Kindred

I just finished reading this work of historical fiction written in the 1970s. It is based on the idea of a black woman traveling back in time to the 1800s, when slavery was a severe reality of life. It is interesting to try to infer how much has changed since the book was written. Perhaps the 1970s were more concerned with basic human rights than we are today. The countercultural movements of the 1960s were largely coopted by society in the 1970s, just as 21st century America has largely absorbed the gang violence of the 1980s and 1990s and made it more like an attitude that anyone can adopt. The peace movement, civil rights struggles, labor activism, and feminism were all still alive in the 1970s. Now, in the 21st century, war, racism, low wages, and sexism are still with us, but the protests seem muted compared to the enormity of the changes in the 60s and 70s. The power of activism seems focused on other things. But to get to the actual book, I really struggled to get through this one, even though the craftsmanship level is high and the subject matter is worthwhile. It felt like assigned reading. I don't think I've personally learned all the lessons this book has to teach, but I don't know if that's because of some inner struggle to empathize or just because the focus of my interests and society's interests have changed so much since the 1970s. It is a good book, ultimately, and it is relevant to today; I just wish I could give a solid reason for not liking it the way I do.

Defining the Wind

I enjoyed this book thoroughly, especially its gorgeously-written first chapter about riding out a hurricane (before Katrina). It is a copy-editor's book, written by a former copy editor, so its focus on words may be too much for some people. Still, the story is intriguing enough to keep non-word-o-philes (copy editors are cringing right now) entertained. The book explains how a description of the wind that was created during the sea-faring age, at least partly as an aid to navigation, took on a life of its own and became a kind of poem, now found only in some dictionaries. I was first introduced to the Beaufort wind scale in a modern poetry class as a "found poem," and it is truly poetry -- both concrete and abstract, both physical and spiritual. The scale also has a history of its own, and this book lovingly traces that history. The analysis of the changes over time to the actual scale itself is interesting, but the most interesting fact may be that this little nugget of fine language has survived at all into the 21st century. It is really a miracle, and this book captures that miracle. I almost wish our news reports would use this scale instead of the exact figures they purport to give us, but that might cheapen the value of the words themselves. The words are the treasure. Look in your dictionary at home under "Beaufort" to see if the wind scale is there. Many no longer have it.

the curious incident of the dog in the night-time

Mark Haddon's British novel uses the voice of a near-autistic boy to tell a story of awakening. It is a rite-of-passage story with real resonance for anyone who has ever struggled to learn something or to try something outside the box. The hero of the story uses math as a kind of language throughout the story, which is effective. The rigidness of the prose fits a character who is bound up in his head, the way all creative types can be. The novel makes me wonder if autism and its related syndromes (Asperger's) are a sign of the times. We are creating children who can think and feel in different ways than what is normal, but they are no longer trapped in institutions or unable to communicate at all. Technology and disability legislation have made societies more open to people with illnesses like autism. Still, the biggest limits real people with autism have seem to be primarily with communication. Our society doesn't really seem to connect very well any more, even for normal people, so the children who are stuck in their own minds are probably doubly stuck. This coming of age story allows one such doubly stuck character to escape both the boundaries of his own mind and the boundaries of his society, and the world is a better place because someone has imagined this possibility.

Grendel

Grendel is a 1971 masterpiece by John Gardner that retells the Beowulf story from the monster Grendel's point of view. I found it relevant to today's struggles in some ways. First of all, the novel describes a war that almost nobody wants, except perhaps Grendel. Even Grendel calls it an idiotic war, but that doesn't stop him from being a violent bully. Secondly ,the potential for the two sides of the conflict, monsters and men, to draw a truce exists in parts of the novel, but the two sides harden their positions until one side, drawing on the power of fate, is victorious. President Bush must feel a little bit like Grendel these days. He's entered into a conflict that he doesn't fully understand, and his identity is determined by the decisions he makes in that conflict. Grendel has the excuse of being a monster, but he is struggling to define himself just as we all are. In fact, the bulk of the novel is Grendel's struggle to understand himself and human society, which is built on war and conquest (and betrayal) in his eyes. I wonder how much Grendel's outsider's perspective on things is needed right now. After all, he sits outside of Western materialism in the world of myth. We need to be able to dislodge our preconceptions to get past this world war we're engaging.