Apologia for A Game of Thrones

If you are curious about the book series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin or the HBO series Game of Thrones but haven't looked into either, please read and consider.

Over a month ago I was sitting in a theatre with Kayla, waiting for a play to start, and I overheard a guy and a girl, both around our age, a couple of rows behind me, talking about A Game of Thrones. Neither had read it, and yet the guy was explaining to the girl that A Game of Thrones is an enjoyable book, but not a good one. Amused and skeptical, the girl asked him what he meant by this. The guy explained how he would read the book and probably enjoy it, but it’s not, you know, a good book. This, I took to mean, a book of “literary” merit, a James Joyce, if you will, or an Alice Munro.

Their talk then wandered to other things so I stopped eavesdropping, but I kept turning this exchange over in my head. Apart from my fierce loyalty to the book and indignation on its behalf rearing up, especially because this guy didn’t even read the damn thing, I was troubled by the distinction he made. It was a pretty half-baked literary theory, but I knew exactly what he was talking about. Some books are like junk food, delicious and full of empty calories, while others you read for deeper nourishment, books about Serious Things, like Society and Injustice and Humanity and all that. But those apparently aren’t the books one enjoys reading. Mark Twain famously said that "a classic is something everybody wants to have read, but no one wants to read." But does it have to be this way in all cases? Can’t a book be both nutritious and delicious?

I don’t know if this individual is an example of a widespread assumption, or if he’s the exception, but I must respond. For one, the Fantasy genre is already much maligned, and ignorant opinions like his aren’t helping. Furthermore, I’m worried about the fact that A Game of Thrones is so wildly popular that people assume there’s no way it could have any lasting literary value, since popular obviously means low-brow and crass, right? I don’t think this snobbery toward the series is widespread--in fact I know people have more sense than that--but I’d like to nip it in the bud in case it becomes an epidemic. And this goes for  plenty of other books, too: don’t let the New York Times Bestseller status fool you. Popular fiction can also be great literature. An “enjoyable” book can also be a “good” book.

Here are a few reasons why I think that guy was wrong, and A Game of Thrones is well written.

Depth of Character

One thing the descriptions on the backside of the jacket don’t touch on is any evidence of sympathetic characters. In fact, this book is full of them, and I may have picked it up sooner had I known that, yet all the cover talks about is how cold and harsh these people are. This may be true, but it is only half the truth. No writer could get far without characters the reader can care about. A story’s protagonists don’t have to be totally innocent or heroic; far from it, they can be quite flawed. The ones we’re rooting for in A Game of Thrones are a mixed bag, without a doubt, but since you’re seeing it from their perspective you still tend to root for them.

Martin is very good at depicting human beings in very morally ambiguous situations, where the right choice is not always clear. The tension between love and honour, duty and passion, political idealism and realpolitik; these are central themes in the book. Some might say this complexity is a step in the right direction for Fantasy, a genre plagued by a half-deserved reputation for two-dimensional heroes and demonic, hooded bad guys. Depth of character is not easy to execute, but Martin pulls it off with great skill.

At first I was irritated by Sansa. She seemed shallow and childish, even for someone so young. But then I realised she was written this way for a good reason, as it creates a stronger effect when her fortunes change and her world is effectively turned upside down, hung from a tree and smashed to bits like a piñata. Eventually I was won over by her chapters and her unique point of view.

And then there’s Tyrion: the Playboy of Westeros. It’s not clear whose side he’s on; Tyrion is on Tyrion’s side. He’s self-centred, narcissistic, and pretty foul-mouthed, but you love to love him. But there are moments where his kindness, wisdom, and vulnerability shine through that give him depth as well as dastardly charm, making him one of the most intriguing characters in the book.

Voice

Martin shifts point of view in each chapter, but maintains a strong grasp on the narrative voice for each one. Although it is told from the third person, each chapter retains the flavour of its protagonist. Tyrion’s narratives sound a little bit like Tyrion, almost think like Tyrion. The same for Jon, Daenerys, and Catelyn. You would not mistake the narrative voice in Sansa’s chapters, which has the vocabulary and emotional depth of a naïve young girl who dreams of courtly life, for that of Eddard Stark’s, which sound more like a grim war veteran who longs for a simple life. The cast of characters is pretty massive, but you never forget who's talking, and whose shoulder you're peering over. These characters are strategically placed at different points in the time and space of this vast epic, but they are certainly more than a pair of eyes. They are al active participants; each one is fighting tooth and nail for their life, or for what they believe in.

History



One technique I find very effective in creating a sense of verisimilitude in fantasy is the way the characters speak of their shared history: the Rebellion, the Targaryen Dynasty, the Battle of the Trident. These are pivotal moments in the lives of every single character, they are brought up frequently, and yet we never actually witness them first hand. A different writer may have used the literary device of flashbacks, and yet Martin's deliberate withholding of them paradoxically makes the world more real. If it were done with flashbacks, I would feel as though the events existed only for the story, and not for their own sake. As I've said before, I want to feel like a fantasical world will keep existing, long after I've read the last page, and I think Martin achieves this. It is subtle, and it trusts the reader’s ability to piece it together on his own.


Dialogue

A great deal of dialogue in the HBO series was lifted straight from the book itself. This is a testament to Martin’s talent for writing sharp dialogue that reveals character and moves the story along. It helps that Martin used to write for TV, but his background lends itself to the novel form all the same.

Drama

Speaking of his screenwriting experience, it’s no better shown than in his ability to write highly dramatic chapters. The book is very, very long, but it is without longueur: in each chapter, something always happens. There is always significance, whether it’s subtle, or whether it knees you in the codpiece. He is especially good at chapter endings. They aren’t exactly cliff-hangers--nothing as gimmicky as that--they always have a dramatic punch to them. The book is so readable because it’s always moving forward. The pace may vary, and we may take the scenic route at times (we can’t always be galloping at breakneck speed atop our destriers, direwolves at our side), but we are always moving.

Details

Martin is known for immersing himself in the subject he is researching. The fruits of his study are abundant on every page. But never does this become pedantic. The book is not a place for him to flaunt his (though considerable) knowledge of medieval European culture, and though that culture is the inspiration, every detail is employed in service to the story. To this Martin is loyal to a fault, but you could have much, much worse faults in a writer than that, couldn’t you?

Conclusion

I’m not saying the book is flawless. You might even be able to argue the opposite of everything I just said. But at least let it be well-informed. And perhaps this is a useless exercise, trying to prop up an already very successful series (I've seen more people reading A Song of Ice and Fire on public transit these days than any other series of books, including Fifty Shades of Grey). I’m glad it’s getting all this hype, but I have yet to see anybody since perhaps its original reviewers take a close look at the writing and evaluate its merits, the book itself at the heart of this mania.

To be honest, I haven’t read the rest of the series. I’ve only just begun A Clash of Kings, so I can only speak for the very first installment. But it puzzles me that people don’t seem to consider if they enjoyed a work, there must be some merit to it. Even if you didn’t like parts of it, maybe it had enough imaginative power to carry you through. Say, for example, you thought a book’s dialogue was corny, or the metaphors were lazy. But if you liked it, perhaps its strength lies in its inventiveness or its humour.

You liked a book? You weren’t bored by it? You were even emotionally invested in it? Well, my friend, there is a reason. That is the direct result of the conscious efforts of an author searching for just the fitting detail, the perfect turn of phrase, the mot juste, all with the precision of a sculptor. And it may have flaws, but after thousands and thousands of pages of gripping drama of a high order, a damn good yarn enriched by painstaking research, all done over the span of twenty years and counting, you can’t accuse Mr. Martin of the laziness you might find in a lesser writer.

Dickens’s books are now a part of the Western literary canon, yet he was very much a writer of “popular” fiction, striving to entertain rather than baffle his readers with the kind of code-language you might find in Ulysses. This also says something about the marketing of books, the way they are divided into “Literature” and “Fiction” at bookstores and libraries. This is an organizational method, and it is helpful to an extent, but it’s not a hard science. We’re still talking about books, here. Round pegs and square holes. What I want to draw to people’s attention is the way that it affects our reading choices, and that we miss out on great adventures when we pre-judge a book like this particular fellow did. If only he knew he would incur the long-winded wrath of this blogger, perhaps he would have kept his trap shut. He’s just lucky it was me who heard him, and not someone like Khal Drogo, or the Mad King Aerys. Don’t know the reference? You should probably read the book.

Wrestling with the Rottweiler: On Reading Mr. Dawkins

So I finally read the controversial bestseller The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, two years after I read--and almost unquestioningly accepted--one of its formal rebuttals, Karen Armstrong’s The Case For God. Critics of Armstrong who also happen to be fans of Dawkins may be disappointed that my respect and admiration for Armstrong has not diminished, after reading Dawkins’s work. This is in part because I don’t believe that they’re direct, natural opponents. But I will disagree with Armstrong in her portrayal of Dawkins as overly aggressive or militant. What I have found in Dawkins is a mind as scrupulous as he is unflinching in his search for truth. The God Delusion is full of wit, robust logic, and great passion. There were moments where his contempt for religion nearly overrode the content of his arguments, but the content itself was virtually airtight, especially where it concerned religion’s track record. But again, his love for the natural world is greater than his hatred for the supernatural. I especially felt his love for the reality of the universe that science has unveiled, in the very last segment of the book, titled “The Mother of All Burkas”. But I’ll say no more about whether he takes it too far or not. You should go and read it and decide for yourself.

Theist? Atheist? Agnostic?

I decided to read this book because I felt it would be irresponsible of me not to. I read Armstrong’s response to New Atheism, so it’s only fair to examine New Atheism itself, right? Prompted by The Case for God I’ve spent the past two years reading books on religion, written by believers and nonbelievers alike. I’ve been reading book after book in an attempt to clarify not just what stance is best to take on religion, but exactly what it is I believe to be the truth about existence. I read this book most recently because I have been trying to sort out a very complicated relationship I have with religion and the idea of God.

To say I had lost my faith in God would be inaccurate, because I’m not quite sure I had any to begin with. My history with faith could be characterized by a series of attempts to get it, as though it were something I was lacking. This seems like a good enough indicator to stop trying,yet I’ve been compelled by and attracted to many aspects of religion all the same. Every time I thought I was done with it, something pulled me back. I felt very confused, and didn’t know where to stand. Whether it was faith (whatever that could possibly mean) or merely a sentimental loyalty, this feeling clearly demanded my attention. I felt condemned to agnosticism, and I didn’t particularly like being there, hoping that if I dug just a little deeper, I could discover what notion is enthroned in my psyche. So I wanted to see if ‘Darwin’s Rottweiler’ Richard Dawkins could tip me--poor, indecisive wretch--in the direction of atheism. I wanted to see if he could change my mind. I hoped to test my own views on religion and see if they stood up to the author’s rhetoric. Any God that could be argued away by just a book, I reasoned, was obviously a god I didn’t truly believe in, and not something worth believing in in the first place. Not just considering his arguments, but observing my reaction to his arguments would reveal myself to myself. So reading a book like The God Delusion was a method of honing, sharpening, and clarifying.

Biting Back

I was surprised by it, in a few ways. First, I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. I’m not a huge fan of polemic, but I must admit it was great fun to read, thanks to the wit and clarity of Dawkins’ prose. The kind of atheism Dawkins espouses is a much more politicized one. He encourages atheists to stand up to the discrimination they face. Atheists and skeptics are not given the same respect afforded to believers in many parts of the world, the uber-religious United States being one of them. Yes, he does outright attack religion in many places (mainly the parts where it sucks), but he wasn’t nearly as aggressive as I thought he would be. He seemed less pugnacious as Sam Harris in The Moral Landscape (and even less so than Hitchens in God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything). But if his words do seem barbed, you can hardly blame him, seeing as his own profession and everything he’s worked for is itself under threat from religious lobbyists trying to force schools to teach creationism and Intelligent Design alongside evolution. And let’s not forget when he was writing this book, the Bush administration had been halting funding in the U.S. for stem-cell research, a potentially life-saving pursuit. He feels his world--which is also everybody’s, by the way--is under attack. They bite, and he bites back (with pen, sans sword). So, fair enough.

Zeitgeist

But above all, I was also surprised at how much I agreed with him. A lot of his arguments I had at least heard the gist of before (such as were phrased by Comte-Sponville in The Little Book of Atheist Spirituality, and John Shelby Spong in The Sins of Scripture), while other conclusions he made were ones I had arrived at on my own, only to find them articulated better here. For example, I was always troubled by the way people tend to be selective of which parts of the Bible they obey, depending on their own cultural standards. This suggested that people don’t actually derive their morals from the Bible, but rather from standards outside and independent of it. Dawkins covers this in the chapter titled ‘The “Good Book” and the Changing Moral Zeitgeist’:

Remember, all I am trying to establish for the moment is that we do not, as a matter of fact, derive our morals from scripture. Or, if we do, we pick and choose among the scriptures for the nice bits and reject the nasty. But then we must have some independent criterion for deciding which are the moral bits: a criterion which, wherever it comes from, cannot come from scripture itself and is presumable available to all of us whether we are religious or not.

Of course, many religious people today don’t take the Bible literally, and don’t feel as though they have to, in light of the Bible scholarship that has emerged in the past two hundred years. But a non-literal view makes it much trickier to hold on to religion as we know it. Some can manage it, others can’t. I have been trying to find out which camp I belong to, and if God has any meaning left to me. If anything of my spiritual ties to Christianity remains, it has a closer resemblance to Spong’s non-theistic version. And for that reason, I actually found it easy to side with Dawkins on many points.

Religion = Child Abuse

Another point Dawkins raises that’s bothered me so often in the past is the contingency of religious belief. The biggest reason why I might prefer to be a Christian rather than a Muslim or a Rastafarian is because I was raised, more or less, as a Christian, and have lived in a predominantly Christian culture. How unfortunate for those living outside of Christendom! Are they to be damned forever because they weren’t lucky enough to be raised with a bias toward Lord Jesus Christ? More often than not faith is not a choice, so how could a loving God force an impossible choice on us? The habits we’re taught in childhood are incredibly powerful. And what Dawkins wants us to consider is calling a child a “Muslim girl” or a “Christian boy” is as ridiculous as calling one a “Marxist child”. He does not ask people to raise their children as atheists per se, but to raise them to think for themselves and decide what they believe after they’ve learned enough about the world and are mature enough to make that decision on their own. Makes sense to me. At first, I was a little shocked that he went so far as to call indoctrination a form of child abuse, but the more I consider it, the more I realize he’s definitely on to something.

“Gateway Drug” Religion

Religious moderates and religious liberals may resent the way Dawkins lumps them in the same camp as fundamentalists, but he does make a compelling case for doing so, however much it rankles people. One thing he mentions which I hadn’t considered before, and which I find very difficult to shake off, is that even though a religious practice and the doctrine behind it may be perfectly innocuous in most cases, it may lead to more sinister strains, as so many are based on something not based on conclusive evidence, and driven by faith, which doesn’t require evidence. The fact that so many of the 14th Dalai Lama’s followers regard him as a reincarnation of the semi-divine spirit Avalokitesvara makes them vulnerable to all sorts of abuses of power. Thankfully Tenzin Gyatso is an open-minded and compassionate person, and has given up his role as head of the Tibetan government-in-exile, and remains only a head of state and their spiritual leader. This is great, but this lineage is still a gamble, like all monarchies that claim power by divine right. Again, he has done much to bolster the hopes and morale of his people and promote peace throughout the world; I think this can’t be overstated. But while the Tibetans of Dharamsala are more democratically organized now, keep in mind that it took thirteen (Buddhist) predecessors to get to this point. And those ones didn’t seem to mind having all that power.

Credo: A Rough Sketch

If nothing else, I realised from reading this book that I have much more in common with atheists than I do theists: I believe in evolution. I believe the universe came into being 13.7 billion years ago. I believe that human beings are just another form of complex life, one more species among the billions on this planet, and we have an intelligence to which other animals are not entirely restricted, therefore we are not as special in the animal kingdom as we thought. I believe we are capable of uplifting acts of goodness, as well as chilling acts of evil, and neither are necessarily proof of a good or evil will pervading the entire, non-living universe. We are extraordinary, but we are not the be-all and end-all of evolution, because it’s an ongoing story and something better than us will emerge, (if we don’t destroy the planet, that is). I believe in all of these things which we have learned through the scientific method. And if new evidence came along to discredit it all, I would simply have to change my beliefs to suit the facts.

There are theists who believe all these things as well, but where I differ with them is that whatever transcendent experience we can acquire in this lifetime--satori, Grace, Brahman, creative flow--it is not likely to be the result of a Super-intelligence coming in from outside of our universe and deliberately injecting us with Himself. Whatever divinity is, it probably comes from within us, not from Elsewhere. Also, I don’t believe in the literal Virgin Birth, Resurrection, or any other such miracles, any more than I believe in the literal virgin birth of the Buddha or the literal resurrection of Osiris.

I can’t express how tempted I am to think in theistic terms, but if I were to be ruthlessly honest I would have to admit that there is no proof that our access to enlightenment is caused by Someone Else. I believe our focus on the hereafter is a threat to the good that comes from the here and now: this is the only good we’ve known, because now is all we have. There’s a reason our visions of heaven resemble Earth but shinier; it’s the only point of reference we have. C.S. Lewis’ assertion that because nothing on earth could satisfy his deepest longing implied there must be something beyond this world that does is unconvincing, though extremely attractive. It feels redundant to state these empirically verified beliefs, because I’ve held them for a long time now. But this book confronts me with them, and reminds me that to accept these things as truth and then adopt a worldview not based on them is irresponsible and lazy.

“To you be your religion; to me, mine.”

What I also appreciated about this book is that Dawkins cuts admirably through all the moral relativism that floats around in secular society. In a culture where it’s more P.C. to say ‘I don’t agree with you’ than to say ‘your argument is wrong’, I’m kind of impressed by his brass. If a Christian believes that only through accepting Jesus can we be saved, then this belief implies the corollary that souls of non-believers are in mortal danger.

He may not admit it in polite conversation, but it’s there. And yet I can’t even count how many conversations I’ve had that have shied away from it, out of politeness, or politics. Of course, a Christian can also believe in another person’s right to disagree. But that same person believes in a God who presides over believers and non-believers alike. It’s the same with an atheist. Even if an atheist says “You can believe what you like, I don’t agree with you,” he is implying that he thinks the other person’s worldview is false. We associate argument with discord and aggression, but it can have positive benefits as well. Being goaded into a kind of intellectual sparring match can helps us to clarify what it is we're defending. In arguing "your views are incorrect and here is why..." he forces readers to be really honest with themselves.

Let’s Talk

Attacking, demonizing and belittling the other side is obviously no solution. As the religion debate is enflamed more and more every day, I think we’ve got to be as compassionate and respectful as possible as we attempt to carry on a dialogue. Of course, it is difficult to hold a conversation when the other side is wholly devoted to your annihilation. But even in more peaceful company there is a danger in simply saying ‘you have your beliefs and I have mine’, agreeing to disagree and then going off and living in one's own hermetically sealed worlds. Living so subjectively makes it nearly impossible to speak meaningfully about anything, and we start to teeter over into nihilism. I think by taking a bolder stance on the matter Dawkins is trying to call our attention to that danger. Just because, as the truism goes, truth is subjective, it doesn't mean we aren't allowed to have our own convictions about the world. We’ve simply got to keep talking, and be open to our minds being changed. People accuse Dawkins of the same narrow thinking he diagnoses in his fundamentalist opponents, but he claims that if there was any sufficient evidence to discount evolution by natural selection or the Big Bang for that matter, he would be obliged to abandon these concepts, because that's what scientists must do. A fundamentalist, on the other hand, would dig their heels in deeper. Skeptics may have the upper-hand in this ongoing dialogue, because they are more ready to say “I was wrong” than their religious counterparts.

Homo Religiosus

Alright, so once finishing, the question remains: has Dawkins changed my mind about God? How about religion?

Dawkins covers almost every possible angle on religion, and you feel compelled to take a side. Let’s face it: religion’s track record is abysmal. And it is not just because it has been hijacked by human greed, hatred, fear and lust for power. People also do terrible things because they believe in them.

Perhaps religion should just die off, but in all honesty I think it won’t, not any time soon. However, I also think there’s still a great deal we can learn from religion, even if many of us can no longer return to its insane orthodoxies. I’ve talked about this before, but I’ll try to go into more detail about where I stand in a later post. For now I'll finish by saying I can’t agree with Dawkins, one hundred per cent, though I'm pretty close. Does this mean I am an atheist? Well, from everything I've just written it may sound like de facto atheism. This may be so, but even now the matter feels unresolved in my mind, and needs a post of its own, so I'll hold off here as well. I am far from finished with God. As far as religion is concerned, there may be ways of rethinking and reinventing it. It may take an imaginative leap not seen since the Axial Age to do it, but I still believe, however naïvely, that it is possible. If our name truly is Homo Religiosus and we are wired for religion as many anthropologists claim, this leap will have to be possible, or we may be seriously screwed as a species.

My 2011 Top 5 List of Non-Fiction

Salutations!

I doubt anybody's actually on here to read this right now. If they have any sense they're out celebrating, but I shall keep my promise all the same, and put down the second half of my 2011 reading list. Enjoy!

My Top 5 Non-Fiction Books I Read in 2011

5. What the Buddha Never Taught by Tim Ward

I saw this book in the Travel Lit. section at Bolen Books in the Spring, and thought about it for months afterwards, till I finally read it. I have often wondered what the world of a monk is like, and Ward offers a small glimpse inside, in What the Buddha Never Taught. This book is an account of his stay at Wat Pah Nanachat in Thailand, a Theravada Buddhist monastery founded by the revered Ajahn Chah, and filled with a cast of flawed but endearing characters. He arrives seeking enlightenment and release from suffering, and finds there is suffering inside Pah Nanachat’s walls as well. Only here, there’s nothing to distract you from it: suffering must be faced head on. It is all too easy to romanticise the monastic life, but Ward shows that there is nothing romantic about it. The life of a bhikku, a Buddhist monk, is very hard. One gets bogged down in day-to-day suffering like anybody else, not to mention the possibility of falling asleep after hours of meditation, a cobra snake coiled behind the toilet door, the intense summer heat in a tin-roofed, and the constant threat of boredom. Ward also encounters what he sees as problems with the way the monastery is run, buttressed by centuries of deeply ingrained tradition. The appeal of the exotic wears off quickly, and what remains is a daily struggle to overcome ego and find peace. But while you can sense a clear tone of skepticism throughout, Ward tells the story of his adventure with humour, honesty, and humanity.

4. Harperland: The Politics of Control by Lawrence Martin

Remember, during Canada’s election campaign this year, the website Shit Harper Did? This book is basically that, written in long form. Globe and Mail columnist Lawrence Martin chronicles the unlikely rise of this brilliant, pragmatic, and provincial-minded politician, from a fringe player, to Opposition Leader, to Canada’s “Dear Leader”. Martin sets out to offer readers a clear overview of the past half-decade, to make sense of the “episodic renderings of the daily press”. And that overview shows something very disturbing. But rather than a broad-sweep of the shit Harper’s done, Martin focuses mainly on the exercise of power; how under Harper’s rule more and more control has been sapped from the cabinet and rerouted to the Prime Minister’s Office. Because Harper’s team has been so secretive in operations, a great deal of the material in this book is provided by interviews with several former members of the PMO staff. What they reveal is a regime that has taken the government to new heights of authoritarian control, and new lows of mud-slinging politics. Think about that for a moment. These individuals being interviewed worked more closely with Prime Minister Harper than anybody else. They were Conservatives, and even they were troubled by the way Harper ran things.

I didn’t enjoy this book, at least not in the same sense as I did the others on this list. It was definitely well-written, and I can assure you I could not put it down. But it made me angry as I read about Harper’s “march of audacities”, one after the other. (I suppose it was a masochistic kind of enjoyment.) Now, I’m no fan of Harper, and from the looks of it neither is Martin. I admit that bias. But whatever your political leanings are, you have to admit that Harper has not done much to ennoble Canadian democracy. I don’t think it is fair to demonize Harper, nor is it constructive to just seethe in hatred for the government's actions, but the damning grist for Martin's mill is plain to see in the news from the past five years. All Martin did was piece it together so we can see the pattern, and act accordingly. Martin wrote this book in 2010, before the election. After the election, and a half year of majority government that has seen one demonstration of arrogance after another (e.g. the Gov’t response to Attawapiskat, Bill C-10, pulling out of Kyoto), it’s clear that “Harperland” is becoming a more and more real place every day. this book is worth reading just so we can become more aware of this pattern, and decide for ourselves what we should do about it in the next few years.

3. The Moral Landscape by Sam Harris

I first came across this argument put forward by Harris over a year and a half ago on TED Talks. Since then, I became increasingly intrigued by it. At the very beginning of the New Year I bought The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values, his book which explains in greater detail the ideas he put forth at TED. Arguing from a neurological point of view, Harris states that science will eventually be able to not only comment on how humans behave, but how humans should behave, a role most often played by religion. The morality of an action can be measured not by the arbitrary, superimposed laws of a God-figure, but by the amount of well-being, or suffering, the action causes in the physical world. An action is placed on a gradient of peaks and valleys, or a ‘moral landscape’ if you will, where the deeds that gives the most people the highest amount of well-being are the peaks, and those that cause massive and intense suffering are the valleys in this landscape. The question is how do we measure well-being? Harris places it in the physical realm of the brain, the domain of neuroscience, and as happiness as a study is being taken more and more seriously in these circles, Harris is confident that we will be able to map out this landscape. It is merely a matter of time.

I found his ideas incredibly provocative, and very encouraging that we can find human answers to human suffering. However, as I mentioned on this blog before, I felt he devoted too much time to ripping into religion. I’ll admit it was warranted and well-argued, but it could have been reduced somewhat, or saved for another book (like his previous one, perhaps!). The bitter polemic just didn’t seem necessary to strengthen an already formidable argument. But however you may feel about religion, it’s still well worth the read, for a glimpse into the fascinating science of the brain, and the challenging but desperately needed route he suggests we take as a species.

2. A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf

In the Spring, my good friend Geneviève of NoFrillsFox approached me as well as various other colleagues of hers to perform a radio dramatization of Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. I had never really read anything by Woolf before, so it seemed like a good opportunity to get some voice work to put on my ol’ acting resumé, while immersing myself in the words and world of one of the 20th century’s most venerated writers. I got much more than that.

Woolf was asked to deliver a series of lectures on “Women and Fiction”, and the result was a brilliant extended essay about female writers and the challenges they have faced in a male-dominated world. The entire book, written from the point of view of a fictional speaker, revolves around the argument that 'a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction'. The fact that good writing depends on physical needs like finances and space, both of which women have usually been denied in the past, accounts for the dearth of literature produced by women. These, and not some natural inferiority as a sex. The clarity of her prose and the sharpness of her wit, as well as the evidence she marshals to support this are testament enough. But Woolf does not simply rant at men and blame them for the problems women face. She tempers her critiques with compassion, believing that bitter resentment and anger, however well-meaning, can only be destructive forces, and that imagination and humour are much more powerful tools. But, she soberly reminds us, it all depends on having that room, and money. Without, we won’t make an inch of progress.

First of all, as a man, rather than make me feel guilty for my fortunate lot in life, this book made me extremely grateful. Woolf wrote it in 1929, but her words are still relevant today in 2011(2012, etc.). Secondly, as a writer, there is much I can learn from Woolf; like the best writers before her, her powers of reason and imagination transcend gender: creativity needs space and nourishment, whether you are a man, woman, both or neither. And finally, I just really enjoyed it as a good read. I found it entertaining, as well as insightful, and even if you’re not a writer I recommend it for no other reason than this.

1. Twelve Steps to A Compassionate Life by Karen Armstrong

Following her TED Wish to have leaders of world religions to draw up a Charter for Compassion, an act of restoring compassion and the Golden Rule to the centre of the major religions and moral systems, Armstrong wrote this book. It's basically what its title says: a step by step guide in becoming a more compassionate person. Distilled from the methods of compassion of all the major faith traditions, including the three Abrahamic ones, Confucianism, Buddhism, and even the Western tradition of rationalist philosophy, Armstrong has cleverly modeled the process on the Twelve Step program for AA. Twelves Steps is a template for how we can draw inspiration from various religions and philosophies to specific action and make compassion a tangible part of our day to day lives. Beginning with Step One: Learn About Compassion, it goes on to looking at our own community and the role we play in it, to having compassion for yourself, and it culminates in the seemingly daunting twelfth step: Love Your Enemies. It is a simple, pragmatic, and hopeful little book, one which I’ve found myself reading near the beginning of the year, and rereading now at the end. I suspect this will happen again. And again.

That's it! Happy New Year, folks! See you in 2012!

Liam

My 2011 Top 5(ish) List of Fiction

Hey y'all! Ready for 2012? Well hold your horses, because I'm not quite finished with 2011. For me, it was a really good year for reading. Having finished university, I’ve had the great privilege of time to read more books than I could during school.

The attempt to compile a definitive "Top 5 of 2011", choosing certain ones over others, could be a very tricky, and maybe pointless undertaking. I think it's kind of silly rating my reading experiences, since each book offered me something different. But it's also a lot of fun, and in the spirit of list-making I shall proceed, and instead of choosing among so many books, I’ve decided to separate it into two categories: Fiction, and Non-Fiction.

You may notice that my lists don’t contain new, contemporary books. These are the books that affected me in some way, this year. Some of them are quite old, and I recommend we cherish them, and ease up on our obsession with new and shiny things.

But before I begin the List, here are my Books of Honourable Mention, ones that I really enjoyed, but for one arbitrary reason or another--my mood, most likely--didn't make the list.

Honourable Mention:

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

I finally finished the HP saga this year, just in time for The Deathly Hallows, Part 2 movie that came out this summer. It was quite a marathon, burning through The Half-Blood Prince and The Deathly Hallows over a few short weeks, but it reminded me why I love the series so much. While I found aspects of the very last movie slightly disappointing, I found the last book an absolute thrill. It seemed by far the darkest, and saddest of the series (at least before Harry’s fortunes improve again), but I couldn’t have hoped for a better climax.

The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien

Having re-read the second volume of Lord of the Rings this summer, I can safely say Tolkien is still my favourite writer of all time, and I am always in the mood to read him. Going back to his work is a little bit like going home, and yet going off on the greatest adventure ever, at the same time.

Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin

I’ve put this on my honourable mention list because I haven’t actually finished reading it, and I know I won’t before the end of 2011. But I’m halfway through, and I can say that I’ve truly enjoyed it. It would probably count as epic fantasy, but is not in any way derivative of Lord of the Rings. The Seven Kingdoms, Winterfell, King’s Landing, The Wall, none of these places seem contrived to me. He gives it history, he gives it depth and beauty. The details he borrows from medieval life show an extremely well-researched writing process, which makes for a more tangible secondary world. Martin does not have the background of a linguist, and that is not a problem in the least. In fact, its encouraging for an amateur like myself.

Wow! Wouldja look at all those initials! Because of writers like these I became convinced at a young age that to be a proper writer I needed to sign my work with my initials (“L.M. Volke”, what do ya think?). Besides the fear of seeming pretentious, I’ve yet to find any other evidence to the contrary.

And now, without further adieu...

My 2011 Top 5(ish) List of Fiction

In no particular order:

5. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card / Deathless by Catherynne Valente

Okay, I cheated a little. It was hard to decide between the two of them, so I put them both down. In a way, it’s quite fitting, actually. The Nebula and Hugo Award-winning novel by Mr. Card is a look into our future where our world has been attacked by aliens, mobilizing our international community into an uneasy alliance against our extraterrestrial foe. Into this world comes young Ender Wiggin, a boy genius who is groomed at an early age for a brilliant military career, at the cost of his childhood, and even his very humanity. Card intentionally wrote the prose as clearly and plainly as he could, refusing to resort to any tricks or flourishes only the snobbish literary priesthood could enjoy. The storytelling is fast-paced and thrilling, while also dealing with fascinating and disturbing moral dilemmas.

In stark contrast to Card’s book, Catherynne Valente’s Deathless is a fantastical look into the past: the violent rise of the Societ Union as seen through the kaleidescopic Russian folk tales concerning Koschei the Deathless. Unlike Ender’s Game, the writing style Deathless opulent, playful, and dreamlike (or nightmarish, rather). In this world, everything is alive: the mountains, the air, even the buildings are literally alive. It took a greater effort to read and construct the world and the narrative in my mind, but it was rewarding because of this. At some passages I would think “not in a million years would I have thought of a metaphor as original as that!” The story didn’t grip me the way Ender’s Game did, but the beauty of the language is intoxicating and at time, astonishing.

My friend and fellow writer Jesse Cowell recommended me this book with all his might, and after having read it I can say that more people need to read it. So go read it.

4. Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen

I got a lovely edition of Andersen’s fairy tales as a birthday present from my wonderful dad this summer. This particular translation is by Tiina Nunally, with a terrific introduction by Jackie Wullschlager. The really cool thing about this is that before every story is an illustration by Andersen himself. His illustrations are scenes or characters corresponding to that story, and are cut out of paper. I haven’t actually finished the book, but I fell in love with his work the previous summer while doing the travelling puppet show, and I feel Andersen deserves some belated mention here. His stories are wildly imaginative, sometimes quite violent, often very beautiful, and even lacking in a tidy moral at the ending common to other fairy tales. Many of his stories were written to delight rather than instruct, and furthermore many of them he wrote himself, even though they have the feel of a fairy tale that has always been there. They will amuse you, enchant you, move you, and set your imagination aflame.

3. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

Remember seeing this cartoon as a kid, with the sad-eyed unicorn and the terrifying Red Bull that chased the unicorns to the ends of the earth?

Well it was actually a book, first. A very beautifully written one, at that. A unicorn overhears some hunters say that all unicorns are extinct. Wondering if she is the last of her kind, she sets out on a journey to find out what happened to her brothers and sisters, and on the way is joined by the hopelessly mediocre magician Schmendrick, and the brash bandit-woman Molly Grue.

Beagle has the ability to poke fun at the clichés of fantasy, and then in the same sentence deliver an image or an event that stands as a stunning, poetic testament of its power and beauty as a genre. This novel is a little gem that should not be forgotten among the growing piles of excrement that passes for fantasy lit.

2. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

This was my first encounter with the writing of both Gaiman and Pratchett, and I can safely say I haven’t laughed as much or as hard while reading a book as I did with this one. It had the same delicious irreverence for all things metaphysical as James Morrow’s Towing Jehovah. Two good friends, the Angel Aziraphale and Demon Crowley find out that the Antichrist has been born, signaling the fast-approaching Apocalypse. Because they both love the world so much, they disobey direct orders from both sides, decide to join together and try to prevent this whole mess from happening. Hilarity ensues.

The “bromance” between this unlikely pair has to be one of my favourite relationships I’ve ever come across. Their dynamic makes you wonder if it is a parallel to that of their creators. Now, which is Gaiman, and which is Pratchett? It may seem obvious sometimes, but I think the authors blur the lines pretty well. The difference in style between the two writers complements each other, and breeds a wonderful monster even a Marriage of Heaven and Hell would envy.

1. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

An extremely ambitious 11-year old me bought this book from a bargain table at Coles in New Brunswick. It is safe to say I never really picked it up with the intention of reading it until Christmas 2010, and when I was only about a hundred pages in I had to put it down again until the summer came round (school got in the way. And Good Omens, I’ll admit).

As I’ve mentioned on this blog before, it wasn’t exactly a page-turner. But I am so glad I kept with it. This tome is brimming with life, from the drawing room gossip of Russia’s wealthy and restless aristocrats; to the fields where serfs work in the sun all day long; to a dank tenement of a man dying of consumption, the sickly smell of death in the air. It is a drama full of vengeance, intrigue, and tragedy; but it also paints a picture of mundane drudgery, despair, as well as joy and great spiritual insight. It’s a very enriching read, and quietly exhilirating as well. After having spent some time with Anna Karenina, Vronsky, Levin, and dozens of other characters, I can see why people like Tolstoy so much. I know I’ll read this one again.

Now if I could just work up the nerve to read War and Peace...

So that's my List for Fiction. If you haven't already read any of these, I hope I've perhaps convinced you to give them a try.

Stay tuned for my Top 5(ish) List of Non-Fiction for 2011!

Thanks for reading,

L.M. Volke

Grameen, Micro-Credit, and a Sobering Encounter

A couple of weeks ago I finished reading Banker to the Poor by Muhammad Yunus. It had been sitting on my shelf for about three years, bookmark wedged in a few pages shy of 100. The damn thing wasn't getting read. I figured I'd sell it to Russells for store credit or something, but I decided, out of a mix of guilt and curiosity, to actually finish reading it first.

Doubtless most people reading this will be familiar with Yunus and his Nobel Peace Prize winning Grameen Bank, if not for its work and theories, then at least for the controversy it received in the media last year over allegations of tax-evasion and charging extremely high interest rates*. But for those of you who aren't familiar, Dr. Yunus started the Grameen Bank in the late 70's in Bangladesh. The idea was born after he lent a total of $27 US, at no interest, to a number of impoverished families in a village, to help them purchase the materials needed to make and sell their wares, and lift themselves out of poverty without turning to greedy moneylenders for help. At the heart of the Grameen Bank (Grameen meaning "rural" or "village" in Bangla) is the belief that poor people are incredibly creative and resourceful, not lazy and worthless, and the Bank's job is to offer them the chance in the form of "micro-loans" to help unleash the creative potential of these people as contributors to the economy and valuable members of society. The Bank lends the money to borrowers, the majority of them women, so they can use that seed money to start their own businesses, like selling hand-made baskets or fabrics, and the borrowers pay back the interest-free loan on the terms of their setting. It may take a while, but as Yunus illustrates, almost every single borrower pays back what they owe.



I am not entirely against capitalism, but my belief is that it must be curbed by government policy. So it's quite a challenge when Yunus says we should reduce the role of the government and let the private sector take the lead. But he is no typical neo-liberal. He argues that bureaucracy has completely undermined the idea of a state-funded social safety net, and because money isn't getting to the poor, it's not doing its job. But he recognizes that at the other end lies the cut-throat business entrepreneur consumed by greed, whose image of the world is equally horrible. The poor get screwed on both accounts. So what Yunus advocates is small government, and that instead of international aid and charities combatting poverty, the standard should be taken up by a kind of "social entrepreneur", a new breed of entrepreneur whose goal of making profit is second to her goal of helping the world through socially and environmentally conscious action, Grameen being one example.

This strange brew of socially-minded, compassionate capitalism may be hard to imagine, but as I read of Yunus and the Bank's struggles from inception to the present day I was struck by the overwhelming number of success stories, ones where the value of human life was enshrined. Of course, micro-loans aren't a cure-all to poverty. The borrowers didn't suddenly become part of the middle class, and there were endless setbacks, including disease, famine, natural disasters, and even cultural resistance (rumours went around in the conservative, rural areas of Bangladesh that the Bank actually turned women away from Islam). But many have started up their businesses nonetheless, broken the debilitating cycle of poverty, and since then have become an economic force to be reckoned with, in Bangladesh, and in various other countries around the world where Grameen or similar micro-credit programs have started up. Overall, micro-loans have had a positive influence in the world. Of course the founder will portray his program in the best light, but the proof speaks for itself. Plainly written so that a layperson like myself can read, enjoy, and maybe even be inspired by it, I don't regret finishing it, and may instead decide to lend it to someone else instead of sell it off.


A couple of days ago I was headed downtown, waiting at the corner of Yates and Quadra for the light to change, when I was approached by a man. He seemed friendly enough, but he shoved a paper into my hands and went on to explain that he was living on the street and selling this paper by donation. I told him I didn't have any money to offer him, and when he asked if I could go to a bank to get out some cash, I told him again that I didn't have any money to offer him. Clearly disappointed, he told me to keep the paper, and walked away. The whole experience lasted maybe two minutes, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. It certainly poked a hole in my bubble of a self-satisfied life. I did have a few nickels in my wallet. I think I said no as a knee-jerk reaction; it's not just to people living on the street, but canvassers of worthy causes like Amnesty, Red Cross, and SPCA as well. I don't react well to peddlers of any kind. But even though I didn't like how pushy he was, I could understand what he was trying to do. In fact, it seemed not unlike what many borrowers in Bangladesh villages are trying to do. Instead of just asking for spare change, he was trying to engage me in a business transaction, working to generate seed money to help himself along while keeping his dignity intact, perhaps even empower him. It's not exactly a parallel situation, but similar in essence. And in light of the hope I felt after reading about the Grameen Bank, you'd think I would've been more enthusiastic about what this guy was trying to do. But for one reason or another, out of fear, caution, impatience, or whatever, I refused.

I offer this anecdote as self-reflection, and as a tonic to whatever sense of ego-inflation we may feel when we align ourselves with a noble cause. This sort of scenario happens thousands of times a day, but for some reason it certainly gave me enough pause to need to stop and reflect on it. Regardless of a person's attitude toward homeless people asking for money, hopefully others can learn from my behaviour and find a better way of dealing with these brief, but impactful meetings with people living on the fringe making an honest effort to better their lives. I hope that perhaps if I am approached by another person selling this paper or any like it (it's called the Lionheart Tribune, by the way. Anybody else been approached by someone with this publication?), if I can't offer anything by way of money, I can at least offer a word, or an ear to listen. We needn't go to the other side of the world to find poverty. It isn't quarantined off in developing countries, but here in Canada as well, and the best part of Yunus' idea is that it is applicable to any country, regardless of its GDP. I'm not about to go off and become a social entrepreneur now, but it seems to me even the little efforts count for something. Here's hoping, anyway.

*These allegations were proved to be nothing more than that. The source was a Norwegian documentary called Caught in Micro-Debt. Micro-credit is not without its critics of course, and I'm sure there are cases where they are right, but I don't have reason to believe that it is fundamentally unsound as an approach to fighting poverty. It's certainly worth a try, isn't it?

Huzzah!

I've FINALLY finished Anna Karenina! It was well worth it, at least--but what a labour!

Again, I did enjoy it. The density and the thoroughness of the storytelling is an astounding feat of writing. Tolstoy really understood human behaviour, I think, and really gloried in delving into people's motivations. Don't get me wrong: if you're expecting a book like this to fly by like a Stieg Larsson novel, you know nothing about 19th century Russian literature. It most certainly isn't the kind of tome you can devour over a lazy long weekend. It's density is something you experience rather than burn through. You taste it, savour it, and let it gather itself in your mind's eye. That's where its genius lies. That is why it is worth reading.



Unfortunately, my copy was a cheap Wordsworth edition I got when I was 11 years old on sale for peanuts at a Coles Book store. This shouldn't be a problem really (I'm quite partial to cheap books, in fact!) but I get the feeling there are better translations out there. Not only that, but the editing was terrible. It was so fraught with errors that it was actually kind of amusing. Typos everywhere. In several cases punctuation was simply overlooked. Things were misspelt. One man, whose name for most of the book is Koznyshev, was mentioned in two places on the same page late in the book as "Kozushev". My favourite though was when the word "help" was spelled "he]p".

And since spring hit I've been in the mood for something more fanciful. Fantastical, you might even say. My co-worker lent me a book of essays contributed by different fantasy writers, about the work of Tolkien and its influence on them. This has been whetting my appetite for some damn good summer escapism. It's also reminding me where my roots are.

It's funny because that word, "escapism", is tacked onto The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and most fantasy for that matter, as if it were a bad thing; and yet if I could pinpoint when and where I became opened up to the world in a completely new way it would be upon the reading of these books. It introduced me to a vast number of subjects of interest, bodies of knowledge and experiences like no other work has singlehandedly done before. It's no exaggeration to say that through reading Lord of the Rings I gained a deeper appreciation for nature; Tolkien's love of what is green and good was ignited in myself. As well as the beginnings of an increased ecological consciousness, It opened me up to Norse, Celtic, and Classic myth, and from there, religion, philosophy, astronomy, and western literature and literary theory.

And then there are the languages! Tolkien's linguistic background seeps into every corner of his world, and it spilled into mine. I tried to create my own Elvish language, and got considerably far, for a twelve year-old. I had a lexicon, a grammar, an alphabet. I even tried to teach myself Latin for a couple of years. I have no doubt that this love for language inspired by Tolkien helped me greatly as I went into French immersion in junior high. I never picked up a rock album until I learned that some of Led Zeppelin's songs were directly inspired by Lord of the Rings. I never knew rock was that versatile, and about something other than sex, and drugs or whatever those kids were listening to.

Perhaps I would have gotten interested in these things on my own without Tolkien's influence, but the point is I didn't. His work was the doorway I stepped through. Above all else it sharpened my sense of wonder, and I like to think that it is always strengthened upon returning to it. Escapism? Hah! If anything, I was escaping into the world! But I digress...

Next up on my roster is The Half-Blood Prince. It's been a few years since it came out, my sister has always nagged me about reading it, so now that the second part of the Deathly Hallows is imminent, it seems like the right time to start on it. I'll try to get through it and the Deathly Hallows in the next 30 days or so. Wish me luck!

On Reading

After finishing How to Read and Why* by Harold Bloom, I remembered a conversation I was having with a friend of mine. I can't remember the topic of conversation, but I remember my friend saying that reading is something you do when you're waiting to do other things. I found this a little perplexing, and very telling. It challenged my own biases toward reading, and it made me wonder what the majority of society feels about reading.

So now, like Harold Bloom--but with way less credentials--I'm going to chime in on the discussion.

Excluding oppressive dictators, I get the feeling nobody will say "reading is bad"; certainly nobody will say it is bad for you. Even if some people don't like doing it, if they are rational creatures they will see the value. If not imaginative literature (and I include graphic novels and comic books), then reading the news can come in handy. If not that, being able to read instruction manuals and road signs can be a real boost to getting through life. Nobody who is literate will regret being literate. But I think a lot of people will read for more than just information on how to put together their jalsklär desk from IKEA. Book publishing is a multi-billion dollar industry, so I can only assume that it is a pretty popular activity. It certainly isn't the only thing, and being a text-oriented society has problems (and there is much good in oral cultures which we are in danger of losing to the monolith of the written word), but it has a lot of advantages too. Reading enjoys an almost universal, and perhaps curiously unquestioned status as a good thing.

But we seem to have a peculiar attitude about this good thing, at least when it comes to leisurely reading. Like other forms of entertainment, we find ourselves having to justify why we do it more than other things. Reading for leisure smacks of uselessness, or worse, elitism. That we call it leisurely reading shows the ambivalence we have about it; we love to do it, but it is only acceptable when it's raining out and there's nothing left to do. It's almost shameful to think of sitting at home and reading on a sunny saturday afternoon, isn't it? Or even worse, on a Friday night! The horror! Behaviour like that would just seem weird, even antisocial. The only time that would be acceptable is if it's compulsory reading, for a class. It's just not the kind of thing you do when you can do something else!

One time a friend of mine asked me why I didn't want to go to a party (or something along those lines), and I said because I felt like I needed to catch up on reading. I realise in hindsight how pretentious, rude and antisocial that must have sounded. But why is it all those things?

Some people might think it is isolating, living in an ivory tower, avoiding "life". I have to ask what they mean by "life". Why is a social gathering closer to "life" than reading? Reading is a part of life, isn't it? It engages several areas of the brain at once--the brain being a living, physical organ, an essential tool for life. In fact, it enhances that organ, and by extension, the rest of ourselves. How can that be a bad thing? The imagination is as essential to human life as our social interactions, and yet when we say "live a little", almost nobody imagines sitting in a chair and reading. So is it something we love to do but feel bad for it? It certainly seems hard to justify when you look at it: from the outside, it looks like a person is doing absolutely nothing, but staring at an object with small ink-scratchings on it. This is not profitable behaviour, so it doesn't sit well with utilitarian, economy-minded creatures.

I believe it is not only important, but deeply rewarding and enjoyable. It brings pleasure, which may put off people who think that you shouldn't get pleasure from important things. Important things are about helping other people, right? They're about productivity, thrift, hard work, and other Puritan virtues. Well, I believe the Puritans were just a little bit silly, that not all selfishness is intrinsically bad, and that we nourish ourselves with reading. We read to become more human.

This might be stretching it a bit, but it even has a meditative quality to it, as it demands a sustained amount of concentration and visualization, all in the effort to help us understand the story. Some people might dismiss this as escapism. This is inaccurate. It is an exercise in empathy as we follow somebody else's life, and understand them a little better. A story offers a blueprint to better understanding each other; so if empathy is escapism, then escapism must be the noblest thing you can do! It takes us outside of ourselves and puts us in the Other. Central to the practice of Rabbinic Judaism is the act of reading. Rabbis will read--live and breathe the literature of their faith, absorb it as fully as they can, and form an exegesis, an understanding of their text-- and will encounter wisdom. That is why they read. Sure, reading won't change the world, but it may lead to self-understanding, which will help you become a better you.

And yet, reading is still seen as something we should only do when we're waiting to do something else.

I use "we" a lot in this entry, because I believe I'm not alone in what I'm thinking. I love reading, yet I often feel guilty, or at least uneasy, for doing it. Surely this feeling is instilled in me from standards of the outside, which means it's happening to other people as well. This must mean it is a widespread problem. This is comforting in a way, but it also means that it's something we should all be addressing.

I want to challenge this problem, and encourage others to make time in their day to read. I'm not saying it's the only thing worth doing, or even the most important (and I'm certainly not entering into the argument of Books vs. Video Games, or Books vs. Movies). There's a danger to fetishizing it, of course. But there's a danger to putting too much emphasis on a social life, too. Balance, as usual, is key. But do take some time.

I have no set reading list or canon, personally. I was raised on comic books, so I try to resist bias towards one genre or another. I include comics, graphic novels, blogs and magazines, childrens books, etc. It doesn't have to be Cervantes or Tolstoy, as long as it means something to you. But I also encourage you to read what challenges you, what inspires you, what haunts you. If nothing else, read because it's fun, and fun is bloody important.


Thanks for reading!

Liam



*It's not as pretentious as it sounds, and although it doesn't completely deliver, it's still a good, challenging read.

Top 5 Books of 2010

Hello and Happy 2011 to everybody!

I don't really want to do a reflection of 2010. I haven't the energy nor the will for that sort of thing. But I will do what I did last year, and list the five books that had the biggest influence on me. So here they are, in the order I read them:

5. Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis
Alright so I have read this once before, in high-school. I liked it then, but I thought it was even better now. I ended up reading quite a bit of C.S. Lewis this year, including The Great Divorce, Surprised by Joy, and for good measure, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Even today he seems to me to be one of the most brilliant Christian thinkers of the 20th century. I found him far more convincing because he came to his faith through atheism, and he fought in one of the bloodiest wars in history, so he kinda has "street cred" in my mind. Religion and matters of the spirit weren't all just ivory tower musings to him. He saw suffering and he experienced spiritual joy--in short, he really lived. He has perhaps been the most influential writer for me this year, just for his style of writing. But his sheer imaginative power when it comes to Christianity amazes me and is what makes him great. Someone wrote that he wouldn't have been the writer he became if he didn't become a Christian. I believe this is true. This one book can't be taken in isolation from the rest of his works on religion. What it does do is sum up his ideas in a concise way, while further elaborations on his theme can be found in his other books. So Mere Christianity stands as an symbol for his body of work, and for me the introduction to it.

4. The Little Book of Atheist Spirituality by André Comte-Sponville
This book was the first book about atheism that I read, and a first serious consideration of it. I found it easy to read because he is open to dialogue with religious and spiritual thinking people, and he makes a great case for a spiritual life sans Dieu. On that note, he provides robust challenges to the idea of God, and my own views. It is such a unique book, a great counterpoint to C.S. Lewis (as you can read about in my summer posts), and a refreshing alternative to the "New Atheism" of Dawkins, Hitchens, and Harris.*

3. The Sins of Scipture by John Shelby Spong
Like Mere Christianity, this book acted as a doorway to Spong's work. But I found this book to have the biggest impact on my thinking. In this book he, an Episcopal bishop, puts the Bible on trial, and puts it in its place: not God's mouth, but in history. From there, he proposes that the biblical passages that we today view as prejudiced, arbitrary, destructive, and evil, should be jettisoned from the Bible altogether. He brings to light the Bible scholarship that has been going on since the 19th century that has largely been inaccessible to the public. But the most remarkable part of this book is that while he is attacking many aspects of Christianity, he is able to keep his faith intact. He is using his criticism not to demolish his religion as militant atheists would want to do, but to make it better and help it express its original purpose. I won't say any more on it, because I summarised it a while ago on my blog. It's very well researched and written, and I encourage all to read it.

2. True and False by David Mamet
I think I read this book in 2 or 3 days. He believes that acting schools and techniques and systems are all bullshit. Perhaps he's right, but I don't agree with him. I think what did stick in my mind was when he said that all of these illustrious theatre schools have people come to them, and once the actors are out on the other side and have made a big splash in the world, the schools take the credit for the actor's accomplishments. Thus the schools' reputations are further garnished, when in all likelihood the actor was a genius before she went into the school, and if she was worth her salt, would make it big without the school's help. I don't agree with this. I believe in school, and I wouldn't be here otherwise. However, what Mamet says has helped to weaken the inferiority complex I have had about my own school, because it is not National Theatre School, or Julliard, or Yale. The chances of me being noticed by a big time talent scout might be greater in some other place, but there is no guarantee that I would be a better quality actor just by going to one of these other places. I think the point Mamet makes, or at least what I drew from it, is that so much depends on the individual's talent and drive. We can blame our learning issues on the school, or the teachers, or the classmates, and to some degree these things do have an effect. But of course, the fault, dear Actors, "lies not in our stars, but in ourselves if we are underlings.” The root cause of it is in ourselves. There is more in our control than we think. This book helped to remind me of that.

1. A Fair Country by John Ralston Saul
I just wrote a long and boring post about this book, so I won't go into much detail here. If you really want to know more, just suck it up and read the post, k? I will say that I think Saul is onto something about the correlation between Canada's identity and Aboriginal way of life, and has pointed me in a very good direction to better understand my country and participate in its life.

So that's that for now. Just a recap, really. Perhaps I'll say something about 2011 later. But for that's it for not.

À bientôt!

Liam

*That being said, I would still like to read what Dawkins, Hitchens and Harris are saying. I want to see how my views stand up against the champions of New Atheism. It would be hypocritical of me not to read them, and who knows? they might even shed some light on the subject!

K, Dis One's For Gabi!

Oh hey there!

My sister Gabrielle has started her very first blog, which has inspired me to get back on here, after almost a month's unintentional hiatus. The truth is, she was the writer in the family first. She was doing it for as long as I can remember, perhaps as long as she can, too. Granted, I was making comic books and story boards for movies when I was a five-year old, but that always belonged more to the realm of drawing, in my mind. It was nothing like writing out a picture-less story, and being a true Author. I started doing it after she did, trying to be like her. Only I would start a story and never finish; I never had the stamina to finish one. But anyway, I've been inspired once again to keep it up, thanks to my sis.

It's been a fast-paced run through July. And frankly, that's okay by me. The puppet show has been going very well, and we've just finished out Salt Spring tour. We're back in Vic for a week, and then we hit the road once again!

I've developed a very interesting relationship with books, in the past year or so. You might even call it an intuitive one. I find that timing is important when it comes to reading. I won't touch a book, no matter how much of a gem it is, unless it or a subject it deals with has been on my mind for some time. Until then, I won't give it all the attention it deserves. Sometimes a book can put itself in my mind where it wasn't before, and then I'll see if it takes root. But it can't be forced. So if you recommend a book to me, please don't be offended if I turn it down or never bother to pick it up. No matter how good it is it probably just isn't the right time, so I won't be interested.

For instance, having read a couple of C.S. Lewis' books in the past few months, as well as some of his literary essays, I've been thinking more and more about his fiction. So in all likelihood I might end up reading his sci-fi series, and maybe the Chronicles of Narnia, one of these days. Reading his works has also led me in the direction of George MacDonald, a huge influence on Lewis, so I read the Princess and the Goblin. I might find my way back to him pretty soon as well, perhaps to read his adult fairy tale Phantastes. Ever since reading Peter Pan the play, I've been curious about the novel Barrie made out of it, so that is another one I want to get my hands on very soon. My point is, this is how my mind and appetite for reading works. I know what I want. And it might be more difficult, though not impossible, to come in from the outside and plant the desire for something entirely different. It all depends. Please don't stop recommending books, because there is no way that you can know whether I want to read it or not, but like I said, don't be offended if I turn it down. If it really is such a page-turner and just up my alley, then rest assured I will get to it in due time, and it's my loss alone for not reading it, right?

In the meantime, I'm on a mission to read more post-Tolkien fantasy, a whole world which I snubbed before I even gave it a chance. in grade 7 I read The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks, and assumed that most fantasy from the 60's onward was like that, so I didn't bother. I read The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan, and thought it was alright. I can't remember what it's about at all. It simply didn't leave an impression. BUT, those are only two writers in the genre, and there are many. Most of them probably are, to my tastes, crap, but I shouldn't spite the jewels for being rare. Currently I'm reading the Ursula K. Le Guin's novel A Wizard of Earthsea. She is highly acclaimed, and not just a New York Times bestseller, so I'm hopeful. I'll let you know how it goes. What's everyone else reading, these days?