Category: book discussion

From Generation to Generation

Editor’s note: I received the following email from my brother, Mark Brody. With his permission, I thought it merited sharing.

I just read a headline, I only read the headline as that is all I can tolerate, which indicated that federal funding is being cut to the programs which provide tutoring to children.  After reading that, or you can substitute any other recent news, such as how research into the cures for Alzheimer’s or cancer, etc. are being eliminated, and I decided that my sensitive, far too brilliant for her own good, sister could enjoy the following essay which, if she chooses, she might wish to post on her blog.

The Hero of Our Own Lives

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by someone else, these pages must show.”  (Opening sentence of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens).

Last night Pam, my wife, and I were babysitting our 5-year-old twin grandsons.  After the boys had a bonus 8-minute episode of an animated, parentally approved TV show called Grizzy and the Lemmings, we all scurried up to their bedroom.  I declared I would outrun them to their room and for the 156th consecutive time (we babysit frequently) both Connor and Lucas outran their ancient grandpa.

Our usual nighttime reading ritual is that Connor will select books for me to read and Lucas, exhausted from a long day, will lie in his bed and be satisfied with just hearing the story as Connor plops himself in my lap.  Before the last book is concluded Lucas will be sound asleep.

Last night, however, Lucas hands me a particular book and asks me to read it. 

The first problem with reading to Lucas at night is that he is usually so tired that he needs to lie in bed, and I need to place my old, creaky body on the floor next to his bed so he can see the pictures as I read the story. 

The second, potentially equally vexing challenge, is that Connor whose bed is at the opposite end of the room “needs” to climb into Lucas’ bed so he can get an equally good view of the book, or perhaps more cynically, to make sure that Lucas does not get a better view of the book than he receives.  This in and of itself is fine, but when reading comes to an end and Lucas is an inch away from being asleep, Connor will invariably decide he should stay in Lucas’ bed and endeavor to keep Lucas awake as there is still much playing and gabbing to be done.  Extricating Connor from Lucas’ bed is often an ordeal.

Last night, however, I was delighted that Lucas decided to climb into my lap as I started to read to him.  Connor then took his usual perch in my lap (the boys are still young and my lap, unfortunately or not, is quite ample).  We read the story. The boys genuinely helped decipher some of the words as the lighting is dim and when the color of the word is red, and the background is black, I have difficulty making out the letters (I am color blind).   The bedtime ritual was completed, and Lucas went right to sleep.  I tucked in Connor and said, “Good night.” 

As I left the room Connor commenced a debate with Pam.  Was Grandpa’s “good night” sufficient?  “Nana, when I wake up tomorrow Grandpa will not be here, don’t you think you should get Grandpa to come back and say ‘goodbye’?”  Despite the debate I did not believe it wise to return to the bedroom. 

First, debates with Connor (always Connor, as Lucas is not afflicted with the need/desire to question/analyze absolutely everything) can sometimes be lengthy (remember they already had an extra episode of Grizzy).  I could envision much time elapsing before I would again leave the room.    

Second,  and much more importantly, I recall the infamous evening when I was babysitting sans Pam and her adult oversight. I recall the look of terror in Josh’s face when I showed up alone, and the parents got home to discover Grandpa in the twins’ room well after bedtime, reading/gabbing with Connor. The formerly always serene Mama demonstrated a countenance which can be generously described as something other than serene.  As an aside, the Daddy of the twins, who has not yet to my knowledge been described as serene, voiced his considerable displeasure with my judgment that Connor did not need as much sleep as the parents thought necessary.

 With that experience in mind and armed with the ability to learn from the past, I promptly made my exit and left Pam to handle the debate with Connor. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, Pam does not seem to test the Mama’s serenity. 

Later that evening Pam explained that Connor’s thesis that Grandpa’s saying “good night” was insufficient was predicated on Connor’s observation that upon his saying “goodbye” to me, I should also say “goodbye” to him because when he wakes up in the morning I would not be there. Hence, just saying “good night” is not sufficient. Note taken.

Both grandparents, having safely bid the boys good night or goodbye as the case may be, await the parents return home which they do at a reasonable hour.  Pam and I head to our own abode. 

We discuss how I used to read to our boys when they were the twins’ age so many decades ago.  Perhaps that is why I decided I should re-read David Copperfield.   Having made a little headway in the tome, I went to bed at 6:00 a.m.

When I awoke the next afternoon, Pam and I discussed how 35 years ago I would read one chapter of the Dickens’ classic a night to Josh. If memory serves me correctly Sam – age 4 or 5- would be snuggling with Josh and me.  She suggested that perhaps one chapter a night might still be a good idea for me. Another note taken, but likely ignored given my track record.

This made me think- about how long it would have taken me to complete the 64-chapter book (each chapter averaging 15-20 pages). 

…..And then a memory arose which I had not thought of for many years.  I now recall having been so enthralled by the elegant writing, humor and pathos of the novel, one summer afternoon, while we were on vacation in a time share in California, I simply had to read the book to myself.  This decision did not end well because Joshua spotted me reading the book…without him! He was outraged and demanded that I not “go ahead of him in the book.” 

Three plus decades later, I recall vividly Josh explaining how my betrayal stung him.  He probably has no memory of this.  My argument that I was going to read everything to him were to no avail.  7 (or 8?) year old Josh’s thesis was that this was a shared experience for the two of us (Sam’s presence was either tolerated or perhaps cynically he did not notice Sam on the other side of me as we read) and my proceeding without him was a grievous abdication of parental responsibility.

…And now a more recent memory- about 4-5 years ago, I am in Josh’s house and he is on the living room floor (he is not yet as antiquated as is his father and can sit comfortably on the floor) with one of the twins and he is reading to his son, not yet one, from one of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings books.

…..And then another memory from two years ago- Sam reading to his then 5-year-old son (Ted) from the Hobbit.

…..And yet another memory rushes in from 60+ years ago  of Mom reading to me. I struggle to recall whether it was Treasure Island or maybe The Three Musketeers– perhaps my older brother, Steven will know.

…So, to conclude my essay, my dear sister, as our great expectations (pun intended) of our government is under constant assault, perhaps there can still be a calming perspective about how rich it is when we have the opportunity to share literature (great or otherwise) with children.  And perhaps by doing so we can be the heroes of our own lives.

Note from your sister: Thinking about reading stories to our children and grandchildren, or reading literature in general, is far better than absorbing the news. So thank you for sending this to me. I too have fond memories of reading to my children each night, but I was not so ambitious as you. Though I read them chapter books, I never took on Dickens.

I also think about the role books had in our shared childhood. Wherever we were, and, as you know, we spent summers in different college communities while Dad pursued his education, we took a weekly trip to the library. Mom and Dad set us up for an enriched life. As they say in one of our prayers, not that we are religious, l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation. I think we have done just that. Mark, thank you for sharing this.

2024 in Review, sort of

Apparently, I set goals for 2024. Who knew? I didn’t remember that I had done that until Facebook brought it to my attention as a memory. It was interesting to review! It probably helps to keep them in mind if one hopes to achieve them! That is probably the first step in successful goal management – review them periodically. Considering that I didn’t, it is interesting to find that some were met.

So, what were those goals? The first one was to read Moby Dick. Nope – didn’t happen. Totally forgot I wanted to do that. I did read 27 books and the only reason I know that is that I track it on Goodreads. Though I didn’t read Moby Dick, I did get a lot from reading Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, a very different classic text. As an aside, I also particularly enjoyed Elizabeth Strout’s Abide with Me (I love her books) and The Personal Librarian. I have to admit, I don’t feel bad that I didn’t achieve that particular goal.

Another item on my list was to write almost every day. I noted that I had only written 29 blog posts in 2023. My unstated goal was to update the blog weekly which would mean 52. Well, I wrote 27 in 2024. (Same number as books I read – coincidence?) I seem to be moving in the opposite direction. In fairness, I also suggested on that list that maybe my goal should be to reassess how frequently I put up a new essay. I didn’t do that either. The truth is I can’t decide if it is good to put pressure on myself to produce pieces, or if I am comfortable taking a more freeform approach and write when I feel like it. I go back and forth – feeling kind of guilty when I don’t post for a while and then thinking that there isn’t any particular standard I need to meet. One concern is that I do want to have a readership, and it is likely to be difficult to build and sustain an audience if there isn’t a continuing conversation. I’m not sure where that leaves me. Not surprisingly, I’m continuing to have an internal dialogue on this with no conclusion. Perhaps 2025 will bring a resolution to this! Knowing me, probably not. Let’s be real.

Next on the list was to send 10 query letters to literary agents – this is how I will get my book published. I sent eight and entered one memoir writing contest. I’ll count that as a win. Unfortunately, I literally got zero responses to those inquiries, but that brings me to the next goal: Accept rejection and move onward. Fair to say I achieved that, too. I continue to work toward getting my book published. It is slow going and frustrating, but I haven’t given up. Ultimately, I can decide to self-publish, so one way or another, I will put it out there. I’m not ready to abandon my hope of having an established publishing house pick it up, there are still a lot of avenues to explore. Let’s hope 2025 brings progress on this.

My sixth goal was to stop wanting more. I included a short poem on that topic within the list (https://stories-i-tell-myself.com/2023/12/31/goals-for-2024/). This may be the thing I’ve been most successful with and oddly enough it has happened organically. It wasn’t something I had to work at consciously– something shifted. I let go of some expectations that were not serving me and that was the result of coming to peace with certain realities. Of course that doesn’t mean I wasn’t ever disappointed, but generally I felt more content. I’m glad I reviewed this list and came upon this realization.

I ended my list with two concrete things: plan a trip and sort through the clutter. I’m batting .500 on those. I planned several trips (and loved them) and am continuing to plan more of them. I enjoy both the planning and execution of travel (not the flying part – there is always such aggravation with airports, delays, crowds, etc.), but I continue to love going to new places and they don’t have to be exotic or far away. We took a long weekend to Ausable Chasm, in the northeast corner of New York State, and had a great time exploring (in fact that led to a blog post).

A view from our trip to Ausable Chasm

Sorry to say I made little to no progress sorting through the clutter. I don’t think I’ve added to it, so that is good. I’ve been conscientious about not creating new piles of paper or adding knick-knacks. Gary, with his increased time off, has been cleaning out the garage – can I get credit for that? I’ll take that as a no.

This review was a good exercise, even if it was unplanned. Maybe this should be my approach: make a list of goals for 2025, forget about them and then be surprised when Facebook reminds me. It worked relatively well in 2024.

Do you make a practice of setting goals or making New Year’s resolutions? What works for you?

Pride

Since October 7th when Hamas brutally attacked Israel, committed acts of horrific violence, and all that has followed, I have struggled with a range of emotions. I have always given a lot of thought to my identity as a Jew, but this has been a more challenging time, and it has been hard to sort out my feelings.

I have attended presentations, in person and on Zoom, to hear what others have to say. I have read books, some recently published, including one entitled “On Being Jewish Now,” edited by Zibby Owens. It is a compilation of 75 essays by authors and advocates, all written in the wake of October 7th. As I write this, I have read about ¾ of them. They offer interesting perspectives, but none, yet, have hit the mark for me. Most of the authors explain how they have been moved to assert their identity as a Jew, even if there is some fear involved. They may not have been particularly observant before but found comfort and meaning in turning to Jewish rituals. They write about the pride they feel and the importance of their alliance with Israel. My feelings are more complicated. I have been thinking about what it means to be proud of being Jewish and about pride in general.

“Think about times you’ve been proud of yourself. Jot them down. I’ll give you a couple of minutes and then let’s share.”

This was the prompt from a Weight Watchers lecturer at a meeting I attended about two decades ago. She was urging us to call upon those times when we did hard things and apply those same skills to our weight loss goals.  This exercise sticks with me because I could not think of a single thing to be proud of. Nothing came to mind – certainly not my identity as a Jew. I share this not to elicit sympathy or to fish for compliments. I am writing about this because it was then I realized that this was an issue for me, and there are implications.

I sat for those few minutes in that meeting bewildered, reviewing various experiences in my life. I was already married, had two children who were still quite young, and I was working for the state. Nothing resonated with being proud.

When others at the meeting shared their triumphs, it was enlightening. Graduating from college, completing a project, losing weight, finishing a 5K, recovering from addiction, leaving a toxic relationship….some of those things I had done, I just didn’t feel particularly proud for having done them. I realized that I have this tendency to think that the quality of what I do isn’t special or that it was expected. Everyone in my family graduated from college, in fact both my parents had master’s degrees. When I finished a 5K race, I’d look at the time and think, “Could I have gone any slower?” It isn’t a healthy perspective. This exercise made me aware of it. In the years since, I have tried to be fairer in my assessment, but it doesn’t come naturally. Today if I was asked the same question, I would be able to come up with a couple of examples of times I was proud of myself. I’m making progress. But, all of that is different than taking pride in my identity as a Jew.

One of the essayists in “On Being Jewish,” Lisa Barr, a writer of a number of best-selling novels, who I also saw speak on a panel that was addressing antisemitism in publishing, described how she was motivated to be “loud and proud” of her identity as a Jew in the aftermath of October 7th. I have been thinking about that sentiment.

I tend to consider accomplishment rather than identity when I think of sources of pride. If you are born something, does that merit feeling proud of it? I asked Gary, my husband, if he was proud to be a Jew. He thought for a moment and said yes.

“I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t be proud, but can you explain why?” I asked.

He thought for a bit, which is something I appreciate about him, he is thoughtful in the truest sense.

“I think Jews have contributed a lot to the world – in science, in medicine, in the arts…in all kinds of ways. It was the first monotheistic religion. Jews have made the world a better place… And, then there is my parents’ experience.”

As I have recounted elsewhere on this blog, Gary’s parents are Holocaust survivors. This is a source of tremendous pride (and pain) for Gary. Their Jewish identity was the cause of their suffering due to the poisonous hate of the Nazis and their collaborators but was more importantly the basis of the strength and resilience that helped them to survive and flourish.

I understood what he was saying, and though my parents were not survivors, I am part of that legacy in a larger sense.

In my heart of hearts, I wasn’t sure if that’s how I felt, especially about the first part of what he said.

“It’s funny,” I responded, “but I remember as a kid I felt that pride. When a Jewish person did something impressive – whether it was winning a Nobel Prize or Mark Spitz winning all those Olympic medals, I felt a certain satisfaction. But I’m not sure I feel that anymore. I wonder why?”

I was thinking that in a way it was like how I felt about being an American. As a child I felt proud of my country, now it is much more complicated. I have a clearer understanding of why that has changed – I have been disappointed in our country’s shortcomings often enough to wonder if we can ever realize our foundational ideals. I realize that the story of America that I absorbed as kid is far more complex and not quite as heroic. In a way, perhaps some of the same thing has happened with my Jewish identity– or maybe as one matures into adulthood it is natural to see things in a more nuanced way.

Being Jewish is complicated. It is an ethnicity and a religion. I don’t believe in the God of the religion, but I do believe in the core values of Judaism. The central theme, as I understand it, is justice – Judaism demands that we do our best to be a righteous person. This resonates with me. But, reconciling my lack of faith in God while accepting the values being espoused is tricky. Frankly, I haven’t been able to do it since I can embrace justice and fairness as a humanist, without the trappings of religion. At the same time, some of the rituals, particularly the ones we practice at home (lighting Chanukah candles as a family and singing the prayers, conducting a seder) are meaningful to me and those traditions are rooted in the religion.

The ethnicity is part of me. It is engrained in my DNA. I like the humor, the slightly skeptical worldview, the food, the propensity to question anything and everything. I bond over those qualities when I meet other Jews, especially from the New York City metropolitan area. While I take pleasure in my ethnic identity, I’m not sure I would say I’m proud of it, but maybe I should be.

Adding another layer of complexity to this question of pride is the place of Israel in Jewish identity. Zionism has become a dirty word to many with much undeserved baggage assigned to it. Zionism is simply the belief that Jews should have a homeland. Zionism does not, in and of itself, define the borders of that homeland – that is a disputed subject even among Jews. The idea that we need a homeland is hard to argue with given our long history of persecution, whether that persecution was a result of religious, ethnic or racial hate. As I have expressed in another blog post, I support the state of Israel. It is as legitimate as any other country. It is also between a rock and a hard place in terms of defending itself. There are many forces determined to wipe it off the face of the earth. How it defends itself is subject to widespread criticism, much of it unfair given the existential threat it faces.

While acknowledging that, I do have concerns about Israel that I can’t deny, even in the wake of October 7th. The first is the rightward movement of the government over the years. I do not support the Netanyahu administration, and it has gotten worse and worse in recent years. However, there are many countries, including our own, where I have not supported the government, but that doesn’t mean that the nation becomes illegitimate. Now that Trump is president-elect, our right to exist isn’t in question. While I can acknowledge that it can be hard to separate the two, Israel seems to be held to a different standard than other countries in this regard.

The other concern is more fundamental. I worry about the tension between religion and ethnicity in defining the government of Israel. Since being Jewish is both, what is the role of religion in the governance of the state? I am not suggesting it is a theocracy; it isn’t (there is no official state religion) or that it will become one. I do worry, though, that since the Rabbinate does have some official roles – in regulating marriage and divorce, for instance, there can be friction and actions that make me uncomfortable.   

Most of Israel’s founders were secular Jews, at least that is my understanding. In its initial establishment, Israel was more of a socialist state. Over the 66 years of its existence, it has become more of a capitalist economy. It is also a parliamentary democracy – so the prime minister is selected by either the majority party (if there is one) or a coalition of parties that can agree on an individual. Israel hasn’t had a clear majority party in many years. As a result, the ultra-orthodox Jewish (Haredi) parties have an outsized influence on politics and policies. They have been instrumental in allowing Netanyahu to stay in power. The Haredi, according to the most recent census data, make up only 14% of Israel’s population, but it is growing faster than other segments. Perhaps, my concern that it will drift toward more religious influence is unfounded. I hope it is.

The bottom line of all of this is that I find it hard to be as full-throated in my backing of Israel as I would be if I supported its administration. That may not be entirely fair, given what I wrote above, but it is how I feel. From what I read and hear, this is not as problematic for other Jews.

Where does that leave me in terms of being proud to be a Jew?

Minority groups that are subject to discrimination often encourage taking pride in that identity. Whether it is the LGBTQ community, or Blacks or indigenous people, movements have focused on lifting the esteem of the members of the group. Group members themselves are vulnerable to buying into the negative stereotypes and that is destructive in many ways, so it makes sense to staunch that impulse. Jews are no different. Urging Jews to take pride in their identity can be helpful in the face of the rising tide of antisemitism.

Going back to the author who said she was ‘loud and proud’ of her Jewish identity; I have no problem being loud about it. Anyone who knows me, or reads my writing, knows I am Jewish. I make no effort to hide it. The more challenging part is expressing pride – but perhaps that has less to do with the complexities of being Jewish and more my personal hesitation in feeling proud of myself. Or, perhaps, it is a perfect reflection of my Jewish identity because it is a quintessentially Jewish characteristic to struggle with different ideas.

Lions, Tigers and…Octopi?

As is often the case, this post is inspired by a book and the discussion we had about it at our family book club. We read Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt. The story uses an interesting device in that one of the narrators is an octopus named Marcellus. Marcellus is intelligent and insightful. One either buys into the conceit, or one doesn’t. The success of the book for the reader will likely turn on that.

Based on the reactions of the members of our book club, and from what I see on Goodreads, most people had no problem with it and, in fact, were charmed by Marcellus’ voice in the novel. I, on the other hand, had some trouble with it. I think suspension of disbelief only takes me so far. I don’t love fantasy as a genre, though this book wasn’t that, anthropomorphizing (if that is a word) an octopus veered into fantasy, but the author did not create a different world. In reality it was more of a family saga in which lost souls become connected with the help of the octopus. I liked the family part but could have done without Marcellus.

I wonder how much of my issue comes from the fact that I am not that much of an animal person. I have compassion for animals and have loved my cats, but I would not call myself an animal lover. I am not taken by every dog I pass as I walk in my neighborhood. I am not confused about my priorities – humans rank higher for me in the animal kingdom than other species.

We had this discussion with friends just this past weekend. Sadly, they had to put down their dog a few months ago, a beloved pet of many years. The woman of the couple was still grieving the loss and was keeping mementos of him around the house. The guy mostly felt bad for his wife and daughter. “He was a dog to me,” he explained almost sheepishly. He was saddened by the dog’s suffering and wished it hadn’t gone that way, but there was a limit to his grief. I understood what he was saying. For some a pet is equal to a family member. Others may have a range of emotion:  from not wanting anything to do with dogs or cats, to loving them but not the same way as another human, to treating their pet with the same love and attention as they would a child. I would put myself in that middle category. I wrote about my relationship with Raffa, the cat we had to put down months ago, previously on this blog. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer, but it wasn’t anything close to how I feel about family or friends.

Aside from how we view pets, there are other issues we discussed at book club in the context of exploring Remarkably Bright Creatures. Marcellus lived in an aquarium – in a contained habitat. We debated the ethics of zoos and aquariums. When I was growing up little thought was given to how zoo animals were housed. The cage for a tiger might be just large enough for him or her to pace back and forth. It was sad and it was clear the animal was miserable. We have progressed from there. Most modern zoos create large areas for the animals to roam with some configuration of water features and barriers to allow visitors to view them. Even with that, though, the animals are clearly not in their natural habitats. Lions wouldn’t live in the Bronx if not for the zoo, but at least they are not confined to a cage – they get fresh air and they are surrounded by grasses and trees. Some in our group were not comfortable with even this improved arrangement, they felt that animals should be free. At the same time, a couple of points in support of zoos were made.

In allowing people, especially children, to see exotic animals in person it can spur interest and provide an educational opportunity. In doing so, people may be motivated to be protective of the animals – heightening awareness of imperiled species and their environments.

In addition, zoos do research and partner with other entities that enhance our understanding of the animals. Sometimes zoos take in animals that can no longer survive in the wild.

I also wonder if we are romanticizing life in the wild. For example, how long is life expectancy for lions that live freely compared to those in captivity? If the animal has the company of its own species, is well-fed, receives medical care and lives in a comfortable physical environment, maybe they aren’t unhappy at all. Maybe a zoo isn’t so bad. Of course, if the animal is mistreated or neglected, then the calculus changes.

I think we all agreed that we were uncomfortable with animals performing tricks – like whales at a seaquarium. It is one thing to schedule feedings so that an audience can watch, it is another to make the whale, dolphin or seal leap, catch or clap for our amusement and a reward. I remember once going to the Catskill Game Farm years ago where chimps were dressed up in motorcycle garb and rode bikes. I found it very disturbing. I’m happy to say that act no longer exists, and the game farm no longer houses animals. It has been transformed into a campground. Given what we saw there that is a better use of the space.

Like many things it comes down to human behavior and judgment. Zoos and seaquariums can be great resources if the people running them are ethical and compassionate. If humans fail to meet that standard, then the animals suffer and there need to be consequences for that failure. Those individuals need to be held accountable. I don’t think the basic concept of a zoo or aquarium is problematic.

What do you think? If you read Remarkably Bright Creatures, did you enjoy it?

My granddaughter at our local aquarium

Call Us What We Carry

I keep telling myself I want to read more poetry. But I don’t do it. Why? I think in part it is because for me it is hit or miss. I love it or I don’t get it. And when I don’t get it, I feel less than. It feels unsatisfying. With a book, it is different. I may like the story or the writing, or I may not, but I don’t often feel a sense of failure. With modern art, or even classical paintings, if I don’t appreciate something, I just move on without judgment – not of the artist and not of myself. Why does poetry that goes over my head, or if it doesn’t move me, make me feel like it is a personal failure? I think I need to adopt the attitude I have about other art forms – enjoy what resonates and let the rest go. Maybe then I would make it more of a priority. After all, poetry lends itself to our lifestyles these days – they can be quick reads (maybe not quickly understood and processed, but it doesn’t require a huge time investment) so it would seem to be a good fit.

I am pleased to report, though, that a book of poetry I just read, prompted by my family book club (thank you, Nicolette), did not fall into the category of going over my head. I found it accessible and meaningful. Amanda Gorman’s Call Us What We Carry was insightful, moving, intelligent and creative. My niece, who picked it as this month’s read, called it a ‘time capsule,’ and I think that is very apt. Gorman wrote it during the pandemic, it was published in 2021. The poems remind me what the early days of Covid felt like – the isolation, the fear, the uncertainty. The poems cover that year, 2020, and all the upheaval that went with it. While some might not want to be reminded, it is important because though we think we have moved beyond it, in our quest for normalcy, there are residual effects that we need to reckon with.

It Is amazing to me that Amanda Gorman is so young – as of today she is 25. When she recited her poem, “The Hill We Climb” at Biden’s inaugural (that uplifting poem is included in this collection), she was 21! She is clearly well-read and well-educated – how much is formal education (she earned her B.A. from Harvard so there had to be some of that), or her own reading and research, I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. She brings a sense of history and culture to her poems that is so impressive. There are references to the pandemic of 1918, the Great Migration (the movement of African Americans from the south to the north during the first half of the 20th century), the Civil War and her own life. She includes footnotes and endnotes. All of it is called upon in service of enlightening our present moment.

It isn’t common for our book club members to all agree on something we have read. Usually there are differences of opinion, and we bring a variety of perspectives and preferences to the piece  – which is what is beautiful about it– and we read a wide range of genres. Everyone was impressed with Call Us What We Carry. Each of us picked up on different themes, some things resonated more than others, but we all valued the experience. I should note that we do not all share the same politics – though I would not characterize any of us as extremists, we are mostly center-right, center-left, and maybe a bit further left. I point this out because one might be tempted to assume that Gorman’s poetry would be heavy-handed. We did not find it so – she writes substantively, with evidence and passion – not propaganda.

Several of our members perceived that some of the poems communicated anger. I can’t say I felt that as I read. I didn’t pick up on that in her tone. If it was there, it wouldn’t be without cause – there is plenty to be angry about. It didn’t hit me that way, though.

I think this collection of poems offers an important contribution to our time. I recommend reading and or listening to it. Our book club had a discussion about how best to engage with it – some had listened, some read and one of us read and listened at the same time. I think, if one can, that last method would probably be best. Reading it allows you to appreciate some of the artistic choices made in how it is presented (the poem in the shape of the U.S. Capitol, the use of white space, the color of the paper, etc.). Listening likely offers more of an appreciation of the rhythm and the playfulness of the language.

I will leave you with two parts of poems that made a meaningful impression on me. The first comes from “The Shallows,” which describes a time challenging to the human spirit, she concludes the poem with these lines:

Shall this leave us bitter?

                Or better?

Grieve.

Then choose.

The other piece is entitled Pre-Memory:

“Marianne Hirsch posits that the children of Holocaust survivors grow up with memories of their parents’ trauma: that is to say, they can remember ordeals that they did not experience personally. Hirsch calls this postmemory. Seo-Young Chu discusses what she calls postmemory han, han being a Korean conception of collective grief. Postmemory han, then, is the han passed on to Korean Americans from previous generations. As Chu writes: Postmemory han is a paradox: the experience being remembered is at once virtual and real, secondhand and familiar, long ago and present.” The whiplike echo of Jim Crow, too, passes through Black bodies even before birth.”

The piece then goes on to explore this idea. The notion that we inherit trauma, if it is true, has major implications – and would explain a lot about why people behave the way they do and why it is so difficult to move on.

Amanda Gorman is wrestling with provocative and interesting ideas. I think it is worth the time to explore them. I look forward to seeing what she will offer us as she grows.

“Born a Crime”

I like Trevor Noah. Though it was a little traumatic for me when Jon Stewart left the Daily Show, I think Noah did a good job. I appreciated his voice (his take on things), intelligence and talent. He is a good interviewer, quick on his feet and charming. When he performed locally, Gary and I went to see him, and we were very entertained. I laughed a lot. I recently read his memoir, Born a Crime, and I still appreciate his viewpoint, he has had unique life experiences as a mixed race person who grew up in South Africa as apartheid was being dismantled, but I will admit to discomfort with some passages of the book He recounts three experiences that troubled me.

I don’t want to focus on those three incidents without first acknowledging the insightful and compelling parts of the book.

It is quite startling to understand the reality that is reflected in the book’s title. Trevor Noah is the child of a Xhosa woman and Swiss father. Their union, they were not married and couldn’t be, was illegal in South Africa in 1984. Thus, his very existence was the result of a criminal act. It is hard to wrap my brain around that, and to realize that miscegenation was decriminalized only a couple of decades before that in the United States– in my lifetime. To some that may seem a long time ago, but when you consider how long it takes to really change hearts and minds, it isn’t that much time.

Noah details what that meant for his family. He couldn’t walk on the street with his father. Even walking with his mother was complicated since to some Noah appeared white or ‘colored,’ but not black like she was. He spent much of his childhood playing indoors.

Anyone who has watched Trevor Noah knows that he has a great facility for languages (he does uncanny imitations of different accents, too). He talks about the importance of language and how it acts as a double-edged sword. Language carries culture and values in its idioms and rules. It can bond people. He points out, though, that in South Africa, as of the writing of his book, there are 11 official languages, it can also be something that divides people. They may not understand each other and may not make the effort to understand each other. He recounts a number of instances where his ability to communicate in different languages got him out of trouble or helped make a connection.

He also writes insightfully about the cycle of poverty and how difficult it is to move beyond the circumstances one is born into. The pressures to conform which play out in a myriad of ways and the systematic barriers combine to keep people in their places. His mother is an unusual person, she was someone who saw beyond the imposed limitations and refused to be constrained by those expectations. Ultimately, Noah finds his way to a different life, but it takes him a bit to decide for himself that he wanted to do that. It is an interesting journey.

The book does not cover his emergence as a comedian in the United States. It only mentions his success in South Africa in passing. The focus is on his experience growing up as someone who navigated different worlds – the challenges he faced and the tools he used to do it. He also shares the impact that domestic violence had on him as he writes about his mother’s experience with an abusive man. It offers a compelling story.

One incident that left me uncomfortable was his cavalier response to the killing of his cat. He was a young child at the time, but older than 5. He had a black cat. He writes that he wasn’t that attached to it (given the nature of cats) and to some in his neighborhood black cats were associated with witchcraft. So when he finds it dead (and evidently tortured – I won’t go into details), he isn’t that surprised or upset. I found that disturbing. I would hope that one would have feelings for any creature that had been harmed, much less tortured. I couldn’t let him off the hook just because he was young. It struck me as odd, even if there are cultural differences in attitudes towards pets and cats in particular. If it is a reflection of a cultural difference, I can’t help but judge it.

Another thing that I thought reflected poorly on him involved an escapade with a close friend. They found a store in the local mall that when it was closed, and the grate was down, they could still reach in to snatch chocolates. They did this regularly until one time security saw them and gave chase. He and his friend ended up running in separate directions. Noah got away and his friend got caught. What bothered me is that Noah made no mention of feeling bad for his friend, in fact that friend is not mentioned again in the book. He was about 13 at the time. Maybe that was just a matter of editing – not closing the loop on that experience. But that lack of sympathy for his friend troubled me more than the stealing.

You may look at those two incidents and chalk them up to youth and credit him with writing honestly about his childhood. I appreciate that he wasn’t painting himself as some kind of hero. But, it raised questions about his capacity for empathy.

Part of the narrative he is telling is how endemic cutting corners and flouting the law is (buying and selling stolen items was common) and how it took him a while to see it and decide to go a different way. He does ultimately distance himself from those activities, but it took some close calls and hard realities to get him there. In offering insight into that, it is enlightening, and one can see that not everyone would or could emerge successfully from it.

The third episode was the most disturbing because he is writing this book years after the fact and he could have added a more informed perspective if he chose to, but he didn’t. The title of the chapter is “Go Hitler.” He explains that a buddy of his, who was a skilled dancer, had the first name Hitler. Apparently in South Africa, in the black community, this was not that unusual of a name (wow!). Noah goes on to say that their awareness of Hitler’s atrocities was limited – it wasn’t explored in school – he was seen as more of a strongman than as a perpetrator of genocide. While this is distressing for me to learn, it is useful to understand.

One of the things Noah did as a teenager to earn money was to DJ. He had a crew of dancers that performed with him, Hitler being the star dancer. Their final number involved him getting in the center of a circle and the other dancers and Noah chanting, “Go Hitler.” This didn’t trouble anyone when they did their act in the townships. They were invited to a competition at a Jewish day school, and they were doing fine until that number. Noah claims he didn’t understand why the atmosphere changed, why they pulled the plug, why they got yelled at. He thought it was for their suggestive dance movements. He was outraged that they were treated that way – since they had been invited specifically to showcase cultural diversity.

Writing about this years later, he doesn’t show much empathy or understanding. He says that the reason we know there were six million Jews killed is because Germany kept meticulous records. In Africa, when colonialists abused and killed native peoples, no records were kept, thus we have no numbers. He seems to suggest that if those records were kept, our attitude would be different. Maybe it would be. We should have more understanding of the brutality and exploitation inherent in the colonial system in Africa. That is a valid point, but it doesn’t negate the suffering of the Jews in Eastern Europe. It doesn’t mean that the students and staff at the Jewish day school shouldn’t react to hearing “Go Hitler.” Just reading the chapter title sent shivers down my spine.

I am not interested in comparing atrocities or competing to see who had it worse. One would hope, though, as a member of an oppressed, vicitimized people, Noah’s response would be compassion. How about, having learned now about Hitler’s evil, now understanding the nature of the genocide he would include a statement such as, “Now I understand their reaction; then I didn’t.” He doesn’t write anything of the sort.

I was not aware, until reading Noah’s book, about the history of South Africa. It was not included in the curriculum in my high school’s global history class. I am not an expert having read his book, after all it is one account. But, my eyes were opened to the reality of apartheid (not that I didn’t understand it was an unjust, despicable system before) and the complications involved in dismantling it. I also am now more aware of the different tribes that comprise the black community. The history of that country, once again, illustrates the capacity of human beings to be evil, selfish and ignorant.

I recommend reading Born A Crime. It is compelling and insightful. It raises challenging questions about how we educate ourselves. It is unrealistic for us to learn the history of every country. Clearly, we have problems agreeing on the history of the United States and what to teach our children, never mind trying to cover the history of the nations of the world. There aren’t enough hours in the day to learn it all. But, it speaks to the need to continue to learn, to continue to read and to be open to different perspectives – even when it is troubling.

Whose Voices?

I was in the airport and had time to kill. I had finished the book I brought with me, so I went in search of another. I scanned the display and saw one that looked interesting. It was an Oprah Book Club selection and I usually find her recommendations to be reliable – they are often the right blend of substantive, and highly readable. Aside from having her seal of approval, the descriptors on the cover were ‘propulsive,’ ‘magnificent,’ and, ‘heart-pounding.’ I was in the mood for that. Perfect reading material for my wait in the terminal and the two-hour flight.

I dug in and was taken on a ride from the beginning to the end. I read 378 pages in basically two days. What book was it? American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins.

Some of you may recognize the title. When I was perusing the shelf in the airport store it did not ring a bell. After I finished it and went to enter it to my list on Goodreads, I saw that it was the subject of controversy. I saw comments that labeled the book racist. When I read a little further, I remembered the storm. I don’t think I followed it closely at the time – it was published about two years ago – but I recall the dispute over whether a white woman could credibly tell the story of Mexican migrants.

As I read the book, I did note that the author’s name did not sound Latina and I wondered if its portrayal of Mexican cartels and culture was accurate. I flipped to the back to read about the author, and I also read the acknowledgments. I thought, like with any novel, that I would give the writer the benefit of the doubt – that she likely would have done her research, that she and the editor(s) were responsible and would not knowingly put forth a false picture of that life. I was quite invested in the story, and I wanted to find out what happened to the main characters. After all, I knew I wasn’t reading a scholarly history book or anthropological analysis. I read on and I am not sorry that I did.

It is a powerful story. I came away with a much greater awareness of the dangers, risks and challenges faced by those who make the arduous trek from Central America and Mexico to the United States. I don’t know if many face the near-death experiences that the mother and son did in this work of fiction, but their fear rang true. I was moved by their plight and by those who took the journey with them.

On first reading the criticisms of the book, I was embarrassed that I missed that it was racist. But was it? I wanted to understand what the issue was. Did the story stereotype Latinx? I thought the characters were multidimensional, but I could be oblivious. Did it misrepresent the violence of the cartels by either romanticizing them, downplaying them or sensationalizing them? That is possible, though movies and television shows are far more extreme than this book was. I am not knowledgeable enough to assess the book’s take on that. Most of the disapproval, though, centered on the author’s lack of credentials to tell this story. Under pressure, Jeanine Cummins eventually claimed a Puerto Rican grandmother, though I believe she identifies as a white woman.  Ultimately the question seems to be: can a white woman write a novel about persons of color?

This question applies more broadly, and I am troubled by the conversation around it. I heartily agree that historically marginalized voices need to be heard – space and time must be devoted to those who have previously been denied access. Also, if one wants to gain insight into a culture, it is probably best to read the literature of that culture rather than an outsider’s view. That said, writers should not be limited to only telling stories born of their personal experience. Male writers should be permitted to tell a story from a woman’s perspective and vice versa. Their success must be judged on the merits. I think it is a daring thing to do – I don’t write fiction, I don’t have the imagination for it. I can’t conceive of writing in another voice. But I don’t want to make that a rule for those that can. Thankfully we have many creative storytellers who reach beyond their own lives to explore the world (or create other worlds). Wally Lamb, in my opinion, did it quite successfully in She’s Come Undone, a story with a female protagonist, among others.

This raises several related issues. One might criticize Oprah for picking the book. She has a lot of clout. One could argue that she should use her influence to bring authors forward who would not otherwise get mainstream attention. To be fair, though, I think she has done just that many times over. But, perhaps if she wanted to focus on the migrant experience she could find a book written by someone who took that journey.  On the other hand, this was a very compelling read and sparked a lot of discussion. Isn’t that a good thing?

The publisher came in for a lot of criticism too. To some degree, the same questions that faced Oprah were directed at them. Should this manuscript have been bought and promoted? I don’t know the answer to that. I can only say that I found it to be a spellbinding story.

The controversy over this book raises important concerns. The backlash against it and the author raises lots of questions. In our desire to bring forward previously marginalized voices, is it a zero-sum game? Can the marketplace expand, or will voices that had access before now be silenced? Did this author deserve to be vilified?

I am not one who has worried about political correctness or cancel culture. I believe that many people do indeed need to be more sensitive in the language they use; that our collective (and individual) consciousness continues to need raising; and, that people deserve to be held accountable for their words and deeds. I am concerned, though, that if we narrow who is permitted to be heard on a given topic based on some aspect of their identity whether it be gender, race, ethnicity, or religion, we will have taken a giant step backwards. Sometimes an outsider brings needed insight and a useful perspective.

Frankenstein

The edition I read

Apropos of Halloween, our family book club recently read and discussed Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I had never read it before. I have seen the movie versions, the iconic one with Boris Karloff from 1931 and Mel Brooks’ version. For the record, I recommend Young Frankenstein.

Reading the book, I was surprised by how relevant the story is even though Shelley wrote it in 1818 (when she was 18 years old!). I was anticipating a difficult read. I expected the language to be dense and unfamiliar. I was pleasantly surprised to find it accessible. In parts it was quite beautiful and expressive. At other times I found it overwrought, though I suspect the author may have intended it to be. It is quite a melodramatic tale. The members of our book club differed in their judgment of the writing; some ended up skimming because they found the focus on details off-putting, while others reveled in the lush descriptions. I fell somewhere in the middle. I appreciated her ability to convey depth of emotion and paint a picture of the ‘creature’s’ experience as he entered the world, but sometimes I found it overdone and was ready to move on.

Apart from the writing itself, the story led to spirited discussion. It is so rich with themes that transcend time: the nature of man, the balance of progress (scientific discovery) and ethical obligation, the danger of unbridled passion/ambition. It was nearly impossible to contain our conversation to the scheduled one hour (we meet on Zoom). Interesting takes on the story were offered: that it was really a parable of mental illness (perhaps the ‘monster’ wasn’t real at all). Another perspective suggested that it was reflecting on the fears of that age that God had turned his back on man the way Dr. Frankenstein abandoned his creature.

We talked about the role of appearances. The creature’s appearance engendered so much disgust, fear and violence that he became the monster that the people feared. Had the public responded differently, he might never have become destructive.

In terms of the risks of progress, we agreed that the book offers a cautionary tale. We talked a bit about whether Mark Zuckerberg was a ‘Dr. Frankenstein.’ While there are differences in that Zuckerberg has not abandoned his creation (far from it), there are relevant parallels.  Progress, without due consideration of the ethics and consequences, is dangerous. Today universities have structures in place to assess the ethical impact of an experiment before it is funded. Private tech companies need to put more emphasis on ethics and consequences before steaming ahead with new applications. How to make that happen remains an open question.

In the story Victor Frankenstein, during his studies at university, becomes obsessed with breathing life into something dead. His research convinces him that he can achieve this, and he becomes single-minded in his pursuit of that goal. He sleeps little, isolates himself and slaves away in his workshop until he succeeds. Most of the story focuses on what happens after that ‘eureka’ moment, but I was interested in exploring that aspect of the narrative.

I wonder whether that level of intensity is necessary for great breakthroughs, for great scientific achievements. My daughter, who is a neuroscientist and has worked in several labs at different universities, offered that she thought meaningful scientific progress can be made by people who have lives outside the lab. She has observed researchers who have families and hobbies and still manage to produce important work. I was heartened to hear that because I am predisposed to think that it requires if not obsession, close to it.

When I raised that question at book club my cousin responded that it is a myth that big discoveries are achieved by single-minded, hardworking geniuses. He pointed out that those accomplishments are the result of collaboration or appropriation of the work of others; though individuals may claim the credit and history may celebrate that person, that isn’t the reality. We didn’t get to examine his point in depth because time had run short. I want to investigate this idea further here.

I have not read the histories of Edison, Ford and others who are credited with huge advances, but it makes sense to me that their work was built on ideas and contributions of others. I think it does us a disservice not to acknowledge that. The mythology of one man, and most often it is a man, forging the path or having the ‘aha’ moment, creates unreasonable expectations and fails to give due credit to those who provide the conditions that permit the discovery. Putting aside the cases where the idea may have been outright stolen or appropriated, wherever you look, in whatever field of endeavor, geniuses need support. These days, even in an individual sport like tennis, the winner of the tournament thanks his/her ‘team.’ Roger Federer, a genius on the tennis court, acknowledges his coach, his physio (I didn’t know what that was until recently), and his family because he recognizes that even if he was alone on the court, others contributed to his victory.

I took my cousin’s important point to heart; it still didn’t exactly answer the question I was posing. Both things can be true. Great accomplishments can require collaboration (acknowledged or not) and an obsessive devotion to the effort.  I was pleased to hear Leah’s observation; I still wonder. Though I can’t say I have seen geniuses work up close, I have worked with folks who are at the very top of their field, very respected, sought-after practitioners of medicine, law and public policy. I think it is fair to say they have bordered on obsessive. They certainly put in many, many hours of work and mental energy. They may have families and even a hobby, but it isn’t in balance. I can’t think of anyone in that esteemed position who didn’t prioritize their work (family might share equal billing, but nothing else comes close). I made a choice early in my career to seek out balance, I wasn’t that ambitious. Or maybe I was, but my ambition was to have well-adjusted children. I certainly put time and energy into them. I have come to no conclusion on this. Can a person live a balanced life and still achieve greatness? Of course, it begs the issue of defining greatness, but I’m thinking about major contributions to their field, whatever it might be.

The issue of scientific breakthroughs without due consideration of consequences and whether those engaged in that work need to be obsessed are likely connected. The obsession or unbridled ambition may lead to the inability to consider impacts beyond their own achievement. We need mechanisms in place that balance the drive for innovation with concern for the greater good. The concept of a greater good has proven difficult for folks to agree upon.

In sum, if you have not read Frankenstein, I recommend it – especially for a book club.

Note to my fellow book clubbers: If I have not done justice to the ideas shared, please add your comments. Or, if I have done justice, but you’d like to chime in, please do. If your thoughts rise to the level of a full essay, I’m happy to post it. I extend that invitation to other readers, as well.

The Albany Book Festival to the Rescue

I thought this week’s blog post was going to be titled “The System is Broken.” The system I am referring to is elder care. It was motivated by my visit to my aunt at the Amsterdam Nursing facility. I will write that piece, but not today. Fortunately, I was rescued from that dark place by some uplifting experiences, and I decided to focus on those.

First, I will note the value of friendship. In the midst of my distress, I had a lovely dinner with my almost-life-long friend (we met when I was 14), Steven. We commiserated over our respective painful experiences of seeing our elderly parents, relatives and friends go through the indignities that aging can bring, especially when coupled with the limitations of the health care system. We found much to laugh about even as we covered those difficult subjects. We ate outside on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with a refreshing breeze washing over us. A strong cocktail improved my mood. It was a much-needed respite. Thank you, Steven.

This was followed up later in the week with a zoom call with Merle. We lamented the state of our country, but then focused on our gratitude for the good fortune we both enjoy.

The crowning event, though, in shifting away from writing that disturbing blog post, was attending the fourth annual Albany Book Festival. Last year it was limited to a virtual event due to the coronavirus. This year it was a mixture – virtual and live. I was concerned about attending an in-person, indoor event and wondered whether they would be taking appropriate precautions. I read the Covid information on the website and my worries were eased. I assured Gary that if they weren’t enforcing the rules and the environment felt unsafe, I would leave promptly.

My well-thumbed program

The morning fog had burned off, leaving a bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds, as I drove the short distance to the SUNY-Albany campus. I parked my car and ran into an ex-colleague from my days working at NYSSBA. This was a delightful surprise, as I had not seen her in several years. We caught up as we walked to the campus center. Purple signs, SUNY-A’s color, directed us. As we entered the building, I was relieved to see each and every person masked; not just masked but wearing them properly, fully covering their nose. There were a lot of people, but the area was not overcrowded. So far so good.

I perused the program and decided to head to the auditorium to hear Nathan Philbrick talk about his new book, Travels with George. It is a combination history, travelogue and memoir; the George in the title is George Washington. I had not read the book, nor was I familiar with Mr. Philbrick’s earlier work, but I thoroughly enjoyed the relaxed but informative conversation that was facilitated by moderator, Paul Grondahl. Mr. Philbrick, who has written multiple history books about early America, talked about Washington as a flawed but great man. Sprinkled in were amusing and interesting anecdotes about Philbrick’s own life. To conclude the session, Grondahl asked the author about his prediction for our country’s future, in this difficult and contentious time, given his knowledge of the past. Philbrick reflected on other perilous times in our history, including in the immediate aftermath of Washington’s election when the United States was first forming as a nation. He responded, “I have faith in America.” He pointed out that it may take a while, likely years, to weather the current storm. He admitted that though he is a pessimist by nature, he still trusted in our institutions. My spirits lifted. I felt better. I realize he is just one person, but he struck me as well-informed, intelligent, and knowledgeable. I bought his book.

I picked another session to attend. This one featured a conversation with the newly-named New York State poet and author, Willie Perdomo and Ayad Akhtar, respectively. Again, I was not familiar with either man’s work. I am not well read in poetry.  I am always promising myself that I will read more of it, to no avail. I left this session motivated once again. We’ll see.

Both men were well-spoken, good-humored and insightful. It is no wonder that Mr. Perdomo is a poet. He spoke lyrically, expressively and meaningfully about his life-journey. I could have listened for another hour. Mr. Akhtar didn’t project the same warmth, but he too was insightful. I bought his novel, Homeland Elegies, which according to Barack Obama is ‘a powerful and searching examination of contemporary American politics and attitudes.’ I value President Obama’s book recommendations and look forward to reading Mr. Akhtar’s work.

After that session, I wandered through the exhibit hall, taking in the offerings of other authors and publishers. I looked out the window and saw the brilliant sunshine. I decided I wanted to enjoy the beautiful weather rather than attend more sessions so I headed home.

I was invigorated by the talent, intelligence, and diversity I had witnessed at the book festival. Though I cut my stay short, I had gotten what I needed: a reminder that there are creative, smart, interesting people who are engaged with complex issues. It made me feel better about the world, about the future. Though it doesn’t change the fact that ‘the system is broken,’ I felt more hopeful and energized. Next week I can write about elder care.