reading clearout (april 2022, part two)

An off-season double dip into the wonderful world of reading clearouts...

The Supreme Court: Landmark Decisions by Tony Mauro (January 2022)

Tony Mauro, who has covered the Supreme Court for over forty years, pulls together his list of twenty landmark cases for this short, straightforward volume. Each chapter has the same structure - Mauro quickly summarizes the case, then includes a few snippets from the various written opinions that accompany each verdict. I'm not sure who the target audience is for this book, but I think it would have been helpful back in my various US history classes to have this perspective on American history. I must admit that since reading it a few weeks ago I have thought more about the roles of various groups and individuals, particularly in the context of my job, in terms of who is responsible for the essential functions of creating, executing, and reviewing policy, so it's clear that this book has at least had some effect on my recent thinking.

Some of the details that stood out to me included the way the Supreme Court rarely makes the initial decision, appearing instead at the end stages to clarify a lower court's ruling or break some kind of tie that emerged along the way, as well as the way certain opinions cited the importance of courts stepping aside to let the people determine their own laws within the various jurisdictions of city, country, or state levels. The idea that split decisions undermine public confidence felt like a bit of outdated nonsense for me, given that these days the perception seems to be that the justices will always vote along ideological lines. I also didn't think much of the observation that originalism has appeared on both sides of the same case, which seems to be more of a problem than the author cared to emphasize about the process. I think the idea I'll take with me from this book is the danger that principles will always expand to the limits of their own logic.

Pandemic by Connie Goldsmith (January 2022)

I wonder why I chose this? This book wasn't exactly what I was expecting - turns out that being shy of 150 pages was a function of the target audience being somewhere between middle and high school, though I didn't mind some of the charts or photos. In fact, I didn't mind the overall reading experience at all, but I assume the TOA audience would prefer to read something else. I picked up a few interesting nuggets from this work, such as the observation that advances in air travel mean we can reach just about anywhere on the globe within the incubation period for most pathogens, or how SARS was containable partly because symptoms appeared before the sick person became infectious. For those frustrated by a particular way some have dismissed the threat of COVID, it may be helpful to know that Goldsmith suggests flu caused around twelve thousand deaths in the 2015-16 season.

running from the law

I joked a few years ago (on TOA!) that it should be illegal to run in Boston on Marathon Monday (unless you are Running, duh). Go support your fellow runners, right? You have all year to run, one day off won't hurt. I didn't run (or Run) this past Monday, but that's not strictly related to my aforementioned piece of proposed legislation. The reality is that in the ensuing years since my declaration, sometimes I've run on Marathon Monday, and sometimes I haven't run (and I've never Run).

There is a lesson buried in this story about consistency, but it's probably not what you're thinking. I don't think it matters much that I say we should do one thing, then I go off and do another. I don't worry about consistency in that sense because I fear it locks me into a course of action that may be wrong if the circumstances change. As far as I'm concerned, although it's important to follow the law it's more important to know when to break the law, so from that point of view I feel perfectly consistent. If that means others have questions about my recent Marathon Monday running record, then so be it.

reading clearout (april 2022, part one)

Hi,

Let's take a look at a couple of recent reads I won't put into a full review.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard (January 2022)

Dillard's highly decorated 1974 classic - winner of the 1975 Pulitzer Prize, and a constant on all manners of "top book" lists - describes her thoughts and observations as she explores her way around her home in Tinker Creek, Virginia. I have seen this book categorized in all different ways - a nature guide, a travel journal, even a "book of theology" by Dillard herself - but in my opinion this only reveals just how much ground is covered in the inch or two this book will claim on your bookshelf. This book is like many other great nonfiction works where the author skillfully draws the reader into her mind, blurring the distinction of chapters, labels, and genres to recreate the sensation of discovering the world in the uniquely human environment of the mind, heart, and body. However, my high regard for the book doesn't reflect my reading experience, which was a bit start and stop as I struggled to step into the flow of the work. I think there is a reality that in my reading moment books like this one, which extend and expand the natural world into the adjacent unseen wonders accessible by heart and mind, are simply not the best fit with my current interests.

Still, there were plenty of highlights. I liked the comment about the usefulness of verbalizing sight, coming off like a nature guide's approach to mindfulness, where we accept that the eye will miss things unless the viewer deliberately stops to make an acknowledgment. Her point that luxurious city buildings are still full of rats and cockroaches was a good reminder to stay humble in these heady days as I veer dangerously close to earning a "city slicker" label. I think it's also worth a reminder that the danger of urban living is the way it can dull your sense of time, where your life becomes an endless list of excuses to start living tomorrow, next month, next year, a problem naturally averted in the fully present way one must exist in nature. It seems appropriate to close with a nod to Dillard's conclusion that nature's rule seems to be to try everything once, accepting that this will inevitably lead to some wasted effort, which at the very least is a helpful reminder to try different kinds of books.

Gemini by Nikki Giovanni (December 2021)

This collection was released in 1971, a couple years shy of Giovanni's 30th birthday. She is known more for poetry than essays but I think readers who are interested in her work will find enough to like in Gemini. There was a general theme of rootedness in these essays, though I don't mean to suggest it was a singular arc that wove its way through the full work. There were also some good insights into the problems created by poverty and racism, including the observation that if power means the ability to make choices about one's life, then minorities have long been out of power. Since finishing Gemini a few weeks ago, I've thought from time to time about her comment that people will adjust their methods (and expectations) for creating change as son as they gain firsthand knowledge of how other people live their lives (though this is no guarantee that they will change their beliefs). Her note about creators who are venerated for one thing was a wise observation - she points out that the true measure of success is continuing to take necessary risks for the work because creating means continuing to create, even if it means diluting the memory of the good with a more recent example of the bad.

toa books of the year (2021, part five)

At long last, we wrap up the 2021 TOA Book of the Year shortlist. We'll be back in a few weeks with the finals because, like, why do anything on time?

Speaking of a few weeks - yes, as suggested at the top of the month, we're into off-season mode here on TOA. Expect mostly mid-week filler for a month or two before we return to the usual Sunday-centric pattern. Thanks for reading!

The Factory by Hiroko Oyamada (November)

TOA Review: December 2021

Notes: I called it "an odd little novel" a few months ago, though perhaps in hindsight I should have just gone for the gold and said it was weird. I think The Factory has something it wants to say about the condition of modern working life but, knowing it never matters, opts instead to immerse the reader in its many disorienting moments. I guess it just means we readers are left to form our own conclusions (or perhaps reinforce an existing perception). It was a choice that worked for me, however, it may be less accessible to readers without similar workplace experiences to mine.

Parting thought: The issue is finding a place in the world when we have the sense that the world is ready to move on without us.

Wild by Cheryl Strayed (December)

TOA Review: January 2022

Other notable TOA appearances: if you want to get a sense of what TOA was like in the good old days, then set aside approximately two and a half hours to take it all in. Honestly, sometimes I look back and wonder why I wasn't kicked off the internet. Or maybe, I was kicked out to the internet. Anyway, to the point of writing about Wild I suppose it might have been faster to just keep all the footwear revelations to myself, but that really wasn't the point of writing about it.

Notes: Like with the prior entry, I've written enough (at least recently) about Wild that I don't have much left to add today. I do want to point out that I generally do not subscribe to the idea that a single event (or journey) can serve as an overarching metaphor for a particular emotional, spiritual, or intellectual journey in one's life, but I suppose Wild (or even certain "Tales of Two Cities" posts) makes a strong argument against my position.

Parting thought: People have moments on journeys - you can go back to where you came from, or you can move forward to where you are trying to go. In a strange way, sometimes they are basically the same option.

How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi (December)

TOA Review: not started (likely late 2022)

Notes: Kendi corrects the misconception that "not racist" is the opposite of racist, outlining his perspective of antiracism in this 2019 book. It was a top-three read for me in the past year, so more to come regarding its content in the upcoming finals. One thing to highlight for today is that this is an excellent book, technically speaking - it's precise, it's direct, it's personal, and the way Kendi brings it all together is a blueprint for anyone seeking to write an accessible book on any deeply complicated topic.

Parting thought: The problem with being “not racist” is when it frames itself as opposite of racist; the opposite is antiracist. If you settle for doing no harm, you are simply in the middle ground between racist and antiracist.

TOA 2021 Book of the Year - Finalists

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders

Race After Technology by Ruha Benjamin

How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

the business bro shoots for the stars

It seems that when you ask kids about a career aspiration, "astronaut" tends to be among the most common answers. I was never like that, and as I get older I look back with pride on my youthful instincts. I concede that it might be cool to launch off into space and have a look at the planet from above, but I think I would get bored at some point (which I assume, for me, would be around five or ten minutes).

The larger problem is that, like most jobs, there is a reality about work that is slightly misrepresented in the mind of a starry-eyed third-grader. Let's call this one of the lessons saved for adulthood. Basically, what happens is that your first thought about a job might be the best part about the job, and then it's a matter of time before you learn about the other 99% of the work. If we use the example of when I was a third-grader, I might have said I wanted to be a professional athlete, but that answer was ignorant of the following - endless public scrutiny, road trips to places like Manchester or Qatar, missed holidays and milestones, long game days waiting to go to the stadium, the ever-present threat of injury, a constant diligence about what to eat or drink, and so on. It's not so much that I couldn't have handled any of this as a professional, it's just that I didn't think about it when I answered "what do you want to be when you grow up?" as a ten-year old.

So kid, do you want to be an astronaut? Imagine blasting off to space for a mission. You battle through the discomfort of liftoff, breaking through the g-forces or whatever, and swallow away the anxiety of having a billion five-alarm fires strapped to back of your spaceship as your main source of propulsion. Finally, you get the signal to sit back, and look around - it's space! So you look left, and there it is, God's little wonder in blue and green, then you look right... and there's your co-worker for the next few weeks, let's call him Bobby the astronaut, with one finger coming out of his nose... and now it's drifting... it's aiming... his lips part... I guess it's snack time?

I can barely tolerate riding from one subway stop to the next alongside a passenger whose headphones are just a tad bit too loud. How's a round trip to Neil Armstrong's flag going to go alongside Booger Bobby, whose nose grows its own lunch? And it's only the third minute of the trip - what other weird "personality quirks" are you going to discover on the way? Is Bobby going to breathe on your visor, too, until he can draw funny pictures on your fog? That's the thing they don't tell you about work - you can have some kind of notion about a dream job, but for the most a job is about the whole mess of other details where you slowly become frustrated by your lack of agency. What are you going to do when you realize your new colleague is an industrial-strength weirdo? Or a racist? Or just incompetent? Say what you want, but I know the answer - you aren't going to do anything about it. I guess this is a problem that can happen anywhere, but at least I won't be locked inside Apollo 53 when it happens to me.

the long intro

I suspect I've written about this already and, if so, then my mistake - let's just call this a rewind post or whatever it is that I've done. Anyway, one thing I've stopped doing during the pandemic is attend author readings, and for the most part that hasn't been my favorite development. You never know quite what to expect when an author takes some time to share their perspective about their own work, and I can still list off a few of the more memorable appearances - Min Jin Lee at the Harvard Book Store, George Saunders in the First Parish Church, and Chuck Klosterman at Porter Square Books immediately come to mind. When it's time to go back, I'll be the first one in line.

However, there is a specific aspect of these events that I don't miss at all. I call it "the long introduction". This happens during the Q&A portion of the event. Instead of walking up to the microphone and asking a question, the audience member casually embarks on an unprompted soliloquy, which vaguely hints at an upcoming question as it sprinkles in unnecessary details about their own life, opinions, and who knows what else, all while the audience becomes increasingly anxious about missing the last train. I shudder to think of all the possible additions when someone will inevitably ask an author to share a thought on, oh, who knows what, let's just say Will Smith slapping Chris Rock (so you might remember the Oscars... as a white person... the amplifying effect of social media... mask mandates and lockdown... the reflection of a violent society... I mean, some have claimed... these uncertain times... systemic racism... you know, I grew up in a small town... political polarization... it brings to mind, right... at first it seemed staged...). After ninety-three seconds or so, it mercifully ends with the one and only thing that should have been said all along - so what did you think?

Folks, and I do love my fellow readers, but we need to get this straightened out, so listen up. Folks, these authors have written their own books. Can we trust them to understand the question, or to ask for clarification if necessary? We are speaking to men and women who, for a living, have been told to cut the bullshit, and cut it again, until they are left with the barest essence of the message. Can we take a page out of their books (signed copies of which are available for $35) and just say the thing that needs to be said, then shut up? Nothing personal, but we didn't come hear to listen to you talk.

Of course, maybe I am asking too much, more than a lot. We are, after all, in some ways one, even if not the same. I guess what I am pointing out is in many ways just what we do, leading and hinting and slowly revealing the question, even as we layer it in so much self-protection that it becomes impossible to answer the question. Why give someone an answer who seems afraid of what might be said? Who really wants to know the answer? I think we all do, but really, we don't, at least most of the time, if we are to believe that the way we tiptoe around the question reveals an inherent truth about the question, or what we anticipate about the answer. Maybe it would be better if we were able to just say the thing that needed to be said, to ask the questions of each other when we want to know the answer, but there is probably a wisdom in knowing that most of the time it isn't the time to say the thing that needs to be said, and that we are better off just saying something else.

the circus of daylight savings time

The news of the Senate (or some group of politicians, who could know these days) pushing forward a "permanent daylight savings" bill got me thinking about something I should have wondered about long ago. No, I don't mean the joke I heard last week asking how it could still be called "DST" if it became permanent, since permanence would permanently eliminate the original reference point. What I mean is a far simpler question - what exactly are we talking about when we talk about daylight savings time?

I've always settled for the simple explanations that invoke some combination of farmers, energy savings, and a preference for daylight at the end rather than the start of the day. These explanations are all just fine but they don't exactly answer my question, mostly because they describe what's happened rather than what's happening. You would have the same problem if you described the small puddle of water on my counter as "formerly ice", or if nutrition labels tabulated from the seedling days.

My best effort to untangle this for myself goes something like this - a society decides, all at once, that everything will happen either an hour earlier or an hour later than it did yesterday. Lunch is brunch, Saturday Night Live starts on Sunday, and so on. This decision is made twice a year. Of course, as we all know from the last two years this society is about as capable of collective action as your dog is of understanding speech, so instead of working out the best way for everyone we all just follow orders and try to wake up on time. If this all sounds vaguely like what might happen under a dystopian regime, well, think what you want but I'm talking about my life.

Anyway, I find working out exactly what's going on the most helpful way to know what I think should happen next. What do I make of permanent DST? I'd have to think about it in terms of that hypothetical. If someone came up to me and said "hey, tomorrow everything you do is going to happen one hour later than planned", I'd have to think my response would almost surely make a mockery of the suggestion. I also think the same would happen in the reverse, where I learned that my life will happen one hour earlier. In the end, it just seems like a whole lot of effort to accomplish nothing of obvious value. There just isn't a good case to me that everyone should suddenly shift their entire life by one hour, whenever it is, and the fact that we do it by fiddling with the clocks doesn't really hide what's going on from my rolling eyes.

But if I'm going to rant on about the situation, I suppose I should also offer my opinion, so here it goes - I don't care, I really don't. My feelings about summer and winter don't have much overlap with the official sunrise and sunset, so I'll leave it to anyone with a strong feeling to decide for me. I prefer that we stop moving the clocks around so much, but whether we permanently settle on four o'clock, five o'clock, or purple o'clock just makes no difference to me. They say we get an hour back later this year but I feel like it's already been wasted thinking about this stupid topic. Honestly, I suggest we split the difference and move it thirty minutes this November, then never discuss it again. I certainly won't - I just don't have the time to offer any additional thoughts on the matter, my life already drowning as it does under the relentless tides of admin.

I will add, however, that I also include another group who need not offer any further thoughts on the matter - the Senate. What makes the Senate so qualified that they can tell me about half-past anything? A group of one hundred people earning $174,000 per year doesn't seem like any special qualification to me, and I don't think anyone was elected for their expertise in this area - I don't recall the Markey campaign talking about his sense of time, though he does enjoy a stroll through Malden. In fact, I want to know - what is the Senate doing with their time? We still have a few problems I'm aware of - the historic pandemic rages on, Russia seems hell-bent on starting World War III, we have enough inflation that the Fed stopped printing (so much) money, and gas prices are so high that for once people who drive hate driving more than me. Is there any time to mention the climate, racial justice, or poverty? You'd think there wasn't time to talk about time, but the Senate somehow made time. I'm not perfectly clear what these people were elected to do, but based on what I can see they've done a nice job setting up the circus tents, and I assume my bread is in the mail.

the toa newsletter, april 2022

Hi reader - I write to you today at great personal risk, for on this finest of holy days I know that anything and everything I say will be subject to the most careful scrutiny. Is it true, today? Should we call it FOA? Regardless, here I am, knowing that nothing is believable at the start of the fourth month. I shared the origin story of that revelation last year when I described an April Fool's joke that almost died on the runway, and in the years since I've stuck to sharing nothing but the immediately verifiable to ensure that the calendar didn't add any new confusion to the ongoing mess of TOA.

I suppose this is also why I feel compelled to share occasional admin updates about the upcoming TOA schedule. After all, why create confusion from silence? In terms of TOA being in-season/off-season, I think sometime soon - perhaps Sunday, likely April 10 - we'll toggle down to off-season mode for a few weeks. I'm starting to get the hang of it - the post last week came down to the wire, and I know by now that I'm not going to move any faster just because I'm behind schedule. We'll get back to in-season when I have a few Sunday posts in reserve for the slow weeks. Never fear, however, for the filler isn't too bad these days - lots of reading clearouts for you bookworms, and maybe we'll get around to closing out the long-delayed 2021 TOA Awards.

It remains to be seen on which day I'll post the filler content during the upcoming off-season. In the past I've stuck to having these on Sundays, but I might try it mid-week just to see how it works out. On the other hand, if I have any quick or short comments that would normally go mid-week then for a change I might try those out on Sundays. You might think there is some grand reason for all of this, but let me assure you that I make this up as I go along.

All that said, I think it's enough nonsense for today. Time to go tell some lies! You can borrow my classic "did you know the initials of the first person to lick an ice cream cone was JP?" or you can even think of your own. Good luck out there, reader, and don't believe anything.