Tao Teh Ching (Lao Tzu)

I'm getting behind. I closed this book some weeks ago and no longer remember what I might have wanted to say about it. (The same holds for two other books. Agh. By now I'll have to reread them before I can offer any lucid commentary. Remember this: procrastination tortures before it kills.)

I am spared the effort in this case because like this blog, reading the Tao Teh Ching is a list item from "The Homeland" and so there's a post already in existence. Rather than wracking my memory for additional remarks or pasting the text straight over (loathsome redundancy) I have crafted for you a link. May you have joy of it.

Outliers: The story of success (Gladwell)

Malcolm Gladwell is gifted. He, of course, would argue with me. He might tell me that he's spent more time preparing to write and writing than some people spend sleeping. He'd say that his cultural and familial background (as well as multitudinous opportunity and favourable circumstance) shoved him into his chosen profession at a time when his brilliance could be best leveraged for success. He'd suggest that what I call 'a gift' he calls 'expertise fostered by the right background and plenty of experience.' He'd insist that I not attribute his excellence the the wrong quirks of fate. Quirks of fate there may have been, but they are not the ones I imply with my uninformed choice of wording.

Fine. Starting over then: Malcolm Gladwell is excellent as a writer and as a thinker. His book Outliers is a monument to his skills in both areas. I love how the book is arranged. I love the titles and subtitles at the beginning of each chapter, I love how Gladwell uses italics, I love the crackle behind his writing. What is more, I fully approve of the way he uses exclamation marks. I am difficult to please concerning exclamation marks. He has probably received loftier accolades, but I take this minute victory as evidence that he is remarkable in many ways, including the small ones that count precisely because of their triviality. Gladwell gets everything right. Everything.

Well, mercy me. All this gushing, and I haven't yet mentioned the contents of Gladwell's masterwork.

So what's this book about? The subtitle claims it is "the story of success." It's an unimpressive description. Bookstores are packed to the cobwebs with works claiming to contain the secrets to riches, health, beauty, happiness, and a devoted clientele. This is not another book about positive thinking or self management. Instead Gladwell explains that:

• remarkable ability is the reliable product of a given number of hours in practice
• a high IQ does not guarantee success, particularly where there is a lack of practical intelligence
• practical intelligence, far from being innate, is a skill best transmitted by a particular approach to parenting called "concerted cultivation"
• meaningful work is the best way to both competence and happiness
• plane crash incident rate per country corresponds with that country's Power Distance Index and the accompanying changes in communication across a status gradient, and from this we can conclude that
• where you come from dictates the norms and expectations you will have absorbed, and therefore proscribes the situations in which you will succeed unless
• you recognize how your traditions are messing with you and take steps to change them, in which case, no problems
• Asians are our mathematical superiors because their language and rice paddies conspire to make them that way
• the previous point is actually valid for reasons which require a chapter's worth of explication - which he kindly provides
• children can be really smart if their schooling consumes all of their waking hours six days a week
• a twelve hour work week is within your grasp if you are willing to move to the Kalahari desert to hunt and gather with the !Kung bushmen
• his awesome hair comes to him legitimately, through tribal African ancestry

Outliers is about absolutely everything, as it might pertain to remarkable (and even unremarkable) accomplishments. So it seems to me, but that is because I am dazzled. While Gladwell's subject matter is wildly diverse and unpredictable, Outliers is deliciously coherent. Hockey players, Jamaican slaves, commercial airline pilots, Chinese peasantry, geniuses, trigger happy Southerners, and Jewish lawyers gather in precise array to answer a well defined question. You can find the organizing theme of Gladwell's book in a single paragraph from the middle of the first chapter:

"Do you see the consequences of the way we have chosen to think about success? Because we so profoundly personalize success, we miss opportunities to lift others onto the top rung. We make rules that frustrate achievement. We prematurely write off people as failures. We are too much in awe of those who succeed and far too dismissive of those who fail. And, most of all, we become much too passive. We overlook just how large a role we all play - and by "we" I mean society - in determining who makes it and who doesn't."

The Princess Bride (Goldman)

On my first time through "S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure" I thought it was the greatest thing ever written. That was more than five years ago. The second pass was less amazing, but only because I knew the end from the beginning. When there is no foreknowledge, it's an intense little read. When you have memory for an oracle, the adventures of Westley, Buttercup, Fezzik and Inigo (oh, always Inigo) are less engrossing but still epic and hilarious. With some judicious editing it could make a cracking good bedtime story. But I have no kiddies, and so it is instead a most satisfying conclusion to the illicit novel binge.

Forward, then! First, a book fast so that I am forced to pay attention to my own affairs. (Yes, yes, we're purging. Call it reader's bulimia. I won't argue.) After about two weeks I'll dive back into books, hopefully confined to more enlightening fare. CS Lewis, my old friend, come to my arms . . .

The Seer and the Sword (Hanely)

Some people are chain smokers. I'm a chain borrower. One book went back to its shelf of origin in someone else's home, and The Seer and the Sword came back with me. My friend told me that this one belonged in her canon of all time favourites. Since she was right about the highland warrior, I gambled on the acuity of her judgement and gave another afternoon on her recommendation.

Her correctness is enjoying a streak of at least two. Hanley's novel is unpretentiously excellent. She doesn't try to be clever, she doesn't wrench at her audience's emotion, and her ideas aren't keyed to impress, bemuse and overwhelm. What we have here is a solid fantasy and a satisfying story. It has that elegant simplicity that never seems to find its way into adult fiction.

To change topic, this will be the eighth novel of the year and I'm only two months in. Clearly this is unacceptable. Once I finish The Princess Bride (>.<) we'll be off on the smart books again. For a couple of months at least. It'll mean I spend less time reading extracurricular books because works low in plot and high in thought density just don't go down so well in a single gulp. Reviews will take more thought, because it'll be a survey of what I learned and not these tedious little reviews. Net effect: I won't need to post so often. Every month instead of every week? Please yes.

Enchantment (Card)

Sleeping beauty in Russia with time travel and the most formidable and despicable witch known to folklore. Wheeee! The words leave my mouth raw, but Orson Scott Card has again produced something clever, original, convincing, and very intelligent. I don't want to like this man, but he delivers. Just remember the standard Card preparations: realize that while he is LDS (was LDS? I don't know anymore) you are still liable to trip over the harsh, the crude, and the sickening; understand that he can make you approve of his characters even when their actions are unlovely or offensive; and prepare to be charmed by hints of whimsy even when they buried under plenty of grit and decay. And, above all, be wary because you're going to enjoy the book to your shame.

Maybe that's enough dancing around my confession. Here it is unadorned: I devoured that book, squirming heedlessly through the nasty bits because I was hooked, and now I feel that Card has gotten the better of me once again. That miscreant. I need to stop seeking him out.

My only consolation is that I didn't buy the book.

Elantris (Sanderson)

Here's that rare thing, a fantasy that recreates the genre. I have never before read a novel quite like this. There are fallen gods, an imploding city of the damned, ploys to fill the throne, religious war and conquest, unrequited love, villains worth respecting, and plenty of death and sacrifice. It's political adventure dabbling in the supernatural. I really hate political intrigue stories. I really liked this one. Sanderson has got it going on.

A Fistful of Sky (Hoffman)

Commenting on this yarn might be pointless. There isn't so much for me to say. The basics,then.

Did I approve of it? Mm. Not really.
Did I enjoy it? Sort of. Hard to say.
What was it about? A late blooming daughter in a family of witches. Ho hum, rum dee dee.

It was generic and had none of that delicious sparkle that some authors can sink into any premise. If I had to pick a saving grace, it would be the excellent descriptions of obesity, food, clothing . . . everything, really. Here is a story without much to say and nowhere to go, but places, objects and people are beautifully drawn and warm to the touch.

Again, no sample because I'm done thinking about it.