On paper books

Today marks the publication of the non-Potter book by author J. K. Rowling, and millions of copies have been sold, the majority being digital versions with paper copies coming in a distant second. The paradigm of the format of the best-seller has changed. Paper is no longer king, and digital e-readers of various kinds have taken the capitalist high ground. Book stores have fewer customers every day, and the paper book industry is dying. This is a shame because although e-readers are easy to carry around, there is some doubt as to the ownership of the digital versions once the owner passes on. In other words, when you die, your library goes with you. You can buy a digital book for another person, but you can’t give them your copy to read. The paper book is such a beautiful invention that it seems a real shame that in ten years no one will be making or selling them anymore. Or will they? Paper books are a basic technology which works even when the batteries in your e-reader or tablet have gone flat. You can read a paper book on take-off and landing without provoking the disapproval and ire of the flight crew. There is something comfortable about flipping through the pages. Perhaps I’m am only nostalgic for a golden age of publishing in which the latest popular titles were stacked in big piles in the bookstores, and bookstores were my candy stores filled with mysteries, science fiction, biographies, histories, novels, and names such as Christie, Heinlein, Heller, Salinger, Bradbury, and Conan Doyle were everywhere. Their books populate the shelves of my house, and any given moment, I can pull one down and start reading. Nevertheless, I had over seventy books on my e-reader this summer as I traveled to Europe and only one beat-up old paperback on shipwreck in my carry-on. Just in case. Paper books are bulky and hard to move. Old books smell a little, but not always in a good way. Yet, I can take out a pencil and underline or add marginalia to my book, and I know you can do something similar with e-books, but it’s just not the same. Your comments in your handwriting six, seven or ten years later can tell you a lot about who you were the last time you read that book. There are books, older titles, that I can get for free and read on my tablet, and maybe I don’t want a paper copy, but I treasure my hardcopy of Catch-22, Watership Down, Ghost Story, Cry Me a River, The Stand, El nombre de la rosa, Going After Cacciato. Am I being irrational about my attachment to these silent sentries who guard the shelves of my house? They don’t feel anything. They are inanimate objects, lifeless, blind. The monster that is the e-book has me torn two ways: one, very convenient, clean, light; two, without batteries you have no book at all, you can’t lend it, it dissolves into nothing as you turn to dust. I have a sneaking suspicion that paper books, real books, will be around for much longer than we suspect, or is this just wishful thinking?

On paper books

Today marks the publication of the non-Potter book by author J. K. Rowling, and millions of copies have been sold, the majority being digital versions with paper copies coming in a distant second. The paradigm of the format of the best-seller has changed. Paper is no longer king, and digital e-readers of various kinds have taken the capitalist high ground. Book stores have fewer customers every day, and the paper book industry is dying. This is a shame because although e-readers are easy to carry around, there is some doubt as to the ownership of the digital versions once the owner passes on. In other words, when you die, your library goes with you. You can buy a digital book for another person, but you can’t give them your copy to read. The paper book is such a beautiful invention that it seems a real shame that in ten years no one will be making or selling them anymore. Or will they? Paper books are a basic technology which works even when the batteries in your e-reader or tablet have gone flat. You can read a paper book on take-off and landing without provoking the disapproval and ire of the flight crew. There is something comfortable about flipping through the pages. Perhaps I’m am only nostalgic for a golden age of publishing in which the latest popular titles were stacked in big piles in the bookstores, and bookstores were my candy stores filled with mysteries, science fiction, biographies, histories, novels, and names such as Christie, Heinlein, Heller, Salinger, Bradbury, and Conan Doyle were everywhere. Their books populate the shelves of my house, and any given moment, I can pull one down and start reading. Nevertheless, I had over seventy books on my e-reader this summer as I traveled to Europe and only one beat-up old paperback on shipwreck in my carry-on. Just in case. Paper books are bulky and hard to move. Old books smell a little, but not always in a good way. Yet, I can take out a pencil and underline or add marginalia to my book, and I know you can do something similar with e-books, but it’s just not the same. Your comments in your handwriting six, seven or ten years later can tell you a lot about who you were the last time you read that book. There are books, older titles, that I can get for free and read on my tablet, and maybe I don’t want a paper copy, but I treasure my hardcopy of Catch-22, Watership Down, Ghost Story, Cry Me a River, The Stand, El nombre de la rosa, Going After Cacciato. Am I being irrational about my attachment to these silent sentries who guard the shelves of my house? They don’t feel anything. They are inanimate objects, lifeless, blind. The monster that is the e-book has me torn two ways: one, very convenient, clean, light; two, without batteries you have no book at all, you can’t lend it, it dissolves into nothing as you turn to dust. I have a sneaking suspicion that paper books, real books, will be around for much longer than we suspect, or is this just wishful thinking?

On the thesis

Generally speaking, whenever anyone writes anything, they want to accomplish some objective, argue some idea, express an opinion, make a point. Writing, however, is a little harder than some imagine, and it can often get in the way of a well-argued thesis. Somewhere between having the idea and making the argument, the author falls into a series of labyrinthine mazes surrounded by endless linguistic dead ends, infinite mangled grammar structures, and enough semantic smoke and mirrors to foil even the most earnest essayist. Many writers simply lose track of their objective, and their thesis dies a slow and painful death beneath a mountain of rubble consisting of headless nouns, crippled verbs, dead adjectives, mindless adverbs, stumbling articles, and wild interjections. The thesis lies crushed under this heap of flotsam and jetsam even before it has had a chance to flower, to be heard, to sing. The writing, of course, would be easier if the writer would isolate the thesis ahead of time, make sure that it is arguable, and focus it under a microscope before some lame attempt at exposing it to the world before it is ready. A great thesis should be neither too general nor too specific. It should not be a straw man that the writer would like to knock over in some naive way. A great thesis should not suggest black and white answers. A great thesis should establish a problem that the author wishes to address in some specific way. In this way, the author may explore alternatives and options that may or may not establish a clear answer. Not all thesis have either complete answers or clear solutions. A thesis will give a reader something to think about as the author marshals their arguments for or against. Yet, a thesis should not be so ambiguous that it can serve any argument or any line of reasoning. A thesis is a stance on a subject which the author must either attack or defend or dismiss or defend. A spurious thesis based on fallacious underpinnings and untrue suppositions should always be left on the ash heap of discarded writings. The first and most important parameter for a good thesis is that it be true in some honest and earnest way. This is the ethical responsibility of the essay writer, whether he/she be writing about politics, religion, art, sex, war, literature, or history. The thesis must be defensible within the realm of reasonable scholarship and accepted paradigms which have been accepted and established by the vast majority of writers in that field. Being a complete naysayer or iconoclast, though interesting, can often lead the thesis writer right out into left-field. Purposefully leading people astray is both dishonest and disheartening. Writing a paper without a thesis is like trying to find a treasure without a map: you may bang around in the dark for a long time, but you will never find anything. A good thesis is concise without being pedantic, suggestive without being overbearing, intriguing without being arcane. The thesis will lead a writer to tame the verbs, choose the nouns, avoid the adverbs, and carefully select their adjectives before blindly running downhill to their conclusions. Often, a great thesis cannot be completely proved or disproved, especially if the object of that thesis is a question with many answers or a conundrum with no answers.

On the thesis

Generally speaking, whenever anyone writes anything, they want to accomplish some objective, argue some idea, express an opinion, make a point. Writing, however, is a little harder than some imagine, and it can often get in the way of a well-argued thesis. Somewhere between having the idea and making the argument, the author falls into a series of labyrinthine mazes surrounded by endless linguistic dead ends, infinite mangled grammar structures, and enough semantic smoke and mirrors to foil even the most earnest essayist. Many writers simply lose track of their objective, and their thesis dies a slow and painful death beneath a mountain of rubble consisting of headless nouns, crippled verbs, dead adjectives, mindless adverbs, stumbling articles, and wild interjections. The thesis lies crushed under this heap of flotsam and jetsam even before it has had a chance to flower, to be heard, to sing. The writing, of course, would be easier if the writer would isolate the thesis ahead of time, make sure that it is arguable, and focus it under a microscope before some lame attempt at exposing it to the world before it is ready. A great thesis should be neither too general nor too specific. It should not be a straw man that the writer would like to knock over in some naive way. A great thesis should not suggest black and white answers. A great thesis should establish a problem that the author wishes to address in some specific way. In this way, the author may explore alternatives and options that may or may not establish a clear answer. Not all thesis have either complete answers or clear solutions. A thesis will give a reader something to think about as the author marshals their arguments for or against. Yet, a thesis should not be so ambiguous that it can serve any argument or any line of reasoning. A thesis is a stance on a subject which the author must either attack or defend or dismiss or defend. A spurious thesis based on fallacious underpinnings and untrue suppositions should always be left on the ash heap of discarded writings. The first and most important parameter for a good thesis is that it be true in some honest and earnest way. This is the ethical responsibility of the essay writer, whether he/she be writing about politics, religion, art, sex, war, literature, or history. The thesis must be defensible within the realm of reasonable scholarship and accepted paradigms which have been accepted and established by the vast majority of writers in that field. Being a complete naysayer or iconoclast, though interesting, can often lead the thesis writer right out into left-field. Purposefully leading people astray is both dishonest and disheartening. Writing a paper without a thesis is like trying to find a treasure without a map: you may bang around in the dark for a long time, but you will never find anything. A good thesis is concise without being pedantic, suggestive without being overbearing, intriguing without being arcane. The thesis will lead a writer to tame the verbs, choose the nouns, avoid the adverbs, and carefully select their adjectives before blindly running downhill to their conclusions. Often, a great thesis cannot be completely proved or disproved, especially if the object of that thesis is a question with many answers or a conundrum with no answers.

On insolence

Another group of freshmen will be coming to campus this week, and while the good majority are kind, thoughtful, humble kids just looking to continue their educations, there are a few who think they already know everything. These know-it-alls are, of course, the most ignorant of the bunch. Humility goes such a long way in promoting learning and understanding, and enlightenment only comes to a person when they finally understand that they really know next to nothing. I blame an entire generation of parents who do not have the courage to fight with their children, who think that their kids are already geniuses, who think their kid deserves special treatment. The second that a student understands that they are not special then learning might happen. I think we would all be better off if both parents and children learned to handle a little humility up front, recognize that junior has a lot to learn, recognize that junior needs to learn to shut up and listen before anything can get done or learned. Teenage insolence may be all the rage along side alienation and solitary melancholy, but all drama passes, and the bright lights of daily life must be faced. Thinking only occurs when the the mouth is shut and the ears engaged, focused on what others, not just the professor, have to say. Intellectual blindness, the inability to see one’s own flaws is both devastating and limiting. Even the genius, and perhaps especially the genius, must be willing to work in a sincere fashion. Coasting along because you can get by with good grades without doing much work is dishonest and debilitating. The ethics of learning demand that the insolent student redefine who they are by pocketing their ego and engaging with the work, the reading, the writing, the testing, in a sincere fashion based on humility and gratitude. Otherwise students are just passing time, unwilling to learn because, from their perspective, they already know everything. I learned long ago, and early on, that learning is not always about memorizing some list of random events, chemical symbols, or a proof. Learning is about losing oneself in the subject matter to the extent that you cease to exist and become one with the material. I can hear the voice of the poet, the brushstrokes of the artist, the pen scratches of the dramatist,hear a pianist practice. When the student disappears to the extent that they care more for their subject than for their grades, then true learning can begin. Yet, when students insist on arguing about points, grades, attendance, or work, they have completely missed the point, built a wall between themselves and learning, and have blinded themselves to meaningful insight. The ego is an important thing, but it must be harnessed to work, it must be given direction, it must be disciplined. Otherwise. we old anachronistic dogs of academia cannot do our jobs. When students are eager to engage their intellects in meaningful discourse, to exchange ideas, to create new things, to discover hidden truths, to understand old philosophies, to recite new poetry, the learning can happen, insolence and ego disappear, and a new child is born.

On insolence

Another group of freshmen will be coming to campus this week, and while the good majority are kind, thoughtful, humble kids just looking to continue their educations, there are a few who think they already know everything. These know-it-alls are, of course, the most ignorant of the bunch. Humility goes such a long way in promoting learning and understanding, and enlightenment only comes to a person when they finally understand that they really know next to nothing. I blame an entire generation of parents who do not have the courage to fight with their children, who think that their kids are already geniuses, who think their kid deserves special treatment. The second that a student understands that they are not special then learning might happen. I think we would all be better off if both parents and children learned to handle a little humility up front, recognize that junior has a lot to learn, recognize that junior needs to learn to shut up and listen before anything can get done or learned. Teenage insolence may be all the rage along side alienation and solitary melancholy, but all drama passes, and the bright lights of daily life must be faced. Thinking only occurs when the the mouth is shut and the ears engaged, focused on what others, not just the professor, have to say. Intellectual blindness, the inability to see one’s own flaws is both devastating and limiting. Even the genius, and perhaps especially the genius, must be willing to work in a sincere fashion. Coasting along because you can get by with good grades without doing much work is dishonest and debilitating. The ethics of learning demand that the insolent student redefine who they are by pocketing their ego and engaging with the work, the reading, the writing, the testing, in a sincere fashion based on humility and gratitude. Otherwise students are just passing time, unwilling to learn because, from their perspective, they already know everything. I learned long ago, and early on, that learning is not always about memorizing some list of random events, chemical symbols, or a proof. Learning is about losing oneself in the subject matter to the extent that you cease to exist and become one with the material. I can hear the voice of the poet, the brushstrokes of the artist, the pen scratches of the dramatist,hear a pianist practice. When the student disappears to the extent that they care more for their subject than for their grades, then true learning can begin. Yet, when students insist on arguing about points, grades, attendance, or work, they have completely missed the point, built a wall between themselves and learning, and have blinded themselves to meaningful insight. The ego is an important thing, but it must be harnessed to work, it must be given direction, it must be disciplined. Otherwise. we old anachronistic dogs of academia cannot do our jobs. When students are eager to engage their intellects in meaningful discourse, to exchange ideas, to create new things, to discover hidden truths, to understand old philosophies, to recite new poetry, the learning can happen, insolence and ego disappear, and a new child is born.

On reading

I was reading Thoreau last night. It was his essay on reading. He thought reading was important, but he also thought that quality reading was more important still. Homer, Plato, Aristotle, that kind of reading. He was criticizing what he saw as “trash” (my word, not his) reading, which includes popular novels and related kinds of reading that he considered a time sink that did nothing to enlighten the hungry mind. Although I understand what he was trying to say (“Read smart stuff and you will be enlightened.”), I am not entirely sure he was completely right. The popular novel has a lot to offer if you know how to choose. Now many popular novels are bad because they have nothing new to offer; they either re-plow old ground or that imitate good novels badly. There are also many kinds of writing, i.e., poetry, essays, plays, letters, travelogues, reviews, opinions, short stories, and novellas, which touch on a multitude of interesting topics in a variety of ways. Autobiography, a notoriously fictional genre, is so utterly problematic that it cannot help but be extremely fascinating. If you limit your reading to Classical literature you will miss a lot about what is going on around you. You won’t read Thoreau, whose short essay on civil disobedience is one of the most important non-fiction works of the nineteenth century. You would also miss, The Scarlet Letter (Hawthorne), the short stories and poetry of Poe, Moby Dick (Melville), The Red Badge of Courage (Crane) or The Awakening (Chopin). If you are reading something, and you don’t like it, set it aside and find something else, but don’t not read something because it’s too contemporary. I would amend Thoreau’s work by saying this: blow up your TV, throw away the radio, move to the country, and renew your library card. Reading always helps the mind grow, learn, contemplate, escape, rebuild, revitalize, renovate brain space. Perhaps this is why the digital age has not yet displaced the book, a centuries old technology that just keeps going, and going, and going…