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The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat ::
At the urging of more than one friend, I put this book on my “to read” list a few months ago, and when some other friends were giving it away, I got excited at the change to read it.
Here are some things I’ve found:
1. Olver Sacks is a great writer.
2. I fundamentally don’t like clinical writing.
3. In spite of the former point, I found it impossible to get beyond the
latter one.
I don’t know what my problem is. Maybe it’s the authors act of imposing himself on the narrative, or maybe it’s hard for me to have any grasp of the characters if they are predominantly a series of obscure neurological symptoms. Maybe it’s just that I find hospitals a bit too creepy. But then, in spite of whatever my problem was, I ultimately founnd the characters strong, their suffering and their stuggles palpable, and their triumphs exciting. Those qualities kept me reading.
So really, any criticism I might have of this book has more to do with the quirky, irrational nature of my personal taste, and less to do with any objective merits of the writing. I think you should read it and decide for yourslef.
The Corrections ::
I don’t imagine Oprah and I agree on much, especially when it comes to the definition of good literature. And honestly, there are very few things I dread more than the prospect of having a book discussion with a group of her die-hard fans. But when I read The Corrections, I began to rethink, ever so slightly, my prejudices against the tastes of the average Daytime Talk Show crowd.
See, here’s a book that has all of the things that I’ve missed in the other novels I’ve read lately: flowing language that’s dense and engrossing, characters who I find sad, funny, and fully human, and a sweeping narrative that spans over three decades. And what drives the story is a family that’s getting together for one last Christmas at the parents' home in the Midwest. (Though it is never explicitly stated by any of the characters, this is the last Christmas because the family is disintegrating -- though I could never quite tell if there was a particularly definitive family to begin with.) All three of the children come back from their lives on the East Coast -- of course, all of them are are mired in some dysfunction or another -- to spend one last holiday with their family, which provides no help, not even a small amount of solace for them. As the holiday season approaches, each of the children, in their own way, become more emotionally desperate, until it seems that all of them will explode if they ever actually come into contact with one another.
The most fascinating aspect of this novel is that it seems to be driven by five characters who are I find very identifiable. They are a part of my time, of my generation, and the nature of their suffering is very peculiar to the world in which I find myself. To see that world presented as art is about as satisfying a discovery as I can think of.
I read this one pretty quickly -- 100 pages per day for five and a half days -- which suggests that I liked it. A lot. Not only that, but I had a pretty significant feeling of loss when I finished. I hope you read it sometime soon, and that you enjoy it as much as I did. No matter what Oprah had to say about it.
Dissent of the Governed ::
Here’s an ironic notion: suppose that, in our quest to create a society that is accepting of all people, we wind up alienating everyone. Or, if not everyone, then maybe just people who hold political and moral views that differ from the “majority” of Americans. To put it another way, lets say our political leaders chose to be intolerant of politics they determine to be “regressive” or “intolerant. ” As a result, they in fact wind up being intolerant of groups who hold views that are contrary to what they define is a Just Government. In my estimation, the result of such political leadership would be a society that is rooted in alienation and disenfranchisement and anger. And the scariest part is: haven’t we all been in the position where we hold the view that is unpopular, regressive, or unpatriotic?
Stephen L. Carter thinks that one of the greatest threats to American Democracy is that there is no place for those people with minority views. Focusing mainly on religious groups, he shows how government (many times through its courts) alienates religious groups (and thus religious people) as it builds an all-inclusive nation with a singular understanding of the world. People of faith are alienated from this vision because their faith leads them to moral conclusions that are radically different from the mainstream, or accepted norm. That is a phenomenon I am way too familiar with.
Now, I don’t know all that much about Carter. His recent lucrative book deal notwithstanding, I know he’s African American, conservative, and himself deeply religious. And he teaches at Yale law school. I have a vague understanding of his politics, which means I know enough about them to say that I don’t agree with them all that much. But I have a hard time disagreeing with his dire assessment of the political, social, and moral climate in this country. Also, I can’t help but feel that no matter what their political views are, everyone has found themselves in the political minority, and have felt disenfranchised and alienated because of it (anti-War on Terror and anti-Globalization people, I’m looking in your direction...). The more those types of sentiments grow, the more Democracy is at risk. It’s hard to tell how much strain we can take before we finally give up.
Fraud ::
I haven’t decided whether great personal essays are borne more out of leading an interesting life or being a talented writer. It’s probably a combination of the two elements, one feeding off the other in varying degrees until the right relationship is struck. But then there’s the actual work of getting all those funny, insightful ideas down on the page, which throws in another variable. So truthfully, there is no single answer, no real recipe for creating great stories about one’s personal life. That’s probably why the quality of the genre is so inconsistent.
But still, reading about David Rakoff’s hike up a mountain in New Hampshire on Christmas day, his search for the Loch Ness Monster, or his experience at the Sixth Annual Comedy Arts Festival in Vail, Colorado, I was awe-struck not so much by his life, but by his ability to describe it so perfectly. And what was going on around him was never as important as what was happening in his head. After reading this, I’d be willing to read his thoughts on grocery shopping or doing laundry.
But still, I know those two stories would not be nearly as interesting as his experiences in the book. Bizarre situations are requisite if any worthwhile observation is to take place. I remember I had a writing instructor who told me, “be safe in real life -- go crazy on the page.” I always resented that advice, and thought it was untrue. I’m glad to see David Rakoff feels the same way.
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