Toward a Psychology of Being (Go On: Reading Curriculum)

 

      

     Composed, in a stitched-together manner, in the 1960s by Abraham Maslow (famous for his Hierarchy of Needs) from a collection of his speeches and previously published articles—Toward a Psychology of Being is a valuable examination of how one extraordinarily intelligent clinical psychologist, with a keen awareness of how to differentiate the discrete variations between traits displayed by human minds that other human minds (namely, his own and those of his colleagues who would have attended his lectures/speeches as well as read his published articles) had chosen to label "healthy" (which would include his own and those of his colleagues) compared to those he and they had chosen to label "unhealthy".

  

     While I read these 175 pages, I came to realize what it must have been like to possess an overly-academic worldview  **self-constructed by an ego that had learned to recognize its own accomplishments and knew it was genius-level, while at the same time was now aware there was a higher accomplishment, which was beyond its current capabilities: that of a self which had become actualized and/or fully conscious.**  and THIS TOPIC was what he decided to research, further-study, and then write articles and give speeches about.  It is as if you (dearest reader) decided to interview, and test, and observe, and experiment on, all the humans who have travelled to space, and the moon, and the space-station, and then compile their responses and your conclusions into "scientific findings" which describe what it must be like to be an astronaut.  Without you ever leaving Earth.

 

     It is slightly confounding to read these collection of papers (peppered with the occasional printing error and typographical mistake) and not wish that a keen editor would have fixed the missing or mis-spaced punctuation marks; would have added the 't' in front of the 'he' so that I would not have to lose my train-of-thought (?what person is being described as a 'he' in the middle of this? . . . oh . . . Maslow meant to write 'the thought about' not "he thought about".)  But the overall gestalt of this book is the perfect preface for the next book in the Go On Reading Curriculum.  Read it.

     If, however, you find that you can not; that this book is too complicated for you to read?  It means this is your bridge-too-far, and you will not Go On.  A terrible man (depicting a more-terrible character in a relatively-terrible film) once said, "A man has got to know his limitations."  Every dangerous or risky or complicated endeavor has some form of built-in warning.  Like cartoon characters with their wing raised and a sign reading: MUST BE TALLER THAN THIS TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER in order to prevent children from slipping out of the safety harness at the top of the loop-to-loop, this imperfect book contains much needed information for your imperfect self to become more aware of itself.  It is difficult-but-not-impossible to read, cover-to-cover, while you spend as much time as you need contemplating everything it communicates.   But.  For those who still want to Go On:  read, study, think about, discuss, and read more of everything (philosophy, theology, psychology, biology, physics, etc) and then come back to Maslow when you have spiraled up and out of blue, orange, or even green [although most shades of green, (and even some orange-green's) are already capable of comprehending Maslow enough to Go On].  You did read the first book in the Reading Curriculum, right? 

     As a side-note: Abraham Maslow wrote (in a different book) "If the only tool you have is a hammer, it is tempting to treat everything as if it were a nail".  This is known as the Law of the Instrument.  A few years ago, I wrote the article: Don't Act Like a Nail and Complain About Hammers describing a debilitating affectation, which is worn like underclothing by a few people with whom I was once affiliated, known as Vulnerable/Covert Narcissism (which Maslow would have labelled as an "unhealthy mental affliction").  At the time, I did not attribute the title of that article to Maslow, because I took it way out of his intended context, as well as because other authors had also used it within their own contexts.

 complexly-connected:

Spiral Dynamics

 

Aesthetics (from inside an artist)

 

embedded meaning(s) in Art's guts

 

 

    

Spiral Dynamics (Go On: Reading Curriculum)

 

          Confused by it all?  Want a way to understand why you are confused?  Do you have a desire to learn where and why every human who ever lived (and who will ever live) has done (and will do) what they are doing?  This book is mandatory reading for those who have finished listening to the audio essays, speeches, and guidance from Go On Part 1, before listening to Go On Part 2 (coming soon).

          In my present (May 2022) the Covid19 pandemic is less effective at killing humans than it had been for the last two years; Russia is less effective at murdering Ukrainians than most humans thought it would be (and--conversely--Ukrainians are more effective at defending themselves); the very-much un-united states has now become the fundamentalist theocracy that it has been attempting to become for decades; and I have survived an appendectomy and antibiotic-caused colitis symptoms as I strive to flow the rainbow-spiral.  

Note:  The authors of this book are blind to their own incompetence's academically intelligent (they both decided not to employ qualified editors and are completely clueless as to how to write a book almost everyone might enjoy reading).  However, if you already read this book and found it to be an easy read (and don't understand why I found it to be torture) congratulations on your PhD, professor! 

• Skip the doubly-extensive and poorly constructed introductions and absolutely do not begin reading at the front of the book.  Instead, begin by a scan of the chart on page 300-301.
• While reading the following portions, let your attention flow past any/all sentences which reference the author's penchant for: endlessly listing examples, obscure cultural references, name-dropping, and the author's incessant need to pat themselves on the back or point out how smart that they think they are.  [Think of this as you attempting to speed read.]
  
• The oddly confusing (and sometimes very wrong) cultural references are deeply rooted in the author's rich, old, white, privilege.  These sometimes humorous but never interesting to read pseudo-metaphorical references make this entire book seem like it was written for the audience of a 1996 magazine.
  
• Scan over the Yellow section (pages 274-285).  It is valuable.  The authors actually read and/or talked with people who are Yellow.  They themselves are not, but they want to be.
• Briefly scan over the Turquoise section (pages 286-292).  It is conjecture and hypothetical.  
• Read the Orange, Green, Blue, Red, and Purple sections (between pages 201 and 273).  It is not necessary to read them in any order.  If you are uninterested in some areas, skip it.
• Finish with Chapter 2 (pages 34-38).
• If you find this amount of information sufficient, that is all that is required to continue with the Go On project.
• If you want to read more (because you are a CEO, or a politician who recognizes a way to flow from Blue-Orange and can envision the calm peacefulness of Yellow) reading the rest of the book might help.
  

GO ON research notes (Feb 2022)

 

 

All About You

 

          Above all, do not lie to yourself.  The person who lies to themself (and listens to their own lie) comes to a point that they can not distinguish the truth within them or around them and so loses all respect for themselves and for others.  And—having no respect—they cease to love.

                                        - Fydor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

 

Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know

(chorus)

 

          In 2011 this song, by Gotye, Somebody That I Used To Know, quickly became an earworm grating on earbones.  Walk Off The Earth's cover was less grating because my eyebones were entertained by the unique performance.

          Since that time, I've found myself playing spot-the-narcissist frequently enough that, in 2021, I was awarded the Advanced Narcissist Hunter merit badge (a hand behind a back with two crossed fingers and a lighted gas lamp hanging over the wrist). 

 

          If you, dear reader, are struggling to understand (feigning confusion)—then, bless your black heart—you're the narcissist Dostoevsky and Gotye are describing.

 

 

 

 

 

more:

 

 Don't Act Like a Nail and Complain About Hammers

 

Three Ways to Identify

Feeling is the secret - Neville Goddard

 

 

          Lay down.  Get comfortable.  Play this 40-minute audio book (watching the video is not needed and headphones are not needed).

          If I were teaching an intermediate-level pass-fail course called:  Conscious Awareness: Meditation versus Mindfulness versus Prayer this would be a foundational class.  I would play the audio book in a classroom with everyone laying on a yoga mat (doors locked, lights off, phones put away) and then ask everyone to discuss.  Students would be given a week to submit an essay detailing their perspectives.  Just like many foundational classes, passing this class would be mandatory to enroll in more advanced classes. 

          Intermediate-level because there are some prerequisites.  One needs to already know about consciousness, brain chemistry, physiology, religious philosophy, and meditation.  Also, it is important to understand that the author adds quotes from the christian bible (as do other important philosophers) and why it is extremely valuable information none-the-less.  In fact, it is crucially important to discuss the various biblical quotes in a non-religious context (e.g. the reason Goddard uses the term 'prayer' instead of the more appropriate term: 'meditation').

Book Jacket GO ON (working title)

 

 

Wonderful Comment From Mr Lumpy Dirtball

          Occasionally, I write places other than on snapperhead about films, novels, and the opinions of others, but I need to be very overwhelmed or underwhelmed to do so.  In 2009, I was sufficiently underwhelmed by George Stewart's 1949 speculative fiction Earth Abides to write this comment on Goodreads:

          If I were to teach an upper-level college writing class, I’d use this book as the foundation for my semester.

          Just as secret service agents need real, expertly crafted, counterfeit bills removed from circulation and brought into their classroom to learn how to identify bad paper, every writer needs a counterfeit novel which made it into circulation and received praise.  Through deconstruction of this book, I could teach almost everything writers shouldn’t do.

          Hundreds of places the author could have ‘shown us’ with suspense, but instead ‘tells us’ with weak boring sentences.  For example, this is all we are told about our main character being attacked by a mountain lion:

  ...In the end there was bad luck, because Ish missed his shot and instead of killing a lion merely raked it across the shoulders, and it charged and mauled him before Ezra could get another shot home.  After that he walked with a little limp...

          And this, I believe, is the author’s failed attempt at suspense, which results in confusion (I’ve omitted nothing):

 ...one question, he knew, that they had not yet faced, and now she brought it forward.
“That would be fine!” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, it would.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You mean you don’t like it for me?”
“Yes.  It’s dangerous.  There’d be no one else but me, and I wouldn’t be any use.”
“But you can read—all the books.”
“Books!” he laughed a little as he spoke.  “The Practical Midwife?"...

          The first sentence was probably supposed to read:  …and now he brought it forward…  But even without the typo, this is not only horrible dialogue (in a book desperately short on dialogue) as well as massive misuse of exclamation points (three times on every page minimum) but an example of the authors incessant self-censorship and avoidance of certain words and descriptions.  He avoids reference to human intercourse, birth, death, pain, anger, hatred, bigotry and bloodshed.  In a story detailing a handful of human survivors in 1949 California after a planet-wide plague—avoiding those topics (or glossing over them) becomes a herd of white dinosaurs in the room.

          There are thousands of poorly constructed sentences (like this one, which contains a large word-proximity hiccup):

…He began to temporize, just as he used to do when he said that he had a great deal of work to do and so buried himself in a book instead of going to a dance.

          Factual errors, which could have been avoided with a small amount of research, are prevalent (here are two):

…batteries with the acid not yet in them...they made the experiment of pouring the acid into a battery…put it into the station-wagon. It worked perfectly… (I guess in 1949, putting battery acid in the battery charged it too!)

…The clock was run, he knew, by electrical impulses which were ordinarily timed at sixty to the minute.  Now they must be coming less often… (AC power is 60 pulses per second).

          This book contains a main character and dozens of secondary characters we never grow to care about.  On almost every page a situation unfolds which could be easily re-written to involve the reader in the action, infuse the character(s) with depth and emotion(s), or add suspense to the plot.  Instead, the story centers around an emotionally dead man who preaches to a bland cast of less-than-ordinary idiots about their failure to reach for a fraction of their potential, while he wallows in an uncomfortable rut and never lifts a finger to attain any of his own potential.

          Aspiring writers and educators should use this counterfeit paper, available for less than the price of a cup of coffee at used bookstores, as a valuable learning/teaching tool.   In a time when there are so many books filled with examples of great writing—it's nice to have something chock-full of such a concentrated and vast range of terrible, boring, writing to weight down the other end of the scale.

          In the last decade, there have been dozens of comments on this review; some have corrected my mistakes (or attempted to), others range from a simple 'I agree' to relatively elaborate reasons why I should not have my opinion.  This week, a person who rants under the screen name Lumpy Dirtball added an extremely unique opinion: 

Lumpy posted a new comment on Veach's review of Earth Abides

 

Telling vs Showing: It's a stylistic pretense. Both styles can and do work to make great books. I get that you're dogmatically devoted to the modern party line, but honestly, you talk about it like you're making objective, scientific measurements, and it makes you sound ridiculous. It makes you sound mindless, as you're clearly just using popular, current opinion to flog peopl3 with - not because you've actually thought about it, or care, but just because it makes you feel witty and smart, despite being neither.

Your criticisms of technology are flat wrong, but your giant, brittle ego would never permit a simple admission. Even when you kinda-sorta acknowledged your mistake, you had to couch it in another insult at the person who corrected you. Talk about petty. That's just embarrassing. But I don't think you have the requisite neurological or cognitive "maturity" to experience that emotion. You're not really a developed human.

Oh. You also used "mmmkay" in a sentence to taunt a grown up. That'sca cringe that gave me cramps. What is actually wrong with you?

The thrust of your criticism is nothing but a dogmatic assault on a style of writing that bores you, and the cool kids don't like. So you took the lazy opportunity to bash the old guy in front of the hip young revolutionaries, as if you ever have a hope of passing yourself off as an adult human.

Your taste in books is trashy. The Road? Awful book. Truly awful. I suspect older, longer, 'historical' novels tax your patience. You clearly are not a neurologically 'complete' animal, so it's just a logical guess. All kinds of telling over showing in older books.

It nakes mectaste puke to even say "show, don't tell" as if it really meant anything more than a marketing strategy for getting people with child like brains to buy books.

And your stylistic crticisms... besides your own silly writing style - made to seem witty where wit is absent - you again show this highly neurotic rule-governed streak that amounts to nothing. Who would ever ask you to teach a writing class? You're a pop-culture, dogmatist with a personality disorder and no talent. You're generally ignorant, you imagine you know about topics you're utterly ignorant of, you don't know why you think what you preach, and I guarantee you, in whatever alternate universe that wants you as a teacher, the students will hate your guts, they'll learn nothing but how deranged you are, and you won't last a year. You bring nothing to the table but a chaotic jumble of unconsidered beliefs, hostile opinions, and obviously unmedicated mental illness. You'd fail that job (that nobody would ever give you) with terrible force. Into the ground and out the other side.

You didn't like a book. No biggie. You try to turn your dislike into a theatrical display of witty scorn? And pretend to have useful criticisms? Like you're a great writer? Good grief. I guess this is a safe place for you to exercise the hateful idiot within y ones ou. Lots of people use reviews to pretend they're that person. You're not. And even the smart ones are idiots.

          If I were to coach a high-school debate team, I’d use this comment as fodder for a head-to-head practice debate.

          Future trial lawyers, politicians, and philosophers need interestingly convincing topics, taken from real life examples of point/counter-point, brought into their practice debate-room to learn how to identify fallacies in logical argument.  Through deconstruction of Lumpy's comment about my comment, I could teach a debate team something they shouldn’t do.

          (This, dear reader, is what is referred to as a 'call-back' as well as 'bookends,' which I teach in an alternate universe for one whole semester.)

          I posted this re-re-reply to Mr Dirtball on Goodreads:

          Wonderful example, Lumpy.

          Thank you for so clearly showing you don't abide with any of my opinions, comment-replies, or even my taste in reading.  Perfect angry outrage.  I especially liked your slight typo usage (...That'sca cringe... and ...It nakes mectaste puke... as well as ...within y ones ou...) because it shows your emotional-crazy and helps add to the reader's immersion in your adrenaline as well as really paints the picture of you pounding keys followed by hurriedly sending without proofreading.

          If you'd written using George Stewart style, you might've told it in this manner:

          ...your review was neurotically off the mark!  I know this is so, because your taste in books is dogmatic and instead of providing any useful criticisms you merely make me so very incredibly, lividly, ups3t that my finger just hit the wrong key and my scorn causes me to not even it gointo edit.  Your stylistic criticism is nothing but witty scorn from a hateful idiot and you need to know it as soon as possible.  You aren't a good writer so don't follow through with your hypothetical college course, you'd fail.  Idiot!...

other comment-replies to emails and other internet commenters:
Modern Design Incorporated - when in need of irony and jewelry

Occasionally the inbox contains sufficient fodder

Today is Someday: Book 7 - The World of Winnie-the-Pooh

          This book shares something in common with two others, which I'd also previously put off until today (all found on many must-not-die-before-reading lists).  I postponed reading A Clockwork Orange and The Princess Bride because I'd already watched the films. The Disney features from the 1960s with Winnie the Pooh (sans-hyphens) and his friends were my excuse for not reading the stories by A.A. Milne. 

          No, they are not filled with insights and tender life lessons with children in mind all-the-while tempered with humor and story-quality guaranteeing that adults reading these stories aloud will also enjoy them, they are all just plain boring.

          If I had a precocious four year old who was capable of reading slightly above her age-level, I'd give her this book and—after she threw it so hard it dented the plaster of her bedroom wall—I'd ask her to explain why she despised it so much.

          And her words would most likely include:  unhappyfully filled-to-muchly with simple, dullish, sadness and...but...mostly, there never seems to be a beginning middle or end to the stories.  She would then ask why I thought she would enjoy it and I'd have to apologize to her for assuming that any child born during the Obama administration would have even the slightest thing in common with someone who was born when Calvin Coolidge was president.

          She would then ask how ninety years could sour these stories and I would have to explain that (like my first Today is Someday book, Watership Down) the stores were originally just told by the author—who in this case was a British man born in 1882—to his son.  They were made up 'on the fly' as it were, with no polish and not a smattering of talent.  Just a verbal slap-dash before we hie the young'un off ta bed...turned into similar words on a page.  [I'm not saying Milne didn't know how to write, what I am saying is he didn't know how to tell a story.] 

          Disney made us care for the characters.  Disney painted our emotions.  Disney polished and made a beginning, middle, and end.  Mostly, I hate Disney.  Except when I don't.    

Today is Someday: Book 6 - The Princess Bride

          This book is only like A Clockwork Orange (the second in this series of books I'd been putting off indefinitely until today) because I also postponed reading The Princess Bride because I'd already seen the movie. 

          It's a pretty reliable rule of thumb that if a novel spawns a really good film, said book must be equally as good.  No so, I have now learned; not so at all.

          William Goldman wrote this overstuffed and bloated story within a story within a story (yes, that's right three layers...and I may have miss-counted, it could be four layers, I think that is more accurate - four.  Yup.  Four.  Four or five.)

          Goldman's running joke is he abridged an obtuse novel originally read to him as a child by his father and after he fawns over his own celebrity for a while he relates that story with constant interruption by both himself and by the (fictitious) author of the (fictitious) original.  And in this, the 25th Anniversary Edition, he has added another layer by beginning with a new introduction which continues the gag and ends with a new epilogue which continues the gag.  Dead horse kicked = too many times.

          The best thing of all was when Rob Reiner hired Goldman to write the screenplay.  He does a wonderful job of abridging his abridgement.  All the good parts are in the film, all the unfunny parts got left in his book, which shouldn't be on any best-of-the-best, bucket list, desert island, top 100, must read book list.   The film - yes - it's fantastic.  This book?  No.

          I hope Goldman is dead before the 35th Anniversary Edition because it will just have another layer of unfunny self-congratulatory bullshit wrapped around it.

Today is Someday: Book 5 — The Stranger

          How does an unimportant someone like me, like anyone, describe or attempt to criticize a work of art which won the highest award by one of—if not the—most famous critic?

          The same way one evaluates anything:  with honesty.

          This parable is about the emotionless everyman who moves through his everydays without really pondering the brevity, meaning, reasons, or value of the existence he's found himself inhabiting.

          The tale begins slow, choppy, and dry (the only thing keeping the reader turning pages is the knowledge that there aren't all that many to turn and the 1957 Nobel Prize in Literature on the cover sparking a strong interest in learning how and why).

          Halfway through the book, we understand the sad and simple motivations of the main character as we recognize that the supporting cast and bit-players are performing their roles in much the same way our neighbors and coworkers are performing theirs (albeit—or maybe because—there aren't any whom we empathize with...not even the mangy dog or abuse victim...everyone just deserves).

          And, as the last pages approach, we learn what makes this story great.

          You and I and everyone who has, is, or will ever breathe oxygen are The Stranger(s) and in this tale Camus has rather succinctly answered the most important question that has, is, or will ever be asked:

          What's the meaning of life.

Today is Someday: Book 3 - Franny and Zooey

          This.  Goddamn it.  THIS was what I was hoping for.

          There seems to be a growing and yet infinite amount of "Best Book" lists (one maybe might want to use the term innumerable).  An aggregate collection of those best-of-the-bests now contains hundreds of books—thousands when they are spread-grouped by genre/decade/language.  J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey is on almost all of them and near the top of many.

          When I walk into my favorite bookstore on the planet I head straight for the Gold Room where I begin browsing the Fantasy/Science Fiction shelves and then the Action/Suspense/Thriller sections before I cross the isle to take a gander at the Mysteries; if I'ven't (is a double contraction too many?) found enough to sate my brain for the coming weeks, I try the coffee shop and scan the graphic novels before walking down a few steps to the Blue Room in order to peruse the Small Press/Literature areas.  Still not carrying enough?  Green Room for New Release/Non-Fiction and then Sale Books.

          The first reason I've avoided reading F&Z for so long is because it was in the Red Room (World Religion) or the Blue Room (Classic Literature).  Also, I have a clear economic aversion against small books because I want my entertainment money to stretch and F&Z is only a four-hour book at best.

          I've avoided reading F&Z for so long because when I was but twenty-one years old Mark Chapman became, overnight and forevermore, Mark David Chapman (one maybe might want to use the term with a bullet...but should immediately suppress that urge).  Chapman caused me to read my first J.D. Salinger: Catcher in the Rye.  At the time and in hindsight, I recognize my own scorn at my least common denominator pandering and (for more than the obvious reason) I wish I could, instead, say that I learned the metaphor of Holden Caulfield's dream after a smoky-eyed Yugoslavian college girlfriend recommended it.  The truth is rarely so.  But.  I didn't identify with Caulfield, or his surroundings, or life, or outlook.  Even a little bit.  And I was a full-time art college student at the time.

          Franny and Zooey is non-abstract, photo-realistic, character based, and the most tightly descriptive successful balancing...nay juggling act I have ever read.  With the complete human condition rendered perfectly in the center, unchallengeable objective knowledge solidly detailed on one end of the fulcrum, and spiritual belief critically explained on the other.  It gets my highest recommendation.  I'm really happy today was someday.

Today is Someday:  Book 2 - A Clockwork Orange

Today is Someday:  Book 1 - Watership Down

 

Today is Someday - Book 2 A Clockwork Orange

          I'm pleased with the 50th anniversary edition of Anthony Burgess's A Clockwork Orange (2012, Nolton & Co) not only because it includes the original last chapter which has been omitted from earlier US editions, but—more importantly—because it contains the 17-page nonfiction article, The Clockwork Condition, written after the Kubrick film catapulted Burgess onto the international stage in 1973.

          Burgess's nadsat 'teen-language' caused me to quit reading this book when I, myself, first attempted it as a teenager and, later, after I saw the film, I chose not to re-attempt reading it.

          I'm glad I (finally) chose to read it.  Reading nadsat seemed to speed my reading rather than slow it.  It entered my brain in this manner:

          My nouns and I were verbing at the adjective bar when an adjective noun, who'd previously been sitting with a group of rather odd adjective nouns across the bar from us, stood, and began to sing in the most adverbially adjective way imaginable.  Her voice sounded like it came from the adjective noun.  My friend Dim made a adjectively-noun noise with his noun, which displeased me in an extreme way.

          Rather quickly I began to intuit (without a glossary) that what I was reading was:

          My friends and I were getting stoned at the local bar when a beautiful woman, who'd previously been sitting with a group of rather odd older men across the bar from us, stood, and began to sing in the most amagingly wonderful way imaginable.  Her voice sounded like it came from the topmost heavens.  My friend Dim made a rude-raspberry noise with his lips, which displeased me in an extreme way.

          While the book's story adheres to the film's plotline reasonably close, there are a few important points where the film failed and those failures affect the intent of the author and deserve comment:

          1 - Burgess's teenage gangs are all between the ages of thirteen and fifteen.  Burgess's main character is in High School and the two girls he picks up at the music store are 11-year old tweens.  Kubrick's gangs are all young adults and so are the women he has sex with.

          2 - Burgess's main character spends several years in prison, but is still only about 17-years old when he's released from prison.  Kubrick's character seems to be incarcerated a very short time and when he is released we wonder why a 24-year old is bitching at his parents for renting out his room.

I could pee on this (and other poems by cats)

I read in 2012

Today is Someday: Book 1 - Watership Down

          This is the first book in my Today is Someday series.  I'd hoped to like this more than I did and I hope the next should-already-have-read-classic is better.  A few more like this one and my list will quickly relapse back into I'm Fine With Tomorrow Being Someday.

          I first failed to read Watership Down in High School (at that time it had been around for only a few years and was assigned reading).  I could only get through a few chapters back then and wrote a paper from the cliff notes...as I occasionally did when I was fifteen.

          Now, I can truthfully say I've read it.  I've lied to myself and others for almost forty years.

          The plot was interesting.  The suspense was deftly handled.  The characters are wonderfully solid.  But...the author was not able to always keep me in the story (as I believe is the job of good authors).

          Violations of proper grammar abound.  Odd, clunky, and irritating changes in tone and point of view continually throw the reader off the page.  First person becomes third person singular switches to third person dual which slides into omniscient and then quickly shifts to detached.  It feels like two dozen short stories instead of a 24-chapter book (which made more sense to me after I read the introduction, which I did after reading the book because whenever a forty year old book contains a 'new introduction' it most-probably contains spoilers).

          Then there is this type of constant foolishness:

          "I need to clearly explain my dissatisfaction," Veach thought. "But I wonder what would be a good way to do that?"
          "There are some problems which could easily have been fixed with a good editor," Veach said. "Because.  Of all the many ways to smoothly mix a character's thoughts and dialogue this, dear reader, is definitely not one of them."

WOOL by Hugh Howey - review (☆☆☆☆)

          This is a first for me:  a 540 page, self-published SF book that's can't-put-it-down good.  I plan to immediately hunt for more Hugh Howey books.

          To accurately review this book I need to explain why it was not 5-star 'amazing' and only 4-star 'really liked it'.  Simply put: for a novel to get my highest rating it needs to stir emotions and my intelligence.   The first current-day author who comes to mind (who always does both) is Patrick Rothfuss.

          PROS:  The milieu in WOOL is expertly described and imaginatively revealed.  Every character is rendered with finesse; we quickly care about these characters.  The story unfolds at the right speed...the reader figures out what will come next just a bit before the characters do.   The grammar is flawless.  The plot exposition is perfect with a great beginning, an informative middle, and an explosive third act. 

          CONS:   Even with a large variety of death on display, WOOL isn't gory, gritty, or dark and it is barbie-and-ken asexual.   The target audience is pre-teens and teens; adults will like this book as much as they liked Harry Potter, but they'll quickly recognize that—other than the thrill of suspense—it doesn't make you laugh or cry or shudder or...you get the gist.  Also, at no point did I learn a new way of thinking about an old idea, let alone anything novel.  In fact, there's a massive flaw in the physics around page 400.  If the author did any research on scuba diving he could have fixed it with a few added sentences (and, thus, proof that editors and first-draft readers are valuable).

          KIND OF A SPOILER:  Note to Mr Howey - Air, trapped in a flexible container under water, is compressed by the weight of the water.  As that container rises to the surface the air expands.  Under hundreds of feet of water the air will expand exponentially when surfacing.  (Juliette's suit would have exploded as she surfaced quickly and if she weren't continually exhaling her lungs would have exploded too).

          For me, the Pros massively outweigh the Cons.  This would make a great holiday gift for any young fan of Speculative Fiction (and especially those who like post-apocalyptic SF).

Among Others by Jo Walton (☆☆☆+)

          I enjoyed this book about a child of the 1970's who loves to read SF and chronicles in her diary all she does and says for about a year, which includes all the books she reads (the novel contains hundreds of book titles).  Anyone who has read any SF in the last four decades will probably agree with most of the titles which the main character author loves/dislikes, and may even expand their 'find and read' list.

          The biggest reason this book won the 2012 Nebula and Hugo awards was because it was constructed to speak directly to the judges (SF and Fantasy writers and avid fan-readers) all of whom connect with the main character because she "thinks like they did/do" when it comes to books in general and, specifically, Speculative Fiction.

          Among Others is not an epic tale; it's a nice story.  It's not amazingly-wonderfully crafted; but it has no flaws.  It does not grasp the pit of your stomach and spin it with gusto...or even without gusto; while it does encourage the reader to suspend his belief and enjoy the ride.   It—most importantly—is not a I-can't-put-it-down book.  What it has is an interesting spin on the magic-is-real plot line.

          It gets my 3-star-forgettable rating for trying so miserably hard to depict late-70's England/Wales that it loses every bit of suspense and tension when every action a character might take, or sentence a character might utter, was run through a would-that-really-happen filter before it hit the page.  I'm willing to bump it to 3-star-plus because it lists titles which I'll put on my 'to read' list.

          It didn't deserve the Nebula.  Or the Hugo.

          Patrick Rothfuss's The Wise Man's Fear deserved that honor (but wasn't nominated).  I suspect there are huge machinations going on behind the SFWA and WSFS scenes that continually prevent the best of the best from ever being nominated.  For all I know, Rothfuss didn't even want to be nominated.

          It is probably just like presidential nominations.  Was John Kerry the best Democrat of all the Democrats who could have beat G.W. Bush in 2004?   Is Mitt Romney really the best Republican of all the Republicans to challenge Obama this year?  Obviously there's more going on behind the curtain than we know about.

3+/- rating explained 
Rothfuss Review

Vachss Can No Longer Carry The Weight

          Unfortunately, the quality of The Weight by Andrew Vachss is slightly lower than his previous (which was slightly lower than its previous, et cetera).  Mister Vachss has been slip-sliding down for several years and this last one of his is a solid ☆☆ (not recommended, seriously flawed, and difficult to read).  For the last few years Vachss' books have been wavering between the forgettable ☆☆☆'s and forgettable-with-minor-flaws (☆☆☆ -'s). 

          Having read every Vachss book, beginning in the late 1980's, I believe he lost his drive and anger and clarity of voice about the time he killed Pansy (Dead and Gone, 2000).  He's tried for the last dozen years to get it back the way many authors do...with new characters, new settings and even new genres...none of those books are in the same league or contain the grit, clarity, or surprising hooks as well as the dark, gut-wrenching emotions he was able to imbibe into those early Burke revenge-thrillers of his.  The reason is, probably, what it was/is for many artists.  He changed.

          Success de-fangs many creative people (which I like to think of as the Morissette Principle) and so Andy the artist becomes Andrew the author becomes Mister Vachss the businessman.  He is now only writing to pay for the toys he bought with the proceeds of his previous sweat and hard-won creativity.  He is no longer devoting months of his time to the keyboard on re-writes because he no longer has a message he needs to get out.  Or a story to tell.  Or an impatient ghost uncomfortably residing in his spine.  Add to that...he has a very lazy, publisher-owned editor who never, never, never will send his story back for re-tooling because that would slow down the money train.

          It's a sad thing to see, when an author becomes ensconced in his tower of success where he slowly loses readers because he has stopped struggling to create a quality product and has resorted to writing from a template, writing for a paycheck, and writing poor-quality pap.

          This will be my last Vachss.  I may pick up a future book of his at a lending library just to see if he was able to Koontz his way out of this downward spiral (Dean Koontz pulled out of a quality-dive-and-impending-crash in the late 1990's with his Moonlight Bay and Odd Thomas Series and now writes so very much better than he ever did in the preceding two decades).  The odds are that Mister Vachss is satisfied with his past successes, is not listening to critics, and is very happy to be Mister Vachss the businessman...isn't it ironic?

Anticipated reads - 2012

I read in 2011:

          The dearth (down almost 50% from last year) is not just because of less free time or that many of the tomes I did read were mega-massive, but mostly because my favored authors didn't publish this year.