Of the twenty three books I completed reading in 2014, three were nonfiction. That is well above average for me, as most the nonfiction I read is magazine or newspaper articles. I seldom complete reading nonfiction books, although I will pick them up and browse, reading a paragraph here and occasionally a full chapter. But it was a year of reflection for me, and those books I completed were ones which made me think and reflect on life and friendship.
I started reading Change Your Brain, Change Your Life by Daniel G Amen four years ago on the recommendation of my bishop, and finally finished it early this year. Did it "change my life"? Well, not by itself. But it did encourage me to look at things differently than I had, and helped me to understand things in ways I hadn't understood them before. It is a book about brain chemistry, how the different aspects of the brain should work and how they actually do, when not being adversely altered by physical trauma, injury, poor nutrition, abuse, or either substance or behavioral addictions. For the most part, it is written for the layman, only occasionally growing too clinical. Dr. Amen begins the book by describing the different systems of the brain: the limbic system, the basal ganglia, the prefrontal cortex, the cingulate system, the temporal lobes, what they do, and what happens to you when any of those systems are over or under stimulated. Sometimes these systems overlap, so it could be one or more system out of whack causing a particular problem of anxiety, anger, depression, or destructive thought patterns or behaviors. Case studies of his patients are used as examples, and "prescriptions" are given: medicinal, nutritional, and thought exercises, to help heal your self, as well as when to seek professional help. It all makes for an interesting read. The major premise is this: You are not stuck with the brain you were born with, nor are you stuck with the brain you have been given through injury or abuse or addiction. It is, for the most part, a positive message: that you are in charge, no matter how difficult it seems, and you can change.
Madeleine L'Engle has long been one of my favorite fiction authors, and had read excerpts from a number of her books on religion and her Crosswicks journals, but had never read one cover to cover. This spring I picked up The Rock That Is Higher: Story As Truth. She wrote the book following a car accident in 1991, and she talks about the power of story in our lives. Using examples of well known literature, examples from her own works, and many examples from the scriptures, she illustrates how story shapes and affects our lives, how it shapes, molds, transforms our lives. She talks about how stories are true even if not necessarily factual. I loved this book. I loved it for its discussion of religious and spiritual principles, although I did not always agree with her conclusions. And I loved it for something I saw in the narrative, which I did not see mentioned in any of the reviews I read of the book after reading the book itself: it was, for me, an examination of the creative process. And for that reason I would recommend it to any writer or artist, singer, painter - anyone wanting to give their creative juices a few extra volts.
A Grief Observed was written by C. S. Lewis following the death of his wife, when he had a severe crisis of faith and experienced crushing doubt about everything he held dear. It is a short book, a mere 76 pages in the edition I read, but it packs a powerful punch. Being originally a journal not intended for publication (only years later did he decide the reflections he made during his journey might help others), there is no sugar coating in his thoughts. At times he rails against God, and that might make some readers uncomfortable. We are taught, if not from the pulpit then at least by friends, family and even society, not to doubt our faith, not to question it. But question he did, decry it he did, lambaste it he did. And then, honestly examine it he did, recognizing how his previous faith had been, in his own words, a house of cards. I had half-read it years earlier, a quick perusal before turning it over to a friend who had lost a loved one. I picked it up this year, reasoning that there are other things we grieve over than the death of loved ones, and hoping it would bring me some measure of peace. It did just that. It brought me a great deal of peace and comfort, and although I was not looking for it (or I might chickened out and not read it), brought me to an examination of my own faith, which I hadn't realized I was beginning to doubt. And it earned a spot on my "favorites" bookshelf, something which doesn't often happen with nonfiction.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Snacks in the Mail!
There are three things I really really enjoy getting in the mail. They are, not necessarily in order of importance, letters from loved ones, books, and... food. Online grocers, fresh fruit straight from the groves, and snacky items.
Last summer I stumbled upon Nature Box. For twenty bucks a month I could get five "full sized" nutritious snacks delivered to me, and the first box was half price. I spend that much or more every month on munchies anyway so I thought I could give it a try. The day after I signed up I started getting Facebook invites and friends telling me in person about it. One could almost think it a conspiracy, that these guys are suddenly everywhere.
At five in a box for twenty dollars, unless math has changed recently, that's four dollars a bag. The quality of the snacks is what you would find buying snacks at Sprouts Market or Whole Foods. There are no trans-fats nor high fructose corn sweetener. Many are vegan friendly. Some are good but not four dollar good. Others are well worth the price. Whole grain fig bars, chia crackers, nut and fruit mixes, etc. I was considering dropping the service; the snacks were different every month but I didn't get to chose and so I received a few snacks that I didn't care for. None were bad, but some were not worth the price even considering the wholesome ingredients. But last month they made a great change: you can log on to your account and make substitutions for snacks you prefer. Naturally I chose more chocolate.
Recently I did a web search for other monthly snack deliveries. Nature Box has got their marketing down pat, but they are not the only ones on the block. For the most part, the prices are the same, twenty dollars and up a month. There are some which deliver your ordinary every day junk foods, but unless you were merely trying to limit yourself to what comes in that monthly box, I don't think this is a better deal than plugging money into the office vending machine every day. Plus, the YouTube videos showing people unpacking their first box didn't encourage me: the boxes were filled with junk foods which are popular in some circles, but not appealing to me. Myself, I will stick with the nutritious snacks: there are plenty to chose from. One could easily go broke trying them all.
So I selected just a few to try. If twenty a month is outside your budget or if you don't get the munchies every day (I find that hard to relate to!) there are two offering smaller packages for as little as six dollars a month, with the option of deliveries monthly, every other week, or weekly. Do the math and you see some clever marketing: weekly delivery comes to twenty four dollars a month for smaller snacks, so in that regard Nature Box is the better deal. Graze and Nibblr each deliver four "portion controlled" snacks of nuts, dried fruit, whole grain crackers and the like. The portions are about the size of a vending machine snack, so at six dollars a delivery, about the same cost as four trips to the vending machine, maybe a little more (but after all, delivered to you!) I found the snacks in each -- arranged in four trays inside a box slender enough to fit most mailboxes -- tasty and of higher quality than standard vending machine munchies. Of the two I've preferred the Graze snacks, especially the clever combinations such as "Key Lime Pie" (sponge cake pieces, lime infused raisins and dried meringue pieces). On the other hand, you have to go to their website for full ingredients lists (why, I don't know) while the Nibblr snacks have them on the package label. A trip to the health food store's bulk foods section would be far more economical, if less convenient, but these are fun to try. I could see these as a fun gift, and they offer gift subscriptions. Who doesn't like opening their mail box and finding a box of food from a friend?
There are many other subscription boxes I've yet to try. There are junk food options, international candy options, gluten free and paleo diet - you name it, it's probably out there, and if it's not there are websites with instructions on how to start your own company. There are monthly clubs (most of which require a three month commitment at $50 to $100 a month) for artisan cheeses, chocolates and bacon. Bacon of the month club! I kid you not. But I think it will be a while before I try that. While I love the idea, I'm only one person, and that's a lot of cabbage for some cheddar, a lot of bread for some bacon, a lot of smackers for a few snackers. Now stop groaning at my puns and go check them out.
Last summer I stumbled upon Nature Box. For twenty bucks a month I could get five "full sized" nutritious snacks delivered to me, and the first box was half price. I spend that much or more every month on munchies anyway so I thought I could give it a try. The day after I signed up I started getting Facebook invites and friends telling me in person about it. One could almost think it a conspiracy, that these guys are suddenly everywhere.
At five in a box for twenty dollars, unless math has changed recently, that's four dollars a bag. The quality of the snacks is what you would find buying snacks at Sprouts Market or Whole Foods. There are no trans-fats nor high fructose corn sweetener. Many are vegan friendly. Some are good but not four dollar good. Others are well worth the price. Whole grain fig bars, chia crackers, nut and fruit mixes, etc. I was considering dropping the service; the snacks were different every month but I didn't get to chose and so I received a few snacks that I didn't care for. None were bad, but some were not worth the price even considering the wholesome ingredients. But last month they made a great change: you can log on to your account and make substitutions for snacks you prefer. Naturally I chose more chocolate.
Recently I did a web search for other monthly snack deliveries. Nature Box has got their marketing down pat, but they are not the only ones on the block. For the most part, the prices are the same, twenty dollars and up a month. There are some which deliver your ordinary every day junk foods, but unless you were merely trying to limit yourself to what comes in that monthly box, I don't think this is a better deal than plugging money into the office vending machine every day. Plus, the YouTube videos showing people unpacking their first box didn't encourage me: the boxes were filled with junk foods which are popular in some circles, but not appealing to me. Myself, I will stick with the nutritious snacks: there are plenty to chose from. One could easily go broke trying them all.
So I selected just a few to try. If twenty a month is outside your budget or if you don't get the munchies every day (I find that hard to relate to!) there are two offering smaller packages for as little as six dollars a month, with the option of deliveries monthly, every other week, or weekly. Do the math and you see some clever marketing: weekly delivery comes to twenty four dollars a month for smaller snacks, so in that regard Nature Box is the better deal. Graze and Nibblr each deliver four "portion controlled" snacks of nuts, dried fruit, whole grain crackers and the like. The portions are about the size of a vending machine snack, so at six dollars a delivery, about the same cost as four trips to the vending machine, maybe a little more (but after all, delivered to you!) I found the snacks in each -- arranged in four trays inside a box slender enough to fit most mailboxes -- tasty and of higher quality than standard vending machine munchies. Of the two I've preferred the Graze snacks, especially the clever combinations such as "Key Lime Pie" (sponge cake pieces, lime infused raisins and dried meringue pieces). On the other hand, you have to go to their website for full ingredients lists (why, I don't know) while the Nibblr snacks have them on the package label. A trip to the health food store's bulk foods section would be far more economical, if less convenient, but these are fun to try. I could see these as a fun gift, and they offer gift subscriptions. Who doesn't like opening their mail box and finding a box of food from a friend?
There are many other subscription boxes I've yet to try. There are junk food options, international candy options, gluten free and paleo diet - you name it, it's probably out there, and if it's not there are websites with instructions on how to start your own company. There are monthly clubs (most of which require a three month commitment at $50 to $100 a month) for artisan cheeses, chocolates and bacon. Bacon of the month club! I kid you not. But I think it will be a while before I try that. While I love the idea, I'm only one person, and that's a lot of cabbage for some cheddar, a lot of bread for some bacon, a lot of smackers for a few snackers. Now stop groaning at my puns and go check them out.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Free Will and Dystopia
Although it seems pretty obvious to me now, I realized last week for
what I think was the first time that a common theme in dystopian
literature, especially young adult dystopian literature, is the
principle of agency, or free will. Someone, usually the government,
hinders the basic right to choose for one's self, sometimes masking the
restrictions under the guise of a greater freedom. But personal agency is still hindered and the novel's protagonists come to realize that their society isn't as well ordered, kind or ideal as they've grown up believing. And our protagonists become reluctant heroes in the overthrow of their oppressive regimes, or at least in waking people up to the fact that things aren't so grand.
Wikipedia hosts a no-doubt incomplete list of dystopian literature by decade from the 18th century forward. Does it say something about our current society that there are listed a dozen novels in the entire nineteenth century, and every decade since the 1930s had at least that many per decade? That in the first decade of the twenty-first century there were over four dozen dystopian novels published? Or that in our current decade there are nearly three dozen so far (and we're not halfway through)? Or -- perhaps the biggest concern of all -- that in this century the vast majority of those bleak futuristic societies were written for teens and preteens? Why the increase? Is it just a fad? A look though Amazon.com will yield a far greater number of these tales than the Wikipedia list, if one counts all the free or dollar priced ebooks. Still, the numbers are increasing so I don't think this trend can be written off as merely a fad.
Last year I read a couple of different articles pondering the question of how much violence is too much violence in young adult literature - and the movies which eventually are spawned by these books. It's not exactly a new question. I grew up on Saturday morning cartoons and I remember hearing that debate as a child. No matter how many Road Runner cartoons I watched I never had the desire to drop an anvil on some poor bird's head, and although I might have sometimes wished to bop the noggins of various bad guys, I knew Batman and Superman never bopped anyone who didn't deserve it, and they didn't continue hitting once the bad guy started seeing stars.
There's no doubt the violence of The Hunger Games is extreme and no one seriously claims that children killing children is not, at the very least, unsettling. Is it "right" to write about such things for children? Do these types of stories increase aggression and desensitize our youth to the value of human life? I don't think such questions have simple yes-or-no answers. Nor do I think it is easy to say how much art imitates life or life imitates art. We live in a violent world, and we always have. These stories aren't simply visions of horrific futures, either the blatantly obvious horrors or the thinly disguised "more enlightened" societies they pretend to be. One of the characteristics of dystopian literature is social commentary on the time in which is is written. That thought truly makes me wonder about the plethora of these tales; have we become so cynical we can only see the bad in our society and imagine all the ways it can get worse? Or are we becoming more aware than ever before, and more willing to discuss the ills which we see?
One of the reasons I enjoy young adult fiction more than most adult fiction is the honesty with which it is written. Another reason is the hope with which it is written. Perhaps I've read the wrong books - but of those I've read, the characters in "adult" dystopian novels end up giving up -- and society is no better at the end of the tale than at the beginning. I don't need sunshine and lollipops in the books I read, but if I read a murder mystery, I expect the killer to have been caught and brought to justice when I close the book. And I expect there to be at least a glimmer of hope for the future when I close the book of a dystopian novel, even the first part of a trilogy, such as Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games trilogy or Veronica Roth's Divergent trilogy. 1984 and Brave New World ended as bleakly as they began, with the adults protagonists losing their battle with their oppressive societies (and in the case of 1984, being happy about it.) Oh, Fahrenheit 451 and The Time Machine ended on the upbeat, but those are it for the adult fiction I've read in that genre. (I'll happily take any suggestions.) What I like about the bleak fiction of the young adult market is simply it's not so bleak. Despite the violence, despite the visions of society gone wrong, there is reason to hope that things are going to get better -- because the heroes in these tales -- kids -- don't capitulate like their adult counterparts do.
The world Veronica Roth draws in her Divergent series, is, as many dystopias, the post-apocalyptic result of possibly well-intentioned attempts to rebuild society after we screwed it up. Humans being as they are, they still didn't get it right. A hundred years after a war, the city of Chicago is fenced off from the rest of the world -- it's unclear how much of a world there is outside of Chicago (perhaps that is shown more in the sequels; I do not know and have resisted researching too much in case I wish to someday read those sequels). The society is divided into five "factions" -- which I saw as mini societies within the larger society -- and each of these factions is structured to think and perform according to set patterns based upon the virtues they define themselves by. At age sixteen an aptitude tests is administered to determine where each individual is best suited to remain for the rest of their lives. Regardless of the aptitude test results, people are -- supposedly -- free to choose their new faction or remain in the one they were born into. But once the choice is made, you're stuck with it, unless you fail the tests given by your new faction, and are cast out into the "Factionless", i.e., dregs of society, the grunts, the poor, the unwanted. Free will only goes so far in this society.
The five factions are Abnegation, or the Selfless, to which Tris and her brother are born into but both turn away from on Choosing Day; Amity, the Peaceful; Candor, the Honest; Erudite, the Intelligent; and Dauntless, the Brave. Tris joins the Dauntless, who originally were intended to be society's protectors, but they've grown cruel under current leadership. Her brother joins the Erudite, whose seeking of knowledge has turned them arrogant and power hungry under their current leadership. It shouldn't be a plot spoiler (and I apologize if it is) that Tris falls in love with her instructor, a boy only two years older than she, who sees the flaws in not only his own faction but in the others, and dreams of a greater unity. He also discerns Tris's secret, and he's not the only one to do so. Tris's aptitude test reveals she is Divergent, which means that she has a greater capacity to exercise free will than most people do. And the government doesn't like that.
Divergent is, for the most part, a believable society, although I do wonder what's outside of Chicago and wonder if I need to read the next two books to find out. And some of the dialog I found was too present-day and did not gel with how I believe this society would think and speak. Nothing major, but those bits were still a distraction. Taken as a whole, I can believe a society set up with the intention of the betterment of all by separating people into their factions according to there inherent gifts and dispositions. But human beings are creatures of free will and taking that away is going to cause problems, and I think the author develops those problems at a believable pace and with flawed characters the reader can grow to love and villains the reader doesn't feel necessarily guilty for hating.
The violence in the worlds of both the Hunger Games and Divergent is about equal, portrayed differently and for different purposes, but about equal. Whether it is too much for either the adult or the teen reader is a great deal up to the reader's tolerance for violence and acceptance of how it tells the story. As I've said, dystopias are part social commentary. I don't think we should sell short today's youth; they see real life violence around them every day and like us adults, often feel powerless to do anything about it. And one more thing I like about young adult dystopian fiction: the protagonists understand their choices have consequences, and they learn and grow by making those choices, both good and bad. And maybe the readers of these tales can take those lessons their fictional heroes learned and apply them to real life situations -- and possibly prevent these dystopias from becoming reality.
Divergent
The Hunger Games
Wikipedia hosts a no-doubt incomplete list of dystopian literature by decade from the 18th century forward. Does it say something about our current society that there are listed a dozen novels in the entire nineteenth century, and every decade since the 1930s had at least that many per decade? That in the first decade of the twenty-first century there were over four dozen dystopian novels published? Or that in our current decade there are nearly three dozen so far (and we're not halfway through)? Or -- perhaps the biggest concern of all -- that in this century the vast majority of those bleak futuristic societies were written for teens and preteens? Why the increase? Is it just a fad? A look though Amazon.com will yield a far greater number of these tales than the Wikipedia list, if one counts all the free or dollar priced ebooks. Still, the numbers are increasing so I don't think this trend can be written off as merely a fad.
Last year I read a couple of different articles pondering the question of how much violence is too much violence in young adult literature - and the movies which eventually are spawned by these books. It's not exactly a new question. I grew up on Saturday morning cartoons and I remember hearing that debate as a child. No matter how many Road Runner cartoons I watched I never had the desire to drop an anvil on some poor bird's head, and although I might have sometimes wished to bop the noggins of various bad guys, I knew Batman and Superman never bopped anyone who didn't deserve it, and they didn't continue hitting once the bad guy started seeing stars.
There's no doubt the violence of The Hunger Games is extreme and no one seriously claims that children killing children is not, at the very least, unsettling. Is it "right" to write about such things for children? Do these types of stories increase aggression and desensitize our youth to the value of human life? I don't think such questions have simple yes-or-no answers. Nor do I think it is easy to say how much art imitates life or life imitates art. We live in a violent world, and we always have. These stories aren't simply visions of horrific futures, either the blatantly obvious horrors or the thinly disguised "more enlightened" societies they pretend to be. One of the characteristics of dystopian literature is social commentary on the time in which is is written. That thought truly makes me wonder about the plethora of these tales; have we become so cynical we can only see the bad in our society and imagine all the ways it can get worse? Or are we becoming more aware than ever before, and more willing to discuss the ills which we see?
One of the reasons I enjoy young adult fiction more than most adult fiction is the honesty with which it is written. Another reason is the hope with which it is written. Perhaps I've read the wrong books - but of those I've read, the characters in "adult" dystopian novels end up giving up -- and society is no better at the end of the tale than at the beginning. I don't need sunshine and lollipops in the books I read, but if I read a murder mystery, I expect the killer to have been caught and brought to justice when I close the book. And I expect there to be at least a glimmer of hope for the future when I close the book of a dystopian novel, even the first part of a trilogy, such as Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games trilogy or Veronica Roth's Divergent trilogy. 1984 and Brave New World ended as bleakly as they began, with the adults protagonists losing their battle with their oppressive societies (and in the case of 1984, being happy about it.) Oh, Fahrenheit 451 and The Time Machine ended on the upbeat, but those are it for the adult fiction I've read in that genre. (I'll happily take any suggestions.) What I like about the bleak fiction of the young adult market is simply it's not so bleak. Despite the violence, despite the visions of society gone wrong, there is reason to hope that things are going to get better -- because the heroes in these tales -- kids -- don't capitulate like their adult counterparts do.
The world Veronica Roth draws in her Divergent series, is, as many dystopias, the post-apocalyptic result of possibly well-intentioned attempts to rebuild society after we screwed it up. Humans being as they are, they still didn't get it right. A hundred years after a war, the city of Chicago is fenced off from the rest of the world -- it's unclear how much of a world there is outside of Chicago (perhaps that is shown more in the sequels; I do not know and have resisted researching too much in case I wish to someday read those sequels). The society is divided into five "factions" -- which I saw as mini societies within the larger society -- and each of these factions is structured to think and perform according to set patterns based upon the virtues they define themselves by. At age sixteen an aptitude tests is administered to determine where each individual is best suited to remain for the rest of their lives. Regardless of the aptitude test results, people are -- supposedly -- free to choose their new faction or remain in the one they were born into. But once the choice is made, you're stuck with it, unless you fail the tests given by your new faction, and are cast out into the "Factionless", i.e., dregs of society, the grunts, the poor, the unwanted. Free will only goes so far in this society.
The five factions are Abnegation, or the Selfless, to which Tris and her brother are born into but both turn away from on Choosing Day; Amity, the Peaceful; Candor, the Honest; Erudite, the Intelligent; and Dauntless, the Brave. Tris joins the Dauntless, who originally were intended to be society's protectors, but they've grown cruel under current leadership. Her brother joins the Erudite, whose seeking of knowledge has turned them arrogant and power hungry under their current leadership. It shouldn't be a plot spoiler (and I apologize if it is) that Tris falls in love with her instructor, a boy only two years older than she, who sees the flaws in not only his own faction but in the others, and dreams of a greater unity. He also discerns Tris's secret, and he's not the only one to do so. Tris's aptitude test reveals she is Divergent, which means that she has a greater capacity to exercise free will than most people do. And the government doesn't like that.
Divergent is, for the most part, a believable society, although I do wonder what's outside of Chicago and wonder if I need to read the next two books to find out. And some of the dialog I found was too present-day and did not gel with how I believe this society would think and speak. Nothing major, but those bits were still a distraction. Taken as a whole, I can believe a society set up with the intention of the betterment of all by separating people into their factions according to there inherent gifts and dispositions. But human beings are creatures of free will and taking that away is going to cause problems, and I think the author develops those problems at a believable pace and with flawed characters the reader can grow to love and villains the reader doesn't feel necessarily guilty for hating.
The violence in the worlds of both the Hunger Games and Divergent is about equal, portrayed differently and for different purposes, but about equal. Whether it is too much for either the adult or the teen reader is a great deal up to the reader's tolerance for violence and acceptance of how it tells the story. As I've said, dystopias are part social commentary. I don't think we should sell short today's youth; they see real life violence around them every day and like us adults, often feel powerless to do anything about it. And one more thing I like about young adult dystopian fiction: the protagonists understand their choices have consequences, and they learn and grow by making those choices, both good and bad. And maybe the readers of these tales can take those lessons their fictional heroes learned and apply them to real life situations -- and possibly prevent these dystopias from becoming reality.
Divergent
The Hunger Games
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
The Long Winter -and- The Long Winter
Winter is here. The air is gelid, the wind is brumal. I have a good coat, hat, gloves, scarf and boots which protect me from the worst of the weather as I commute to work via public transportation, which requires a great deal of walking and waiting in single digit and subzero temperatures and a couple of days with wind chill thrown in just for kicks. Protected from the elements or not, I don't much care for winter, even the mild ones Colorado typically has. After a fairly mild, if wetter than usual December, January turned cold, warmed a little toward the end, and then February came in determined to show January a thing or too. In my memory, February is generally colder anyway, March and April wetter. I know the routine. But I still don't like it.
I don't mind reading about it, however. Last year, when it was supposed to be springtime, we had one snow after another. They weren't horrendous snows. Just one after another, and springtime didn't seem interested in making an appearance. And I was probably more acutely aware of it because I had picked up Laura Ingalls Wilder's 1940 novel The Long Winter. Wilder herself admitted the novels based upon her childhood were historical fiction, and in the interest of storytelling, she combined characters and moved events around. The Long Winter, however, is considered by historians and biographers to be less fiction than her other books, with only a couple exceptions, one of which being the duration and frequency of the storms described in the book.
Laura is 14 in the fall of 1880 and winter arrives early to the town of De Smet, Dakota Territory. There were a higher than usual number of blizzards that season and winter lasted through April 1881. Wilder describes the events of that winter through the eyes of a fourteen year old and the relentless winter becomes as much a character in the tale as she herself, her family and the townspeople. Some storms lasted for days, snow went up to rooflines, cattle froze to death standing in the field. Fuel and food became scarce when trains couldn't get in to town. Laura and friends get lost in a blinding blizzard and would have walked out of Main Street unto the open prairie and perished had Laura not bumped into the last building. Pa and other men from town travel a great distance in an unsuccessful attempt to dig out a train, and the railroad eventual shuts down all trains. Later, when already meager food supplies have run so scarce many of the townspeople would probably starve, Almonzo Wilder, whom Laura would grow up to marry, and his friend Cap Garland set out inbetween blizzards in search of a store of wheat rumored to be an arduous twenty mile journey across a landscape blanketed with snow obscuring familiar landmarks and hiding deep holes and other dangers.
Snow, cold, dark, hunger, worry -- but the survival story is more than the family's will to survive; it is the family's will to do so in a happy, cheerful manner; encouraging and lifting up one another, telling stories, making a meager Christmas the best it could be. The "Long Winter", or the "Snow Winter" as it is called in some historical accounts, did happen, and whatever liberties Wilder may have taken with its duration and intensity (and the local and oral history doesn't agree, so perhaps Wilder's memories are the truer account after all) -- the story itself is a satisfying yarn, best read from inside a comfortable abode with modern amenities, and perhaps large mugs of hot cocoa, with gratitude for global warming.
John Christopher wrote a very different novel in 1962, entitled The Long Winter (US title; The World In Winter in the UK). Christopher's novel is part post-apocalyptic, part political satire. Set in an unspecified future, a natural event in the decline of solar radiation brings a new ice age to earth. The winter grows harsher, food becomes scarce, economies go south. And people migrate south to more temperate climates, specifically Nigeria. And here the long winter takes second place to real story: society's mores being turned on their heads. As Europeans flee south into Africa, Black becomes the dominate, majority race, and White becomes the oppressed, the minority. I think the tale works better in world of 1962 in the middle of the Civil Rights Movement, but there is still much food for thought for today. Our attitudes towards others, whether based upon race, religion, economics or whatnot - could change in an instant, given a different set of circumstances.
Christopher, perhaps better known for his children's book series The Tripods, wrote disaster novels for all ages. Although most of his adult novels are now dated, I think it would be nice to see them back in print, for with that dating comes historical significance. I read the Tripods (set centuries after Earth's inhabitants have been enslaved by alien entities) books 35 years ago, along with Empty World (a plague causes rapid aging and death and nearly decimates the Earth's population) and then about ten years ago, No Blade of Grass (a plant disease kills off wheat, corn and other edible grass-like grains). Although The Long Winter was written for adults, when I read it five years ago at the height of widespread discussions about global warming, it brought back my childhood: I grew up in an era where the scare wasn't rapidly rising temperatures and melting polar ice caps, but rather the fact that we were long overdue for the next ice age. It was in this context I read John Christopher's The Long Winter; the political commentary didn't really register until I was nearly finished reading. Overall, though, Christopher spins a good yarn. His characters are flawed individuals, and to this reader, not particularly likeable in some of the decisions they make. The ugly side of humanity comes out quickly when disaster strikes, and it comes out in a matter-of-fact way, as if circumstances dictate morals more than inherent beliefs. Still, his primary characters are basically good, eventually choosing the right over the self serving. And although, like all good disaster tales, the senses of gloom and despair prevail through much of the book, in the end, a glimmer of hope is present; not a neatly tied happy ending, but a hope, just as springtime is hope for new life after long winters.
I don't mind reading about it, however. Last year, when it was supposed to be springtime, we had one snow after another. They weren't horrendous snows. Just one after another, and springtime didn't seem interested in making an appearance. And I was probably more acutely aware of it because I had picked up Laura Ingalls Wilder's 1940 novel The Long Winter. Wilder herself admitted the novels based upon her childhood were historical fiction, and in the interest of storytelling, she combined characters and moved events around. The Long Winter, however, is considered by historians and biographers to be less fiction than her other books, with only a couple exceptions, one of which being the duration and frequency of the storms described in the book.
Laura is 14 in the fall of 1880 and winter arrives early to the town of De Smet, Dakota Territory. There were a higher than usual number of blizzards that season and winter lasted through April 1881. Wilder describes the events of that winter through the eyes of a fourteen year old and the relentless winter becomes as much a character in the tale as she herself, her family and the townspeople. Some storms lasted for days, snow went up to rooflines, cattle froze to death standing in the field. Fuel and food became scarce when trains couldn't get in to town. Laura and friends get lost in a blinding blizzard and would have walked out of Main Street unto the open prairie and perished had Laura not bumped into the last building. Pa and other men from town travel a great distance in an unsuccessful attempt to dig out a train, and the railroad eventual shuts down all trains. Later, when already meager food supplies have run so scarce many of the townspeople would probably starve, Almonzo Wilder, whom Laura would grow up to marry, and his friend Cap Garland set out inbetween blizzards in search of a store of wheat rumored to be an arduous twenty mile journey across a landscape blanketed with snow obscuring familiar landmarks and hiding deep holes and other dangers.
Snow, cold, dark, hunger, worry -- but the survival story is more than the family's will to survive; it is the family's will to do so in a happy, cheerful manner; encouraging and lifting up one another, telling stories, making a meager Christmas the best it could be. The "Long Winter", or the "Snow Winter" as it is called in some historical accounts, did happen, and whatever liberties Wilder may have taken with its duration and intensity (and the local and oral history doesn't agree, so perhaps Wilder's memories are the truer account after all) -- the story itself is a satisfying yarn, best read from inside a comfortable abode with modern amenities, and perhaps large mugs of hot cocoa, with gratitude for global warming.
John Christopher wrote a very different novel in 1962, entitled The Long Winter (US title; The World In Winter in the UK). Christopher's novel is part post-apocalyptic, part political satire. Set in an unspecified future, a natural event in the decline of solar radiation brings a new ice age to earth. The winter grows harsher, food becomes scarce, economies go south. And people migrate south to more temperate climates, specifically Nigeria. And here the long winter takes second place to real story: society's mores being turned on their heads. As Europeans flee south into Africa, Black becomes the dominate, majority race, and White becomes the oppressed, the minority. I think the tale works better in world of 1962 in the middle of the Civil Rights Movement, but there is still much food for thought for today. Our attitudes towards others, whether based upon race, religion, economics or whatnot - could change in an instant, given a different set of circumstances.
Christopher, perhaps better known for his children's book series The Tripods, wrote disaster novels for all ages. Although most of his adult novels are now dated, I think it would be nice to see them back in print, for with that dating comes historical significance. I read the Tripods (set centuries after Earth's inhabitants have been enslaved by alien entities) books 35 years ago, along with Empty World (a plague causes rapid aging and death and nearly decimates the Earth's population) and then about ten years ago, No Blade of Grass (a plant disease kills off wheat, corn and other edible grass-like grains). Although The Long Winter was written for adults, when I read it five years ago at the height of widespread discussions about global warming, it brought back my childhood: I grew up in an era where the scare wasn't rapidly rising temperatures and melting polar ice caps, but rather the fact that we were long overdue for the next ice age. It was in this context I read John Christopher's The Long Winter; the political commentary didn't really register until I was nearly finished reading. Overall, though, Christopher spins a good yarn. His characters are flawed individuals, and to this reader, not particularly likeable in some of the decisions they make. The ugly side of humanity comes out quickly when disaster strikes, and it comes out in a matter-of-fact way, as if circumstances dictate morals more than inherent beliefs. Still, his primary characters are basically good, eventually choosing the right over the self serving. And although, like all good disaster tales, the senses of gloom and despair prevail through much of the book, in the end, a glimmer of hope is present; not a neatly tied happy ending, but a hope, just as springtime is hope for new life after long winters.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Waste of Money?
Yesterday a friend posted on my Facebook page a picture of a wall of books with the caption "Of course anyone who truly loves books buys more of them than he or she can read in one fleeting lifetime. A good book resting unopened in its slot on a shelf, full of majestic potentiality, is the most comforting sort of intellectual wallpaper."
My friends know me well.
The post originally came from Random House Publishers, and it was interesting to read the comments about this phenomenon, mostly from people who are guilty of it. There was one person who while admitting he was probably being pragmatic believed buying books with no intention of reading them is pretentious and wasteful. Someone, not impolitely, although unnecessarily, suggested he must not be a reader, and he took exception to the assumption. I can understand why he did; however I thought it was rather assuming on his part to assume book collectors have "no intention of reading" the books we buy, and a bit pretentious to point out that everything in his home must have a purpose; just because we cannot see what that purpose is in someone else's life, doesn't mean there is no purpose present. I didn't post these observations there because such postings tend to result in flame wars and I understand his opinion even if I do not agree with it. For the same reason I am not intending to flame this stranger here, but rather wish to use the remarks as a jumping off point.
For the next few comments in that stream, a portion of them were addressed to this man, each saying in one way or another that we do indeed intend to read every book we purchase. One person wisely pointed out that we tend to think we are purchasing the time to read them along with the book itself. That struck a chord for me!
I have bought books before because I liked the author or the series and wanted the set, later discovering I only liked that particular book. I sometimes went to great trouble and expense procuring the set before I realized I no longer wanted it. Was this a "waste of money"? Perhaps, to the pragmatist it is - but then again, pragmatically, if the action helped me define my tastes and refine my collector's skills, it wasn't a waste at all, but rather pragmatic. Was it pretentious? Well, since my intention was never to show off, I'd have to say "no", even if it appears that way to some. Some of my acquaintances have wondered why I have bought leather bound volumes of some of my favorite tomes when I already own perfectly servicable copies. Well, my favorite books I enjoy lending out, so I like multiple copies of them anyway, and, may my vegan friends forgive me, I like the feel and smell of high quality books. But any desire to show off my library isn't to show off my vast knowledge, eclectic tastes or income; it is to show people That I Have Books! And they can borrow them! The paperbacks, the hardcovers, the beat-up ones, the pristine copies (as long as they promise to be gentle); the fiction and non-fiction, adult and children's books... because... I Have Books! Books! Do you understand? BOOKS! Well, book lovers understand what I mean; book likers shake their heads in consternation.
Why do I have two bookcases filled with nothing but dictionaries? Because I like dictionaries. I like how different dictionaries define words differently over the decades. I like how they describe a word differently in the same year of publication but one defines it descriptively and another prescriptively. No, I'm not being pretentious and trying to show how much smarter I am than everyone else. In fact the more I read, the more I learn how much I do not know. No, I haven't read every single word in every single dictionary, nor do I intended to; just the ones I am curious about at any given moment in time.
I have not read every single book I own, although I have read enough of each to know that I would like to someday, or at least I felt that way when I bought it. Perhaps when science figures out cloning so my clone can go to work for me and I can stay home and read, or when science figures out how to double or triple our life expectancies. Every now and then I glean my books and find new homes for those which I intended to read at one time but do not intend to now. Every now and then I put the book back on the shelf because it still whispers "Read Me!" And every now and then, it's a good thing that pragmatist didn't chuck that book years ago, because although I probably could retrieve a new copy of something I gave away, when the time to read something is Now! it is nice to have the book Right There. Such was the case with "The Phantom Tollbooth", which I read last year after it sat on my shelf for fifteen years, patiently waiting for me to be mature enough to comprehend it. Was it "pragmatic" to keep it there for so long? I'll answer that question with another: Would it have been pragmatic to get rid of it before I'd discovered the marvelous treasure that book is?
Some of my friends think I spend too much money on books I don't read. From a strictly financial viewpoint they might have something. They are generally the same people who don't quite understand why I spend a bit more money on premium root beer, chocolate and cheese rather than the cheapest (translate: "inferior tasting") generic stuff at the store. They cannot understand why I think it's worth the money, why I will make sacrifices elsewhere to buy what I deem the "good stuff". I cannot understand their "smart" phones when my "dumb" phone allows me to make phone calls for a fraction of the cost, nor their $150 cable bills when not having any cable TV at all allows me to buy, um, a lot of books.
So I don't think it's impractical or wasteful to spend money on books. The enjoyment I garner from books goes beyond the escape into other worlds and the procurement of knowledge. I will allow things should have a purpose, but I think it unwise and unkind to assume the value we place on things or the purpose we ascribe to them ourselves holds true for everyone. However I have found in my current decluttering that there's a definite purpose to being organized enough to know what I own and have at least a general idea where it is located so I don't continue to run into duplicate copies which I'd forgotten I had or had previously been certain I'd bought but had been unable to locate before replacing something that wasn't lost after all. Then again, duplicate copies make nice gifts, and what can be more pragmatic than that?
Speaking of pragmatism, older dictionaries defining "pragmatic" include the now-considered-archaic definitions "officious" and "meddlesome". In other words, a pragmatist is a busybody. A little bit of practical (some might say "pretentious") information I would not have known if I had decided it was impractical to keep an "old" dictionary on my shelf.
My friends know me well.
The post originally came from Random House Publishers, and it was interesting to read the comments about this phenomenon, mostly from people who are guilty of it. There was one person who while admitting he was probably being pragmatic believed buying books with no intention of reading them is pretentious and wasteful. Someone, not impolitely, although unnecessarily, suggested he must not be a reader, and he took exception to the assumption. I can understand why he did; however I thought it was rather assuming on his part to assume book collectors have "no intention of reading" the books we buy, and a bit pretentious to point out that everything in his home must have a purpose; just because we cannot see what that purpose is in someone else's life, doesn't mean there is no purpose present. I didn't post these observations there because such postings tend to result in flame wars and I understand his opinion even if I do not agree with it. For the same reason I am not intending to flame this stranger here, but rather wish to use the remarks as a jumping off point.
For the next few comments in that stream, a portion of them were addressed to this man, each saying in one way or another that we do indeed intend to read every book we purchase. One person wisely pointed out that we tend to think we are purchasing the time to read them along with the book itself. That struck a chord for me!
I have bought books before because I liked the author or the series and wanted the set, later discovering I only liked that particular book. I sometimes went to great trouble and expense procuring the set before I realized I no longer wanted it. Was this a "waste of money"? Perhaps, to the pragmatist it is - but then again, pragmatically, if the action helped me define my tastes and refine my collector's skills, it wasn't a waste at all, but rather pragmatic. Was it pretentious? Well, since my intention was never to show off, I'd have to say "no", even if it appears that way to some. Some of my acquaintances have wondered why I have bought leather bound volumes of some of my favorite tomes when I already own perfectly servicable copies. Well, my favorite books I enjoy lending out, so I like multiple copies of them anyway, and, may my vegan friends forgive me, I like the feel and smell of high quality books. But any desire to show off my library isn't to show off my vast knowledge, eclectic tastes or income; it is to show people That I Have Books! And they can borrow them! The paperbacks, the hardcovers, the beat-up ones, the pristine copies (as long as they promise to be gentle); the fiction and non-fiction, adult and children's books... because... I Have Books! Books! Do you understand? BOOKS! Well, book lovers understand what I mean; book likers shake their heads in consternation.
Why do I have two bookcases filled with nothing but dictionaries? Because I like dictionaries. I like how different dictionaries define words differently over the decades. I like how they describe a word differently in the same year of publication but one defines it descriptively and another prescriptively. No, I'm not being pretentious and trying to show how much smarter I am than everyone else. In fact the more I read, the more I learn how much I do not know. No, I haven't read every single word in every single dictionary, nor do I intended to; just the ones I am curious about at any given moment in time.
I have not read every single book I own, although I have read enough of each to know that I would like to someday, or at least I felt that way when I bought it. Perhaps when science figures out cloning so my clone can go to work for me and I can stay home and read, or when science figures out how to double or triple our life expectancies. Every now and then I glean my books and find new homes for those which I intended to read at one time but do not intend to now. Every now and then I put the book back on the shelf because it still whispers "Read Me!" And every now and then, it's a good thing that pragmatist didn't chuck that book years ago, because although I probably could retrieve a new copy of something I gave away, when the time to read something is Now! it is nice to have the book Right There. Such was the case with "The Phantom Tollbooth", which I read last year after it sat on my shelf for fifteen years, patiently waiting for me to be mature enough to comprehend it. Was it "pragmatic" to keep it there for so long? I'll answer that question with another: Would it have been pragmatic to get rid of it before I'd discovered the marvelous treasure that book is?
Some of my friends think I spend too much money on books I don't read. From a strictly financial viewpoint they might have something. They are generally the same people who don't quite understand why I spend a bit more money on premium root beer, chocolate and cheese rather than the cheapest (translate: "inferior tasting") generic stuff at the store. They cannot understand why I think it's worth the money, why I will make sacrifices elsewhere to buy what I deem the "good stuff". I cannot understand their "smart" phones when my "dumb" phone allows me to make phone calls for a fraction of the cost, nor their $150 cable bills when not having any cable TV at all allows me to buy, um, a lot of books.
So I don't think it's impractical or wasteful to spend money on books. The enjoyment I garner from books goes beyond the escape into other worlds and the procurement of knowledge. I will allow things should have a purpose, but I think it unwise and unkind to assume the value we place on things or the purpose we ascribe to them ourselves holds true for everyone. However I have found in my current decluttering that there's a definite purpose to being organized enough to know what I own and have at least a general idea where it is located so I don't continue to run into duplicate copies which I'd forgotten I had or had previously been certain I'd bought but had been unable to locate before replacing something that wasn't lost after all. Then again, duplicate copies make nice gifts, and what can be more pragmatic than that?
Speaking of pragmatism, older dictionaries defining "pragmatic" include the now-considered-archaic definitions "officious" and "meddlesome". In other words, a pragmatist is a busybody. A little bit of practical (some might say "pretentious") information I would not have known if I had decided it was impractical to keep an "old" dictionary on my shelf.
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