Words to Spend

Americans are a rich people. No matter our income we all have a wealth of words available for expressing whatever profound thought or hare-brained notion we wish. We have had words lavished upon us by generations past, and when we are bored with those, we make new ones. No one ever had less excuse for expressing themselves poorly than we do.

Think of it as a pocket full of words to spend, and a great, spacious-wide day to spend them in. Speak of a resplendent sunrise, sparkling dew, a downy-haired child. Or it can be a chilly dawn, a hazy sky, a smoggy drive. We have the tools to say exactly what we see, hear, think and feel. You don't have to be lyrical or break into song, just add detail - a little shine. Feeling a little self-conscious? Write your words instead - describe your excellent or awful day, your new car, your present mood or condition. Write so clearly and expressively that your great-great grandchildren, on reading what you've written, will see your day, feel your mood, smell the new car smell.

You have a great bounty of words to spend; it's the one area, even in a bad economy, that you don't have to scrimp. Don't just talk - spellbind, intrigue, edify. Language is a gift. The ability to fully communicate is a blessing. Don't squander it.

The Echo

Some words hurt. They become the reverberating sound we hear when we shout into the Grand Canyons of life, echoing back to our ears pretty much the way they left our mouths: they are what they are, and there's no taking them back.

It is the mark of the kind-hearted soul to avoid hurtful words whenever possible. And it is the measure of a society to care when someone hurts. If you recall, there is a parable about the penitent, guilt stricken because his words had injured another. Seeking the advice of the sage, the supplicant was told to take the feathers from a pillow and place one on each doorstep in the village, signifying the number of people who had heard the slander. After completing this task, the gossip returned to the wise man for further instruction. Told to gather up every feather again, he protested: "Surely the wind has blown the feathers where I cannot find them!" "And so carry your words, my friend," he was gently reminded.

Wit and slander are divided at times by a razor-thin line. Do you ever hear friends banter back and forth with outrageous insults? We all toss off these little barbs in good fun, the idea being to make the insult so completely unbelievable as to ensure that we are not misunderstood. If we know (and love) one another well enough, we know how to avoid the truly sensitive issues and the soft spots in each others' psyche. Occasionally, we overstep and feelings are hurt, but if we are good friends, we make amends and exercise the discretion in the future which good friendship expects. We have known people who use a fine-tuned wit to injure without regard, and we eventually learn to exclude them or avoid them. The damage from such thoughtlessness can be extensive and most people of good conscience are uncomfortable in its presence.

Public wit becomes a little trickier. Take for example, the celebrity "roast." People who are friends, family and close colleagues of an honoree are assigned to deliver speeches that have the dual object of displaying the good nature of the mark, and conveying their sincere respect and affection. This is done (paradoxically) by lampooning them almost without mercy. The effect, when done right, is meant to be light-hearted and humorous but with a clear undertone of high regard. These occasions are meant to be fun: to convey honor without all the cloying and fussy praise. Once in a while, we cringe at some point which the honoree seems to take in stride, illustrating the very small margin for error.

I cannot say what it is of human nature that we entertain ourselves this way. But as a society becomes more sophisticated, or in other words more worldly, this type of wit becomes a sort of verbal game of "chicken," where the weak are offended and the strong become verbal bullies.

I reflect on this because of an article I read in a recent Time magazine. I don't think it is necessary to pinion the author. It is an author who, in fact, I have admired in the past. On the very off chance he reads this post, he may know of my general regard. He will also know that he stepped over this line as surely as much of his readership knew it. In the article, entitled My Own Private India, this well-respected writer used language that made me gasp: he spoke of one ethnic group in terms so breathtakingly unflattering that there was no turn-around place, no redemption. In a roast, the speaker may say a few outrageous things but culminate in a generous and thoughtful conclusion. I nervously waited for this turn-around, but it never came.

We see that hurtful speech has a private voice and a public voice. In this case, I wonder if a public voice occasionally chooses art over better judgment and becomes a little too removed from the personal impact of his words. Speaking aloud in a populated room, it is too late to depend on those gasping sounds to let us know when we have erred. Even worse, when we are alone and groping for the witty and urbane, it is hard to trust our own echo.

A Fine Line

My friend Lisa and I were discussing books the other day and I asked her to name her very favorite book ever. To an avid reader this is an unfair question. It's a little like asking which of your children you love best: you like them all in different ways, corresponding with their different personalities and charms. Faced with the impossibility of this task, we tried instead to determine why one book is better than another.

I argued, "Does not the fine use of words make one book better than another, one author better than another?"
"No," she countered, "The plot makes the book."
"Ah, but how does an author develop a plot? Through the skillful use of words."
"Okay," she conceded, but then offered up an insight too: two very different handlings of a similar plot or event can produce very different but likewise satisfactory stories.

This would suggest a few things:

1) A fine use of words develop a fine story.
2) A good story lends itself to fine description.
3) Poor use of words can equal a bad telling, no matter how good the subject, but...
4) Erudite words with no real point are, well, pointless. (Scholars do it all the time!)
5) Words need to paint a picture.

6) Monet and Rembrandt are equally compelling in their genre.
7) Ergo, a good story and good telling are equally important.

When you pick up a book, ask yourself a few questions:

Do I find the style and use of words appropriate, i.e. entertaining, descriptive, vivid, etc.? Can I "see" the characters, for example. Do I understand them; do I understand what drives them? Can I feel mist (or spiders) on my face, smell the lavender (motor-oil), etc.?

Does the story interest me? Does it captivate me? If I am interested I can still leave off at the end of a chapter. If I am captivated, I am just finishing the last chapter the next a.m.

Am I willing to put up with some dragging of the plot? (Please say no.) There is sometimes a point in a book where you sort of regain consciousness - where suddenly you are aware that you are reading. Too often it is because the author has gone on and on about some small thing and your boredom switch was flipped. "Oops, here I am flipping ahead to see how many pages before the chapter ends and therefore I must have fallen out of the story." You know the point I mean. The parts of a story which need the most explanation are tricky for an author: how to make sure the scene is fully understood, without beating all the life out of it. (You mystery novelists will forgive the figure of speech.)

Do I come away a little changed? Does the story stay in my mind and why? Am I glad I read it or do I feel a little icky or a little cheated? Am I recommending it to everyone I see including my gynecologist or proctologist? (That, my friends, is when you know when you are obsessed with a book!) Or do I refuse to put it on my GoodReads updates because I am embarrassed to been seen as having read it?

Writers (and aspiring writers), give us plots that are ingenious and writing that is superb. Not much to ask. And in return, we will give you lavish praise to our plumber, 250 library circulations a year, multiple print runs, and that little slice of immortality - a NYT Bestseller designation. Tell me that's not worth a little extra sweat over your keyboard. And maybe one day we can say, without hesitation, yours was the best book we ever read.

Choosing the Right (or Left): Using words to construct a social contract

When the United States Constitution was written, a number of men of wide-ranging beliefs and experience gathered together to labor under the exigency of securing their terribly important and hard-won experiment in ideal society. After extensive debate, they still could not completely agree, even though they had virtually all read and subscribed to the same overarching political philosophies. Why is this so? And what has it meant to us?

First, it is important to consider the broad spectrum of personalities and backgrounds. The majority were lawyers, but a good number were merchants, financiers, businessmen, or scholars. Many owned agricultural property; some held slaves, and others strictly opposed slavery. A few were clergy. Most were well educated. Either by virtue of birthright, or by exceptional motivation and intelligence, many attended the finest schools in the colonies. A good number rose from fairly modest circumstances and others were markedly wealthy. A few were first-generation immigrants, but at least one was a Plymouth pilgrim descendant. All were considered their state's brightest and best, and were likely elected to their seat in the Constitutional Convention because they represented the attitudes and expectations of their individual constituencies. Perhaps most importantly, all believed firmly in the importance of forming a free society that could endure.

This is where the dilemma arose. Each understood certain key words differently: freedom, democracy, republicanism, federalism, confederalism, to name a few. Probably every man saw the American experiment as unique, groundbreaking and an outgrowth of the human need to live according to the dictates of one's conscience. They just saw it in a different way, in different terms. Central government or loose confederation of states? A dominant executive, or a strictly apportioned senate? These consideration and hundreds more occupied them until they were worn down by the effort. In the end, each had to capitulate to the reality that they would never, could never agree. The final product was a study in compromise, somewhat unwillingly attained. Ratification by disgruntled states took over three more years.

The great genius of the Constitution is that the words everyone finally signed off on were so open to interpretation. So not etched in stone, so debatable. The lifeblood of the Constitution is not that is spells everything out. It is that it provided a sturdy enough framework that succeeding generations could build and rebuild within its principles to spell their own words - to fashion a government that works for all generations. Since its ratification, the Constitution has undergone 27 amendments. It is a testament to our faith in the original document that we do not take these changes lightly or come by them easily.

Even the founding fathers, with all their background in political philosophy, enlightenment theory, classical republicanism and Greek democratic ideology could not hammer out a precise document, because they could not predict future imperatives. Fundamentally, they all understood the necessity of self-determination but could not agree on the words which could exactly define each's vision of that goal. Nearly every man walked away from his signature deeply dissatisfied with the resulting document. In all their brilliance, they did not understand that the very ambiguity of the Constitution was its strength. To last it could not be inflexible: like a tall building built to flex in the wind, or move slightly with the shifting of the ground, the Constitution was built to both shelter and to stand.

Weaving a Tale

There are so many books to be read, it doesn't seem productive to read one more than once. There are the select few, however, that become dear enough that you re-read them for comfort more than for the search for new information or the desire for a new thrill.

My copy of Silas Marner is a little more worn than the others.

Silas is, by the time we meet him, somewhat past his shining prime. I think it's Eliot's masterful painting of Silas which appeals to me the most. Guileless, bent and nearsighted from his close work, superbly wretched - what a great heroic figure! Ah! say you. Only a librarian could love this non-hero!

Silas is, of course, a metaphor. (Look up metaphor, kids, because the fine points of this definition are as important as the very delicate development of Silas himself). He carries the weight (by representation) of all the injustice of the world. And he represents the triumph of the true man over all that injustice.

If you have ever trusted my opinion, you must trust it now. Read (or re-read) this book and watch for the real story. If you were required to read it the first time, you almost surely missed the point. Yes, it's a little old-fashioned (published in 1861). Yes, the moral lesson is painted neon yellow and a mile wide. (It's the Victorian era, don't forget.) For Austen lovers, it has sentiment, if not romantic vapors. For the unsentimental, it has a commanding grasp of small-town character-types. The message of redemption never fails to move me.

Come on. It's like gold under the floor boards.

Eye Test

Ever looked at a "Magic Eye" book? I find them almost irresistible.

Here's the deal, for those who've never done it: the book is filled with pages of tightly packed images, repeating graphic designs. These can be anything from discernible shapes such as dogs or kites, repeated across the page to more amorphous shapes, less recognizable and densely packed. The pages themselves have nothing specific to focus on and can seem unsatisfying.

The technique is the thing. You select a page, and hold the book up to your face, with good light behind you but no shadow. Your nose needs to touch the page at first. Focus your eyes at a place on the page and once you feel "fastened on" start moving the book away. Don't let your focus wander. You will feel a bit of a pull on your eyes and soon see extra shapes develop. As you get the book about an arms length away or a little less, you will see three dimensional objects emerge. The page is called an autostereogram, and you don't need fancy equipment to see in stereo. In the gentler versions they are a wonderful treat. In some of the more intense ones, the pictures may be odder and more thought provoking.

This is complex science AND great fun. For more information about the science see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autostereogram

For people who are newly acquiring the skill of 'Magic Eye," that first 3D emergence can be quite fun - triumph of imagination over logic.

Some people find it difficult to do. We could ask all sorts of questions about that - do they lack imagination? Are they not patient enough? Do they have an eye problem that prevents them? Are the maybe too logical or analytical?

I do think you have to let yourself believe. I think you have to let go of what you assume and have the eager anticipation that something wonderful (or weird) is coming.

Do try it! Even you cautious serious types. Let your brain do something unusual, stretch its legs, and exercise its magnificent and marvelous capacity.

CDB

Wow.

As a children's librarian, I am continually impressed by the quality and inventive spirit of many writers for kids. This week's case in point: CDB! by William Steig (1907-2003) Yep, the guy who gave us Shrek!

Published in the 80s, I had not had the pleasure of this book's acquaintance until a colleague recently brought it to me. I laughed out loud when I read it, then I insisted another colleague read it too and it was funnier the second time. We were so amused, in fact, that we ran over to the shelves to find the companion book CDC? I cannot adequately tell you about the gimmick in this book. It has to do with sounding out letters to create an entire phrase or statement, The messages revealed have a wry and witty humor which may be lost on your children. Like Shrek, CDB! seems to speak to a little older (and edgier) crowd.

The artwork is a little New Yorker Magazine cartoon. This is not much of a coincidence since Steig drew for New Yorker early in his career. You must rely very heavily on his illustrations to decipher the messages. This will require some effort, starting with the front cover when the key to this delightful book is revealed. Sit down with this book, with another grownup you like (and who has a quirky sense of humor). Read it out loud together. When you do, I promise you will be charmed.

So many books, so little time...

I find that as I grow older, the books I read become more important to me. What follows may offend the sensitive reader, so beware.

There was a time when I would finish a book, page by page consecutively, no matter what. I felt duty-bound to read a book through no matter how I hated it. Then, almost suddenly, I changed. I can almost pinpoint the moment. I was reading a book hailed by that most exalted judge the New York Times Bestseller list. A wiser (read older) me realizes that a book that sells the most isn't necessarily the best book. It is very seldom the best book for me. The book that changed me was a biography about a person who, very early in the book, seemed to me the most selfish, self absorbed and flamboyantly vulgar person I had ever been introduced to. Somewhere before the first chapter closed, I clapped the book shut and threw it away! Heresy! I won't mention the book or the subject of the biography. It matters little anyway, and is quite beside the point. At that moment, I was liberated from a life of unsatisfactory reading.

Of course, once that cat was out of the bag, I gave way to some pretty radical behaviors: if at some juncture I itched to know how a story ended, I would read the end (scanning backwards sometimes, to satisfy myself about the outcome). If the book ended well, in my estimation, I continued. (I hate being cheated at the end.) I skipped or skimmed chapters if I felt they didn't add to the story. And I very often stopped reading entirely. I developed the philosophy that if a writer couldn't bother to engage me within a reasonable amount of time, I would not plug through vast swamplands waiting for them to deliver. There are so many books to be read. So many interesting, informative, contributory, inspiring, worthy books. I won't be able to read even those in my lifetime. Why waste time on the drivel? And confess - we've all read drivel.

So writers, take heed. I am your new discerning public. Impress me (and be sure to do it in the first few pages!)

What Must be Read

This has been a week of reading what must be read. Not that there isn't some pleasure to be had in technical reading. But the very fact that it carries a sense of obligation does take away some of the shine. To balance things out, I watched old Bugs Bunny cartoons this afternoon(still funny after all these years, at least for those of us of a certain age).

The reading in question is a quest to choose a new thesis topic. I may go down in history as one of the very few who have had to write two theses. Judge me, dear reader, but I trust it is because I am a good writer but a bad salesman. The area of study is Art History, preferably something regarding the Northern Renaissance. Art fans out there - I am open to suggestions!

We are experiencing heaps of snow here in the Ohio Valley. If you are from Washington, D.C. and other places, I'm sure you probably will not spare any grief over our 12 inches or so. Indeed, I am seeing this as a blessing - it's just inconvenient enough to go out that I am making myself productive inside instead. I had to laugh about the sign I saw on the local news that someone had posted in their front yard, "Thank God for global warming. This could be worse!" And for many of you it is. I hope that you can all, wherever you are reading this, be warm inside with a good book.

The Ephemeral Word

What a great thing words are. And how temporary!

I just finished “The World Without Us” in which Weisman describes the project to send into space a token “piece” of our civilization – in this case the Voyager spacecraft bearing a gold-plated copper analog disc. The challenge was, in 12 inches, to inscribe sound and images that would represent us to another civilization millions of years (and light-years) away. Since surely language would have developed differently in this far-off place, how do we make the recipient understand the message? Or even how to access it from the disc?

I would like to think that there is a universal language in the shape of a pure intelligence. Funny how we can know, across language barriers, about emotion, compassion, friendship. For those of us looking forward to something after this life, we are reassured that when the organization of symbols we call language disappears, we will all still know what is meant.