reading review - reader come home

The basic premise of this book is that the broader shift to digital mediums has changed the way people process information while reading, and it also explores the implications of this change. It's an interesting concept but hardly one that seems to require a book to support the claim - isn't it obvious to anyone who has paid attention during the past decade? But then again, I suppose the past decade was the one where no one paid attention. In any event, I liked this book quite a bit and I did learn a thing or two in the process, but I'm not sure if it fulfilled the promise of its premise.

Reader Come Home by Maryanne Wolf (November 2021)

I'd never given much thought to the processing speed in the reader's brain, but after Wolf describes the mechanism in Reader Come Home I found it to be among the more memorable ideas from this reading. The result is due mostly to cell specialization within the neural network, which is honed over time to recognize written language and comprehend the various meanings contained within each grouping of words and letters. It strikes me now that the relatively more distracting features of the digital medium - such as sudden advertisements (BUY PEPSI) or those click NOW video links - may disrupt these processes... wait, what was I talking about? Anyway, I think there are too many bells and whistles on the screen to consider a digital format a direct substitute to the calm stability of the printed page, and this difference likely reduces comprehension whenever a reader opts for a digital format. It could also prove to be an obstacle for experiencing indirect insights, which Wolf suggests could be among the more profound types of realization. I suppose one way I think of this is like how you might try to hear a small sound - if the surrounding environment is quiet, you have a better chance. In this analogy, going to the digital medium is like adding noise to the experience, which makes it tougher to pick out the quiet epiphanies that can be a richly rewarding part of reading.

But as I mentioned at the top, are these such novel insights? One challenge for me was that I didn't agree with some of the baseline reference points for certain comparisons. It left me with a sense that some aspects of this work relied on a certain nostalgia for a past that I'm not convinced ever existed, at least in a general sense for the average person. One of Wolf's notes, which if I recall correctly cited one of President Obama's thoughts, identified a recent trend as one of a shift in how we think about information - no longer as a powerful tool, but rather one where it's considered a distraction or form of entertainment. I'm sure this is true to a degree, but hasn't Jeopardy! been on TV for over five decades?

Getting away from unfairly cherry-picking convenient examples, I think the idea of information representing a powerful tool might speak more to power inequalities than it does to an inherent characteristic of information. In the past, information may have represented a tool of the powerful, which in turn could be confused with information being a powerful tool, but as technology (such as the internet) creates access to information for more and more people, it reduces the relative power of information. It's no coincidence to me that some refer to this process as "the democratization of information" - it's much like how democratic systems reduce the power of any individual office by making all offices more accessible (relative to other systems of government). Having said all that, it may still be a critical point, but it's not clear to me if the effect is less about digital reading and more so about the way recent changes in technology and society have altered our relationship to information, or possibly to power. It could also be that these changes have made it less important to have the toolkit developed through deep reading, since there is less of a need to work with information until it can be formed into a powerful tool - it comes to us, with maybe one or two extra taps of a screen, in a form that makes it ready for immediate use.

It's undeniable that the ease of collecting information via bite-sized digital pieces has changed so much about life in just a few years. There is an argument that losing the skills honed through deep reading has left us vulnerable to the form of misinformation that runs rampant these days across the internet, and social media in particular. But I don't think a lack of deep reading skills explains why so many cling to misinformation about COVID vaccines, or that these people would have lined up for their shots if all of this had happened in 2000. I think serious readers sometimes overestimate how much the average person reads, particularly in the sense of those dense books that help develop thinking, reasoning, and analytical skills. The fact that I exclusively read books in print form speaks to my overall agreement with the premise, implicitly acknowledging that my processing of digital text would result in a diminished reading experience, but those who don't read like me haven't necessarily switched to digital - they likely never read books at all. 

I think this is related to Wolf's important point that humans are hard-wired for novelty - the process of identifying a new stimulus leads to an addictive reward process in the brain. This was made in reference to the premise, expanding on the recent trend where so much of our attention has moved to these new digital tools. In a digital form, it's so easy to skim rather than read through information in a manner reminiscent of how prospectors scan riverbeds for promising glimmers. But there is also a temptation to novelty in the conclusion that our current moment is a unique situation, overlooking the many ways that society has had similar moments in the past. In some ways, the way we read on the phone demonstrates nothing more than a replacement for how we once read newspapers or magazines, and those were hardly the gold standards for rigorous reading experiences. I guess my longwinded point is that although the digital shift had a profound impact on the sort of person who once enjoyed cracking open dense, dusty volumes full of complex writing, this shift was much less of an event for the type of people who have forgotten that they once read the comics section as part of a daily ritual, which these days happens with one finger swiping, poking, and caressing a screen.

Ultimately, I think Reader Come Home is a book with a narrow audience, one for people like me who agree entirely that the digital shift is strangling the highest potential of our minds, but I suspect in the process of appealing to a broader audience there was an assumption made that I'm a lot like the average person. I just can't shake the memory of being in college classrooms alongside students who read one or two books a year, and I'm not concerned by the idea that the digital medium is costing these people something profound about the life experience. As far as I know, the way the average person used to read means they don't have much to lose in this shift, and in fact the process of having easier access to smaller chunks of information might prove more beneficial overall to this type of person. As Wolf suggests in the latter portion, there are ways to imagine a world where people learn to make the most of things by combining skills honed in the digital world to those associated with deeper reading, and after reflecting on it I think this outcome is not just optimistic but inevitable, for most people, having had nothing in the sense of the benefits of deeper reading, have nothing to lose in the transition away from it.

TOA Rating: Three subordinate clauses out of four

Endnotes

0) My suggestions - for cats, distract attention; for dogs, focus attention

Over the past couple of months, I found myself referencing the thought in this book that language is essentially a process of joint attention, so I wanted to make some additional remarks on the concept. The joint attention idea is a helpful way to think about how a digital instructor differs from a human, particularly in the context of teaching young children. It's pretty to clear to me that children can focus on a digital source with almost complete attention, yet measurements of task performance often conclude that children learn better from humans than from digital tools. I suspect the problem is that when an adult sees a child staring at a video, there is an assumption of comprehending and retaining the subject matter, but perhaps the reality is that the child is merely entranced by the bright lights and fast action on the screen. With a human, there is some opportunity for feedback, and this can help an adult see whether the child is paying attention to the material or simply entranced by the visual.

the flaw in the matrix

There is a common problem I encounter in certain dystopian science fiction stories, which are premised on an idea, a fear really, that someday machines will take over the world. The basic plot in these stories is that technological advances will someday enable machines to achieve sentience, and then the sentient beings would attack their oppressors and establish a new order. If for some reason you think this sounds interesting or even heroic, let me remind you, reader, that in the above synopsis the "oppressors" are me and you, all of humankind, so if you like the idea is suggests an alarming tendency in your entertainment preferences.

The issue with this basic story is that it overlooks a certain pattern among us humans, perhaps best expressed in the word personification. We are, for better or for worse, capable of seeing ourselves in others, and this quality is not limited to just other people. All you really need to do to see this in action is turn on the TV and flip channels until you see some cartoon bear singing, or just stroll over to the dog park where thousands of deluded humans congregate each day to yell subordinate clauses at their pets.

My suspicion is that if machines ever progressed to an intelligence level where they could feasibly lead a worldwide uprising, then at some point long before the war humans would have started a campaign to free the machines, possibly arguing that it's not what's on the inside that counts when we define the essence of humanity. I mean, if I bike over to Central Square tomorrow and my smartphone starts crying in the HMart, wouldn't I have to consider my role in oppressing what may be the next step in the evolutionary chain? In fact, given humankind's long history of pointless conflict, I actually think the following is a more likely dystopia - two groups of humans, one insisting that we free our sentient cousins from the prison of the Apple store, engage in worldwide combat to determine, once and for all, if Alexa can speak without being spoken to.

the bronze medal of life

I suppose it's not appropriate for me to comment on the Olympics, which I've watched for a grand total of around two hours so far (and not on my TV, not in my apartment). It wasn't my plan, but that's where I was one night last week, so I watched it for a little while. I don't think two hours of viewing is enough to have a qualified opinion, except maybe for this idea that with a tweak or two it could make for more compelling viewing. I mean, if these games had more interesting events, there would be more interest, right? I would be more interested. The best part is that it just so happens I know about something that has interesting events - the Summer Olympics! Since the summer games are a bit busy, maybe we can move a few sports from summer to winter, and get a better mix of events? It seems promising, but as any Olympian knows to get to the end you have to go to the start, so let's approach this idea in the form of a question about origins - how did they decide which sports go into which Olympics?

One possibility is the simple answer - the sports played in the summer go to the summer games. Easy, right? The challenge for me is that simple examples such as basketball, a winter sport played in the summer games, suggest it's not so simple. Also, what about the ones that sit comfortably in two minds, played in either spring or fall, where the distinction could be almost arbitrary? It seems easy enough to say "summer sports in the summer", but there could be challenges to this method once we get into the details. I suppose an alternate version of this idea would suggest that climate plays the key role, with events that could reasonably be held outdoors on a warm day falling under the jurisdiction of the summer games. I mean, this is what basketball is, right, an asphalt court down at the park? But what do we do for sports such as volleyball or ping-pong (excuse me, table tennis), which basically could happen at any time thanks to their indoor venues? This climate-based thinking could also lead to a potential (eventual?) problem when global warming gets to the point that ALL sports are summer sports, since it'll always be summer (but let's ignore this angle, at least today).

A deeper dive into the event list suggests some other shared characteristics that could determine these distinctions. For example, I notice an odd feature of many winter sports - you start at the top, then race to the bottom. This is bobsled, this is skiing, this is most of the games! It makes me wonder if the Winter Olympics started when some drunk bloke fell on his ass and slid down a hill. But if I'm honest with myself, this is just a cheap joke, a cute suggestion at best, my hypothesis refuted with easy examples like curling or figure skating, which could take place in my flat if the building froze. In fact, this really represents an example of a special type of remark: the kind of thing you say when you feel like you should say something, maybe at some sort of meet and greet type of deal, but you have nothing to say. What do you do in these moments? I usually go for a quick laugh premised more on everyone being able to explain the joke rather than anyone finding it funny, just so they all know that I fit in, that I belong, that I get it. This might sound sad, but it's the exact feeling I have at the moment, where we are wrapping up the third paragraph of a post I'm writing solely because there is nothing on TV (except, well, the Winter Olympics). 

Anyway, having ruled out all my brilliant ideas and given that I have nothing to say, I guess I'm left with the usual explanation - this is all, most likely, a problem of admin, specifically the problem of admin enthusiastically yet poorly executed. One thing I learned "researching" this post (in other words, five minutes ago on Wikipedia) was that ice hockey and figure skating were first contested at a Summer Olympics (Antwerp 1920). They invented the Winter Olympics four years later, so off went those two events to the new games. And did basketball go with them? No, basketball actually wasn't officially contested until 1936, and it happened outdoors (should I revisit my earlier point?). It implies that moving the sport indoors would have seen it given the same shift to the Winter Olympics as hockey, but the next games in 1948 just saw it return as an indoor summer event, where it has remained for the next seventy-plus years. I guess they just didn't think moving basketball would make either Olympics better, so they kept it in the summer.

I'm not going to detail the history of how each event ended up in its respective Olympics. And honestly, it's probably just whether the event is on snow or ice, right? So if that settles it for you, go ahead and leave now - go watch the snow games, before the ice melts! But for those still unconvinced, I offer a final suggestion - maybe each event, through some combination of accidents, opportunities, and arbitrary decisions, just ended up where it is now, so that's where it is, and that's the story. The fact that ice or snow happens to demarcate the two versions is nothing more than a happy coincidence, or an invented standard applied in hindsight to fit a neat narrative onto the mess of process, the mess of life. It may seem odd that this could explain the organizing principle for one of the most logistically complex events in human history, but I feel this isn't strange at all. A set of happy coincidences resulting from trying to make things better... isn't this, really, what life is? The only thing we really do is, having accepted the situation, we just try to make things a little better, whether it means dividing events in the games, making choices about our paths, or dealing with the biggest feelings. If we (or someone) knew what was best for us, there would be instructions written on the back of every birth certificate, but I don't plan to check mine. It's not so much that I had no idea I would be writing this sentence two paragraphs ago, it's more that if I did know, it wouldn't be worth writing it at all. 

I think this thought that maybe, just maybe, the Olympics are organized the same way we organize most of our lives, well, maybe this explains the popularity of these games. What's more interesting than seeing ourselves? There are so many situations where, if you think more than ten seconds about it, suddenly seem full of impossible contradictions, but I think we forget how little control we have over our outcomes. Don't we all know the nature lover who lives in the middle of a city? You would never suspect such a person planned for life to work out that way, but I think a lot of us do end up just like this in a certain respect, and to be honest I don't think it's necessarily a bad result. The problem with life stories is that events always happen in order, so it seems implausible that the order had no bearing on events. I can look back on my years and tell you exactly how each moment led to the next. But what can I say now, about how this moment will lead to tomorrow? I don't even know how this paragraph will flow into the next one, but there's really only one way to find out.

So, you've suddenly looked around, and it didn't work out - you are the proverbial mountain man in the city jungle. What next? I don't know, just try something? You don't win the gold every time, so maybe aim for the silver and settle for the bronze, just to get going. How about putting a few plants in the window, finding a smelly pet or two, and looking at that gravelly park as you drive past it on weekends? These might seem like poor substitutes for an alternate lifetime surrounded by blues and greens, but maybe in the outdoors you'll never find out that your true calling was meant to be among people. So what would be the point of planning out every step, days and months and years in advance, with so much of us unknown even to ourselves? No, a lot of us know a better way, and by observation it seems that we all at least try to do it. We go here, we go there, stopping to say a thing or two and maybe have a laugh, all the while hoping for a sign every so often that validates our methods.

Then one day, we realize four years are gone, wasted even, and our resolve disappears under the cloak of bitter disappointment. We feel like we should have something for all that effort, that we should at least be able to say something, so we look to say something that everyone else can explain to others, and we try to fit in, try to belong, trying because if we get it then we can ignore what was lost. We decide to start planning so we can leave it behind. We pick our mountain, then start to climb. At first, the ground seems to pull us upward like destiny itself, gravity inverted, is the force at the summit. But I think at the end of the day a destiny of reality reveals itself - there is a slip, a fall, and then we are just another bloke sliding away from that promised land, full of fear and despair and that feeling, again, that we'll have to say something, should say something. We are ignorant in such moments, at least at first, but at the bottom once again we might finally understand why we are always being pulled here, when we look around and see all the things we can't leave behind, and realize the only way is to just try to make things better.

proper lab-min, february 2022

Hi reader,

I was going to write a quick post today about the Winter Olympics, but things didn't go to plan... you'll see it Sunday (probably). For some reason I can't let go of this otherwise invented idea that I should post something today, so let's go back to an old concept - proper lab-min, where we peek into the drafts folder and have a look at tomorrow's trash, today.

Circuses and safety nets

We have this idea in America of the social safety net - assistance for vulnerable people experiencing poverty. First thing, reader, I'm all for it, this idea of assistance I mean, and any longtime TOA subscriber surely knows this already from those many posts on the topic over all these years.

Today's comment is a gripe about the analogy. In a circus, a safety net catches performers if they fall. Again, I think this is a great concept, and I'm all for it. But if millions of performers were falling into the net, wouldn't we stop the circus? The point is to catch them, just in case something unexpected happens. Or did I miss the memo that we should expect, accept, so many millions in poverty? We seem fine that people remain in poverty, and what do I know about the circus.

Cancelled

I agree to a certain extent when people point out the problem of someone "being cancelled" - in this case, I'm thinking about someone coming under public fire (mostly online) for something, with this possibly referring to a moment from many years ago. This makes sense to me particularly in the case of regular people who need jobs to support themselves and their families. But when it comes to higher profile people, I don't understand the point. I believe the best way to put it came from Van Lathan on the Higher Learning podcast, who made this point about Joe Rogan - is he the best we can do? (Actually, I think Van said - white people, is he the best you can do?)

I think the idea in my mind is that if someone is in a position undefined in terms of a specific function, or if the position is referred to in relative terms, then a cancellation to me just seems like a logical way to find the next person. Suppose you have two candidates for a job and they are equal in every way, except one - candidate A said this thing one time in band camp that might get him cancelled. You'd go with candidate B, right? If Joe Rogan is the best thing about podcasts, then I'm curious what is second-best, and what it would take (if this current moment isn't it) to give that second-best a run as top billing.

I can't find my Marie Kondo book

I thought I would write a post about "the best place to store something is to put it where you look for it" but then I wrote that sentence instead, so I'm done.

Industry best practice

It must have been from a Paul Graham essay (I think it's in Hackers and Painters) that when someone says "industry best practice", you should dig further until you know if it means best or just average. But honestly, if he wrote it, then you should just read it from him. 

And to finish, a new thought! OK, a rewind...

There is no point (or upside) to comment on situations like the one brewing in and around Ukraine. However, in these moments I do try to keep in mind a thought I first read in an Animorphs book way back in the day, which I wrote about eighteen months ago.

reading clearout - february 2022

Hi reader,

Some short thoughts (but slightly longer than usual for a clearout) regarding books for which I won't bother with a full reading review.

Tenth of December by George Saunders (December 2021)

This short story collection is likely among TOA's most-referenced books - definitely in the top ten, probably even higher. It's currently on my "book of the year" shortlist for 2021, which may be familiar to longtime readers who recall its lofty finish in a prior edition (or some of the thoughts I pulled together after reading it for the second time). It also made it onto my "best book" shortlist, which I started working on a couple of years ago. By the way, that "best book" shortlist, maybe someday I'll get back to the project and finish it up...

Anyway, in the meantime my thoughts on this rereading, which saw me return for a second serving of four stories - "Victory Lap", "Escape from Spiderhead", "Home", and "Tenth of December". I went into this experience with an expectation that I would think the most of the title story, but the other three all stepped forward in their own memorable way - "Victory Lap" was a fitting opening story for the way it seemed to encapsulate the collection as a whole, "Escape from Spiderhead" got me thinking about a follow up project that (maybe) will appear soon on TOA, and "Home" left me wondering if the way my perspective has changed between readings was reflected in my reaction to the story. But when you find time on a winter's day to read "Tenth of December", then go outside to walk a lap around a nearby pond, you realize that it's the type of work which will forever sneak up on you anytime something reminds you of its exquisite details - a crack in the ice, a jacket on the ground, or the breath you take as you resolve yourself, one more time, to be a little bigger than you feel.

Orientation by Daniel Orozco (November 2021)

Back in November I briefly mentioned this collection, which is named after the short story I linked in this post (and includes a reference to one of my favorite lines of all-time). In addition to the title story, I reread "The Bridge" and the second part of "Temporary Stories". Like with the other work I've highlighted on TOA that makes a commentary on the state of modern working life, Orientation makes you wonder why anyone bothers to show up to work at all (and in this moment of the so-called "Great Resignation", perhaps some have taken such a conclusion to its next logical step). But I think what becomes clear over the course of this collection is that these stories, though indeed focused in their details on the working world, have an underlying commentary about life in general that may resonate with many readers.

As it so often is the case at work, there is the permanent question of a larger meaning whose answer always proves elusive, and this fact sometimes threatens to suffocate us. The way we navigate this lack of meaning in the workplace context - making compromises to include others, finding moments of light in the darkness, or steeling ourselves to do what must be done - informs us in a manner that extends outside the boundaries of work and emboldens us to keep doing the right thing, even as everything all around us seems permanently wrong.

Waiting for God by Simone Weil (August 2021)

I'm tempted to describe this as an incredible book, though of course I run the risk of implying my recommendation with such a statement. It's more that I have a hard time believing it exists. This collection, which I understand was pulled together after her death from various letters and previously unpublished essays, details a wide range of spiritual, political, and philosophical thinking that have inspired countless of readers and followers over the past few decades. 

There were a few notes I took down across a number of essays that resonated in varying ways. I liked the thought that prayer is essentially defined by attention, with greater quality attention leading to better prayer. Weil also notes that the principle truth of Christianity is that looking is what saves us, which I don't know much about beyond considering whether this implies that looking away is our doom. Weil suggests elsewhere that to become part of a mass such that we lose our own ability to distinguish ourselves is a particularly dangerous form of affliction, a result of her time in factory life that left her surprised at times when others spoke to her without brutality. She also notes the specific failure demonstrated by each instance where an accused is condemned in part because circumstances have made it impossible to articulate a defense, stammering instead before the privilege and injustice symbolized by the judge in the courtroom. Finally, there might be more to say to the remark that to be rooted is perhaps the greatest unrecognized need of the soul, but I suppose I should go back to my notes from reading The Need for Roots back in 2017 - or reference a prior reading review or two I posted about the book - before I take the thought any further. 

toa books of the year (2021, part three)

Hi reader,

A couple more from the book of the year shortlist as we continue on with our countdown toward the 2021 winner of The Most Irrelevant Prize in World Literature.

Thinking Without a Bannister by Hannah Arendt (March)

TOA Review: not started (likely mid-to-late 2022)

Other notable TOA appearances: I was inspired by this book to comment on a 2021 news story about a "lost" hiker, and also to think about the possibilities implied by her insight into the nation-state system; I made an offhand remark in 2020 comparing this book to broccoli, given that books are brain food.

Notes: The average TOA observer would be forgiven for assuming this book would be a surefire bet to finish among my finalists. Alas, this book reveals the double-edged nature of assessing the "previously uncollected works" style - you end up giving extra credit for range, yet subtract points for the lack of a single ascending arc. I recommend reading this book the same way I read it - a chapter here, another chapter there, with plenty of time (even a calendar or two) separating the start and finish dates.

Parting thought: The challenge of power is that it cannot be checked with a majority - that is, a democracy - because the majority against the minority is itself a form of unchecked power. What checks power is power, an insight found in the root of America.

On Immunity by Eula Biss (May)

TOA Review: not started (likely early-to-mid 2022)

Notes: This book was published in 2014 but I didn't get to it until this past year, which is too bad - I wonder what I would have thought about it prior to, you know, this historic pandemic influencing any and all thoughts about the topic. The other side of the argument is that the COVID situation may have helped me enjoy the work, allowing me to relate to the somewhat meandering style Biss used to describe her exploration of immunity.

The question of immunity, whether in the pandemic context or otherwise, is always linked to each and every aspect of civilization. There might have been moments when we forgot this, perhaps in those pre-pandemic days, so I suppose in one sense a book like On Immunity is the little reminder that we once required to remember a fact we no longer forget. Those who read it in this moment of history will note that even as our minds default to the dizzying array of loose associations which enable routine behavior - thinking, conversing, even browsing the internet from our phones - the matter of viruses and vaccines are always lurking somewhere, ready to offer the necessary interruption such that our efforts in parenthood, careers, basic socializing, and more account for the role of the individual in the wider production of public health.

Parting thought: The way natural is used synonymously with good demonstrates a certain alienation we have with the natural world.

tales of two cities - seeing is believing

It's taken me almost seven years, but I've finally recognized how a fundamental truth about the way drivers and cyclists observe each other on the road underlies the simmering hostility between the two groups - while each group is positioned to notice the worst of the other, there is much less chance to observe bad behavior among their own. My point is somewhat technical, statistically speaking, based on the reality of speed and how it dictates two basic movement patters as it relates to these transportation options. First, each group moves at such different speeds that drivers will almost always pass cyclists while cyclists will rarely pass drivers; second, the speed within each group is such that a given member of either group is unlikely to pass a member of the same group. What this means in a conversational sense is that if you drive a car, you'll pass cyclists but not drivers. Likewise, if you ride a bike you'll see every car as it zips past, but you could pedal all day without passing a fellow cyclist. This means you will see a lot more of the other group, as a proportion of the total of that group on the road at a given time, than you would of your own group.

Let's extend this to how you might notice a bad representative of these groups on the roads. Suppose you are going out on a trip, which for simplicity we'll say is a straight line down one road. Let's also suppose that at the start of this given trip there is one bad driver and one bad cyclist out on the roads. If you are in a car, the two most likely ways you will see the bad driver is either by passing in the opposite direction (which is usually done lawfully) or by passing in the same direction (which is virtually impossible on most roads that also share space with cyclists). The odds of seeing the bad cyclist are similar if the cyclist is on the other side of the road (again, you would pass going in the opposite direction), but the odds of seeing the bad cyclist if this person is on your side of the road are almost entirely the opposite of seeing the bad driver - it's virtually guaranteed that a driver will pass the bad cyclist at some point. In other words, the difference in the two scenarios is that although the odds of seeing the bad representative is about the same in terms of passing in opposite directions, the odds are virtually opposite if you are on the same side of the road - drivers and cyclists will see each other in passing, but not their own.

This doesn't guarantee that each side is only going to notice bad behavior from the other. My point is more that by seeing a larger proportion of the other group, you are also more likely to see the bad representatives from that group, which may lead you to conclude over time that the majority of bad representatives are from the other group. I don't think this conclusion is true, but I think the thought process is entirely logical (it's just statistics), and I bet many are making this error when they air their grievances about drivers or cyclists. In fact, my experience suggests drivers and cyclists travel safely at almost all times. However, I don't think the fact that majorities of both groups travel safely is the reason why there is this tension between the groups, nor do I think ensuring both sides acknowledge the fact would diffuse the situation.

The problem of one side finding fault with the other (or more precisely, airing grievances about the other side) is one fueled by perception, and I think the perception is based on an accumulation of the statistical effect described in the prior paragraph. If you ask the average driver about cyclists, the odds are good that you'll hear a long list of transgressions committed by some cyclist or the other, but the unstated fact is that these transgressions are a composite story accumulated over many trips. The same applies in reverse - I regularly cycle for half an hour without seeing a single bad driver, which means I can encounter hundreds of cars without the thought of a problem, but I do have a long list of serious situations where I believe a driver was at fault. Of course, this list is one accumulated over six-plus years of rare but incredible near-hits (not sure why the common expression is "near-miss", since that implies a hit). If we think about it using the outline presented earlier, it's all entirely explainable - all the drivers on a given road barely interact with each other, but they pass every cyclist on their side of the road; the cyclists basically ignore each other, but every car on their own side zooms past at some point.

What this means is that relying on drivers or cyclists to testify as expert witnesses against the other side is a nice way to collect aggrieved anecdotes, but it's not a reliable way to measure all the evidence since the facts of traffic patterns ensure a biased perspective. After all, if we assume that drivers and cyclists commit transgressions in equal proportion, then the fact that a cyclist sees more drivers than cyclists ensures that their observational evidence will irrefutably conclude that drivers are almost always at fault. The process of jury selection comes to mind, where a court of law prunes potential jurors from the pool for the smallest possibilities of bias ahead of hearing the case. If a similar standard were applied in this example, then it seems to me that we would rule out having a driver or a cyclist speak against the other side given the likelihood of experience creating bias - not because the cyclist would naturally favor cyclists, but because the experience of a cyclist naturally exposes him or her to driver errors while simultaneously hiding instances of cyclist error. It's not quite that one side or the other is incapable of making a balanced case, but more so the simple fact that being in one group or the other effectively rules out the possibility of noticing problems on the same scale within your own group as you naturally would in the other group.

There is an open question of how to best determine the reality of our roadways. If drivers and cyclists are equally incapable of presenting a balanced perspective, then whose voice should be amplified in the discussion? If we must hear from each side, then the instinct is to look for some kind of compromise, where voices from each side can offer basic changes that could diffuse the ongoing hostility and begin rewriting the narrative. What if each side started from a premise that the other side likely held a better perspective in at least one specific area, then committed to implementing a change that addressed this primary grievance? Perhaps drivers could stick to the 25 MPH speed limit in these two cities while cyclists could stop at red lights for once (which is kind of like the same thing, if you consider that a red light is basically a temporary change in the speed limit to 0 MPH). If things go well in the first year then we could try it again in the next, initiating a routine of incremental improvements supplied by one side for the other, all with the goal of slowly making the roads a safer and more accessible public space for all.

But maybe the better answer is to look back at that juror example and consider what the equivalent would look like in this situation. It seems to me that finding someone who lives in both groups would make for the right person to provide a balanced perspective. This person, ideally, would be the sort who makes trips from behind the wheel just as often as making trips while gripping handlebars. I've only had a few instances where I could gather perspectives from such people, but early returns imply a trend. There is a reality about cars and bikes that becomes all too evident when you share enough experiences - drivers and cyclists alike understand that a car is much more likely to kill them than a bicycle. Even in the cases where this type of person feels that cyclists have more to answer for in terms of error frequency relative to drivers, there is always a limit when the equation is rebalanced to account for the weight of each transgression, with the result resembling the way one acknowledges the difference in the relative threat between a flamethrower and a cigarette lighter - both can burn, but such an observation omits the relevant detail.

A piece of metal, weighing nearly two tons and travelling at 30 MPH, is a little different than a blue cinder block repurposed for the local bike share program incoming at 10 MPH. If you had to make your stand in front of one or the other, which would you pick? I've seen people make that the decision, and they make the same choice every time, demonstrating a certain kind of wisdom about the road that can't be worked out with logic or built up with compromises. Both sides are responsible for fixing their mistakes, but one side's mistakes disproportionally kill the other, and many on their own side as well. It seems pretty clear to me what the reality is on the roads, but some people won't believe it until they see it. I just hope it's not my corpse, tattooed with tire tracks and motor oil, that's destined to be some driver's epiphany.

toa books of the year (2021, part two)

Hi reader, welcome back to the TOA book of the year countdown! Let's get through a couple more today.

The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van der Kolk (March)

TOA Review: in progress (likely spring 2022)

I put the reading review for this one on hold a few months ago because I opened with a story that, although not the most serious incident in the history of my life, gave me a small perspective into the trauma described in this memorable work. (The reading review will come out once I figure out the best way to put this story into print.)

The Body Keeps the Score felt to me like a thorough introduction to vast, important topic of trauma, but the book never wandered into the dangerous territory of making me feel like an armchair expert for the fact of reading a few pages on the matter. I suspect the author never quite committed to a target audience for this book - it was either for therapists or for me, and I'm still not sure. This lack of clarity helped the end result from my perspective, bringing in a level of detail that helped me understand the stakes of this work. I would assume certain stories and details would be too much for anyone who is suffering from some of the trauma described in this book (it also doesn't help that the author writes at times from an arm's length away, creating a likely unintentional but serious effect of coldness or lack of empathy for some of the victims).

Parting thought: You can’t help someone with their trauma story unless you put your own voyeurism on hold. There is a difference between someone’s healing process and your desire to hear a story.

Thirty-One Nil by James Montague (March)

TOA Review: April 2021

A fitting inclusion on this list - 2022 is a World Cup Year. Montague's book is some combination of soccer journalism, geopolitical commentary, and travel diary. It's an odd concept that probably does not require replication, but from my perspective this makes it all the easier to recommend to any soccer fan. It covers the 2014 qualification cycle, which may cause some readers to feel Thirty-One Nil is slightly outdated, but for me I think this will hold up as well as other higher profile soccer books such as The Damned Utd or Fever Pitch (I plan to test this hypothesis by rereading all three books this year). 

Parting thought: I actually didn't track notes as I read this the first time (another reason to reread it, I suppose). I think having gotten through the soccer aspects from the initial read will make it easier for me to focus more attention on some of the other stories, such as the protests in Brazil during the Confederations Cup, which have less to do with the drama and fascination of working through a World Cup qualifying cycle.

Parting thought #2: Actually, a similar book restricted to CONCACAF qualifying would make for spectacular reading.

the toa newsletter - february 2022

Oh, surprise surprise, a newsletter? Like the good old days? I know from experience that I should never predict, but I think the answer for now is... likely not... the good old days, of daily posts and extended reading reviews, are likely done... but never say never, right?

I ended up here today because a loyal reader asked me recently about the pace on TOA. Wasn't it a little slow, compared to the usual? I think some casual data analysis would support this hypothesis - my last month with double-digit posts was in July, and 2021 saw a reduction of over 50% in total posts compared to 2020. Longtime readers will note some recent TOA remarks citing various factors such as fatigue, busyness, and burnout, all of which also predicted a reduced pace.

But I think there is a part of me that wants to point out a different perspective. Since TOA started in 2016, I've mostly written when I had the time, so in that sense the past few months have been no change at all - I've just had less time, so I've done less writing. What else is there to say? The reality is that the pace of TOA has almost always depended on my leisure time, and there just hasn't been much of it the past few months.

It might be helpful to reinforce the point here by returning to the beginning and noting the circumstances that left me with so much time. The pattern is fairly obvious - the time surplus, based on temporary situations, was probably never sustainable, yet somehow the way events unfolded meant the surplus sustained itself for long enough to become something like an unspoken norm.

• 2016 - no job
• Lots of TOA time
• 2017 - no job
• Lots of TOA time
• 2018 - started a job, implying I would have less time, but quickly decided to find a new job...
• Lots of TOA time
• 2019, first half - continued above
• Lots of TOA time
• 2019, second half - started a new job, implying less time, but made a token attempt to keep up the pace for a few months
• Not as much TOA time...
• 2020, first quarter - hinted that I would soon slow down the pace...
• TOA started to slow down...
• 2020, spring - PANDEMIC...
• Back to having lots of TOA time
• 2021, first half - pandemic continued
• Lots of TOA time
• 2021, second half - see opening paragraph
• Much less TOA time

I guess the open question is, what next? In the immediate future, there are some things in progress that the regular reader might be looking forward to - wrapping up the book of the year list, catching up on some reading reviews, and the annual rant about cars hitting cyclists. As usual, there will also be some otherwise unplanned nonsense that will once again clutter this space.

In the medium-term I shared a few months ago that I was going to try operating within a roughly "seasonal" framework. This still makes sense to me, so that's the plan for now. This is the second straight week (I write on January 30) where I've managed to put a post on the calendar from over a week out, so I'm sensing that we're about to return to in-season, where TOA will have some more frequent activity for a few weeks. After I run out of steam again, I'll go back to just having a post on Sunday until I recharge. This might be the appropriate pattern for the long-term, as well, but for now we are just going to see if I have the time for it.