Booking It--Like the Very First Time

What book would you love to be able to read again for the first time?

What a great question! The problem is, I want to answer "Every book I've ever read and really loved." I'm definitely a re-reader. Great literature is so rich, so deep, so layered, that there's no way I can fully appreciate it with only one reading. But no matter how many times I re-read a great book, I never again get to experience the same wonderful sense of discovery that I felt during the first reading. I'm never again shocked by a plot twist, breathless at a new revelation, or blown away by an ending I never saw coming.

I think Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible is one. And Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. And Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White. And Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. And Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. And Anita Shreve's The Weight of Water. And . . . You see the problem.

I can think of a lot of movies I'd love to see again for the first time, too.

Disagreeing with Dr. Johnson

I admire Samuel Johnson. I really do. A man who can compile a Dictionary of the English Language in seven years with exacting precision is hardly to be argued with. But I am today.

Dr. Johnson wrote:

Contemplative piety, or the intercourse between God and the human soul, cannot be poetical. Man admitted to implore the mercy of his Creator, and plead the merits of his Redeemer, is already in a higher state than poetry can confer.

The essence of poetry is invention; such invention as, by producing something unexpected, surprises and delights. The topicks of devotion are few, and being few are universally known; but few as they are, they can be made no more; they can receive no grace from novelty of sentiment, and very little from novelty of expression. Of sentiments purely religious, it will be found that the most simple expression is the most sublime. Poetry loses its lustre and its power, because it is applied to the decoration of something more excellent than itself. All that verse can do is to help the memory, and delight the ear, and for these purposes it may be very useful; but it supplies nothing to the mind. The ideas of Christian Theology are too simple for fiction, and too majestick for ornament; to recommend them by tropes and figures, is to magnify by a concave mirror the sidereal hemisphere.

I don’t claim to have the analytical powers of Dr. Johnson, but I do have a few things to say in rebuttal: John Donne. George Herbert. Gerard Manley Hopkins. Christina Rosetti.

Have anything to add to the argument?

Trusting My Instincts

I enjoy movies. I like to watch them, and I like to think about them. I even like to have discussions about them. But I’ve never written a movie review.

Over the years I’ve written several book reviews, and I feel pretty comfortable doing so. After all, I’ve studied literature. I know what I like and what I don’t. I have opinions about what’s working and what’s not. I can speak the language. And if you disagree with me, that’s okay. I can handle it.

But film is different. I’ve always wanted to take a Film as Lit class, but every time one’s been offered during my time as a student, from undergrad to grad, it was always during the time of another class that I absolutely had to have. So, even though I do have opinions about the movies I watch, I’m reluctant to share my judgments. I don’t know film history, I haven’t studied the criticism, I don’t know the specialized vocabulary, and that makes me hesitant. I feel unqualified.

That hasn’t stopped me, though, from watching films, privately forming opinions, and reading film reviews. But I have the same procedure with film reviews that I do with book reviews—I don’t read them until afterwards. I don’t want to be told what to think; I want to experience the movie for myself, make my own discoveries, and form my own opinions.

Right after Thanksgiving I went to see The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. (I promise, no spoilers.) I think it’s a really good movie, but there were a couple of things that bothered me about it, and something about the movie overall that I kept thinking about but couldn’t quite get to where the unease was leading. I came home and looked up one of my favorite movie critic’s review, and lo and behold, he brought up each of the negative things I’d noticed and answered the question I hadn’t even realized I’d been grappling with.

Our family went to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on Christmas night, and on the way home I mentioned that something about it reminded me of Forrest Gump. Later I read a review and discovered that both films were written by the same screenwriter. Ah-ha!

The same sort of thing has happened with several movies I’ve watched lately.

Now, I’m not saying that the film critics and I always agree or that I notice everything they do. Far from it—I have a long way to go. I still want to learn more about the field. But my confidence is growing.

Let the Flailing Begin

If you’ve been reading my “Gleanings from My Readings” posts lately, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve found Anne Lamott to be an especially quotable writer. In her book Plan B: More Thoughts on Faith, she observes, “I know that with writing, you start where you are, and you flail around for a while, and if you keep doing it, every day you get closer to something good.”

Well, I’m ready. I let myself have a couple of weeks off, for several reasons. One is that I haven’t really taken any time off from my studies since I began three years ago. Another is that I wanted to enjoy my family over the holidays. And the final reason is that I just can’t work in fits and spurts. When I write, it becomes my second religion—I have to do it with my whole heart, mind, and soul, and I knew I couldn’t devote that kind of uninterrupted time to my dissertation during the holiday season.

But it’s over now. This is the last lap. I’m ready. Let the flailing begin.

Some Observations on Blogging at Year's End

I started blogging this past July. Although I was a little hesitant to begin, I’ve found that I really enjoy it. I thought that, at year’s end, I’d share a few of my observations about blogging:

1. No skill improves without practice, and writing is no different. Blogging is a good way to regularly exercise my “writing muscles.”

2. Blogging encourages me to be more observant.

3. Knowing that I have a daily post to write makes me more thoughtful—about life, about what I read, about what I think, about what others say—about everything, really. And that’s always a good thing.

4. It’s rewarding to see my words in print, even if it is online.

5. I always wondered how columnists regularly came up with things to write about. Now I know.

6. Writing and reading blogs lets me regularly participate in conversations with people—intelligent people, witty people, thoughtful people, geographically-distant people, something that otherwise would be nearly impossible.

7. Knowing that others are reading my blog is motivating. I never could keep a personal journal going, but blogging has a built-in incentive.

8. My blog is an archive of my daily thoughts, ideas, and observations, something that I find personally valuable.

9. It’s fun.

10. It’s addictive.

Here’s to a great year of blogging in 2009!

More Breaking News

According to an article in Prevention magazine’s January 2009 edition, we each have only a limited amount of willpower. It is not, scientists have discovered, an unlimited “cognitive currency.”

Oh, really? And it took a (well-funded, I’m sure) scientific study to discover that?

I could have proved it with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies.

Cajoling Myself

No, I’m not writing this post just because I want to use the word “cajoling,” although it is a great word, isn’t it? Say it out loud. See? It even sounds like you’re giving yourself a pep talk, kind of like poking yourself in the ribs. And it has a happy sound. You’re encouraging yourself, not beating yourself up (that would be “manhandling” or “coercing.”)

Okay, enough about words and down to business. I’m actually writing this post because this morning, I realized something about myself. I’m not organized or disciplined or driven to achieve. I simply cajole myself through life.

Today was weightlifting day, something that comes around about three times a week for me. Some days, I really enjoy it. I’m eager to begin, and each lift feels great. My body feels fit and strong. I am joyously alive. I even feel a little righteous. Today was not such a day.

I told myself, “Just do your run, and if you don’t feel like lifting, you don’t have to.” Of course, this is a sneaky move. First of all, it gets me in my exercise clothes and out the door, which is half the battle. Then after my run I’m already sweaty, so I can’t use the excuse that I don’t want to get that way. I told myself, “Well, you might as well go ahead and lift a few weights. If you want to quit after the first set, you can.” Then, of course, it was “Well, just one more set.” Then, “You don’t want to be a quitter, do you?” And finally, “Come on. Just one more set! Think of all those hump-backed little old ladies you see in Walmart who struggle to lift their groceries from the cart to the checkout. You don’t want to end up like that do you?” And before I knew it, I was done.

See, it wasn’t will power. I just cajoled myself through it, a strategy I knew would work because I’d done it before. And not just with workouts.

I got through my undergraduate years this way. I was driving two hours one-way, with three children at home, and when I’d get overwhelmed, I’d tell myself: “You can quit tomorrow, but you’re not going to quit today. All you have to do is what’s required today.” And I didn’t quit. Certainly I’ve gotten through my doctoral program by cajoling myself. “Wow, that’s a really long checklist of really hard requirements. Maybe I can’t do this. Well, I’ll just get through the coursework and worry about the rest later.” When it got time for my comps reading, it was: “Just start the first book. Okay, check. Now the next one . . .” And writing papers? “Okay, just do the research. Now an outline. Just write an introduction . . .” I plan on completing the dissertation using the same method.

Writing teachers always say to stay away from clichés, and I understand why. They are “tired language,” and writers want to be original and striking. But clichés become clichés because they are true to life. “The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.” “Inch by inch, it’s a cinch. Yard by yard, it’s too hard.”

Works for me.

Misery Loves Company

Last week on one of my posts , Ian, a McCarthy enthusiast who’s pursuing an MA, posted a comment about the newest book on my must-read list: Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. It’s on his to-read list, too--and has been since last December--but, as he so eloquently put it, “due to time constraints and life” he hasn’t been able to read it yet.

Ah, Ian, I feel your pain. Sometimes, it feels like I’m so busy reading what I “have” to read and taking care of inconsequential items like buying groceries, doing laundry, and making sure the health department doesn’t condemn my house, that there’s not enough time to read what I “want” to read. And I feel guilty even writing this because I actually do like what I’m studying.

Maybe it’s just that old stubborn childishness surfacing: “Nobody’s gonna tell me what to read!” Maybe it’s laziness—Instead of working, I want to be entertained. Maybe it’s jealousy. When you’re working hard on a degree, it seems like everybody else is getting to read whatever strikes their fancy, while poor-old-me has to keep my nose to the grindstone. Of course, the same thing happens when you’re teaching. You spend all your time reading and preparing for the classes you teach, and recreational reading time is all too short and precious.

Oh well. At least I know I’m not suffering alone.

Just Passin' Thru

One of the greatest simple pleasures of Fall for me is moving through leaves. I know it sounds childish and maybe even silly, but being in the middle of autumn leaves really makes me happy.

Several stretches of the road to our house are tree-lined, and I love it when the wind blows the leaves from the trees as I’m driving through—it’s like speeding through a blizzard of color. Then, the next day, the road is covered with the leaves, and as I drive through them, I look back through the rearview mirror and watch them swirl. I’m kicking up jewel-toned dust.

I also love jogging through blowing leaves. They are above me, below me, around me. I feel like I’m in my own personal kaleidoscope. The other day, I was out for my run and one beautiful, perfect leaf was caught in a breeze, dancing like the feather in Forrest Gump, and I just stopped and watched it until it settled at my feet.

You know it must be really special when a Type A personality stops and admires nature in the middle of her run.

Breaking News: Scientists Validate the Metaphor

I read the other day about a recent scientific experiment. The scientists chose a group of people, secretly divided them into thirds, put them in a room, and instructed them to mingle. One third was “in the know,” one third was a control group, and those of the last third were the subjects of the experiment.

The “in the know” group had been instructed to treat the control group normally but to stare down, ignore, snub, and generally be rude to the subjects of the experiment.

Afterwards, both the control group and the subjects were interviewed about their experience. Among other questions, they were asked to estimate the temperature of the room. Those who were treated rudely consistently rated the room as colder than the control group.

From this, the scientists concluded that metaphors like “an icy stare” and “the cold shoulder” corresponded to actual physiological reactions, and were therefore valid.

My reaction to this newsworthy achievement? Boy, I could have saved them a lot of time and money.

Politically Confused

You can’t open a newspaper, look at the cover of a magazine, turn on the TV, or read a blog (except mine) lately without noticing the focus on politics. I’m feeling a little out of the loop, so here goes:

Obama. McCain. Democrat. Republican. McCain. Obama. Christian. Muslim. Obama. McCain. Liberal. Conservative. McCain. Obama. Experienced. Unproven. Bill and Hillary. Gender Issues. Obama. McCain. The Race Card. DNC. RNC. Joe Biden. Obama. McCain. Raise Taxes. Lower Taxes. Universal Health Care. War Hero. McCain. Obama. Personal Integrity. Bipartisanship. McCain. Obama. Obama. Obama. . .

Okay. I don’t mean to make light of politics, and I’m not apolitical. I realize that whoever wins in November will shape our country, not only for the next four years, but on into the future through policy decisions and Supreme Court nominations and how he responds to acts of aggression against the U.S.

I guess what I really am, is politically confused. It’s important to me to be a well-informed person, and although I spend more time reading literature than political pundits, I do try to be in-the-know. The problem is that I don’t know who to believe. Each magazine article I read contradicts the last one. Each news anchor leans a different way. Each analyst comes to a different conclusion. What’s a person who doesn’t have a degree in political science supposed to do?

Well, I don’t have it all figured out, but here are a few things I do know:

1. There are radicals and zealots on both sides of any issue, some willing to resort to violence.
2. People from both parties misrepresent, slant, and sometimes lie.
3. Candidates are human. We will often be disappointed in them.
4. Some people will do anything for power.
5. Some people truly want to serve.
6. There are honest, committed Christians on both sides of the aisles, earnestly trying to following their convictions.
7. We should try to understand each other and treat each other with respect.
8. Even though it may be difficult, it’s important to try to get a handle on the issues, get to know the candidates, and vote my conscience.

Maybe I’ll get it all figured out by November.