Words on Words – February 2016

This idea, this commitment to read 50 books this year, has already paid dividends. The five books I read in February (books 5-9, overall) were more widely varied than I have read in a long time. Besides the sheer volume of reading I have set for myself, I wanted a few other things to come out of this project. One was to read books recommended by others, and the other was to read more widely than I would otherwise tend to. I have certainly carved a niche for myself in my reading over the last few years; this project has already introduced me to a few incredible books that I probably would not have even picked up otherwise. This project may be of no interest to anyone but myself, and perhaps these updates are merely self-serving, a reminder for myself in posterity. That is reason enough.

Here are the books I read in February, in order, and the words therein that stayed with me:

#5

“It was one of those moments, thankfully rare, when you can spot another person’s core needs, almost by accident – absolutely by accident since those needs are almost graphic when blatant, like seeing the musculature and tendon required to prop up hope.” – & Sons by David Gilbert

If I could have simply copied and pasted the entire manuscript of this novel as one quotation, I would have. & Sons (“Ampersand Sons”, not “And Sons”, for reasons which become apparent in the novel) is a testament to why writing is counted among the arts. Gilbert’s mastery of metaphor and his razor-sharp word choices often read more like poetry than prose. I consumed this book, as it consumed me. The story, about the relationships between and aging writer, his sons, and the family of his childhood friend, is as engrossing as I have read. It parts the curtain on the effect that success and genius can have on relationships, and the ways in which, rightly or wrongly, artists are seen as something more than human. The book is full of Important Questions and Deep Insights. But it was above all else the beauty of Gilbert’s writing, the care with which each sentence was crafted and fine-tuned, which completely took me in. The example above is just one of hundreds. How can you not become taken by a story which takes such a relatable moment, encountering another person in a moment of utter vulnerability, and makes it so visceral? “The musculature and tendon required to prop up hope” is one of the most strikingly beautiful phrases I have ever read. I could not recommend this book more highly.

#6

“Not everyone has to be the Chosen One. Not everyone has to be the guy who saves the world. Most people just have to live their lives the best they can, doing the things that are great for them, having great friends, trying to make their lives better, loving people properly. All the while knowing that the world makes no sense but trying to find a way to be happy anyway.” – The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness

As noted in last month’s round-up, I am a big fan of Patrick Ness. He has written some of the best contemporary Young Adult fiction out there, as well as the astonishingly beautiful The Crane Wife. This newest offering was fine, but in the context of the rest of his writing, it fell pretty flat for me. The premise is strong, and Ness uses a very entertaining device to deliver that premise effectively: the novel is about the lives of the secondary characters in teen science fiction stories, the ones to whom the crazy, world-saving events are NOT happening, and so each chapter is introduced as being about some incredible, fantastical event, and then proceeds to be about something else entirely. It is clever, it is fun. But the problem is that the story being told about these secondary characters is a flat one. The quotation above is the “aha” moment of the novel, and is a perfectly fine one as “aha ” moments go; most of us will never be extraordinary, and that is ok, so long as we do our ordinary things the best we can. But if that was the only thing you read in the entire book, I don’t feel like you would have gotten any less out of it than I did reading the whole thing.

#7

“You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair–the sense that you can never completely put on the page what’s in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.” – On Writing by Stephen King

On Writing has been on my list for a long time. A LONG time. King is, in my eyes, the greatest storyteller living today. A book on writing written by my favourite writer? Sounds too good to be true.

It was not. I am not treading any new ground by saying that On Writing is the quintessential book on the writer’s craft. It is accessible, honest, blunt, and inspirational. King approaches his role of professor with humility and grace, hoping to guide aspiring writers with his own successes and failures. This should be mandatory reading in every high school English class in the world. I have no doubt that my copy will become one of the most dog-eared books in my library as I thumb through to re-read flagged passages time and again, hoping to hone my own writing to something worth a reader’s time.

It is hard to pick one lesson which stood out among a master class, but the nugget above has certainly stuck with me. Write. Write what you know, and what you feel, and what you fear, and what you love. Do not try to isolate those things which are real from your writing. Writing cannot be done well if it is meaningless to you. If you take it lightly, so will your reader. Instead, harness all the meaning from your experience of life and let THAT be what drives your writing.

#8

“Violence harms the one who does it as much as the one who receives it. You could cut down a tree with an axe. The axe does violence to the tree, and escapes unharmed. Is that how you see it? Wood is soft compared to steel, but the sharp steel is dulled as it chops, and the sap of the tree will rust and pit it. The mighty axe does violence to the helpless tree, and is harmed by it. So it is with men, though the harm is in the spirit.” – The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan

It took me a while to become invested in the gargantuan world which Robert Jordan has created. The Wheel of Time is one of the most widely read fantasy series ever published, and its scope is absolutely massive. Once I got past the initial, overwhelming exposure to this world, I was able to enjoy the story for what it was: an epic battle between good and evil which makes no attempt to hide its derivations from Tolkien, but walks its own path in the end. I will certainly read more of the series (thought perhaps not all of it, as there are twelve books and they are all encyclopedic), but not this year. No time, you understand.

The problem with choosing a quotation from this book was that it was virtually unquotable. The excellence in this book is the storytelling and the world-building, not the writing. The writing, especially in comparison to a titan of the genre such as Tolkien, is actually fairly simplistic. The quotation above, about the ways in which we hurt ourselves and others, is the diamond in the rough; it is the one time the author steps back to wax philosophical and make a larger observation about humanity. And it is a darn good observation, at that.

#9

“Make sure you tell the whole story.” – The Illegal by Lawrence Hill

The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation holds the “Canada Reads” competition each year, celebrating excellence in Canadian writing through exploration of a certain theme. This year’s theme is “starting over,” and The Illegal is among the 5 finalists. It is the story of a marathon runner living as an illegal immigrant in the fictional nation of Freedom State. The novel is as timely as they come, with so much global attention focused on refugees and immigration issues. It was not a long read, nor quite in the same stratus as Hill’s hugely acclaimed The Book of Negroes, but it was a distinctly Canadian look at its central topic.

Like The Eye of the World, however, it was not an overly quotable novel. The line I chose comes from the end of the book, and deals with the standards to which we should hold media outlets and governments when presenting issues of national importance. In North America in particular, cultural consciousness is informed and inflamed by partisan media representing special interests instead of truth. The message of the novel is that every issue is complex, every story contains multitudes. Right and wrong, good and bad are rarely as simple as all that. Our duty as providers and consumers of media is to make sure that stories are told truthfully and responsibly.

*****

Two months down. Ten months and 41 books to go! Check back every month for more Words on Words and other thoughts on An Awfully Big Adventure!

Words on Words – January 2016

I made a commitment to myself (I refuse to call it a resolution) to make more time to read this year. I used to read voraciously, consuming books in one sitting, reading anything and everything I could get my hands on. The bar code on my library card wore out from constantly being pulled out of and shoved back into my wallet. Lately, however, there have been a million excuses not to read. Life, work, and play take up so much time, I tell myself, that reading just isn’t possible. My library card and bookshelves have sat collecting dust.

So I set out, at the dawn of 2016, to rekindle that fervour. I set the bar at 50 books. I will read 50 books this year. I will read 50 books this year. I set no parameters for the books I will read. They will be of all lengths, all genres, all subject matters. I will rely heavily on referrals, asking friends and relations for books that have spoken to them. And in an effort to revive this much neglected space, I will reflect, at the end of each month, on the books I have thus read, and particular words in each which have spoken to me.

Perhaps this will be of no interest to anyone. Perhaps it will merely be a testament to myself, and keep me honest. Perhaps that is enough.

Here are the books I read in January, in order, and the words therein that stayed with me:

#1

“Human beings are more or less formulas. Pun intended. We are not any one thing that is mathematically provable. We are more or less than we are anything. We are more or less kind, or more or less not. More or less selfish, happy, wise, lonely.” – Never Always Sometimes by Adi Alsaid

Adi Alsaid’s first novel, Let’s Get Lost, was one of the best books I read last year. I featured it in one of the very first Words on Words. I found his writing deliciously readable. It was relatable without being commonplace, deep without feeling self-important. It was wise and playful and addictive and great. I was excited, therefore, to delve into this sophomore effort as the first book of the fifty I will read this year. Here again, as is naturally the case with many books about teenagers, Alsaid is concerned with the things which form our understanding of the self during that fertile time. It is a book about first loves, and second loves, and striving to be original.

The passage above stuck with me as I read the novel, and long afterward. Alsaid’s observations, on the whole, are gentle reflections on the human experience. He does not make an overt effort to be profound. He merely holds up a mirror to the reader and says, “What do you think?” And in this case he is exactly right. We often live our lives striving to be a hyperbole; we want to be the best at this thing or the most of that. We want to be an extreme, standing out from the herd of the utterly average. But to think that way misunderstands ourselves, and misunderstands the other. We are not completely one thing, or totally another, just at those we perceive as cliche and unexceptional are not entirely the things we believe about them. We are, all of us, more or less.

#2

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life. – Love After Love by Derek Walcott, introduced by Tom Hiddleston

Poems That Make Grown Men Cry, while I disagree with the inherent gender stereotype in the title, is an excellently curated book of poetry. 100 men in the public sphere were asked to comment on the poems which evoke the most emotion in them; the result is a stunning and varied collection of great works. While there were poems which made me emote more strongly than this one (Daniel Radcliffe submitted Long Distance I and II by Tony Harrison, and JJ Abrams submitted The Lanyard by Billy Collins; you have been warned), Love After Love instantly felt like the kind of poem worth knowing by heart. I have never felt inclined to learn poetry by rote (excluding Shakespeare), but I felt such a deep connection to the language and the message of this piece. It is something I think about constantly: after we are done spending a lifetime living to please others, what we must hope is that the life we look back on is a feast of memory we may savour. At the end of the journey, it does not matter how rich our life was in the eyes of others; it is us who will sit down to feast on the recollection of the life we lived. As Hiddleston points out in his introduction, we live our lives trying to be “enough” for other people. The poet gently and perfectly reminds us that we are enough, each of us, as we are. Sit. Feast on your life.

#3

“But a knife ain’t just a thing, is it? It’s a choice, it’s something you do. A knife says yes or no, cut or not, die or don’t. A knife takes a decision out of your hand and puts it in the world and it never goes back again.” – The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness

The Knife of Never Letting Go is a book about everything. It is about the chaos and the multitudes and the complexities inside of us that make us misunderstand ourselves and others. It is about responsibility. It is about accepting what life hands to us, however great or terrible, and making something out of it. It is about societal pressure and men and women and innocence and guilt and humanity. Patrick Ness has been one of my very favourite novelists for a while now – his  The Crane Wife and More Than This have been featured on this blog, and his A Monster Calls is one of the most emotionally impactful books I have ever read. He has, once again, created a beautifully realized world that is just different enough from our own to make you feel vulnerable as you explore it. The problem I run into when trying to discern what spoke most deeply to me in the novel, however, is that the book is fantastic in its entirety. The various passages and phrases I have tried to lift from the story for their particularly well-formed prose or their deeper observations simply do not do justice to what this book is.

I settled on the quotation above because it comes the closest, perhaps, to striking the bell at the heart of this novel, without giving too much away. While undeniably more powerful in context, I think it speaks to the important lesson that the things that happen to us do not define us. We define ourselves by the way we handle those things. The knife in our hand, the knife which we are handed, does not cut out our path in the jungle of life. We are holding the knife. We cut our own way through.

#4

“Six degrees of separation doesn’t mean that everyone is linked to everyone else in just six steps. It means that a very small number of people are linked to everyone else in a few steps, and the rest of us are linked to the world through those special few.” – The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell

Gladwell’s book was an interesting, quick read for me – well outside the normal realm of my literary ingestion, but that is one of the things I desired most of this project. It has a few inherent flaws: one, that the first chapters of the book are far more compelling in their argumentation than the last; and two, that most of the really interesting arguments could have been summed up in a much shorter work than the 294 pages of the copy I read. Perhaps I felt this way because I am more literary than the economists and sociologists featured in the book, and for whom it was written. Distributed among the verbosity, however, there are a number of interesting observations to be found on Gladwell’s topic: the ways in which small ideas can explode into movements and epidemics. He talks at length about the movers and shakers who are most often responsible for the “tipping” of trends and ideas, the specific personality types who have just the right blend of skills and traits to facilitate wide-scale change. I couldn’t help, as I read his descriptions of these various personality types, to consider the people in my life who might fit into each category – and which, if any, I fall into myself. I am not sure I fall into any, but I was taken with the idea of what Gladwell describes as a Connector, someone with a diverse group of acquaintances who brings the right people into contact with one another, bridging the gaps between distinct groups to facilitate the transmission of ideas. I am fortunate to know a few such people, these “special few,” who keep me connected more widely to the world around me, who broaden my understanding with their diverse knowledge and connectivity. Gladwell’s reflection made me grateful for them.

*****

One month down. Eleven months and 46 books to go! Check back every month for more Words on Words and other thoughts on An Awfully Big Adventure!

Words on Words – May 3, 2015

Words have tremendous power. Words can inspire and dismay, stir or silence, deliver truths or falsehoods. Words have begun and ended wars. Creation myths from every corner of the earth claim that words – spoken, whispered, or sung – brought into being all that is. Most words we encounter are not filled with such authority. Most words make up the white noise that is the background of our consciousness; heard or read or spoken, but not marked, having no sway over the course of our own unfolding creation. Every so often, however, we encounter words which alter the very way in which we perceive our realities – they speak to us with such beauty and devastation that we can never again see the world the way we did before. They set our mind at war with itself, or with startling clarity bring to an end a war long fought. They demand to be heard and understood and obeyed.

I encountered some such words this week, in the form of The Crane Wife, brilliantly authored by Patrick Ness. I do not say lightly that of the hundreds (and hundreds) of books which I have read throughout my life, this is without hesitation the most beautiful I have ever encountered. His prose defies description. The truths he has discovered, and the silver tongue with which they are presented, are the kind which make a writer (which I no longer dare pretend to be) question whether there is value in writing anything else. Surely, as Mr. Ness has clearly achieved the height of beauty and verity writing, there is nothing left to write. Or perhaps, just perhaps, we must use The Crane Wife as an Olympian pinnacle to which to aspire; we may never reach the top, but if we try, we may come within sight of the summit and be satisfied.

Here are but a few of the words which inspired in me tears and laughter, awe and delight, in this unparalleled work of genius:

5. “But if it wasn’t a dream, it was one of those special corners of what’s real, one of those moments, only a handful of which he could recall throughout his lifetime, where the world dwindled down to almost no one, where it seemed to pause just for him, so that he could, for a moment, be seized into life.”

It was, ironically (but perhaps not), this passage a few pages into the book which made me realize the capital-I-Importance of what I was reading. Indeed, as I read it, I felt the rest of the world dwindle and pause until all that mattered was me and the words on the page. The magic of the story and the unspeakable beauty of the writing seized me into life. The words demanded of me more than passing readership – they commanded participation, thought, understanding, and interaction. The story was alive, and so should I be. His writing style and singularly beautiful voice command undivided attention. Moments such as Ness describes are precious few, and only a fool ignores them.

4. “What was true, though, and what he thought about often, was that although he was the hero of his own version of the story, naturally, he was also a supporting player in this same story told by someone else.”

Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle states that we cannot measure both the speed and the location of a subatomic particle at the same time – that, in measuring one we affect the other, so that our very act of measuring alters the reality which we are trying to measure. Telling a story is inherently akin to this; our telling of it is skewed by our own participation in the event. It is part of being human, this inability to distance ourselves from our own involvement and be completely subjective. We cannot ever truly tell a story from another’s point of view, forgoing entirely our own involvement in and perception of it. As Ness writes later, “Stories shift, remember? They change depending on who is doing the telling.”

3. “This I will never understand… The inability of people to see themselves clearly. To see what they are actually like, not what they fear they are like or what they wish to be like, but what they actually are. Why is what you are never enough for you?”

Everyone from Jesus of Nazareth to Dr. Seuss has opined about the inherent value of the individual, but somehow it is always easier to see the value inherent in others than in yourself. Of course it is not nearly so easy as simply forgetting your insecurities and fears – we are bound by these, and to let them go is the hardest thing imaginable. The challenge, then, lies in seeing yourself through eyes of love. Love sees clearly. We often understand those we love better than they understand themselves. Our duty to ourselves is to love ourselves, in spite of our multitude imperfections. Love yourself, and that will be enough.

2. “Let it be enough that I have lived and changed and been changed. Just like everyone else.”

Among the multitude of questions raised in the novel is whether we ever really know anyone but ourselves, and even whether we should. Perhaps it suffices to know that we have all lived, we have all been forces of creation and destruction, we have all laughed and cried, we have all spoken and listened, we have all loved, lost, and changed. That should be enough, at the very least, for each person to deserve all the dignity, respect, and love we can muster.

1. “Stories do not explain. They seem to, but all they provide is a starting point. A story never ends at the end. There is always after. And even within itself, even by saying that this version is the right one, it suggests other versions, versions that exist in parallel. No, a story is not an explanation, it is a net, a net through which the truth flows. A net catches some of the truth, but not all, never all, only enough so that we can live with the extraordinary without it killing us.”

Perfection needs no explanation, nor will it bear it, and so I will not try.

Words on Words – April 19, 2015

Every day, our brain processes thousands of words. We read menus and text messages, social media and news scrolls, magazines, books, and recipes. Most of these words pass through our minds but for a moment before they are interpreted and deemed useless, snatched up, and thrown away. Every so often, however, words find root in our mind and stick there like a weed, growing and infecting and thriving and assimilating until they become a part of our psyche. A turn of phrase or a hidden truth or an unexpected joke can stick with us well beyond the moment of our reading it, and can challenge and indeed change our perceptions of reality. Here are some words which have taken up permanent residence in my head this week:

5. “Das Nichts nichtet” – Martin Heidegger, Was ist Metaphysik?

In a 1929 lecture entitled “What is Metaphysics?”, German philosopher Martin Heidegger pronounced “Das Nichts nichtet”, which translates to “The Nothing noths”. This seemingly redundant phrase has been dismissed by many philosophers since as being useless; as useless as, say, proclaiming that the rain rains. “To noth” is also not a real verb, of course, which does not lend favourably to Heidegger’s case. But ridiculous as it may be in terms of grammatical logic, if you look for the meaning which Heidegger hoped to imply, it is certainly worth the muddling about in syntax limbo.

Heidegger was trying, with his twist of language, to imply that “nothing” was somehow capable of acting on things that exist. Nothing, of course, is not a thing unto itself, but simply the absence of anything. Just as dark is not a thing in itself, but merely the absence of light, so does nothing exist only in the sense that something exists in its place. So you cannot say that nothing is something, because inherently it is not. Are you with me? Ok. Now let’s suppose, says Heidegger, that “nothing” is not a noun, but in fact the present tense of a verb. Noth-ing. Nothing noths. Nothing is not merely absence, impotent and inactive; it is constantly acting on everything that is, the void that is the beginning and end of all that is. Nothing is constantly noth-ing us. It is this noth-ing that gives us rational creatures our fear of death, of the unknown, of nothingness. Humans are different from all other beings in our understanding of our own mortality. We live out our existence in constant dread (to Heidegger Angst) of un-being, of nothing. It is this Angst, this dread, the nothing’s noth, that drives us to greatness, to religion, to live lives full of somethingness, so that when we inevitably come to nothing, we will have been something, once.

The nothing noths, indeed. Nonsense. But maybe not.

4. “Regine chuckles. ‘Are you serious? Real life is only ever just real life. Messy. What it means depends on how you look at it. The only thing you’ve got to do is find a way to live there.’ She leans down until her face is close to his. ‘Now, make hay, dickhead. While the sun still shines.'” – Patrick Ness, More Than This

Patrick Ness’ delicious More Than This is a search for the meaning of life, death, and suffering. In a novel filled with philosophical questions and musings on those things which make us human, this particular moment is a refreshing reminder to those of us (myself very much included) who spend too much time thinking about life and so forget to live. Perhaps there is greater meaning to all of this, and perhaps there is not. But while we are here, the good and the bad and the messed up are all just forks in the road; the route we choose to take is sometimes the greatest meaning of all.

And besides, the line, “Now, make hay, dickhead. While the sun still shines.” is the literary equivalent to a saucy rack of ribs and a fist-bump from Ghandi.

3. “Lifestyle contract” – Cyd Ziegler, Outsports

Imagine for a moment that, in order to keep your job or indeed even work in your chosen field, you must sign a “lifestyle contract” which guarantees that you will live your public life in a way that is counter to everything you are and all that you believe in. Imagine being told that if you are true to yourself, you will be released from your job and unlikely to find another one. Cyd Ziegler of Outsports (an organization dedicated to LGBT issues in sports) wrote a frank and eye-opening article about “lifestyle contracts” which some NCAA coaches are forced to sign to ensure that they will not publicly endorse homosexuality. The article particularly focuses on the impact these contracts have on closeted gay coaches who are forced to hide themselves for fear of losing their livelihoods. The idea that such a contract should be permissible is so bizarre to me that it has been stuck in my head all week. The full article is well worth the read, and it is certainly an issue that deserves attention.

2. “My education, in other words, was a test of my willpower; and I accepted the challenge – to such an extent, indeed, that I think at some level of my teenage consciousness I truly believed that the whole point of going to school was to learn how to focus attention on subject matter that was of no consequence to me… Education is not primarily about understanding the world; its real purpose is character building. As a corollary, I inferred that to study anything in which you had a real interest was, if not exactly cheating, certainly missing the point.” – John Cleese, So, Anyway…

Here is the master practicing his craft. John Cleese is among the funniest people ever to walk this earth, and here he is at his sharpest. As with any genius, his brilliance comes from an ability to see the world as no one else sees it. His autobiography is filled with observations like this one- anecdotes which are frightfully funny, but whose essential truth comes up to slap you in the face upon further reflection. Great comedy points a mirror at its audience and teaches it to laugh at itself.

I am sure I am not alone in seeing the truth in Cleese’s analysis. It certainly sums up how I felt (and indeed still feel) about much of my formal education. So much of what we learn in school is what someone else has decided it is important for us to know. The greatest part of Cleese’s point, though, is that he admits that there is still inherent value in learning something you care nothing about. It builds character. It is this perseverance and test of character which prepares you most for the world after school, not the classes themselves. Brilliant.

1. “Be a little kinder than you have to.” – E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart is positively brimming with words that stay with you. It is not overly long or complex- it is but the work of a few hours to devour the whole thing. The book is, among many things, about the nature of happiness and the lies we tell to maintain the illusion of normality. At one point the titular Liars enter into a discussion about the mottos that they choose to live by; “do not accept an evil that you can change” and “never eat anything bigger than your ass” and the like. Among the silliness and arguing, Lockhart nestles these 8 beautiful words. In a book which flies by at a breakneck speed, this simple reminder brings the whole imagined universe to a sudden halt. The characters react as the reader does, pausing and reflecting and ultimately agreeing that this, indeed, is the crux of it all.

Be a little kinder than you have to. We, most of us, go throughout our days showing kindness and courtesy where it is necessary or called for, meeting societal expectations, trying not to make a splash. Some people go out of their way to make people’s lives miserable by word or action, and others are constantly trying to better the world for others; most of us, however, meet only the minimum. We say please and thank you when it is expected, and forget to when it is not. We give bigger tips and give change to the homeless and hold the door for others when the mood strikes us, but mostly we do only what we need to to get by.

Nobody is called to be a superhero, to single-handedly cure the world of all that ails it. But imagine a world in which we all, every one of us, was just a little kinder than we had to be; if, instead of mere courtesy, we showed genuine empathy and gentleness; if, when we could be critical, we offered support. Surely the smallest act of unexpected kindness means so much more than an obligatory gesture.

Be good to one another. Then, be just a little bit better.