This has been kind of a bummer year for me, book-wise. I’ve only read about five books that I’ve really liked, and otherwise I re-read a bunch of stuff because I just couldn’t find anything that got me excited to read. Seven of the 34 books I’ve read so far this year are books I’ve read before, and that makes me feel like I’m living in the past.
My hold list at the library has several books on it that I’m eager to read, if not truly excited to read, and I’ve been waiting for weeks for many of them. While I waited, I decided to read Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye for a local book club, and of course as soon as I started reading it, four of my library holds became available. I delayed them so I could finish the book club book, which was fine but not great, and by the time I finished it, the hold that became available was one I’d been waiting on for something like 14 weeks. I couldn’t remember anything about the book or why I’d requested it, but I started it because it was there. It’s very long, and is a romantasy, which I didn’t realize when I started it, and sometimes I like that! but not right now. Now I’m in it, and I don’t really want to abandon it because I feel like I’ve already abandoned a bunch of other books this year, and besides, I don’t have another book lined up. It just feels like a placeholder.
I started listening to book reviews and the Book Riot podcast again as a replacement for actual books I feel are missing in my life. I’ve learned that Lauren Groff and Ann Patchett both have new novels out, and for the first time this year, I’m excited about what I get to read next.
I’m tired of feeling bad about consuming other people’s creations instead of making my own. I was originally going to write about fiction I read this week, then I realized I’m also reading some non-fiction, which made me think of the podcasts I listened to, which led to the ear and eye art, so I figured what the heck, I’ll just hit it all.
Reads
I finished the novel Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver this morning, and it was well worth reading. I had no idea it was set right here in Southwest Virginia when I picked it up. I love all of Kingsolver’s books that I’ve read, and especially the ones that take place here in Appalachia. In this one, she dives deep with the main character into the world of foster care, the opioid epidemic, and what it’s like to live in one of these small Appalachian towns. Apparently it’s a loose retelling of Dickens’s David Copperfield, but I’ve never read that, so it’s definitely not necessary to have read it in order to appreciate Kingsolver’s book.
Last weekend I read Hemingway’s “The Killers” in an anthology of American short stories I bought a few weeks ago. Despite his flaws, and there are many, I can’t help but be awed by Hemingway’s ability to tell a story through what he doesn’t say. He leaves the perfect amount of empty space for the reader’s mind to fill.
In non-fiction, I’m working on a book about AI that my statistician friend recommended: Prediction Machines: The Simple Economics of Artificial Intelligence by Ajay Agrawal, Joshua Gans, and Avi Goldfarb. I’m only a few chapters in, but already it’s fascinating to me to think of the role of prediction in intelligence and learning. We as humans are continually taking in data, processing it, and making predictions based on what we’ve taken in. Prediction is what a reader’s brain is doing when it fills in the blanks in a Hemingway story. Prediction is what makes generative AI possible.
Listens
When I walk or run, I like to listen to podcasts, and this week I listened to a couple of great ones. My favorite was a special for Pride month: The Seagulls from Radiolab. It’s about homosexuality and gender fluidity in nature, and it’s funny, infuriating, sad, beautiful, life-affirming, and thought-provoking. I laughed. I cried. I adored it.
I enjoyed Hidden Brain’s Seeking Serenity: part 1 about a neuroscientist who sought to understand the mind from the outside using scientific tools, from the inside by working with master meditators, and the pushback he got from both communities when they were confronted with the other. I’ve also recently started listening to Articles of Interest, a podcast about what we wear, and this week’s episode was about Prison Uniforms, and the role clothing plays in how we feel and are seen in the world. I would have never thought to go deep into what prisoners wear and what kind of impact those garments have on them, though it makes perfect sense after hearing their stories.
Watches
Shakespeare is everywhere. The Weird Sisters, Hamnet, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow. I can’t remember what I read recently, but it referenced the wyrd sisters in Macbeth, and I recently read Hamnet without remembering the story of Hamlet, and I’ve read The Weird Sisters probably half a dozen times. I’ve been thinking lately about how I want to revisit Shakespeare so I can connect some of this stuff and see what the big deal is. The last time I experienced any of his original work that all these things are referencing was probably high school, 30 years ago. Our son came home from college with a book of Shakespeare plays he bought at a used bookstore, so last weekend I told him, I’m watching Macbeth, the one by Roman Polanski, if you want to watch with me. He was non-committal, said he might not watch the whole thing. But next thing you know, he’s on the edge of his seat to the very bitter end, just like me. I’m a fan. I get now why Shakespeare is a big deal. I want this to be my summer of Shakespeare; I think I’ll watch Hamlet next.
We finished Ted Lasso this week, and my god, what a great show. I won’t say anything about it for those who haven’t watched yet. It’s just the best. Funny. Hopeful. Lots of swearing. Loveable, hilarious characters. Probably my favorite TV show of all time.
We also finished Better Call Saul, which was infinitely better than Breaking Bad. Saul is so, so good. Where Breaking Bad made me despise everyone in it (except Jesse and Hank and Marie), and I didn’t finish it because everyone was so annoying, I loved everyone in Better Call Saul, even the very, very bad people. The characters in Saul are more complex and deep and human, and even the bad people have kernels of beauty. Plus it’s funny, which I very much appreciate.
It’s been a while since I’ve read a new-to-me book that sucked me in and gave me everything I wanted. The last book that did that — that made me think and feel, that I could sink my teeth into, that was epic, and the characters were alive and real and I loved them, and the writing sang to me, and I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough and I also wanted it to last — was A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. It’s a brutal, brutal book. A real suffer-fest. As happy-loving as I am, I don’t fully understand my attraction to literature that plumbs the depths of human sadness, but sometimes that deep deep pool is what I want. Maybe because there is no such thing as pain-free happiness, that light is defined by dark, and one without the other isn’t the full story, not really. Or maybe because I’m fascinated by human psychology, and how we deal with the cards we’re dealt, and who loves us, and who we love, and whether we love ourselves.
At any rate, A Little Life was probably my favorite read of 2022. I read some other stuff that was fine. Not fine as in exquisite, but fine as in somewhere between okay and great. Looking through Goodreads, I see I gave some books 5 stars, and I don’t recall one single thing about the books! How did they earn 5 stars if I can’t remember anything about them?
A Little Life and a few others ruined me for finding truly satisfying reads. Light page turners are fun, but they don’t go deep and get to the big stuff I like to immerse myself in. Lately I’ve been re-reading books that I know will provide everything I want. I just reread The Goldfinch, and I’m sad it’s over, and now I have to find another book again. While I look and think, I’m reading Madame Bovary, and it’s not doing it for me. I read a few pages and then put it down to do something else. This tempts me to go for something known, like Fates and Furies again, but there are so many books in the world, I don’t want to be in a rut of only reading stuff I know. I’m at a loss. I know I’ll find something eventually, I’m just impatient to get there.
I feel lost when I don’t have a good book to read. Sometimes I just can’t figure out what I’m in the mood for, and my whole life suffers as a consequence. Everything becomes duller.
This recently happened to me. I went through a string of books that were only okay, and after a few books like that in a row, I got listless and apathetic and nothing sounded good and I wondered at life’s purpose. I tried Don Quixote and put it down. I tried a few other things I can’t remember and put them down. Everything I had on hold at the library had a 4-8 week wait, and I rarely buy books unless I know I like them and will read them again. I especially don’t buy books when I’m in a mood like I was in, where there was a real possibility I could read 5 pages and not be into it anymore.
When this happens in my reading life, it affects my regular life. I pace. I wander aimlessly. I pick things up and put them down. I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel unmoored.
Finally I decided to re-read something I know I like, something light and fun and that has characters I want to spend time with, that’s a known quantity, that’s not too long, and that I could get my hands on without waiting. I reread The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown.
It did the job. I felt happy about reading again. Life got colorful again. I read another book after it that I was eager to read and that made me giggle (Either/Or by Elif Batuman), and I remembered authors I want to read more of (Jane Smiley). I filled my book queue with fresh titles that I’m excited about, some of which I’ll have to wait for and some of which are available to borrow right now.
Since the pandemic began, I’ve focused a lot on the pursuit of happiness. I wanted to keep my spirits up. I took the free Science of Well-Being course through Coursera, I listened to happiness podcasts, I kept a wellness journal where I recorded things I was grateful for, exercise, meditation, beauty and excellence I appreciated, and all the other stuff that brings a sense of well-being.
I learned a ton about the psychology of happiness. I became attentive to feelings of wonder and satisfaction, and I acted intentionally to summon a sense of well-being. And it all helped me. I am deeply grateful.
Still, something felt lacking. I recently read Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Not far into the book these lines stopped me:
Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue.
– Viktor E. Frankl
Happiness cannot be pursued. It must ensue.
Frankl was a neurologist, psychiatrist, and philosopher who survived four Nazi concentration camps. The thesis central to his life and his survival was that humankind’s fundamental driver, our deepest motivational force, is the search for life’s meaning.
Man’s main concern is not to gain pleasure or avoid pain but rather to see a meaning in his life.
– Viktor E. Frankl
This line tapped a gong in me that still rings in deep, quiet tones. Yes, I want to be happy. But meaning. Meaning has a depth and gravity that quicken my soul. Meaning is purposeful. Meaning is bigger than me. Meaning is bigger than happiness.
I have not felt something this true in a long time, that the search for meaning is a fundamental motivator in my life. I’ve always searched for meaning, for connections, for patterns, for something bigger. I think meaning was what was missing when I pursued only happiness. My happiness is only about me. Meaning is about all of us, and the rocks and the trees and the stars. Meaning encompasses all of life, all of not life, and the seen and the unseen, the known and the unknown.
So of course, when reading this book, my thought was, “YES! I am ready! What are my next steps?” Lucky for me, Frankl tells us.
We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: 1) by creating a work or doing a deed, 2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and 3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering.
– Viktor E. Frankl
I pay attention to these now. I write them down. I no longer feel like I’ve failed on days I don’t feel happy. I no longer try to force happiness when it’s not there. I continue with gratitude. I continue to create and do, to experience wonder, to appreciate chance encounters, and when I suffer my minor sufferings, I try not to whine too much.
I finished reading Lao Tsu’s Tao Te Ching this morning. I marked it “Read” on Goodreads, and wondered, when the rating scale popped up, how does one decide how many stars to give an ancient religious text? Do people give star reviews for the Bible, the Torah, the Koran? (They do!).
Compared to something like the texts above, the Tao Te Ching is accessible and easy to read. It’s 81 pages, it’s simple, and it just might contain all the wisdom we need to navigate our time on earth. It is elegant in its simplicity. For that, I give it 5 stars.
That said, the Tao Te Ching is fairly repetitive, meaning those 81 pages could probably be cut even further. The messages in it really are very simple and don’t need to be said five different ways: opposites define and cannot exist without each other, best to accept them both; attachment leads to suffering; go with the flow instead of forcing; we reap what we sow. For the repetition, I’d give it 3 stars. Except that sometimes we need a thing to be repeated, and maybe from different angles, in order for it to click or for us to truly absorb it. Also, my summary does not get the point across quite as eloquently as the poetry of the Tao Te Ching. So maybe the repetition isn’t such a bad thing. I could be convinced to give 4 stars on the presentation of the material in this regard.
The hardest part to grapple with is the translation. I think I read one of the most popular ones (Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English), but I ended up googling some of the chapters because I couldn’t make sense of them in the translation I read. Though I say the messages in the Tao Te Ching are simple, the chapters themselves read like riddles, and I could only gain any meaning from some of them by reading multiple interpretations. So for translation, I don’t really know how to rate it because I don’t have the expertise to say whether my inability to decipher something was due to the translation or due to the original text or due to me just not getting it yet.
I ultimately gave it 4 stars, but I don’t know if that accurately reflects how I feel about it. It aligns with how I see the world and the universe and our place in everything, so it feels like I should give it a 5. I don’t know, I feel weird about rating it at all.
Butterfly Mind 