if you extend Siddhartha’s argument to this scenario, the answer would be no.

Now say that in the future there is a chemist Buddha who works for Big Pharma. Not relying on his actual experiences that allowed him to reach enlightenment, but rather by using his exemplary chemistry skills, would he be able to create a cocktail of drugs that allows others to achieve the enlightened state that he experiences (i.e. the user’s brain perfectly matches the electrical and biochemical properties of the chemist Buddha’s  brain)?  Between Comp Sci Buddha and Chem Buddha, which hypothetical invention made for others to achieve enlightenment seems more plausible or sound? If pressed, I think Siddhartha would ultimately side with Chem Buddha’s method since it does not rely on a “path” that is only meaningful to the individual who discovered and experienced it.

My Bookshelf – July 10, 2013

Introduction – About this Blog

I have an odd relationship with books.  I cherish the knowledge and wisdom that they contain.  I appreciate the significance of particular works with respect to the development of human thought and expression–to the point that I elevate some works to the status of sacred scripture.  At book stores both virtual and of the brick-and-mortar variety, I spend way too much money.  Yet in spite of all this appreciation, reverence, and money-unloading, I’m not well read at all.  I’ve probably read maybe a 3-foot shelf’s worth of books (and that’s including required school reading).

I have a bunch of classics, bestsellers, and other books that have piqued my interest at one-time-or-another laying around my house, my office cubicle, and my parent’s house.  Most at least 95% unread.  They’re great decoration.  Good conversation pieces.  Because of their variety, a splendid, perhaps OCD-ish, display of hollow eclecticism.

Here are the books in the closet of my spare room.

I want to read them.  However, I typically divert my attention away from a book following its acquisition.  It doesn’t seem economical or rational  when one spends more time reading about a book that one is to buy, than time actually reading the purchased book.

Furthermore, not only do I want to read, I want to write as well.  Sadly, this latter pursuit is riddled with the same passivity, procrastination, and inattention as the former.

So that brings me to the thrust of this post and the objective of this blog:  This is my attempt to get active with reading and writing.  I will read books and write blog entries.  One entry per book.  A simple plan, a simple road.

For now I realize that these things and activities that I value should be given the proper attention.  For these things that I hold reverent, this road is the start of my lifelong pilgrimage.