Tag Archives: reading

Staying connected to reality via literature

Decorative image of a painting by Sarah EvansFor most of this year, I have not been a frequent visitor to bookshops so I am not suffering from tsundoku [see ‘Tsundoku’ on May 24th, 2017].  Instead, I have been unable to resist borrowing books from people when visiting them for weekends [see ‘Fictional planetary emergencies’ on June 4th, 2025].  This has allowed me to enjoy Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson, Fen by Daisy Johnson, and Eight Months on Ghazzah Street by Hilary Mantel.  The last one describes the experiences of the narrator living in a Middle Eastern country while her husband works as civil engineer on a lucrative employment contract.  It is a thriller but the cultural differences between life in a Middle Eastern kingdom and the West for a professional woman are shocking and perhaps should be a ‘must-read’ for anyone tempted by lucrative job offers in the Middle East.  A month or so later, I borrowed from the same bookshelf Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits by Laila Lalami and The Optician of Lampedusa by Emma Jane Kirby.  ‘Hope’ describes a boat journey across the Straits of Gibraltar from Morocco to Spain by migrants and the back stories of the migrants that induced them to take the extraordinary risks of paying a people trafficker for the crossing in an overcrowded small boat.  The ‘Optician’ is a first person account of someone who, when cruising in their boat with a group of friends, rescued dozens of migrants from the Mediterranean Sea after their boat sank.  However, the rescue was too late for hundreds of men, women and children.  The book deals with the grief of the rescuers and their shock at the response of the Italian authorities.  In a world in which many people are becoming increasingly tribal and insular, within their own bubble [see ‘You’re all weird!’ on February 8th, 2017], it is crucial that WEIRD (Western, Educated, Industrialised, Rich, Democratic) people stay connected with the realities created by our addiction to fossil fuels and the deep inequalities of wealth – literature can help us connect, especially literature based on real-life experience.

References:

Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water, Penguin Books, 2022.

Daisy Johnson, Fen, Penguin Books, 2017.

Emma Jane Kirby,  The Optician of Lampedusa, 2017.

Hilary Mantel, Eight Months on Ghazzah Street, Harper Collins Publishers, 2004.

Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, Penguin Books, 2025.

Laila Lalami, Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits, Algonquin Books, New York.

Image: Painting by Sarah Evans owned by the author.

Fictional Planetary Emergencies

Decorative photograph of a wind-shaped tree on a hillside in fogA little while ago, when looking for something to read when visiting someone’s house, I picked up ‘The Complete Short Stories: volume 2’ of JG Ballard and started reading from the last story in the collection, ‘Report from an Obscure Planet’.  I was surprised to discover its similarity to a fictional piece I posted on this blog last year, see ‘Where has the blue planet gone?’ on July 3rd 2024.  Then I was shocked to realize that some readers of my blog might have thought I had plagiarised Ballard’s short story, whereas I was completely unaware of it when I wrote the post.  In Ballard’s story, a rescue mission has just landed on a remote planet from which frantic emergency signals had been received; however, their aerial reconnaissance of hundreds of cities spread across the planet found no inhabitants.  They accidentally activate the planet’s extensive, and apparently undamaged, computer networks when broadcasting a signal of greeting and friendship.  The networks react with ‘a sudden show of alarm, as if well used to mistrusting these declarations of good intent’.  The visitors’ research reveals that war was the most popular sport of the inhabitants, with nations maintaining huge arsenals.  They conclude that the computer networks sent out the emergency signals in an attempt to save themselves from a danger that was about to overwhelm their planet.  In my version, the rescue mission finds a planet transformed by a climate change and mass extinct induced by an asteroid strike or the activities of the inhabitants.  Ballard wrote his story in 1992, so more than thirty years before me, and perhaps twenty years after the first data centre had been built by IBM.  The first convincing evidence of the warming effect of carbon dioxide was found in the 1960s and scientists started ringing the alarm bells in the late 1980s and early 1990s, for instance at the 1988 Toronto Conference on the Changing Atmosphere – so perhaps too early to feature in Ballard’s story.  Of course, I could also have written about artificial intelligence being the only sign of life found on the planet but that really would have looked like wholesale plagiarism!

Reference:

JG Ballard, ‘The Complete Short Stories: volume 2’, Harper Perennial, London, 2006.

Its all in the mind

Decorative image of a flowerWe all exist in our own minds where we construct a world based on our proprioceptive and mental experiences.  I have written previously about the accumulation of experiences over time leading to the building of our consciousness [see ‘Is there a real ‘you’ or ‘I’?’ on March 6th 2019].  In Jonathan Coe’s recent novel, ‘The Proof of Innocence’ during a tiff between a young couple on a train travelling along the south coast of France, the girl, who is watching an episode of the TV show ‘Friends’ on her phone, says to the boy, who is admiring the view and admonishing her for not doing the same, ‘You don’t know what’s going on in my head. Because you are not there.’  Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe took advantage of the inaccessibility to others of our minds to create a parallel world of her own in order to free herself from constraints and conditions of imprisonment in Iran.  She has described feeling liberated when she realised that no one could take the parallel world away from her.  She chose not allow others access to her parallel world; however, we can choose to give some level of access through communicating with others.  I am confident that my wife has a pretty good idea of what is going on in my head, or least a much better idea than that of the young couple in Jonathan Coe’s novel, because we have been communicating with each other for about forty years.  If you are a regular reader of this blog then you have been on a journey which will have provided glimpses of my mind.  Reading allows us to learn about humanity through looking into the inner lives of others [see ‘Reading offline’ on March 19th 2014] who are prepared share, probably in the spirit of reciprocal altruism.  There is some risk involved in sharing because the closedness of your inner life appears to be essential to its role as a survival tool; however, understanding others also helps to navigate and thrive in society, which implies that sharing also has an important role.

Sources:

Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, The feeling of freedom, FT Weekend, 7th & 8th December 2024..

Jonathan Coe, The proof of my innocence, Penguin, 2024.

Meaningless on holiday

Decorative photograph of ruins of Cornish tin mineI spent a substantial proportion of last month enjoying a summer holiday in Cornwall walking sections of the South-west Coast Path (see ‘The Salt Path’ on August 14th, 2019), sampling local beers and reading books.  The books were mainly fiction.  So it should be no surprise that a recurring theme in the books was relationships because no one exists independent of their relationships with others.  This was very apparent in the first two books I read in Cornwall: ‘River East River West’ by Aube Rey Lescure about the interface of modern Chinese culture with American colonialism and exceptionalism in the context of parenthood and teenagers growing up; and in ‘The Crooked Plow’’’ by Itamar Vieira Junior, a horrific, heart-warming and, for me educational, family saga in the face of brutal exploitation of former slave communities in Brazil.  However, as I read deeper into the pile of holiday reading, a theme of meaninglessness started to emerge.  A hint appeared in ‘Scaffolding’ by Lauren Elkin when one character says, ‘I have always taken great comfort in the chaos of the universe, that nothing is meant to be and History means nothing but what we decide on its behalf.’  It started to crystallize, at least in my mind, when I read ‘How Life Works’ by Philip Ball who referred to Wienberg’s version of a universe without purpose or meaning before discussing at length that there is no blueprint or plan for life and that our genome contains the instructions that allow our cells to make between eighty thousand and four hundred thousand proteins but our cells decide when,  which and what quantity of each protein to produce as a consequence of their relationships with their neighbours and the environment.  However, in ‘Orbital’ by Samantha Harvey, a novel set in the space station orbiting the Earth, the meaningless of our lives is boldly stated: ‘We matter greatly and not at all. To reach some pinnacle of human achievement only to discover that your achievements are next to nothing and that to understand this is the greatest achievement of any life, which itself is nothing, and also much more than everything.’  This sentiment was re-iterated succinctly in ‘Your absence is darkness’ by Jon Kalman Stefansson, as ‘We come out of nowhere, disappear into nothingness, and, in the end, everything is erased‘.  There was a brief respite when I read ‘Slow Productivity’ by Cal Newman who encourages us to give ourselves time to produce something great, citing Isaac Newton’s ‘Principia’ and ‘On the Road’ by Jack Kerouac; however, I hardly expect to leave such works for future generations so I was not much cheered.  The meaninglessness of life reappeared in ‘Baumgartner’ by Paul Auster, in which a semi-retired professor is writing an essay about Kierkegaard, the existentialist philosopher, and describes his obligation as a professor ‘to ask good questions about what it means to be alive, even if he knows he will never be able to answer them.’  In the last book I managed to finish before we left Cornwall, ‘Close to Home’ by Michael Magee, a leading character decides to steal a copy of Knut Hamsun’s ‘Hunger’ from a bookshop because it was an existential novel with an afterword by Paul Auster, whose last novel I had just read, and foreword by Jo Nesbo, who’s crime thriller, Redeemer, I had read earlier in the holiday but had not yet managed to weave into this post! Perhaps someone had carefully selected my summer reading to ensure that I got the message that all victories are trivial, all wealth is valueless and that happiness is to be found in our relationships with others.  Alternatively, all of these books were published in the last twelve months so maybe all of the authors were possessed by sense of meaninglessness induced by the current geo-political situation.

BTW the only book I read on holiday that I did not manage to mention above was ‘The Premonition’ by Banana Yoshimoto – a beautifully written short novel about relationships and loneliness.

The Books:

River East River West’ by Aube Rey Lescure, Duckworth Books, 2024.

The Crooked Plow’ by Itamar Vieira Junior, translated by Johnny Lorenz, Verso Books, 2023.

Scaffolding’ by Lauren Elkin, Penguin Books, 2024.

How Life Works’ by Philip Ball, Pan MacMillan, 2024.

Orbital’ by Samantha Harvey, Grove Atlantic Publishing, 2024.

Your absence is darkness’ by Jon Kalman Stefansson, translated by Philip Roughton, Hachette, 2024.

Slow Productivity’ by Cal Newman, Penguin Books, 2024.

Baumgartner’ by Paul Auster, Faber & Faber, 2024.

Close to Home’ by Michael Magee, Penguin Books, 2024.

Redeemer’ by Jo Nesbo, Penguin Books, 2022.

The Premonition’ by Banana Yoshimoto, translated Asa Yoneda, Faber & Faber, 2023.