Last weekend during the National Book Festival, the Washington Post asked authors this question: If you were named literature czar and could make all Americans read one book, which book would it be?
What a great question! More than any other hypothetical – more than wondering what I would do with a million dollars or what first law I'd pass as president – the book czar question put me in touch with my inner power tripper. It was an easy call: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. A book about loyalty, adventure, humanity, and personal moral compass (and a hilarious read, no less). How cool it would be to turn to the person beside me in the grocery store and ask, “So what did you think about that ending? Did Huck fail Jim, or did Twain wimp out?” As book czar, I’d hope that the entire country would be kept awake at night obsessing over questions like that. (I’d be an eeeevil book czar.)
I posed this question to a cross-section of people today: lawyers, fulltime moms, Marines, business owners, professors, creative professionals, students, etc. Their responses were immediate and enthusiastic. These are my friends, family, neighbors, and colleagues. I look at our collective list and wonder: What do these books say about us? What do they say about our views of America?
All the King's Men
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
The Great Gatsby (2 votes)
To Kill a Mockingbird (3)
Ferdinand the Bull
The Last Tortilla and Other Stories
Rise to Globalism
For the Common Defense, A Military History of the United States
The Illustrated Man
Huck Finn (4)
The Giving Tree
Amazing Fantasy #15 - Marvel Comics
All I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
Fahrenheit 451
Where the Red Fern Grows
And one deserate plea that the book be anything but Grapes of Wrath.
Your turn: If you were named literature czar, which book would you want Americans to read?
And until that glorious day when my reign begins, enjoy this preview:
"It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened."
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Why English?
During my twenties, I assumed that work would provide all the intellectual stimulation necessary in life. If I worked hard enough, I thought, I’d grow wise and become the kind of wit who regales crowds at cocktail parties. Not quite. The longer I worked, the dumber I felt.
The fault wasn't with the job. I’ve been fortunate to work in web development and design, a creative career that forces the left and right halves of my brain to play nice. The deeper I dug into my field, however, the more shallow I felt beyond it. I was smart at one point, right? Didn’t I once think, you know, like things and stuff? I decided to do what confused people do: go to grad school.
When I told my boss that I wouldn’t be able to work late Tuesdays and Thursdays because I started my Masters, her eyes lit up. She reached for the company’s tuition reimbursement form and asked what program I began: IT? Business? “No,” I replied, “English!” Hopped up on idealism and three cups of coffee, I shared my vision with her: nights of discussing Shakespeare or laughing over Twain, reading great books and hearing wise professors! Didn’t it sound like so much fun? She supposed it did and then took back the tuition reimbursement form.
Some of my well-intentioned colleagues attempted an intervention. Why English? Did I know that choosing a degree in my field meant that the company would pay for it? I did. Did I realize that this degree offered no hope of a raise and only qualified me for a teaching career which paid woefully little in NC? Yep.
The friends who got it, though, really got it. One friend smiled and replied, “Good. I think that when people go to school for the purpose of making more money, we shouldn’t even call it education.” Ouch. (But amen.)
The following three years were exhausting, stressful, and absolutely wonderful. I felt like me at my best. My professors were among the most inspiring and knowledgeable (and funny!) teachers I've had. Class discussions were so engaging that I’d come home too excited to sleep. My paper on Moby Dick was published, making me feel as if I made my own small contribution to the world of books. Most importantly, I awoke my brain.
The morning after my final class, I awoke early out of habit to begin my time-to-make-the-donuts routine. Still half asleep, I made coffee, let the dogs out, grabbed a pen, and sat at the dining room table where a slew of open notebooks, journal articles and books awaited me for the past few years. Not this time. The books and papers on the table were closed and neatly stacked. I was done. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation, perhaps it was sentiment, but either way, I looked at my closed books and cried. I cried because I was sad to see it end; I cried because I pulled it off. I recalled one of my favorite lines from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn which reads, “Eyes changed after they looked at new things.” Grad school took me on walks along Walden Pond, shipped me off with Ishmael, sent me running away with Sethe. Grad school introduced me to so many characters and places that I’d otherwise need ten lifetimes to know them. Grad school changed how I saw the world, my future, myself. So why an English degree? If there’s a better use for time or money than that, I’d love to hear it.
The fault wasn't with the job. I’ve been fortunate to work in web development and design, a creative career that forces the left and right halves of my brain to play nice. The deeper I dug into my field, however, the more shallow I felt beyond it. I was smart at one point, right? Didn’t I once think, you know, like things and stuff? I decided to do what confused people do: go to grad school.
When I told my boss that I wouldn’t be able to work late Tuesdays and Thursdays because I started my Masters, her eyes lit up. She reached for the company’s tuition reimbursement form and asked what program I began: IT? Business? “No,” I replied, “English!” Hopped up on idealism and three cups of coffee, I shared my vision with her: nights of discussing Shakespeare or laughing over Twain, reading great books and hearing wise professors! Didn’t it sound like so much fun? She supposed it did and then took back the tuition reimbursement form.
Some of my well-intentioned colleagues attempted an intervention. Why English? Did I know that choosing a degree in my field meant that the company would pay for it? I did. Did I realize that this degree offered no hope of a raise and only qualified me for a teaching career which paid woefully little in NC? Yep.
The friends who got it, though, really got it. One friend smiled and replied, “Good. I think that when people go to school for the purpose of making more money, we shouldn’t even call it education.” Ouch. (But amen.)
The following three years were exhausting, stressful, and absolutely wonderful. I felt like me at my best. My professors were among the most inspiring and knowledgeable (and funny!) teachers I've had. Class discussions were so engaging that I’d come home too excited to sleep. My paper on Moby Dick was published, making me feel as if I made my own small contribution to the world of books. Most importantly, I awoke my brain.
The morning after my final class, I awoke early out of habit to begin my time-to-make-the-donuts routine. Still half asleep, I made coffee, let the dogs out, grabbed a pen, and sat at the dining room table where a slew of open notebooks, journal articles and books awaited me for the past few years. Not this time. The books and papers on the table were closed and neatly stacked. I was done. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation, perhaps it was sentiment, but either way, I looked at my closed books and cried. I cried because I was sad to see it end; I cried because I pulled it off. I recalled one of my favorite lines from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn which reads, “Eyes changed after they looked at new things.” Grad school took me on walks along Walden Pond, shipped me off with Ishmael, sent me running away with Sethe. Grad school introduced me to so many characters and places that I’d otherwise need ten lifetimes to know them. Grad school changed how I saw the world, my future, myself. So why an English degree? If there’s a better use for time or money than that, I’d love to hear it.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
It’s Not You, It’s Me: Dumping The 24-Hour News Networks
“Taking a break from news” seems to be 2009’s staycation of choice. After a while, watching screaming matches and listening to red herring, alarmist arguments becomes infuriating and depressing. No wonder people walk away. I can't accept that this is a matter of attention to current events, though, but the consumption of irresponsible news. I single out the 24-hour news networks as a main culprit.
Twenty-four hour cable news networks are a bad idea. Watching them is a worse one. The sure-fire way to keep eyeballs on screens is to promote fear and sensationalism; to gain broad viewership, issues become dumbed-down dichotomies of pro versus con that even the laziest viewers will grasp; to beat the competition, stories aren’t properly verified before the rush to air; to create famous “news personalities,” cleavage and bad behavior are rewarded with regular appearances (or sometimes even their own shows). These networks do offer good journalists like Zakaria and Amanpour, but they seem too few and far between. Twenty-four programming relies on quantity of words over quality of reporting. Although the American marketplace of ideas is one of the best ideas we’ve had, its success relies on responsible judgment. Most programs on the 24-hour news networks are at the 99-cent table at the marketplace of ideas, and it’s up to us to invest in something better. It seems that many people watch these channels not to learn about their world but to solidify their belief that they are smarter or more ethical than the people on screen, an easy feat against such competition.
The big issues are as tough as they are critical, and to respond wisely we must appreciate their complexities. Healthcare, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, immigration, free trade, alternative sources of energy, education quality and affordability: none of these provide an easy option free of unfortunate consequences, and (to quote Princess Bride) anyone who says differently is selling something.
Quality journalism is out there. We must choose it. If your means of gathering news makes the issues seem black and white or makes humanity seem either wise or stupid, then it’s not the right choice. If your means of gathering news propels you to mock more than you learn, it’s not the right choice. If your means of gathering news involves raised voices or name calling, again, it’s just not it. Although I cringe when I come across these methods and realize that committing any of them would have failed me out of my college journalism program, I blame the people who refuse to change the channel or turn off the TV more I blame those on the air. These networks are like the fast food of news: fine to consume every once in a while, but only alongside a steady diet of healthier fare.
As for me, I love settling into my reading chair with a big cup of coffee and my New York Times or Atlantic Monthly, to work with NPR in the background, to check in with NBC Nightly News with Dreamy Brian Williams most evenings, and to end my night with BBC World News. This is a good balance for me: these outlets are thorough, informative, and don't freak me out with apocalyptic predictions or crazy CGI. They don't pander to ego; I don’t want news to make me feel like the smartest person alive, and I don’t wish to believe that people I disagree with are simpletons or evil-doers. Instead I want my news to compel me to think, “Well crap, I didn’t think about it that way.”
The 24-hour networks are making us stupid, making us depressed, and at times, making us hate. How we process information affects the functioning of the brain, which needs exercise like any other muscle. Not much mind-flexing occurs while listening to yelling matches consisting of “I’m right, and you hate America!” coming from either side. Let’s not be in such a rush to consume news that we turn to the 24-hour networks. Let’s not be in such a rush to call someone an idiot that we forget to make ourselves intelligent.
Twenty-four hour cable news networks are a bad idea. Watching them is a worse one. The sure-fire way to keep eyeballs on screens is to promote fear and sensationalism; to gain broad viewership, issues become dumbed-down dichotomies of pro versus con that even the laziest viewers will grasp; to beat the competition, stories aren’t properly verified before the rush to air; to create famous “news personalities,” cleavage and bad behavior are rewarded with regular appearances (or sometimes even their own shows). These networks do offer good journalists like Zakaria and Amanpour, but they seem too few and far between. Twenty-four programming relies on quantity of words over quality of reporting. Although the American marketplace of ideas is one of the best ideas we’ve had, its success relies on responsible judgment. Most programs on the 24-hour news networks are at the 99-cent table at the marketplace of ideas, and it’s up to us to invest in something better. It seems that many people watch these channels not to learn about their world but to solidify their belief that they are smarter or more ethical than the people on screen, an easy feat against such competition.
The big issues are as tough as they are critical, and to respond wisely we must appreciate their complexities. Healthcare, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, immigration, free trade, alternative sources of energy, education quality and affordability: none of these provide an easy option free of unfortunate consequences, and (to quote Princess Bride) anyone who says differently is selling something.
Quality journalism is out there. We must choose it. If your means of gathering news makes the issues seem black and white or makes humanity seem either wise or stupid, then it’s not the right choice. If your means of gathering news propels you to mock more than you learn, it’s not the right choice. If your means of gathering news involves raised voices or name calling, again, it’s just not it. Although I cringe when I come across these methods and realize that committing any of them would have failed me out of my college journalism program, I blame the people who refuse to change the channel or turn off the TV more I blame those on the air. These networks are like the fast food of news: fine to consume every once in a while, but only alongside a steady diet of healthier fare.
As for me, I love settling into my reading chair with a big cup of coffee and my New York Times or Atlantic Monthly, to work with NPR in the background, to check in with NBC Nightly News with Dreamy Brian Williams most evenings, and to end my night with BBC World News. This is a good balance for me: these outlets are thorough, informative, and don't freak me out with apocalyptic predictions or crazy CGI. They don't pander to ego; I don’t want news to make me feel like the smartest person alive, and I don’t wish to believe that people I disagree with are simpletons or evil-doers. Instead I want my news to compel me to think, “Well crap, I didn’t think about it that way.”
The 24-hour networks are making us stupid, making us depressed, and at times, making us hate. How we process information affects the functioning of the brain, which needs exercise like any other muscle. Not much mind-flexing occurs while listening to yelling matches consisting of “I’m right, and you hate America!” coming from either side. Let’s not be in such a rush to consume news that we turn to the 24-hour networks. Let’s not be in such a rush to call someone an idiot that we forget to make ourselves intelligent.
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