Eat Pray Love--Elizabeth Gilbert

October 7, 2010

Seems lots of people are talking about Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love these days. Oprah touted the book as one of her Oprah Book Club picks, and then more recently Julia Roberts helmed the film project. The book, and presumably its author, are enjoying quite a ride.

I'm not always prey to the big pop culture movements, but let's face it--often I am. So I jumped on the bandwagon to see what all the fuss was about. I fully intend to see the movie, but thought I wanted to read the book first. (That's usually the best order of things, in my opinion, even if it's not always the most practical way to go about it.) Fortunately, my daughter got a copy for her birthday that she was willing to loan me, so I didn't even have to go purchase it.

The movie has been showcased as a 'chick' movie, and after having read the book, I would venture to say rightfully so. It's a journey of recovery of self, a process of re-learning to be oneself and to become comfortable with the self who is one's constant companion. How can you be a good companion, the idea goes, if you can't even be a good companion to your own inner self? If you don't know who you are, how can you share that you with anyone else in a true and meaningful way? Men in our society, aren't conditioned to think this way in general. It is what it is; they are who they are. Women, on the other hand, tend to be conditioned to over-analyze, internalize, and otherwise worry, fret, and second-guess all the emotions and relationships that somehow make up what we casually fit under the over-arching umbrella of Self Esteem. Capital S, Capital E. That is who we are.

So we are introduced to Liz, an emotional wreck of a woman who has lost her Self--it took off on a walk with Esteem and failed to leave a forwarding address. A series of failed, clingy, and desperate relationships, in addition to a crisis of lack of a biological clock telling her it was time to get herself into mommy-gear, left her in a crumpled sobbing mess on her bathroom floor for the umpteenth time. Something in her suddenly spoke calmly, clearly. It was time to make a change--break out of the reality of the mess she had made of her life and find who she really was.

How fortuitous then, that she had the means to take a time-out for not just a day or two, or even a week. Her career as an author afforded her the opportunity to multi-task, as we women are wont to do, and take a year's physical and metaphorical journey on as a writing assignment. She could find enlightenment and pay the bills at the end of the road, once the book was published. Quite a luxury, that. Clearly it worked out for her, but I'm not sure most of us who might have the same degree of crisis of self would have the same serendipitous circumstance. But I digress; this is not, presumably, a self-help book. If it were it would be making some pretty arrogant assumptions about most people's realities. Just run off and travel around the world for a year, just soaking in the experience? No problem!

For Liz, it was indeed no problem. The book is, as you might expect, divided up into three distinct parts, or journeys. During the first, in Italy, Liz sets out to just enjoy the culture and the food and revel in just being. She's a bit whiny in this section, but I suppose that's to be expected when one is first learning to hear one's inner voice without the filter of someone else's perspective or eyes. It's uncomfortable to look so closely into the mirror, confronting those unwanted pieces of self that have grown strong and cumbersome and weighty. It's like dragging a small child to the bathroom to make him brush his teeth. He doesn't want to do it, whines about it, but ultimately is better off for it. At least she gets to do it while eating great Italian pasta and speaking a mellifluous language.

The next leg of the journey takes her to India, where her focus is prayer. Honestly, this section dragged a bit and almost made me want to abandon her there. I don't by any means have anything against a spiritual journey; I think the idea of seeking a closer connection to God and finding one's place in the grand design can be a beautiful and powerful one. Here, though, Liz is still so preoccupied and distracted and self-absorbed that it's a little difficult to like her. I just wanted her to abandon herself to her spiritual pursuit, but she was never really capable. I was glad when she proceeded to the final leg of her journey--love in Indonesia.

Indonesia was where this really became a story for me. The people she met there come alive through her words. They are vibrant, touching, flawed, and beautiful. And she, too, comes alive, bringing her journey full circle. It is here that she is, after months of contemplating herself and learning to be who she is, able to reach out and give herself to others, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Having learned to love and care for herself, she is able to stop focusing on herself and redirect her energies toward helping and giving to others, which ultimately gives her the strength and purpose that she lacked before her journey began. In the end, I guess that's the message, and one the rest of us take away even if we can't travel to Italy, India, and Indonesia; take care of yourself, take care of others, and you find your place in the greater fabric of the universe.

--Donna

The End of the World As We Know It--Robert Goolrick

August 16, 2010
The End of the World As We Know It, by Robert Goolrick, is a memoir of one of the worst kinds of tragedies that can happen to a small child whose world is meant to be protected by the very ones who betray that trust. The aftermath of the abuse and the family's compilicity in protecting the facade of the perfect family at the expense of the well-being of the child is saddening and horrific.

At the risk of incurring the wrath of human rights activists, however, I'm going to attempt to separate Goolrick's actual experiences from his skill in conveying those experiences. His writing, though it may have served a purpose and been cathartic for him, perhaps should have been best left to a journal or diary, or perhaps even notes in his psychiatrist's file. Although he endures, as a four year old, abuse that certainly elicits empathy, we don't get to know the protagonist in any real way, or even know anything at all about the tragedy that so profoundly shapes who he is, until three-quarters of the way through the book. Up until that time, his 'big reveal', if you will, the aloofness of the character, the lack of any real knowledge of who he is and what makes him tick, makes it very difficult for a reader to connect with him or to care much about him. As a human being, once the reveal comes we understand why he is the way he is; as an author, it is too much of a risk to make ones readers wait until nearly the end of the novel to find out why we should care about him.

--Donna

Freakonomics--Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner

July 7, 2010
When I pick up a book, I don't generally reach for non-fiction. However, I had been hearing about Freakonomics for quite awhile, and something about its approach was intriguing to me. I'm no economist, and I don't make it a habit to follow economic trends. However, sociology has always fascinated me, and the premise of this book is an interesting and accessible marriage of the two disciplines. The book's authors challenge long-held assumptions about cause and effect, particularly as seen in the world of economics, and analyzes a variety of sociological phenomena that can be traced as unseen influences on unexpected outcomes. I know, I know--it sounds a little dry and textbook-y, but the beauty of this book is the anecdotal approach. In an easy-going, straightforward manner, the authors draw connections between social events and issues that result in unexpected and less than obvious conclusions about economic repercussions. Definitely worth picking up.

--Donna

Letting Go, or Breaking Up is Hard to Do

April 25, 2010
I'm a little out of control as a collector of books. I've got hundreds of them, on bookshelves, in boxes, in my classroom. I've got books I've read again and again, and books I've read and would love to read again sometime, and of course I've got stacks and stacks of books that I heard about or read about or grabbed my attention in a bookstore at one point or another.

The problem, besides the obvious storage issue, is that I probably have more books in my possession that I can realistically read in my lifetime. I love to read, but I'm no speed reader, so even if people stop writing interesting books for me to buy or borrow RIGHT NOW, I'm not going to make it to all of my books. I've got to prioritize. For awhile, I rotated genres to help me decide what to read: first I'd read a classic that I hadn't gotten around to yet, and then a teen fiction piece (to help me make recommendations to my students), and then a contemporary modern novel. Often, as a matter of fact, I have all of these going at once---I pick one up according to my mood. I've gotten away from that particular system, but I still follow it loosely. I also throw in some non-fiction every now and again, but those aren't the ones I tend to be drawn toward.

For many years, I never picked up a book I didn't finish. I somehow felt that if I invested time in starting the book it would be somehow wasteful if I didn't follow it through. I'm an optimist, too, so I always wanted to give the authors the benefit of the doubt--if it got published, it was bound to get good eventually. Not so! Sometimes, they start off badly, and they just stay there. I recognize that some books get off to a slow start, having to set up an in-depth back story or highly descriptive setting integral to the plot that will eventually unfold. In some of these books, once we meet our key players and discover the journey they are on, we don't mind so much the hard work we trudged through in the introductory exposition to get to them. If, however, the characters are flat or unsympathetic or simply don't connect with the reader, you never forgive them that dry and uninspired trek at the beginning.

Five or six years ago, I ran into three such consecutive books, causing me to re-think my 'never put down a book once you begin it' philosophy. These were all highly received books by many people's standards; I was SUPPOSED to be able to appreciate them. And yet, there was nothing about these books that made me feel I'd gained something in persevering through--I only felt I had wasted my time. I read, in succession, Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain, Anne Proloux's Shipping News, and Frank McCourt's 'Tis. I had never read anything by the first two authors, but they were book club recommendations and I really tried hard to like them and to have something of significance to share with my group. I got nothing, and couldn't bring myself to like or care about the characters in the least, despite having gotten all the way to the ends of their books with them. And Frank McCourt I already had a connection to, because I read and completely loved Angela's Ashes. 'Tis, it seemed to me, was a lazy capitalization on McCourt's previous success and name recognition; the novel had very little to say and all but undid the fondness and admiration I developed for his character in his first novel. Ultimately, I realized that I have far too many books on my shelf to devote time and energy to the ones that become a chore for me. It's not unlike a relationship whose time has passed; when it's not a two way street, and you're not both contributing to the relationship, sometimes the best thing to do is to part ways.

So how do you know whether the book is eventually going to draw you in? I advise my students to give it at least fifty pages in before they abandon a book they're reading for pleasure. If, by that time, the characters have not made their impression, you are not likely to care about them in another three hundred pages. There are so many characters and worlds and lives to explore; I have given myself permission to set aside the characters that are better suited to someone else's acquaintance. It's okay to let go.

--Donna

Thinking in Pictures--Temple Grandin

April 20, 2010

Temple Grandin's book, Thinking in Pictures, is one I really wanted to like, because its subject is important to me. It's a non-fiction narrative about a highly successful woman whose expertise in her field (she has a Doctorate in Animal Science and has developed mechanisms for humane cattle handling that are widely used across the United States) is likely because of her autism, rather than in spite of it. Her unique way of processing information allowed her to visualize the way in which the animals she was working with would respond to certain stimuli, and therfore enabled her to see ways in which she could make changes to the big business of cattle handling (dairies, for example) that would make the cows calm and compliant in processing.

With her expertise, and using as her examples her experiences in the cattle industry, she gives her readers a glimpse into the different ways people with autism and Asperger's process information. She doesn't just focus on her own particular way of thinking, but on several. These different ways of thinking, if we are aware of them, can help us learn to communicate more effectively--whether it be in education or simply in social situations--with those who have autism or Asperger's. I think awareness is her key impetus here, especially since she has encountered in her lifetime opposition and misunderstanding, depsite her obvious intelligence and determination. Because she had a mother and a couple of key teachers who understood her way of thinking and encouraged her, she was able to capitalize on those differences and succeed.

The book is at times a bit disjointed and often repetitive, but I suppose that it's somewhat illustrative of the very thing she's talking about--this idea of seeing in pictures, or snapshots, or images. Sometimes when we flip through a photo album, we see we may have taken several that are quite similar, with the only variance being a slight shift in the body or a shade of change in the brow or the curve of the mouth. Rather than melding them all into one general description of the picture's subject, Grandin painstakingly describes each photo in her mental album, each image she sees, to detail her unique perspective. Unfortunately for the reader, it is often without segue, or without an explanation for how or why each photo is different, when it seems so similar on the surface. I suppose in that way we can see a little more clearly how her brain processes information. It did, however, make it a bit difficult for me to wade through the book (that, and my general lack of interest in cattle), being not possessed of a brain that processes information in this way. This, too, gives us insight though, as we get a little glimpse of how different it must feel for those with autism or Asperger's to make their way through each and every day in a world not geared towards their ways of thinking.

--Donna