Category: Books

Heroic Measures by Jill Ciment (2009). 208 pages, Pantheon.

This is an absolutely wonderful little book. And I mean that as a true and sincere compliment.

Sometimes with books, I get the feeling that an author is trying way too hard to tackle A Big Subject. Other times it feels like the book has been padded by an extra hundred (or sometimes even two or three hundred) pages to make it seem more “weighty”. Heroic Measures is little in both ways: It is a short novel (just 208 pages), and its subject matter could not be more prosaic: This is the story of an elderly couple and their elderly dog. Over one weekend. And the plot? They’re selling their condo.

Yes, that really is the main plot. Ruth and Alex, married for 45 years, are trying to sell their 5th-floor walkup apartment in New York City. Although they bought the place for $5,000 40 years ago, they have a real estate agent who says she can get them one million dollars for their place. And with that kind of money, they can afford to buy an apartment in a building with an elevator.

The novel starts on a Friday. Their agent is planning an open house on Saturday morning, and Alex and Ruth have to get their place ready for potential buyers. But, two terrible things happen: their elderly dachshund, Dorothy, suddenly can’t walk. As the couple frantically try to find a 24-hour emergency vet to treat their beloved dog, news of a possible terrorist attack ripples through the city. A tractor-trailer hauling gasoline has stopped in one of the city’s tunnels, and reports are coming in that there may be a bomb on the truck…

What follows is 48 hours of hectic turmoil in Alex and Ruth’s life. Will Dorothy survive back surgery? Will they be able to sell their condo while the city is in full-fledged panic mode? And what about the offer on their new place, whose owners demand an answer and a down payment by Sunday afternoon?

One of the charming – and poignant – aspects of this book is that periodically, there will be a short chapter from Dorothy’s perspective. Yes, from the point of view of the sickly dog. And these chapters are among the most tense moments in the novel. You’re pulling for Dottie, you want her to survive and get out of the hospital so badly. From her point of view, she’s been abandoned and she’s in pain. She comes up with her own theories as to what is going on, and she is determined to get back to “her people”.

Reading that back, I see I haven’t done this justice – I’m making it sound like it’s a silly story about a heroic dog, when that is not the case at all. Ciment writes Dottie’s point of view the way you’d imagine a dog would actually think, not in some sort of storybook or Disney fashion. It’s extremely gripping, so much so that when the action switches back to Alex and Ruth’s point of view, I wanted to cheat and skip ahead to find out what was going to happen to Dorothy!

I can’t tell you anything about the author, Jill Ciment, other than to tell you she is one hell of a great writer. She has taken a mundane plot and created a terrific, wonderful novel out of it. The characters are real people. The situations are heartfelt and true. And the plot is every bit as gripping as a bestseller from John Grisham or Dan Brown. It sounds crazy, but trust me – it’s true. She has a way with words and storytelling that I have not encountered in quite a while. Take this passage, where Ruth is looking wistfully out of her favorite window:

The rise of the sun is like the opening of a novel she’s read so many times that she can take pleasure in the details and nuances without having to race to the end to find out what happens.

Or this passage. Here, Alex, an acclaimed artist, is working on what he imagines may very well be his last great work: an illuminated manuscript taken from his and Ruth’s FBI files, created when they were peace protesters back in the 1950’s:

It will take in not only the manuscript page he is finishing, but all six hundred and ninety-nine pages still waiting to be illuminated, and his studio filled with a lifetime of work in the terrified city on the panicked island by the nervous continent.

If you love New York City, or any big city, you’ll love this book. If you love dogs, you’ll love this book. If you’ve ever had a tense weekend filled with possible life-changing challenges, you’ll love this book.

Frankly, if you simply like to read, you’ll love this book. Heroic Measures is a truly heroic slice of life, and you should not miss it. This is a book you will read with pleasure, and one you’ll think about with satisfaction long after you’ve finished it.

The Age of American Unreason by Susan Jacoby (2008). Pantheon Books, 356 pages.

Remember the term “Highbrow“? You don’t hear that much anymore. Nor its companion, “Lowbrow“. And never, ever do you hear “Middlebrow“, which was all the rage during the 40’s and 50’s. Nowadays, people use words like “elitist” and “trailer trash” to connote one end or the other of the culture spectrum… when they bother to discuss it at all.

But Way Back When, folks like Virginia Woolf used to write reams about how Middlebrow culture was going to destroy society, by keeping people away from the good Highbrow stuff. Unfortunately for Virginia and all of her friends who used to write long-winded articles for The New Yorker, that’s not at all what happened. Instead, Middlebrow culture vanished almost entirely, and Lowbrow increased its share accordingly.

In a nutshell, that is what The Age of American Unreason is about: How Middlebrow culture has nearly ceased to exist. Reading this book is what prompted my post on elitism a few weeks back.

The book’s first chapter grabbed me right away: “Just Us Folks”. In this introduction to the book, Jacoby outlines how our national discourse has fallen dramatically over the past 70 years. She points this out by excerpting a few of Franklin Roosevelt’s fireside chats, in which FDR spoke eloquently and candidly about the issues facing the country. He did not speak using eighth grade words, or patronize to his audience. He described complex problems and the complex solutions that would be required, and assumed that the citizens of the country cared enough to listen carefully. And would carefully discuss and vet the solutions he proposed. And that is pretty much what happened.

But nowadays, politicians try to fall over themselves in showing how “folksy” they are. Instead of speeches to “My fellow citizens”, they makes speeches to “my friends” or “regular folks”. The complexities of our problems are buried and simplified; our leaders demand nothing of us and expect even less. They assume that their listeners are ignorant, and in doing so, create a self-fulfilling prophecy of ever-downward expectations. So rather than engender a lively discussion of our banking and credit system, and the myriad little things we should do to shore it up, and the pros and cons of each and their possible long term effects… well, they just say that the whole industry needs a “bailout” and that these things just happen.

Jacoby descirbes how reading for both pleasure and education continues to drop every year. She illustrates this by pointing out how the entire country used to breathlessly await the arrival of the latest serialized chapter of the latest Dickens book – but now, if people here of an interesting book, they wait for the movie or video game version. She believes that this change actually affects our cultural ability to remember things:

Memory, which depends on the capacity to absorb ideas and information through exposition and to connect new information to an established edifice of knowledge, is one of the first victims of video culture. Without memory, judgements are made on the unsound bias of the most recent bit of half-digested information.

Jacoby also believes that the rise and embracing of fundamentalist religions has greatly contributed to the decrease in the reasoning capabilities of many Americans. Since any fundamentalist approach to faith (she argues) requires that its adherents never question any of the tenants of said faith, they cannot learn how to read a text critically. And when she uses the term “critically”, she uses it in the classic scholarly sense of the word: carefully analyzing a text to see what it means.

This chapter reminded me of a childhood Sunday school class. When I was in the 4th grade or so, we were reading and discussing the story of Jonah and the whale (beginning around Jonah 1:17 and continuing to about Jonah 2:10). We read the story critically – what was the message of the story? What was the lesson? What is God telling us in this story? When someone in the class (not me!) asked how Jonah could survive inside a whale’s stomach for three days, what with stomach acids and all, our teacher chuckled and said the story was not a literal factual story, but was instead a parable – like the parables Jesus used on the mount – and we were supposed to discover what the story was telling us about God by carefully reading the story. We were taught how to “read between the lines”, which is the first time I remember hearing that phrase.

That kind of Sunday school teaching, I am sad to say, seems to occur less and less nowadays. Jacoby believes that this fundamentalist approach (mostly in Christian faiths in the U.S., but also in Muslim and Jewish faiths in other parts of the world) greatly contributes to the lack of formal reasoning in adults of our era. And yet, almost no one ever addresses this issue when we talk about education (or religion, for that matter):

One of the most powerful taboos in American life concerns speaking ill of anyone’s faith – an injunction rooted in confusion over the difference between freedom of religion and granting religion immunity from the critical scrutiny applied to other social institutions. Both the Constitution and the pragmatic realities of living in a pluralistic society enjoin us to respect our fellow citizens’ right to believe whatever they want – as long as that belief, in Thomas Jefferson’s phrase, “neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg”. But many Americans have misinterpreted this sensible laissez-faire principle to mean that respect must be accorded the beliefs themselves. This mindless tolerance, which places observable scientific facts, subject to proof, on the same level as unprovable supernatural fantasy, has play a major role in the resurgence of both anti-intellectualism and anti-rationalism.

The book moves on to cover the rise of pseudoscience: how various scientific-sounding ideas became pop culture sensations. One prime offender is the completely non-scientific idea of “social darwinism“. This is the notion that human interactions are similar to, or even caused by, biological evolution – i.e., that “survival of the fittest” is either a goal to strive for in society, or else is a cause of behavior that cannot be changed.

The chapter on this subject is fascinating, and shows how most Americans don’t understand what the term “science” really even means. Darwinism is strictly a genetic, scientific, biological process: It has nothing to do with psychology, culture, nationalism, religion, or any other aspect of human behavior at all. And yet more and more we see the terms “evolution” and “Darwinism” used in discussions that have nothing to do with biological speciation over time.

Another chapter talks about the “Red Scare” of the 50s, and how this was another attempt to make scary any sort of “high falutin’ book learning”. After all, if you’ve read The Communist Manifesto, so the argument went… then you must have instantly believed it and become a “fellow traveler“. For years, people were afraid to even read the book – for fear they’d be accused of actually being a communist. This, in turn, led to more questioning of “suspect” reading habits and learning in general. It starts with an accusation of treason if you read one certain book – and expands into a suspicion of people who read any books.

And if you think this is esoteric and doesn’t really happen in real life? Well, as I write this, on the eve of the 2008 election, for example, one candidate is claiming the other is a “socialist” and a “Marxist” – and it is pathetically obvious that the accuser has never read Marx and has no idea what a “Marxist” even is. To them, these are just scary words to throw at an opponent. And I’m sure if you suggested to Sarah Palin that she should at least read Marx and study his writings a bit before she uses such terms… well, I’m pretty sure she’d dismiss such a suggestion out of hand.

My favorite chapter, however, and the one that I think is the true heart of the book, is the chapter on Middlebrow Culture. Here Jacoby writes about all the little things that we used to do to educate our families: The Book-of-the-Month Club. Encyclopaedia Britannica in the home, carefully purchased one volume at a time. Attending lectures on important subjects. Visiting the art museum to see the popular pieces. Seeing the ballet, the symphony, or the opera when they came on tour to your town. And so many others in this vein.

Ironically, Highbrow culture used to frown and dismiss all of this Middlebrow stuff as dumbing down important topics for a mass audience. Jacoby’s main argument here was that the end result of these attacks were the virtual elimination of Middlebrow culture entirely, and the rising up of Lowbrow culture to become the common “Pop Culture” we have today.

In short, Susan Jacoby has written an eye-opening book about the rise of anti-intellectualism and the decline in reasoning. If you, like me, are worried that our current embrace of ignorance combined with arrogance is a deadly combination… then I urge you to read The Age of American Unreason. The book is written in a witty academic style that, true to its premise, never dumbs down its approach, but doesn’t skip opportunities for humor at the same time.

I think Virginia Woolf would probably approve. I know Franklin Delano Roosevelt would.

Now stop reading this and get out there and vote.

Friends, family, and the very small number of readers of this blog who do not fall into either of those two categories know that I am a Constant Reader. But I don’t like everything I read – as witness by some reviews I’ve written, such as my trashing of John Grisham‘s The Appeal. And, every now and then, I start a book that I’m sure will be at least a decent read, but I just can’t finish it.

For novels, it’s usually because I find it boring or not well written. For non-fiction, it’s often because the subject matter turns out to be not really what I was expecting, or – far more likely – the author, while being a fine expert on the subject at hand, is simply a terrible writer.

One example of the latter was Bill Clinton‘s autobiography, My Life. The subject matter was certainly interesting. But when it comes to writing, Bill Clinton is no Jimmy Carter or Richard Nixon, both of whom write quite well. Clinton’s work was almost unreadable. I got about half way through and simply couldn’t slog through any more of it. It was like reading a poorly translated textbook.

This always annoys me because books aren’t cheap, and even if I end up not liking the book in question, I do expect to read it from beginning to end.

Sometimes, however, I just can’t. Here, then, are two books that I tried to read within the last month, but did not finish.

Old Man’s War by John Scalzi (2004). Tor Books, 320 pages.

I really like well-written science fiction, and I had read a couple of reviews of Scalzi’s work that lead me to believe I would like his writing. Scalzi is also mentioned frequently over on Wil Wheaton’s blog, and I’ve discovered over the years that Mr. Wheaton’s tastes usually match mine pretty well. So when Wil called out Scalzi’s latest for praise, I decided I’d check him out.

Old Man’s War is the first in a series of four books, all set in the same fictional universe, and all sharing the same basic character set (the book Wil Wheaton was talking about is the last, or most recent, of the four). The novel is set about 250 years in the future.

In this future, humanity has expanded out into the galaxy, thanks to a wormhole-generating faster than light drive. However, it turns out that our neighborhood of the galaxy is very crowded already, and when we start to colonize likely planets, we find ourselves at war with other potential colonists, and sometimes with the local residents of the worlds we’re trying to colonize.

So, the Colonial Defense Force recruits Earth’s senior citizens. Upon turning 75, they volunteer to become soldiers. They’re given a new, young body and have to serve 10 years as a soldier. If they survive, at the end of the 10 years they’re given yet another new body, and a free claim of land on some colonial planet.

The problem is that this book reads like the sad, last few books of Robert Heinlein, when he was getting senile and very paranoid (i.e., Number of the Beast, a novel that I did finish and wish I hadn’t). It’s just wish fulfillment, with very little thought and no attempt at building a coherent world environment.

For example, it’s supposed to be 250 years in the future – and yet people on Earth still live to the same age in the same condition as they do today. They have the same types of computers, even referring to them as “PDA’s”, just as we do today. They live in little towns in America, holding the same types of jobs as they do today, driving cars around, living in single-family homes, just Mom, Pop, and apple pie.

In order to make the story work, Scalzi has to come up with a ton of totally implausible plot elements, such as there is no communication between the colonies and Earth. Ever. And never has been. Nor any technological exchange of information. So, basically, Earth is stuck in some sort of static state, where we haven’t changed in 250 years, while “out there”, they’re using new technologies and meeting aliens. And yet they recruit colonists and soldiers from Earth. The people of Earth are certainly a very incurious, strangely satisfied lot in this future, I must say.

I was about at the halfway point in the book when the new recruits, now transferred into shiny new indestructible 20-year-old super-athletic bodies with libidos to match , have to go to… boot camp. With a drill sergeant. Who yells at them and hates all of them. Yeah, right. 250 years in the future, when they can transfer minds into new bodies, have faster than light travel, space elevators, computers inserted into your head… and they’re going to still be running a boot camp straight out of 1968.

I got the feeling that the author saw Full Metal Jacket, said, “Wouldn’t this be cool.. in SPACE!!” and started writing.

I stopped reading and deleted it off my Kindle. Looking through the reviews on Amazon.com, I see that people absolutely love this book. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. It just is… not very good. And sadly, makes me very unlikely to ready anything else written by John Scalzi.

Me of LIttle Faith by Lewis Black (2008). Riverhead Hardcover, 256 pages.

Lewis Black is Funny with a capital F. I’ve got three of his comedy albums, I’ve watched every special he’s done, and I love his “‘Back in Black” sections on The Daily Show. And, I had enjoyed his first book, Nothing’s Sacred, which was a combination autobiography and observational humor book.

Me of LIttle Faith purports to be Black’s humorous contribution to the current round of atheist / anti-religious tracts like God Is Not Great, The God Delusion, and The End of Faith. I’ve read all three of those books, and while they’re fine for what they are, they certainly could use a good satirical skewering. I figured Lewis Black would be just the right guy to perform such a skewering.

Unfortunately, his heart just doesn’t seem to be in it. I got the feeling that perhaps he felt he should write another book, but didn’t have a topic. It reads like an assignment: “Hey, Lewis! Write a book that’s a send-up of some of those atheist books”.

Lewis isn’t an atheist but isn’t religious either (kind of like myself). He does, however, seem to be very superstitious. On one page he’s making fun of some aspect of the catholic church or the jewish faith, and on the next page he’s carrying on about his very good pyschic friend who absolutely can tell the future – and he’s serious about the psychic friend.

My stopping point was only about 40 pages from the end, when I simply didn’t care any more. This book commits the cardinal sin of a humor book: It’s not funny. And Black doesn’t have the scholarly or theological chops to write a serious book on religion, so it just comes off as a meandering, unfocused collection of thoughts and experiences. Kind of like an episode of Seinfeld without any laughs.

Let me repeat: It’s just not funny. If you want funny, check out David Sedaris‘ latest book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames. Now that’s a funny book. As opposed to Me of Little Faith, which… isn’t. I think I’ve made my point here.

So there you have it! Two books I didn’t like and didn’t finish. I guess I can’t call these reviews, since for all I know both of these books might somehow have turned out fantastic in the very end.

But I’ll never know. And I suggest you never bother to find out.