Welcome to my commonplace blog

The goal of this blog is to preserve a few ideas and quotes from books I read. In the old days when books were not so readily available, people kept "commonplace books" where they copied choice passages they wanted to be able to remember and perhaps reuse. The idea got picked up by V.F.D. and it's common knowledge that most of that organization's volunteers have kept commonplace books, and so have Laura and I.

I'm sure there are many other Internet sites and blogs dedicated to the same idea. But this one is mine. Feel free to look around and leave comments, but not spam.

30 December 2010

Moominland Midwinter (Tove Jansson)

Another very interesting book. Moomintroll and Little My are awake, while everyone else is still hibernating, so they experience winter for the first time. They're surprised to find out that a lot goes on during the winter. The stories revolve around the wise and mysterious Too-ticky and the good but overbearing Hemulen, who plays the French horn and teaches everyone to how to ski. The Groke makes a brief appearance. Together they learn to share and care for the more vulnerable creatures, and about the harsh beauty of winter.


Quotes:

"One has to discover everything for oneself, and get over it all alone." (Too-ticky)

28 December 2010

Moby Dick (Herman Melville)

This is my second reading of Moby Dick; the first one was many years ago. All i can say is: wow!

This is a book that can be read many times without losing anything. Although i do think Melville puts a little bit too much filler at times, most of it is simply amazing good writing. Bold, muscular, shocking at times. The guy was good. This is a long book, but by the time you get to the point where Ahab spots Moby Dick (‘There she blows!—there she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!’) you feel like you've had a good meal.


Quotes:

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos* get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
* hypochondria

But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.

he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be

I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church.

But what is worship? thought I. Do you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God?— that is worship. And what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do to me— that is the will of God. [...] Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator.

Now, Bildad, like Peleg, and indeed many other Nantucketers, was a Quaker, the island having been originally settled by that sect; and to this day its inhabitants in general retain in an uncommon measure the peculiarities of the Quaker, only variously and anomalously modified by things altogether alien and heterogeneous. For some of these same Quakers are the most sanguinary of all sailors and whalehunters. They are fighting Quakers; they are Quakers with a vengeance.

For all men tragically great are made so through a certain morbidness. Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.

Heaven have mercy on us all—Presbyterians and Pagans alike—for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.

Now, as I before hinted, I have no objection to any person’s religion, be it what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, because that other person don’t believe it also.

hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans

‘I mean, sir, the same ancient Catholic Church to which you and I, and Captain Peleg there, and Queequeg here, and all of us, and every mother’s son and soul of us belong; the great and everlasting First Congregation of this whole worshipping world; we all belong to that; only some of us cherish some crotchets noways touching the grand belief; in that we all join hands.’

Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to ye, Mr. Stubb—luck to ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye, and good luck to ye all—and this day three years I’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket. Hurrah and away!

Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s days, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s good gifts.

‘I will have no man in my boat,’ said Starbuck, ‘who is not afraid of a whale.’

They were bent on profitable cruises, the profit to be counted down in dollars from the mint. He was intent on an audacious, immitigable, and supernatural revenge.

‘There she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!’ ‘Where-away?’ ‘On the lee-beam, about two miles off! a school of them!’

There, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair.

THERE are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody’s expense but his own.

A large whale’s case generally yields about five hundred gallons of sperm[acetti oil].

But pity there was none. For all his old age, and his one arm, and his blind eyes, he must die the death and be murdered, in order to light the gay bridals and other merry-makings of men, and also to illuminate the solemn churches that preach unconditional inoffensiveness by all to all.

Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, but my face shall not be seen. But I cannot completely make out his back parts; and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face.

Now, in general, Stick to the boat, is your true motto in whaling; but cases will sometimes happen when Leap from the boat, is still better.

Was it that this old carpenter had been a life-long wanderer, whose much rolling, to and fro, not only had gathered no moss; but what is more, had rubbed off whatever small outward clingings might have originally pertained to him?

‘Thou hast outraged, not insulted me, sir; but for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; thou wouldst but laugh; but let Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man.’

Thou should’st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad? How can’st thou endure without being mad? Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou canst not go mad?

‘Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!’* deliriously howled Ahab, as the malignant iron scorchingly devoured the baptismal blood.

‘There she blows!—there she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!’

Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feels; that’s tingling enough for mortal man! to think’s audacity. God only has that right and privilege. Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that.

On the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.

23 December 2010

The Rule of St Benedict

There seems to be renewed interest in monasticism, from Shane Claiborne to the book Anathem which i liked so much. The Rule of St Benedict is perhaps the most successful attempt to put all the rules of monasticism together in a book. It's fascinating at times, sometimes predictable, sometimes surprising. A good read.


Quotes:

Listen!

The abbot must be led to understand that any lack of good in his monks will be held as his fault.

Whenever an important matter is to be undertaken in the monastery the abbot should call the entire community together.

Individual desires have no place in the monastery and neither inside nor outside the walls should anyone presume to argue with the abbot.

The first degree of humility is prompt obedience.

Our prayer must be heartfelt and to the point. Only a divine inspiration should lengthen it. The prayer of the assembled community should be short.

Above all, he must have humility. If he has nothing to give, his response (to the request) should be a good word for, “A good word is better than the best gift”

The vice of private ownership must be uprooted from the monastery. No one, without the abbot’s permission, shall dare give, receive or keep anything—not book, tablet or pen—nothing at all. Monks have neither free will nor free body, but must receive all they need from the abbot.

The sick should be permitted baths as often as necessary, but the healthy and especially all young are to bathe rarely.

We read that wine is not for monks, but in our times they cannot accept this. Let us therefore agree on this limit at least, lest we satiate ourselves with drink.

Idleness is an enemy of the soul. Therefore, the brothers should be occupied according to schedule in either manual labor or holy reading.

All guests to the monastery should be welcomed as Christ, because He will say, “I was a stranger, and you took me in” [...] with bowed head and a prostrate body all shall honor in the guests the person of Christ. For it is Christ who is really being received.

No one may associate or converse with guests unless ordered. If one meets or sees a guest, he is to greet him with humility as we have said, and ask a blessing. If the guest speaks, the brother is to pass on, telling the guest that he is not permitted to speak.

so that this vice of private ownership may be cut away at the roots, the abbot is to furnish all necessities: cowl, tunic, shoes, stockings, belt, knife, pen, needle, towel and writing tablet. With these, any excuse for need will be vanquished.

Admission to the religious life should not be made easy for newcomers.
[...]
Should the petitioner continue knocking [on the gate], and if he shows patience and persists in his petition for several days despite harsh treatment and reluctance to admit him, he shall be permitted lodging in a guest room.

We who are slothful, bad living and careless should be ashamed. Whoever you are, if you wish to follow the path to God, make use of this little Rule for beginners. Thus at length you will come to the heights of doctrine and virtue under God’s guidance. Amen!

18 December 2010

Moominpappa at Sea (Tove Jansson)

Another deep and touching book, at points disturbing, but with a warm ending. Moominpappa makes another impetuous decision and this time it almost breaks the family apart. Moomintroll and the Groke reluctantly become friends, and everything changes.


17 December 2010

Putting Away Childish Things: A Tale of Modern Faith (Marcus J. Borg)

Marcus Borg's first novel, probably won't be the book he's best known for, but heck, it's a nice one. He thinks of it as a didactic novel, and that's what it is. The story is interesting, and it's all about professors, students and academia, but he seems to use more ink recording the classroom lectures and discussions, than the story itself. No problem, it's all good. All very interesting. And cheaper than going to college.


Quotes:

“Well, as a country, we are the empire of our time, the Rome of our time—and we go around pretending that we’re Jesus.”

[...] distracted, she sat down on the table in the front of the room and said, “I heard on public radio today that the number two cause of death among people under thirty-five in our country is narcotic painkillers. Prescription drugs, not illegal drugs. I think that’s an interesting and sobering comment about our time—what is it that leads young people to overdose on painkillers?” I don’t know, thought Erin. I could think of a few reasons [...]

The heaven unexpected came, To lives that thought their worshipping A too presumptuous psalm.


When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Mary Oliver - When Death Comes


stories can be important, meaningful, truth-filled, and truthful without being factual

Thomas Mann: a myth is a story about the way things never were, but always are.

Suppose we knew that Paul was really, and strongly, against homosexuality—that he was convinced that it’s sinful, and that it really mattered to him. Just suppose that for a moment. Now, a question: Would it be okay to say Paul was wrong about that? Would it be hard for you to do that?

there are some unnecessary intellectual stumbling blocks to being Christian—like needing to believe that the Bible is inerrant and that we are to interpret it literally and factually, or that really big miracles happened in biblical times, or that the earth is only ten thousand years old. The way I see things means that those obstacles are gone, and then the real meaning of Christianity emerges.

Virtually all mainstream scholars of the gospels agree on two matters that are important to many people.
First, “exalted” language about who Jesus was does not go back to Jesus himself. Familiar words and phrases like “Son of God,” “Messiah,” “Lord,” “Light of the World,” “Bread of Life,” and so forth are the testimony and witness of early Christians—this is who Jesus was for them. But this language does not go back to Jesus; he didn’t talk about himself this way.
Second, the saving significance of Jesus's death is a post-Easter development.

Fredrika added, “And one more thing. You know that biblical phrase, ‘Fear not,’ ‘Do not be afraid’? Somebody told me that it occurs 365 times in the Bible—one for each day of the year.

“The opposite of faith as trust,” Niebuhr says, “is anxiety. Think about that for a moment—the opposite of faith as trust is not doubt or skepticism or unbelief, but anxiety, worry, and fear.

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them;
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.
(Denise Levertov - The Avowal)

Listen to your life. Listen to what happens to you because it is through that happens to you that God speaks... It's in language that is not always easy to decipher, but it's there, powerfully, memorably, unforgettably. (Frederick Buechner)

04 December 2010

The Long Secret (Louise Fitzhugh)

A beautiful and beautifully written book. The characters are wonderfully developed, thoughtful, relevant. As good, maybe better than Harriet The Spy. I wish she had written more.


Quotes:

JESUS HATES YOU

“Daddy?” Harriet said after a while. “Yes?” said Mr. Welsch. “Are you religious?”

“Frankly I don’t cotton to fanatics of any description. They tend to think the end justifies the means, always. I’ve never seen a fanatic that didn’t think that, and that’s just stupid.” Mr. Welsch appeared to be getting very heated. “How can it? When there never are any ends … everything goes on and on … so it remains that we are all means.

“I,” said Janie, “don’t understand how you can be so curious about people. I mean, elements or why certain things do certain things, I can understand—but people. People are just silly. Look at the mess they make of their lives. You can’t ever depend on them.”

Jessie Mae sat down with a bump. “You mean you don’t think there’s another one?” she gasped out. “Even if there is, Jessie, why does this one have to be so bad?” The Preacher asked calmly.

“Religion is a tool, Jessie, just like a tractor or a shovel or a pitchfork. It is a tool to get through life with. And if it works, it is a good tool. And if it don’t work, it is a bad tool. Now, for my people there it don’t work.”

“You have no talent. Believe me, we would have heard by now if you had. At your age Michelangelo had painted the Sistine Chapel.”

“Shy people are angry people.”

26 November 2010

Harriet The Spy (Louise Fitzhugh)

Wow, a classic. How did i miss this before?

A smart 11-year-old girl tries to come to terms with the awesome/awful power of the written word and the unintelligible world of grown-ups.


23 November 2010

The Craftsman (Prof. Richard Sennett)


A slow book. An excellent meditation on the relationship of humans, culture and matter (things), through an analysis of craftsmanship.

Quotes:

Making is Thinking.

I make two contentious arguments: first, that all skills, even the most abstract, begin as bodily practices; second, that technical understanding develops through the powers of imagination.

We are more likely to fail as craftsmen, I argue, due to our inability to organize obsession than because of our lack of ability.

Craftsmanship is certainly, from an ethical point of view, ambiguous. Robert Oppenheimer was a committed craftsman; he pushed his technical skills to the limit to make the best bomb he could.

Material culture provides in sum a picture of what human beings are capable of making. This seemingly limitless view is bounded by self-inflicted harm whether occurring innocently, by intent, or by accident. Retreat into spiritual values is unlikely to furnish much help in coping with Pandora. Nature might be a better guide, if we understand our own labors as part of its being.

about ten thousand hours of experience are required to produce a master carpenter or musician

"Sing clear-voiced Muse, of Hephaestus famed for skill. With bright-eyed Athena he taught men glorious crafts throughout the world-men who before used to dwell in caves in the mountains like wild beasts. But now that they have learned crafts through Hephaestus famous for his art they live a peaceful life in their own houses the whole year round."

Plato observed that although "craftsmen are all poets ... they are not called poets, they have other names."

the experimental rhythm of problem solving and problem finding makes the ancient potter and the modern programmer members of the same tribe.

skill is a trained practice

The medieval craftsman's authority rested on the fact that he was a Christian. Early Christianity had from its origins embraced the dignity of the craftsman. It mattered to theologians and laymen alike that Christ was the son of a carpenter

In terms of practice, there is no art without craft; the idea for a painting is not a painting.

In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries European children first began to enjoy an abundance of toys.

The recipe for making a steam engine became entirely codifiable by 1823 in documents; the master-and Watt himself behaved like a Stradivari of engineering-no longer had secrets to keep.

In the nineteenth-century steel industry, skilled artisans faced two potential futures because of technological change: deskilling or dismissal.

a kindred problem was faced in 1995 by programmers displaced from working on mainframe machines to personal computers and gaming devices. The norms of the workplace rather than computation formed the difficulty of change.

From the origins of classical civilization, craftsmen have suffered mistreatment. What has kept them going humanly is belief in their work and their involvement with its materials.

The hand is the window on to the mind.

One of the myths that surround technique is that people who develop it to a high level must have unusual bodies to begin with. As concerns the hand, this is not quite true.

The calluses developed by people who use their hands professionally constitute a particular case of localized touch. In principle the thickened layer of skin should deaden touch; in practice, the reverse occurs.

Diminishing the fear of making mistakes is all-important in our art, since the musician on stage can't stop, paralyzed, if she or he makes a mistake.

Still, in chopping food, as in sounding chords, the base line of physical control, the starting point, is the calculation and application of minimum force.

in 1400 knife fights might have been a normal event at a supper party but that by 1600 these eruptions were frowned on

The apprentice is often expected to absorb the master's lesson by osmosis; the master's demonstration shows an act successfully performed, and the apprentice has to figure out what turned the key in the lock. Learning by demonstration puts the burden on the apprentice; it further assumes that direct imitation can occur. To be sure, the process often works, but equally often it fails.

When I've taught writing, I've thus asked my students to rewrite the printed instructions that accompany new software. Perfectly accurate, these nefarious publications are often unintelligible.

To expand her readers' horizons, Julia Child wrote down procedures she learned professionally in Paris as a young woman. She reimagined these procedures for the foreign novice; crossing that cultural divide prompted her to transform the denotative recipe. [...] Child's recipe reads quite differently than Olney's precise direction because her story is structured around empathy for the cook; she focuses on the human protagonist rather than on the bird.

The patience of a craftsman can thus be defined as: the temporary suspension of the desire for closure.

working with resistance is the key to survival

Whereas Corbusier relegated streets to traffic functions, the ground plane represented to Van Eyck the realm in which people "learn" cities. The placement of benches and bollards, the height of stepping-stones, the ill-defined separations of sand, grass, and water are all tools in that learning, an education in ambiguity.

Improvisation occurs in workshops, offices, and laboratories as much as on streets. As in jazz, other forms of improvisation involve skills that can be developed and improved. Anticipation can be strengthened; people can become better at negotiating borders and edges; they can become more selective about the elements they choose to vary.

We share in common and in roughly equal measure the raw abilities that allow us to become good craftsmen; it is the motivation and aspiration for quality that takes people along different paths in their lives. Social conditions shape these motivations.

What most stimulated workers to achieve higher productivity, Mayo found, was simply being noticed as human beings.

the experienced doctor thinks in larger units of time, not just backward to cases in the past but, more interestingly, forward, trying to see into the patient's indeterminate future

Nothing ever feels good enough to the person measuring who he or she is against who he or she should be.

The craftsman's focus on concrete objects or procedures runs contrary, moreover, to the narcissist's complaint, "If only I could."

The good craftsman understands the importance of the sketch-that is, not knowing quite what you are about when you begin.

The good craftsman learns when it is time to stop.

Perhaps the greatest difference between Loos and Wittgenstein was that Adolph Loos possessed a work story; each building project was like a chapter in his life. Wittgenstein lacked a narrative of that sort; when his all-or-nothing gamble disappointed, he never built another house.

In old English a "career" meant a well-laid road, whereas a "job" meant simply a lump of coal or pile of wood that could be moved around at will.

people are meant to deploy a portfolio of skills rather than nurture a single ability in the course of their working histories; this succession of projects or tasks erodes belief that one is meant to do just one thing well

I've kept for the end of this book its most controversial proposal: that nearly anyone can become a good craftsman.

No one could deny that people are born or become unequal. But inequality is not the most important fact about human beings. Our species' ability to make things reveals more what we share.

when utility rules, adults lose something essential in the capacity to think; they lose the free curiosity that occurs in the open, felt-fingering space of play

The innate abilities on which craftsmanship is based are not exceptional; they are shared in common by the large majority of human beings and in roughly equal measure. [...] Three basic abilities are the foundation of craftsmanship. These are the ability to localize, to question, and to open up.

The person with an IQ score of 100 is not much different in ability than the person with a score of 115, but the 115 is much more likely to attract notice. There's a devil's answer to this question: inflating small differences in degree into large differences in kind legitimates the system of privilege.

The capacity to work well is shared fairly equally among human beings; it appears first in play, is elaborated in the capacities to localize, question, and open up problems at work. The Enlightenment hoped that learning to do good work would make human beings more capable of self-governance.

"Both work and play are equally free and intrinsically motivated, apart from false economic conditions which tend to make play into idle excitement for the well to do, and work into uncongenial labor for the poor. Work is psychologically simply an activity which consciously includes regard for consequences as part of itself; it becomes constrained labor when the consequences are outside of the activity, as an end to which activity is merely a means. Work which remains permeated with the play attitude is art." (Dewey)

Good craftsmanship implies socialism.

Arendt's reproach to democracy is that it demands too much of ordinary human beings; it might be better said of modern democracy that it demands too little. Its institutions and tools of communication do not draw on and develop the competences that most people can evince in work.

22 November 2010

Confessions of a Slacker Mom (Muffy Mead-Ferro)

This was a slower read than i had expected, but still, it's funny and easy to agree with. Equal parts of common-sense and here's-how-we-did-it-at-the-cow-farm-ery.

It takes a village to raise a child. Don't have a village? Hire one!
The world is not childproof.
Love your children and trust your instincts.
The main reason children are not disciplined, is because it's inconvenient.


Quotes:

I do hope it'll give you enough to mull over that the next time you hear from some magazine, TV show, friend or in-law about the latest thing that you, as a parent, are supposed to do or buy, you'll pause. And if you hear your inner voice saying something like "yuck," you'll listen.

21 November 2010

Sum: Forty Tales From The Afterlives (David Eagleman)

I started reading this on a recommendation i found in Derek Sivers' blog. It's really not about the "afterlife", but a series of meditations on what makes our lives worth, through the device of imaginary "afterlives". Each chapter then is a sketch, or story idea, which could have been developed into a book. Some of them are brilliant, others not quite so, but overall, the effect is kaleidoscopic.


Quotes:

The missing crowds make you lonely.

The Communists are baffled and irritated, because they have finally achieved their perfect society, but only by the help of a God in whom they don't want to believe. The meritocrats are abashed that they're stuck for eternity in an incentiveless system with a bunch of pinkos. The conservatives have no penniless to disparage; the liberals have no downtrodden to promote. So God sits on the edge of Her bed and weeps at night, because the only thing everyone can agree upon is that they're all in Hell.

In the afterlife you relive all your experiences, but this time with the events reshuffled into a new order: all the moments that share a quality are grouped together.

you cannot appreciate the destination without knowing the starting point; you cannot revel in the simplicity unless you remember the alternatives

you discover that God's favorite book is Shelley's Frankenstein

He tried to make good things come to good people, and bad to bad, but He didn't have the technology to implement it.

Both sides were supplied with weapons ranging from sarcasm to tanks.

They don't guess that we have no answers for them. They don't guess that our main priority is to answer these questions for ourselves.

“It is not the brave who can handle the big face, it is the brave who can handle its absence.”

“The Company offered you no evidence that it would work; why did you believe them?” Although He doesn't say it, everyone knows what He's thinking when He retires to His bed at night: that one of His best gifts—the ability to have faith in an unseen hereafter—has backfired.

Without the benefit of filtration, you see yourself clearly for the first time. And that is what finally kills you.

In truth, God lives a life very much like ours—we were created not only in His image but in His social situation as well.

At the beginning of the computer era, people died with passwords in their heads and no one could access their files. When access to these files was critical, companies could grind to a halt. That's when programmers invented death switches.

they come to realize that the name that existed on Earth, the you that moved serially through these different identities, was like a bundle of sticks from different trees. They come to understand, with awe, the complexity of the compound identity that existed on the Earth.

There is always disputed territory. It is the interaction within this substantial administration that determines the random walk of the world: everything interesting happens at the borders between domains of power.

This is how the world will close, not with a bang but a yawn: sleepy and contented, our own falling eyelids serving as the curtain for the play's end.

He realizes that everyone is knocking over dominoes willy-nilly: no one knows where it leads.

In the afterlife, in the warm company of His accidental subjects, God now settles in comfortably, like a grandfather who looks down the long holiday table at his progeny, feeling proud, somehow responsible, and a little surprised.

In the afterlife you meet God. To your surprise and delight, She is like no god that humans have conceived. She shares qualities with all religions’ descriptions, but commands a deific grandeur that was captured in the net of none. She is the elephant described by blind men: all partial descriptions with no understanding of the whole.

If you assumed that God is fond of those who hold loyally to their religions, you were right—but probably for the wrong reasons. She likes them only because they are intellectually nonadven-turous and will be sure to get the answer just a bit wrong.

20 November 2010

This Isn't What It Looks Like (Pseudonymous Bosch)

This felt like a long book and the payoff was small and slow coming, but i guess it's par for the course. It's mostly a prelude to the last book of the series, which now we know will have to be about the sense of touch. Damn you Pseudonymous Bosch! Now we have to wait another long year!


19 November 2010

Nighty-Nightmare (James Howe)

I think this was the funniest book in the "Bunniculla" series, so far, even though Bunniculla is once more absent. I guess there is only so much you can do with a mute rabbit, right? But the overt and covert references to Bram Stoker's Dracula are plentiful, and Howie's abominable puns are relentless. Chester is crazier than ever, there is a dog named Dawg and, as usual, things are not what they seem.


Quotes:

Chester, being a cat, needs to have his reality checked from time to time, the way car owners have their oil checked.

18 November 2010

Anathem (Neal Stephenson)

I really liked this. It takes a while to really get going, but once it reaches that point, it's very hard to put down. I have no idea how this is going to end, but it's a very cool fictional world similar to ours where Mathematics developed into a quasi-religious (but non-Theistic) monasticism. Religion exists too (and people who believe in God exist on both sides and are called "deolaters"). Part of the reason this book is so cool is the way the author developed a whole vocabulary that is parallel to ours yet slightly askew. The word "anathem" relates both to "anthem" (song) and "anathema" (curse). Also very cool to me is the way the people in the story are used to deal with vast expanses of time. The world in the story reminds me more than a little of "The Glass Bead Game" (Magister Ludi), which was one of my favorite books about a century ago when i read it.

This was my first Neal Stephenson book.


Quotes:

You can get a lot done in ten millennia if you put your mind to it

For in truth I was looking at a collection of ancient machines that had no meaning: all syntax, no semantics. I was claiming I saw a meaning in it. But this meaning had no reality, outside of my mind.

Cord had been growingly exasperated by something, and now, finally, she let it out: “This just isn’t the way to do it!” “Do what?” “Build a clock that’s supposed to keep going for thousands of years!”
“Some of the other Millennium Clocks are more like what you have in mind: designed so that they can run for millennia with no maintenance at all. It just depends on what sort of statement the designer wanted to make.”

We don’t think the Ita are dirty in the sense of not washing. But their whole purpose is to work with information that spreads in a promiscuous way.

“It’s frustrating, talking to you. Every idea my little mind can come up with has already been come up with by some Saunt two thousand years ago, and talked to death.”

They knew many things but had no idea why. And strangely this made them more, rather than less, certain that they were right.

“Nothing is more important than that you see and love the beauty that is right in front of you, or else you will have no defense against the ugliness that will hem you in and come at you in so many ways.” (Orolo)

I knew that this was how the Saunts had done it. They judged theorical proofs not logically but aesthetically.

Bulshytt: (1) In Fluccish of the late Praxic Age and early Reconstitution, a derogatory term for false speech in general, esp. knowing and deliberate falsehood or obfuscation. (2) In Orth, a more technical and clinical term denoting speech (typically but not necessarily commercial or political) that employs euphemism, convenient vagueness, numbing repetition, and other such rhetorical subterfuges to create the impression that something has been said.

It is inherent in the mentality of extramuros bulshytt-talkers that they are more prone than anyone else to taking offense (or pretending to) when their bulshytt is pointed out to them.

Three fraas and two suurs sang a five-part motet while twelve others milled around in front of them. Actually they weren’t milling; it just looked that way from where we sat. Each one of them represented an upper or lower index in a theorical equation involving certain tensors and a metric. As they moved to and fro, crossing over one another’s paths and exchanging places while traversing in front of the high table, they were acting out a calculation on the curvature of a four-dimensional manifold, involving various steps of symmetrization, antisymmetrization, and raising and lowering of indices. Seen from above by someone who didn’t know any theorics, it would have looked like a country dance.

"I am throwing the Book at you."

There was no point at all to the Book, which is what made it an especially dreaded form of penance.

I could now see that this business of being the leader was going to be a pain in the neck because people would always be trying to get me to do the wrong things or get rid of me altogether.

“But your way isn’t just that set of rules,” Cord said. “It’s who you are—you follow that way for bigger reasons. And as long as you stay true to that, the confusion you’re talking about will sort itself out eventually.”

To Cord, this was just Selection Number 37. To me it was just about the most powerful piece of music we had. We sang it only once a year, at the end of a week spent fasting and reciting the names of the dead and the titles of the books burned.

she could talk about alloys the way some girls talked about shoes

The people who’d made the system thus were jealous, not of money and not of power but of story. If their employees came home at day’s end with interesting stories to tell, it meant that something had gone wrong: a blackout, a strike, a spree killing. The Powers That Be would not suffer others to be in stories of their own unless they were fake stories that had been made up to motivate them.

“If you must know, they probably ran an asamocra on me.” “Asamocra?” “Asynchronous, symmetrically anonymized, moderated open-cry repute auction.

In most cases, it takes a few days for a provably irreversible phase transition to occur in the reputon glass—never mind—and another day after that to make sure you aren’t just being spoofed by ephemeral stochastic nucleation.

The world that I lived in with Jesry and Lio and Arsibalt, Orolo and Jad, Ala and Tulia and Cord and all the others, was the very world that was being created from day to day in the mind of the Condemned Man in that courtroom. Sooner or later it would all end in a final judgment by the Magistrate. If that—if our—world seemed, on balance, like a decent place to him, he would let the Condemned Man live and our world would go on existing in his mind. If the world, as a whole, only reflected the Condemned Man’s depravity, the Magistrate would have him executed and our world would cease to exist. We could help keep the Condemned Man alive and thus preserve the existence of ourselves and our world by striving at all times to make it a better place.

He had spoken with such absolute confidence that I knew he had to be blowing this out of his rectal orifice.

“Consciousness amplifies the weak signals that, like cobwebs spun between trees, web Narratives together. Moreover, it amplifies them selectively and in that way creates feedback loops that steer the Narratives.”

They came to Laterre fifty years after the death of Gödel.

“In Ita talk,” I said, “when you call something ‘low-level,’ you mean it’s really important, right?”

“Early in the Reticulum—thousands of years ago—it became almost useless because it was cluttered with faulty, obsolete, or downright misleading information,” Sammann said. “Crap, you once called it,” I reminded him. “Yes—a technical term. So crap filtering became important. Businesses were built around it.

“Those who think through possible outcomes with discipline, forge connections, in so doing, to other cosmi in which those outcomes are more than mere possibilities. Such a consciousness is measurably, quantitatively different from one that has not undertaken the same work and so, yes, is able to make correct decisions in an Emergence where an untrained mind would be of little use.”

“Conservation of momentum,” he announced, “it’s not just a good idea—it’s the law!”

‘All right, already! I get it! The Hylaean Flow brings about convergent development of consciousness-bearing systems across worldtracks!’ But where is the payoff? There’s got to be more to it than this big ship roaming from cosmos to cosmos collecting sample populations and embalming them in steel spheres.

06 November 2010

The Celery Stalks at Midnight (James Howe)

     

Yikes! Vampire vegetables! Is Bunnicula changing onions into minions? When destiny calls, can Chester, Harold and Howie -- armed only with courage and toothpicks -- prevent the hordes of vegetable undead from taking over the city?


Quotes:

When the moon is up and the night creatures begin to stir, who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of lettuce?

05 November 2010

Woman's Optimal Pelvic Health with Mercier Therapy (Jennifer Mercier)

In her first book, our friend and midwife Jennifer Mercier presents a series of vignettes from her clinical work which employs massage as a critical component of fertility treatment.


Quotes:

Knowledge is power.

22 October 2010

Moominvalley in November (Tove Jansson)

A slow and moody story, unlike the other books in the series. A small group of misfits, each one for his own personal reason, converge on Moominvalley intent on finding or re-connecting with the Moomin family, but the Moomins are inexplicably absent. Slowly these anti-social creatures get used to living together and by the time they say goodbye, each one has found more or less exactly what they needed to find.

This was the final Moomin book Tove Jansson wrote, and it shows. It was a harder read than the other books so far, but in the end a rewarding one; and it lingers. One of the most poignant things in it is the contrast between the Hemulen's dreams of sailing and the reality of it when he finally does go sailing with Snufkin.

Snufkin is almost like a Zen saint, doing as little as possible, but only just enough to help each one of the others find their way.


Quotes:

The bridge had always been the place for good-byes. The Hemulen's boots and socks were dry and he was ready to leave. The wind was still blowing and his thin hair was all over the place. He had caught a cold, or perhaps it was just emotion.

Less than a mile east of the valley the Hemulen came down to the river, looked thoughtfully at the dark running water and the thought occurred to him that life was like a river. Some people sailed on it slowly, some quickly, and some capsized. I'll tell that to Moominpappa, the Hemulen thought gravely. I think it must be a completely new thought. Just fancy, thoughts come easily today, and everything has become so straightforward. All you have to do is walk out of the door with your hat on a a jaunty angle! Perhaps I'll take the boat out. I'll sail out to sea. I can feel the firm pressure of the rudder on my paw... The firm pressure of the rudder on my paw, the Hemulen repeated, and now he felt so happy it almost hurt. He fastened his belt round his fat stomach and walked on along the river.

He was frightfully old and forgot things very easily. One dark autumn morning he woke up and had forgotten what his name was. It's a little sad when you forget other people's names but it's lovely to be able to completely forget your own. (Gramdpa-Grumble)

At first light Snufkin went to the beach to fetch his five bars of music. He climbed over the banks of seaweed and driftwood and stood on the sand waiting. They came immediately and they were more beautiful and even simpler than he hoped they would be.

21 October 2010

A Wrinkle In Time (Madeleine L'Engle)

This book figures prominently in When You Reach Me, so it was a natural thing to re-read it after i finished that. It's been almost 20 years since i first read A Wrinkle In Time and its sequels. I had forgotten much about it, but there was also much that had stayed with me. It's a scary story!

But it's perhaps more than all a story where people are not what they appear to be, where often the ugly or awkward people have great beauty, and it's in what appears to be perfect that evil lurks. Where love is the ultimate weapon, and this means learning to love oneself with all of one's imperfections, as well as to love the one who needs saving.


Quotes:

It was a dark and stormy night.

"Wild nights are my glory," Mrs Whatsit said. "I just got caught in a down draft and blown off course."

Speaking of ways, pet, by the way, there is such a thing as a tesseract.

"I do face facts," Meg said. "They're lots easier to face than people, I can tell you."

though we travel together, we travel alone

Meg, I give you your faults.

Below them the town was laid out in harsh angular patterns. The houses in the outskirts were all exactly alike, small square boxes painted gray. Each had a small, rectangular plot of lawn in front, with a straight line of dull-looking flowers edging the path to the door. Meg had a feeling that if she could count the flowers there would be exactly the same number for each house.

On Camazotz we are all happy because we are all alike. Differences create problems.

Good helps us, the stars help us, perhaps what you would call light helps us, love helps us. Oh, my child, I cannot explain! This is something you just have to know or not know.

17 October 2010

When You Reach Me (Rebecca Stead)

Very good time-travelling story, heavily influenced by Madeleine L'Engle.


Quotes:

When he first showed up on our corner last fall, the laughing man was always mumbling under his breath. “Bookbag, pocketshoe, bookbag, pocketshoe.”

Richard looked at me. “What did the zero say to the eight?” I rolled my eyes. “Nice belt.” He’d been telling me that one for at least a year.

Mom says each of us has a veil between ourselves and the rest of the world, like a bride wears on her wedding day, except this kind of veil is invisible. We walk around happily with these invisible veils hanging down over our faces. The world is kind of blurry, and we like it that way. But sometimes our veils are pushed away for a few moments, like there’s a wind blowing it from our faces. And when the veil lifts, we can see the world as it really is, just for those few seconds before it settles down again. We see all the beauty, and cruelty, and sadness, and love. But mostly we are happy not to. Some people learn to lift the veil themselves. Then they don’t have to depend on the wind anymore.

It was at that moment, standing next to her, that I figured out the truth. The truth was that Mom saw it too: the peeling paint, the cigarette butts on the stairs, everything.

Bookbag, pocketshoe.

“Well, it’s simple to love someone,” she said. “But it’s hard to know when you need to say it out loud.”

14 October 2010

Elmer Gantry (Sinclair Lewis)

On the surface a ferocious "roast" of the Fundamentalist preacher, Elmer Gantry is also a nuanced analysis of the contradictions that inevitably arise when religion becomes a profession. Lewis' characterization of the Protestant minister as "professional good man" may not apply so well anymore, but there is still a lot there that does. What makes the book great is that it includes in its sweeping study not only the successful ministers (such as the bumbling, overbearing and always-falling-on-his-feet Elmer), but also a handful of unsuccessful ones; some who are able to manage the paradoxical nature of their profession, and some who are not, and at least one who is destroyed by it.


Quotes:

He was born to be a senator. He never said anything important, and he always said it sonorously.

He had, in fact, got everything from the church and Sunday School, except, perhaps, any longing whatever for decency and kindness and reason.

He had almost as much satisfaction out of denouncing liquor as other collegians had out of drinking it.

"There wasn't any fake about it! I really did repent all these darn' fool sins. Even smoking--I'm going to cut it out. I did feel the--the peace of God.

They say it's all this gab that gets 'em going and drags in the sinners, but don't you believe it--it's the music. Say, I can get more damn' sinners weeping on a E-flat cornet than nine gospel-artists all shooting off their faces at once!

Cecil Aylston was a good deal of a mystic, a good deal of a ritualist, a bit of a rogue, something of a scholar, frequently a drunkard, more frequently an ascetic, always a gentleman, and always an adventurer.

"Yes-sir, like the hymn says, the hell of our fathers is good enough for me."

Suddenly he was kneeling at the window, and for the first time since he had forsaken Jim Lefferts and football and joyous ribaldry, his soul was free of all the wickedness which had daubed it--oratorical ambitions, emotional orgasm, dead sayings of dull seers, dogmas, and piety. The golden winding river drew him, the sky uplifted him, and with outflung arms he prayed for deliverance from prayer.

People were tired of eloquence; and the whole evangelist business was limited, since even the most ardent were not likely to be saved more than three or four times. But they could be healed constantly, and of the same disease.

Sharon christened it "The Waters of Jordan Tabernacle," added more and redder paint, more golden gold, and erected an enormous revolving cross, lighted at night with yellow and ruby electric bulbs.

He prayed briefly--he was weary of prayers in which the priest ramblingly explained to God that God really was God.

He could hear ten thousand Methodist elders croaking, "Avoid the vurry appearance of evil."

They were not all of them leonine and actor-like, these staff officers. No few were gaunt, or small, wiry, spectacled, and earnest; but they were all admirable politicians, long in memory of names, quick to find flattering answers. They believed that the Lord rules everything, but that it was only friendly to help him out; and that the enrollment of political allies helped almost as much as prayer in becoming known as suitable material for lucrative pastorates.

"Now that's what I'd vote for," said Rigg. "That's what gets 'em. Nothing like a good juicy vice sermon to bring in the crowds. Yes, sir! Fearless attack on all this drinking and this awful sex immorality that's getting so prevalent."

He had made one discovery superb in its simple genius--the best way to get money was to ask for it, hard enough and often enough.

The new Ku Klux Klan, an organization of the fathers, younger brothers, and employees of the men who had succeeded and became Rotarians

"Mr. Gantry," said Andrew Pengilly, "why don't you believe in God?"

What a joke that a minister, who's supposed to have such divine authority that he can threaten people with hell, is also supposed to be such an office-boy that he can be cussed out and fired if he dares to criticize capitalists or his fellow ministers!

"Oh, tut, tut, Frank; trouble with you is," Philip McGarry yawned, "trouble with you is, you like arguing more than you do patiently working out the spiritual problems of some poor, dumb, infinitely piteous human being that comes to you for help, and that doesn't care a hoot whether you advocate Zoroastrianism or Seventh-day Adventism, so long as he feels that you love him and that you can bring him strength from a power higher than himself.

I know that if you could lose your intellectual pride, if you could forget that you have to make a new world, better'n the Creator's, right away tonight--you and Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells and H. L. Mencken and Sinclair Lewis (Lord, how that book of Lewis', 'Main Street,' did bore me, as much of it as I read; it just rambled on forever, and all he could see was that some of the Gopher Prairie hicks didn't go to literary teas quite as often as he does!--that was all he could see among those splendid heroic pioneers)! Well, as I was saying, if instead of starting in where your congregation has left off, because they never had your chance, you could draw them along with you--"

For over a year now I've never addressed a prayer to any definite deity. I say something like 'Let us in meditation, forgetting the worries of daily life, join our spirits in longing for the coming of perpetual peace'--something like that." "Well, it sounds like a pretty punk prayer to me, Frankie! The only trouble with you is, you feel you're called on to rewrite the Lord's Prayer for him!"

A meeting of the church body had been called to decide on Frank's worthiness, and the members had been informed by Styles that Frank was attacking all religion. Instantly a number of the adherents who had been quite unalarmed by what they themselves had heard in the pulpit perceived that Frank was a dangerous fellow and more than likely to injure omnipotent God.

"But," he pondered, "isn't it possible that the whole thing is so gorgeous a fairy-tale that to criticize it would be like trying to prove that Jack did not kill the giant? No sane priest could expect a man of some education to think that saying masses had any effect on souls in Purgatory; they'd expect him to take the whole thing as one takes a symphony. And, oh, I am lonely for the fellowship of the church!"

The building was of cheerful brick, trimmed with limestone. It had Gothic windows, a carillon in the square stone tower, dozens of Sunday School rooms, a gymnasium, a social room with a stage and a motion-picture booth, an electric range in the kitchen, and over it all a revolving electric cross and a debt.

Dear Lord, thy work is but begun! We shall yet make these United States a moral nation!"

10 October 2010

The Checklist Manifesto (Atul Gawande)


Quotes:

Such failures carry an emotional valence that seems to cloud how we think about them. Failures of ignorance we can forgive. If the knowledge of the best thing to do in a given situation does not exist, we are happy to have people simply make their best effort. But if the knowledge exists and is not applied correctly, it is difficult not to be infuriated.What do you mean half of heart attack patients don’t get their treatment on time?

That means we need a different strategy for overcoming failure, one that builds on experience and takes advantage of the knowledge people have but somehow also makes up for our inevitable human inadequacies. And there is such a strategy— though it will seem almost ridiculous in its simplicity, maybe even crazy to those of us who have spent years carefully developing ever more advanced skills and technologies. It is a checklist.

For every drowned and pulseless child rescued, there are scores more who don’t make it—and not just because their bodies are too far gone. Machines break down; a team can’t get moving fast enough; someone fails to wash his hands and an infection takes hold. Such cases don’t get written up in the Annals of Thoracic Surgery, but they are the norm, though people may not realize it.

One of the most common diagnoses, it turned out, was “Other.”

These checklists accomplished what checklists elsewhere have done, Pronovost observed. They helped with memory recall and clearly set out the minimum necessary steps in a process.

All were amenable, as a result, to what engineers call “forcing functions”: relatively straightforward solutions that force the necessary behavior... You want people to make sure to get the stupid stuff right.

the major advance in the science of construction over the last few decades has been the perfection of tracking and communication

Surgery has, essentially, four big killers wherever it is done in the world: infection, bleeding, unsafe anesthesia, and what can only be called the unexpected.

Each one was remarkably brief, usually just a few lines on a page in big, easy-to-read type. And each applied to a different situation. Taken together, they covered a vast range of flight scenarios.

There are good checklists and bad, Boorman explained. Bad checklists are vague and imprecise. They are too long; they are hard to use; they are impractical. They are made by desk jockeys with no awareness of the situations in which they are to be deployed. They treat the people using the tools as dumb and try to spell out every single step. They turn people’s brains off rather than turn them on. Good checklists, on the other hand, are precise. They are efficient, to the point, and easy to use even in the most difficult situations. They do not try to spell out everything—a checklist cannot fly a plane. Instead, they provide reminders of only the most critical and important steps—the ones that even the highly skilled professionals using them could miss. Good checklists are, above all, practical.

The checklist cannot be lengthy. A rule of thumb some use is to keep it to between five and nine items... after about sixty to ninety seconds at a given pause point, the checklist often becomes a distraction from other things.

the look of the checklist matters. Ideally, it should fit on one page. It should be free of clutter and unnecessary colors. It should use both uppercase and lowercase text for ease of reading. (He went so far as to recommend using a sans serif type like Helvetica

a checklist has to be tested in the real world

The final WHO safe surgery checklist spelled out nineteen checks in all.

I saw a gallbladder operation in which the surgeon inadvertently contaminated his glove while adjusting the operating lights. He hadn’t noticed. But the nurse had. “You have to change your glove,” the nurse told him in Arabic. (Someone translated for me.) “It’s fine,” the surgeon said. “No, it’s not,” the nurse said. “Don’t be stupid.” Then she made him change his glove.

Just ticking boxes is not the ultimate goal here. Embracing a culture of teamwork and discipline is.

Discipline is hard—harder than trustworthiness and skill and perhaps even than selflessness.

The Book Whisperer (Donalyn Miller)

Awakening the inner reader in every child.

What a great teacher she is. I hope many teachers read this book and get moved by it.


Quotes:

As often happens to well-intentioned teachers, my plans fell apart when my students showed up. ... he unit was a work of art, a culmination of everything I had learned about good teaching, and I was proud of it. It was a disaster.

If you ever think you have all the answers, it’s time to retire.

Instead of standing on stage each day, dispensing knowledge to my young charges, I should guide them as they approach their own understandings.

Reading is both a cognitive and an emotional journey. I discovered that it was my job as a teacher to equip the travelers, teach them how to read a map, and show them what to do when they get lost, but ultimately, the journey is theirs alone.

I realized that every lesson, conference, response, and assignment I taught must lead students away from me and toward their autonomy as literate people.

Reading changes your life. Reading unlocks worlds unknown or forgotten, taking travelers around the world and through time. Reading helps you escape the confines of school and pursue your own education. Through characters—the saints and sinners, real or imagined—reading shows you how to be a better human being.

Mark Twain reminds us, “The man who does not read great books is no better than the man who can’t.”

I try to take every chance I get to read in school because mostly school is quite boring. When I read in class it fills up the little hole in my heart (JUST KIDDING!!!). —Jon

talking about books is vital to a reading community

THE RIGHTS OF THE READER BY DANIEL PENNAC 1. The right to not read. 2. The right to skip pages. 3. The right to not finish. 4. The right to reread. 5. The right to read anything. 6. The right to escapism. 7. The right to read anywhere. 8. The right to browse. 9. The right to read out loud. 10. The right not to defend your tastes.

When my principal interviews candidates for a teaching position at my school, regardless of whether it’s a language arts position, he always asks them to discuss the last book they read.

Every student that moves through our classes is not destined to become an English literature major, and we cannot gear our teaching as if they were.

The reality is that you can never mandate or monitor how much reading your students are doing at home.

They are in sixth grade! What about having an enriching, powerful, glorious year in sixth grade? The purpose of school should not be to prepare students for more school. We should be seeking to have fully engaged students now.

It is hard to fight the culture even when what you see in your classroom every day tells you that you are getting it right.

Hands down, the students who read the most are the best at every part of school—reading, writing, researching, content-specific knowledge, all of it (Krashen, 2004). They are the best test takers, too.

Instead of leaving these students to simmer on the back burner while we struggle to educate our poor readers, why not teach all of our students to adopt the attitudes and behaviors of the best readers?

This is how I show my students that I love them—by putting books in their hands, by noticing what they are about, and finding books that tell them, “I know. I know. I know how it is. I know who you are, and even though we may never speak of it, read this book, and know that I understand you.” We speak in this language of books passing back and forth, books that say, “You are a dreamer; read this.” “You are hurting inside; read this.” “You need a good laugh; read this.”

I have purchased every book in our class library with my own money.

Gifted readers should read fiction close to their age level and nonfiction at their advanced reading level (Halsted, 2002).

02 October 2010

Ramona Quimby, Age 8 (Beverly Cleary)

Nice! I was interested in reading this because Lemony Snicket is fond of the scene between Ramona and the lonely old gentleman in the burger place. But this was a pleasant surprise, a well-written book that shows great insight into the mind of a 8-year-old and a loving but stressed-out family.


Quotes:

when the tune came to an end, she turned around and found herself face to face with an old man with neatly trimmed gray hair and a moustache that turned up at the ends. He was dressed as if everything he wore -- a flowered shirt, striped tie, tweed coat, and plaid slacks -- had come from different stores or from a rummage sale, except that the crease in his trousers was sharp and his shoes were shined.
The old man, whose back was very straight, saluted Ramona as if she were a soldier and said, "Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?"

01 October 2010

Moominpappa's Memoires (Tove Jansson)

This is my favorite Moomin book so far, although Moominpappa's language tends to be harder to read than the other books. Moominpappa retells his young years and how they shaped his philosophy.


Quotes:

A Hemulen has terribly large feet and no sense of humour. She has a protruding, slightly depressed snout, and her hair grows in indefinite tufts. A Hemulen does nothing because it would be fun to do it, but only because it must be done, and she tells one all the time what one ought to have done. (Moominpappa)

"Don't let him smoke!" cried Sniff. "The Hemulen Aunt says smokers get shaky paws, a yellow nose, and a bald tail!"
"I'm not so sure," said Moominmamma. "He's smoked all his life, and he's not shaky, yellow, or bald. All nice things are good for you."

"Well," said Hodgkins, "perhaps he is really interested in everything, only he doesn't overdo it. For ourselves there is always one single interest. You want to become. I want to do. My nephew wants too have. But the Joxter just lives."

Can you win anything better than the useless rewards of a fantastical imagination! Is there any greater honor? (Moominpappa)

I cannot stress enough the perils of your friends marrying or becoming court inventors. One day you are all a society of outlaws, adventurous comrades and companions who will be pushing off somewhere or other when things become tiresome; you have all the world to choose from, just by looking at the map... And then, suddenty, they're not interested anymore. They want to keep warm. They're afraid of rain. They start collecting big things that can't fit in a rucksack. They talk only of small things. They don't like to make sudden decisions and do something contrariwise. Formerly, they hoisted sail; now they carpenter little shelves for porcelain mugs. Oh, who can speak of such matters without shedding tears? (Moominpappa)

And in the foggy dawn they all tumbled out into the garden. The eastern sky was clearing, waiting for the sun to rise. It was at the ready, in a few minutes the night would be over, and everything could start anew from the beginning.
A new door to the Unbelievable, to the Possible. A new day when everything may happen if you have no objection to it.

The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)

The first of the Hunger Games trilogy, it was a fast and exciting read, though i thought it fizzled out a little by the end. It reminded me of the 80s movie "Running Man".


Quotes:

She holds out the circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier. I hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but now I see it’s a small bird in flight.

26 September 2010

Bhagavad Gita - translated by Stephen Mitchell

I loved Mitchell's translation of Gilgamesh, so i decided to check out what he did with the Gita. I enjoyed it. The translation is readable and not intrusive. Mitchell has strong opinions about what he likes and dislikes in the text, but he keeps those in his commentary part. He also includes an essay by Ghandi, which is by itself worth the price of the book.


Quotes:

“Renunciation of the fruits of action,” Gandhi wrote, “is the center around which the Gita is woven. It is the central sun around which devotion, knowledge, and the rest revolve like planets.”

the essence of Hinduism is “Let go.”

“I form the light, and create darkness; I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.” (Second Isaiah)

The healthiest way to begin reading and absorbing a text like the Bhagavad Gita is to understand that ultimately it has nothing to teach. Everything essential that it points to—what we call wisdom or radiance or peace—is already present inside us.

‎"Humility, patience, sincerity,
nonviolence, uprightness, purity,
devotion to one’s spiritual teacher,
constancy, self-control,

dispassion toward objects of the senses,
freedom from the I-sense,
insight into the evils of birth,
sickness, old age, and death,

detachment, absence of clinging
to son, wife, family, and home,
an unshakable equanimity
in good fortune or in bad,

an unwavering devotion to me
above all things, an intense
love of solitude, distaste
for involvement in worldly affairs,

persistence in knowing the Self
and awareness of the goal of knowing --
all this is called true knowledge;
what differs from it is called ignorance.
(Krishna)

As unnecessary as a well is to a village on the banks of a river, so unnecessary are all scriptures to someone who has seen the truth.

You have a right to your actions, but never to your actions’ fruits. Act for the action’s sake. And do not be attached to inaction. Self-possessed, resolute, act without any thought of results, open to success or failure. This equanimity is yoga.

The wise man lets go of all results, whether good or bad, and is focused on the action alone. Yoga is skill in actions.

if you want to be truly free, perform all actions as worship

It is better to do your own duty badly, than to perfectly do another’s

You must realize what action is, what wrong action and inaction are as well. The true nature of action is profound, and difficult to fathom.

When a man has let go of attachments, when his mind is rooted in wisdom, everything he does is worship and his actions all melt away. God is the offering, God is the offered, poured out by God; God is attained by all those who see God in every action.

Find a wise teacher, honor him, ask him your questions, serve him; someone who has seen the truth will guide you on the path to wisdom.

The wise man, cleansed of his sins, who has cut off all separation, who delights in the welfare of all beings, vanishes into God’s bliss.

Of ten thousand men, perhaps one man strives for perfection; of ten thousand who strive, perhaps one man knows me in truth.

Meditate on the Guide, the Giver of all, the Primordial Poet, smaller than an atom, unthinkable, brilliant as the sun.

I am the beginning and the end, origin and dissolution, refuge, home, true lover, womb and imperishable seed.

Arjuna, all those who worship other gods, with deep faith, are really worshiping me, even if they don’t know it.

Whatever you do, Arjuna, do it as an offering to me — whatever you say or eat or pray or enjoy or suffer. In this way you will be freed from all the results of your actions, good or harmful; unfettered, untroubled, you will come to me.

Even the heartless criminal, if he loves me with all his heart, will certainly grow into sainthood as he moves toward me on this path. Quickly that man becomes pure, his heart finds eternal peace. Arjuna, no one who truly loves me will ever be lost.

I am death, shatterer of worlds, annihilating all.

Nature, for me, is a womb; in Nature I plant my seed, and from this seed of mine bursts forth the origin of all beings.

Every man’s faith conforms with his inborn nature, Arjuna. Faith is a person’s core; whatever his faith is, he is.

The thing that, in your delusion, you wish not to do, you will do, even against your will, since your own karma binds you. The Lord dwells deep in the heart of all beings, by his wondrous power making them all revolve like puppets on a carousel.

This devotion is not mere lip-worship, it is wrestling with death. (Ghandi)

But renunciation of fruit in no way means indifference to the result. In regard to every action one must know the result that is expected to follow, the means thereto, and the capacity for it. He who, being thus equipped, is without desire for the result, and is yet wholly engrossed in the due fulfillment of the task before him, is said to have renounced the fruits of his action. (Ghandi)

Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!: Adventures of a Curious Character (Richard P. Feynman)

What a guy! One of the smartest persons in the world, ever, and one who never shied away from any kind of adventure, from playing the drums professionally, to drawing well enough to put on a one-man show, to picking locks and safes, to figuring out techniques for picking up show-girls in Vegas. He did everything, and anything he cared for, he worked on it until he did it well.


Quotes:

It was no secret joke that brought the smile and the sparkle in his eye, it was physics. The joy of physics!

People often think I’m a faker, but I’m usually honest, in a certain way—in such a way that often nobody believes me!

(I often had this problem of demonstrating to these fellas something that they didn’t believe—like the time we got into an argument as to whether urine just ran out of you by gravity, and I had to demonstrate that that wasn’t the case by showing them that you can pee standing on your head. Or the time when somebody claimed that if you took aspirin and Coca-Cola you’d fall over in a dead faint directly. I told them I thought it was a lot of baloney, and offered to take aspirin and Coca-Cola together. Then they got into an argument whether you should have the aspirin before the Coke, just after the Coke, or mixed in the Coke. So I had six aspirin and three Cokes, one right after the other. First, I took two aspirins and then a Coke, then we dissolved two aspirins in a Coke and I took that, and then I took a Coke and two aspirins. Each time the idiots who believed it were standing around me, waiting to catch me when I fainted. But nothing happened. I do remember that I didn’t sleep very well that night, so I got up and did a lot of figuring, and worked out some of the formulas for what is called the Riemann-Zeta function.)

The electron is a theory that we use; it is so useful in understanding the way nature works that we can almost call it real.

Another guy got up, and another, and I tell you I have never heard such ingenious different ways of looking at a brick before. And, just like it should in all stories about philosophers, it ended up in complete chaos.

They had wasted all their time memorizing stuff like that, when it could be looked up in fifteen minutes.

That’s the trouble with not being in your own field: You don’t take it seriously.

I had a scheme, which I still use today when somebody is explaining something that I’m trying to understand: I keep making up examples.

I thought to myself, “I’ve gotta be brave. I’ve gotta eat an oyster.”

All science stopped during the war except the little bit that was done at Los Alamos. And that was not much science; it was mostly engineering.

(About the military:) That’s what they’re very good at—making decisions. I thought it was very remarkable how a problem of whether or not information as to how the bomb works should be in the Oak Ridge plant had to be decided and could be decided in five minutes.

The trouble with computers is you play with them. They are so wonderful.

And Von Neumann gave me an interesting idea: that you don’t have to be responsible for the world that you’re in. So I have developed a very powerful sense of social irresponsibility as a result of Von Neumann’s advice. It’s made me a very happy man ever since. But it was Von Neumann who put the seed in that grew into my active irresponsibility!

I’d be in there alone and I’d open the safe in a few minutes. All I had to do was try the first number at most twenty times, then sit around, reading a magazine or something, for fifteen or twenty minutes. There was no use trying to make it look too easy

And then I thought to myself, “You know, what they think of you is so fantastic, it’s impossible to live up to it. You have no responsibility to live up to it!” It was a brilliant idea: You have no responsibility to live up to what other people think you ought to accomplish. I have no responsibility to be like they expect me to be. It’s their mistake, not my failing. [...] I am what I am, and if they expected me to be good and they’re offering me some money for it, it’s their hard luck.

I still remember going to Hans Bethe and saying, “Hey, Hans! I noticed something interesting. Here the plate goes around so, and the reason it’s two to one is…” and I showed him the accelerations. He says, “Feynman, that’s pretty interesting, but what’s the importance of it? Why are you doing it?” “Hah!” I say. “There’s no importance whatsoever. I’m just doing it for the fun of it.”

I noticed a difference: When we’d dig a hole, there’d be all kinds of detour signs and flashing lights to protect us. There [(Brazil)], they dig the hole, and when they’re finished for the day, they just leave.

After a lot of investigation, I finally figured out that the students had memorized everything, but they didn’t know what anything meant. [...] One other thing I could never get them to do was to ask questions.

Since then I never pay any attention to anything by “experts.” I calculate everything myself. ... I’ll never make that mistake again, reading the experts’ opinions. Of course, you only live one life, and you make all your mistakes, and learn what not to do, and that’s the end of you.

I wanted to convey an emotion I have about the beauty of the world. It’s difficult to describe because it’s an emotion. It’s analogous to the feeling one has in religion that has to do with a god that controls everything in the whole universe: there’s a generality aspect that you feel when you think about how things that appear so different and behave so differently are all run “behind the scenes” by the same organization, the same physical laws. It’s an appreciation of the mathematical beauty of nature, of how she works inside; a realization that the phenomena we see result from the complexity of the inner workings between atoms; a feeling of how dramatic and wonderful it is.

I knew it was impossible to draw well that way, and therefore it didn’t have to be good—and that’s really what the loosening up was all about. I had thought that “loosen up” meant “make sloppy drawings,” but it really meant to relax and not worry about how the drawing is going to come out.

It’s a funny thing which must make artists, generally, unhappy—how much improved a drawing gets when you put a frame around it.

In the early fifties I suffered temporarily from a disease of middle age: I used to give philosophical talks about science.

So I stopped—at random—and read the next sentence very carefully. I can’t remember it precisely, but it was very close to this: “The individual member of the social community often receives his information via visual, symbolic channels.” I went back and forth over it, and translated. You know what it means? “People read.”

There were a lot of fools at that conference—pompous fools—and pompous fools drive me up the wall. Ordinary fools are all right; you can talk to them, and try to help them out. But pompous fools—guys who are fools and are covering it all over and impressing people as to how wonderful they are with all this hocus pocus—THAT, I CANNOT STAND! An ordinary fool isn’t a faker; an honest fool is all right. But a dishonest fool is terrible!

I know that’s the way the government works; well, screw the government! I feel that human beings should treat human beings like human beings.

For me, who had never had any “culture,” to end up as a professional musician for a ballet was the height of achievement, as it were.

I think that, perhaps, the interpretation of hallucinations and dreams is a self-propagating process: you’ll have a general, more or less, success at it, especially if you discuss it carefully ahead of time.

Ordinarily it would take me about fifteen minutes to get a hallucination going, but on a few occasions, when I smoked some marijuana beforehand, it came very quickly. But fifteen minutes was fast enough for me.

One time I sat down in a bath [in Esalen] where there was a beautiful girl sitting with a guy who didn’t seem to know her. Right away I began thinking, “Gee! How am I gonna get started talking to this beautiful nude babe?”

24 September 2010

Diamond Willow (Helen Frost)

This was recommended by my daughter Laura, who got it from her teacher, Miss Seivel. It's a dog-and-girl story told in blank verse shaped as diamonds, each one containing a "hidden message" inside. Nicely done. Very very sad, but it ends well. I liked it very much.


Quotes:

I pack snow into the dog pot. Dad gets a good fire going
in the oil-drum stove. He loves these dogs like I do. We're
both out here on weekends, as much as we can be, and every
day before and after school. He loves Roxy most. Willow, go
get the pliers, he say, showing me a quill in Roxy's foot

23 September 2010

Super Sad, True Love Story (Gary Shteyngart)

A Clockwork Orange for the 21st Century, where privacy has been surrendered to social networking, Bipartisan Homeland Security is the law of the USA, and the notions of wealth that people grew up with have been blown up into irrelevance. A glimpse of what the world could look like in 10 years.

Of course, the more things change, the more they stay the same, and old Death is still the last enduring certainty - despite what Indefinite Life Extension tells their high net worth clients. But nevermind... one day we will be able to fix the human body and live forever.

All this and also a super sad love story written with a Russian accent.

A lovely book, funny and engrossing. I felt sad when i was done with it. I realized that this is above all a story of growing up, of going from childish negation of death to mature acceptance. That accepting the reality of our death is essential for embracing life and eventually making some sense of it.


Quotes:

Why is it so hard to be a grown-up man in this world?

There’s a special terminal for flights to the United States and SecurityState Israel, the most dilapidated terminal at the Roman airport, where everyone who is not a passenger is basically carrying a gun or pointing some sort of scanning gizmo at you.

I guess parents can be really disappointing but their the only parents we have.

The truth is, we may think of ourselves as the future, but we are not. We are servants and apprentices, not immortal clients. We hoard our yuan, we take our nutritionals, we prick ourselves and bleed and measure that dark-purple liquid a thousand different ways, we do everything but pray, but in the end we are still marked for death.

The scale of wealth we grew up with no longer applies.

Forget the dollar. It’s just a symptom. This country makes nothing. Our assets are worthless. The northern Europeans are figuring out how to decouple from our economy, and once the Asians turn off the cash spigot we’re through.

There’ll be plenty of time to ponder and write and act out later. Right now you’ve got to sell to live.

And that’s what immortality means to me, Joshie. It means selfishness. My generation’s belief that each one of us matters more than you or anyone else would think.

I wanted to confront her, to make her see the folly of her religion, to change her diet, to help her spend less on makeup and other nonessentials, to make her worship every biological moment she was offered instead of some badly punctured deity.

An American Restoration Authority sign warned us that “IT IS FORBIDDEN TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE EXISTENCE OF THIS CHECKPOINT (‘THE OBJECT’). BY READING THIS SIGN YOU HAVE DENIED EXISTENCE OF THE OBJECT AND IMPLIED CONSENT.”

The world they needed was right around them, flickering and bleeping, and it demanded every bit of strength and attention they could spare.

He filmed my äppärät with his äppärät, while I swallowed another mug of triglycerides.

Thirty-nine years of age, lifespan estimated at eighty-three (47 percent lifespan elapsed; 53 percent remaining).

“Lenny Abramov, last reader on earth!”

Back at the synagogue, I gave Barry the willingness-to-live test. The H-scan test to measure the subject’s biological age. The willingness-to-persevere-in-difficult-conditions test. The Infinite Sadness Endurance Test. The response-to-loss-of-child test. ... I knew already that this perfectly reasonable, preternaturally kind fifty-two-year-old would not make the cut. He was doomed, like me. And so I smiled at him, congratulated him on his candor and patience, his intellect and maturity, and with a tap of my finger against my digital desk threw him onto the blazing funeral pyre of history.

I thought of Lenny and this elephant we saw in the zoo and how I kissed his big nose and the look on his face. The look on his face, Pony! I don’t know about temperance or faith, but what about charity and hope? Don’t we all need that?

I realized, with a quiet gnawing pain, that when you took away my 239,000 yuan-pegged dollars, when you took away the complicated love of my parents and the mercurial comforts of my friends, when you took away my smelly books, I had nothing but the woman in the next room.

“Safety first,” as they say around Post-Human Services. Our lives are worth more than the lives of others.

Unlike others of her generation, she was not completely steeped in pornography, and so the instinct for sex came from somewhere else inside her; it spoke of the need for warmth instead of debasement.

I wanted to get up and address the audience. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” I would say. “You are decent people. You are trying. Life is very difficult. If there is a burden on your heart, it will not be lifted here. Do not throw away the good. Take pride in the good. You are better than this angry man. You are better than Jesus Christ.”

“I have nothing to wear. And my butt is fat.” “You weight eighty-three pounds. Everyone on Grand Street stares at your ass in wonder. You have three closets’ worth of shoes and dresses.” “Eighty-six. And I have nothing for the summer, Lenny. Are you even listening to me?”

The Indians tell me that in the next two years I’m going to have my heart removed completely. Useless muscle. Idiotically designed. (Joshie)

Today I’ve made a major decision: I am going to die. (Lenny)

I suppose I could have started telling her about all the different ways in which she needed to change in order for us to be happy together, but it would be pointless. I had either to accept the girl cradled in my arms, or to spend the rest of my time searching for something else.

“What happens but once … might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all.” (Milan Kundera)

Did you know that each peaceful, natural death at age eighty-one is a tragedy without compare? Every day people, individuals—Americans, if that makes it more urgent for you—fall facedown on the battlefield, never to get up again. Never to exist again. These are complex personalities, their cerebral cortexes shimmering with floating worlds, universes that would have floored our sheep-herding, fig-eating, analog ancestors. These folks are minor deities, vessels of love, life-givers, unsung geniuses, gods of the forge getting up at six-fifteen in the morning to fire up the coffeemaker, mouthing silent prayers that they will live to see the next day and the one after that and then Sarah’s graduation and then …  Nullified.