In Consent, author Jill Ciment reflects on her relationship with her late husband. They got together when she was 17 and he was 47, and stayed together until he passed away in his 90’s.
At the core of the book are the questions:
Does a story’s ending excuse its beginning?
[…]
Can a love that starts with such an asymmetrical balance of power ever right itself?
I don’t think it’s a conflict that can be resolved: her and her husband’s long-lasting love was genuine, but he was her teacher and surrogate father figure when they met, which is indisputably icky. Through her writing, she does a good job of expressing her doubts, while also showing that she is ultimately at peace with the relationship.
My favourite parts of the book involve her revisiting her previous memoir, Half a Life, which she published in the midst of their marriage. In that book, she now sees a sort of self-censorship, where she glossed over the uncomfortable truths of how they first met, and made it seem like she had made all of the advances. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like this before, a double-layered memoir, showing in such a literal way how our recollections of the past change over time.
See also: the film May December, which covers some of same themes.
I much preferred this to the previous book, especially the second half, called “The Mule.” In the original Foundation novel, there’s a feeling of inevitability, which is kind of the point. The fledgling Foundation faces crises, i.e. threats from other planetary civilations, but it always turns out that Hari Seldon predicted what was going to happen. When the crises are resolved, always in the Foundation’s favour, it’s revealed that it was the only way that events could have unfolded.
Foundation and Empire turns the idea on its head by introducing a character called “The Mule,” who conquers planets at an alarming rate, and threatens to take over the Foundation. Without spoiling too much, I’ll just say that the Mule is unique, and since Seldon’s predictions only work on broad social events, the Mule throws the preordained plan into chaos.
In contrast to the “everything always works out” ethos of the previous novel, the Mule creates real tension and suspense. We experience the story through characters who don’t know what’s going to happen next… which is basically like most stories we read, but feels refreshing in this world of predestination.
This novel came to my attention during the Booker Prize shortlist period. On paper, it’s right up my alley—a literary novel with a space travel/sci-fi theme—and so, when it won the award, I became quite eager to get my hands on it.
The novel puts us on board the International Space Station, along with its crew of six astronauts, as they orbit the Earth. It covers a 24-hour period, during which they go around the world 16 times. There’s no plot really, other than a growing typhoon over Asia, and the fact that another crew is launching a mission to the moon on that same day.
The prose is well-written, with many poetic turns of phrase and lyrical passages. It does a good job of evoking the hardships that the astronauts go through: their sense of time is all out of whack because they experience 16 sunrises and sunsets every “day,” and they’re fighting to keep their bodies healthy in an envirnoment that humans are not built for.
After six months in space they will, in technical terms, have aged 0.007 seconds less than someone on earth. But in other respects they’ll have aged five or ten years more, and this is only in the ways they currently understand. They know that the vision can weaken and the bones deteriorate. Even with so much exercise still the muscles will atrophy. The blood will clot and the brain shift in its fluid. The spine lengthens, the T cells struggle to reproduce, kidney stones form. While they’re here food tastes of little. Their sinuses are murder.
But ultimately, I was disappointed with my reading experience. I found it frustrating because there was little narrative drive for me.
I’m really hesitant to say it, but I didn’t really enjoy this one… of course it’s revered as a classic and I don’t doubt that it deserves it, but could it be that its stature is due to the strength of the series that it started, rather than its own merit?
A big part of the problem for me is the way that the story is told mainly through dialogue. Almost every scene involves a few people in a room, talking about grand abstract political or sociological ideas. There’s very little shown of how the various crises play out on the ground.
What does work are the ideas themselves: it is a fascinating bird’s-eye view of how a future civilization would develop over time. At first, the Foundation is set up to create a compendium of knowledge called the Encyclopedia Galactica, but it turns out this goal is simply the means to another end: namely, to give a reason for a small colony of scientifically-minded people to grow and thrive. Inevitably, they run up against the forces of surrounding planets, and they have to use unconventional (i.e. non-military) methods to continue as a society, including the creation of a religion based on the seeming magic of atomic power; and later, the use of economic trade to control their adversaries. In both cases, it’s their superior technology that allows them to win; the story’s conceit is that because the Foundation started as an academic endeavour, it allowed them to have the intellectual resources to develop said technology.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I wrote out that last paragraph that the chain of cause and effect actually clicked for me. During my time reading it, I found it hard to follow because it’s told at such a distance, with characters that are more mouthpieces than people. The two prequel novels that I’ve already read managed to balance the sociological concepts with adventure and character, so I think that Asimov’s skill as a storyteller improved as his career went on.
Set in a remote snowbound Polish village, this novel was a fitting read for the type of winter we’re having this year. The protagonist and narrator, Mrs. Duszejko, lives mostly in isolation. Most of the residents only spend their summers there, and she’s one of a handful of people who brave the cold over the winter.
The plot kicks off with her and her neighbour discovering the dead body of another neighbour, who had choked on a bone while eating. Soon, other villagers are found dead in increasingly bizarre circumstances. The book is sold as a crime/mystery novel, but it didn’t feel like that to me. Instead, the focus is on Mrs. Duszejko’s inner life.
I started last year with an optimistic non-fiction read, and coincidentally, I recently finished another book with a similar tone, in Hannah Ritchie’s Not the End of the World. It feels right to start the year in a hopeful mood, so maybe this will become a quasi-New Year’s Resolution for me going forward.
Ritchie’s book uses a data-driven approach to examine the threats of climate change. She’s the lead researcher for the website Our World in Data, and as summarized by one of the articles published there, the book asks us to hold three truths at the same time: “The world is much better; the world is still awful; the world can do much better.” It’s easy to get gloomy and focus on the latter two parts of that statement, but this book tries to shine a light on the first, and I appreciated the boost of optimism that it gave me.
Part of Ritchie’s goal is to “sort” the issues by the impact that they have, in a quantitative way. Environmentally conscious people like myself tend to worry about many different things, and feel guilty about every action that may harm the planet. But if you look at the data, some things matter more than others.
For example, palm oil and plastic packaging get a bad rap, but their impact is small, and the alternatives may actually be more harmful. (Other oil crops require more land to grow; and not packaging food would lead to more waste.) Conversely, the most impactful actions include: reducing beef and dairy consumption, driving an electric car (or driving less altogether), and of course, transitioning off the burning of fossil fuels for energy.
Ritchie sums up her ideas in a couple of videos online. Definitely bookmark-worthy, and if I’m ever in a hopeless mood, she will serve as a reminder that there is positive change happening, and a path forward.
I spent a lot of time in museums when I visited London in the fall of last year. The British Museum is a gigantic repository of artifacts, which seems to cover all of human history from all over the world. It was truly overwhelming and awe-inspiring, and I came away feeling ignorant. Our world has so many stories to tell and even if I really tried, I could only hope to learn a small fraction of them.1
During the same trip, I stumbled across a copy of Andrew Marr’s A History of the World in a used bookstore. Since I was feeling the urge to improve my historical education, I picked it up and started reading as soon as I came home.
It’s quite an ambitious work, to attempt to summarize world history in one book. It’s impossible, of course, but what is here is successful, I think. It reads like a series of articles, around the length that can be tackled in one sitting, each focussing on a specific event. Every once in a while, there’ll be a few pages where Marr attempts to synthesize and draw comparisons between the stories, for example, how both the Vikings and the Mongols shaped Europe via conquest. It’s all pretty readable, but since it has to cover so much ground, it does inevitably have to refer to some names that the reader is assumed to already know. A lot of times, I didn’t get the references, so had to keep Wikipedia handy.
What I did for my movie-watching history in the previous post, I’ve done for my book reviews in this one. This habit started on Goodreads, but I grew dissatisfied with the UI/UX design on that site, and so moved over to The Storygraph.
With this, I think I can say that everything that I’ve ever written on the Internet (apart from social media, which, who cares?) now lives on this website, which I have full control over.
One thing I would like to explore in the future is going in the other direction. I.e. when I write something and post it on this website, I should also share it on Letterboxd or Storygraph, or whatever platforms spring up in the future. There’s a name for this approach: POSSE, which stands for “Publish on Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere.” It could be as simple as copy and pasting, but as a software developer, I can’t help but try to find a way to automate it.
In case you couldn’t tell, I enjoy reading a lot. I also like to record my experiences, for example, by tracking the books I read on The Storygraph, and tracking the movies I watch on Letterboxd.
There’s an app called Readwise which is great for readers like myself. In the app, you can point your phone’s camera at the text on a page, and it will use OCR to save it as a quote. The app also allows you to review the quotes that you’ve saved in the past. It’s fun to revisit the favourite bits from books that I’ve read. The Readwise app implemented well, and I found it useful enough to pay for a subscription.
Having said that, I’m a firm believer in owning one’s data, so I decided to try to create my own solution. Introducing… “Quoteshelf”! This new section of the website contains all of the quotes that I’ve exported from Readwise. On the main page, I can swipe through a random selection of quotes, and I can browse the author index to find specific books.
A fun page-turner about a woman who visits “The Centre,” a place where people can go to learn new languages. Amazingly, you can go from complete ignorance to full fluency in only 10 days. All it takes is to cut yourself off from the outside world, sit in a cubicle with headphones on, and listen to a recording of someone speaking in your target language all day. There’s a dark mystery surrounding how the process actually works, and the novel gets a lot of mileage from doling out little pieces of the puzzle over time.
The protagonist is a Pakistani immigrant to England, and at one point, she visits her family back home; also, she befriends the manager of the Centre, and together, they go to India, where the founders of the Centre reside. These travels allow the novel to touch on the immigrant experience, as well as the fraught history of India and Pakistan, and how those two nations relate to each other.
Unfortunately, these digressions, while interesting, felt a bit disconnected to me. I enjoyed the book mainly because I wanted to find out what the twist was, and the relationships between the characters, and the accompanying cultural and society commentary, seemed engineered to allow the plot to reveal itself, and therefore not entirely believable.
