Remember my story about the guy who sang the catchy little ditty about a book for his girlfriend?
Well the saga of Fi'ty has come to a sad end.
After the day I refused him fifty cents, Fi'ty became one of our better regulars at the store, asking for free water and napping quietly and unobtrusively upstairs in the lounge. If there's one thing I've learned at this job, there are plenty of loud and obtrusive ways to nap, and this guy was a nap pro. No snoring, no stinky feet, no disruptive sounds, no accosting other customers who took his couch; in short, just the kind of regular we want to have around.
So it was with great surprise that, one Tuesday, driving downtown, I saw Fi'ty getting hauled into the back of a police cruiser. Surprise, but not shock or horror; plenty of folks in Harrisburg have the cops after them. As "Isaac Newton" told me once "Sometimes the cops got it out for ya, but they can't be out following every warrant every night, and it's best to get to know the ones you can." I figured Fi'ty had stumbled into some minor trouble. My upstairs neighbor at my new place had received a notice bearing the words "I am authorized to arrest you on sight" because of a surfeit of unpaid parking tickets, so Fi'ty's arrest was something passed right through my mind that night.
Of course, it shouldn't have. Earlier that week, an acquaintance was filling me in on an armed robbery at a local handicraft shop. "Robbing that place was his first mistake," he said, "A craft store? What was he after? Screen printed T-shirts?"
You have by now realized that the robber was none other than Fi'ty, and no, he was not after screen printed t-shirts. Yes, he went about his robbery in an unfortunately ill-prepared manner. According to the Patriot News' reportage, he entered the store, browsed awhile, then pulled on a ski mask and, threatening the clerk with a knife, took all the money from the cash drawer. He was arrested a few hours later with all the money still on him. He was sitting on a stoop a few blocks away on the same street. Re-read those last sentences and realize how little premeditation went into this crime. He had the money on him. He put on the ski mask after entering the store. He was sitting on a stoop on the same street. It was on the stoop that I saw Fi'ty getting taken away.
This story raises an important postscript: What does one say to an acquaintance after he is released from jail? Should he be allowed back into the store? After all, as Beth (one of my managers) pointed out, "He wouldn't rob us. He sleeps here," demonstrating a clear understanding of the principle of "you don't shit where you eat." Still, should re-entry be denied as a consequence, a loss of the (business) community's trust in Fi'ty? And why are these decisions left to the business community? Is the regular community in a place to welcome Fi'ty back from jail and take steps to ensure that he doesn't do things that lead back there?
And of course, the P.P.S. that, comically and tragically, ran through my head anytime news about this whole story was broken to me: "Fi'ty cent / Fi'ty cent / book for my girlfrien' / fi'ty cent."
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Friday, July 22, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Packing Light
In about an hour, I set off for Iceland and England, asked by my hosts to pack light.
I was recently visited by my good friend Kristen, aka Gingersnap, who is through-hiking the Appalachian Trail. Going on a gear run with her made me reassess both the contents of my apartment (not able to be carried on my back for a few months) and my packing for this trip. In short, I crammed all of my clothes into a compression sack, cinched it down, and will be flying to England with a daypack-sized backpack and my camera case.
The problem, of course, is the books. I bought, at the bookstore, for a mere 50 cents, a copy of Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose. Long, interesting, critically acclaimed, and published in stubby mass-market paperback with a cover that makes it a dead ringer for The Da Vinci Code. That's the perfect airplane book. The other book was the problem: The Same Axe, Twice, by Howard Mansfield, problematic not only because of the unnecessary comma in its title, but also because I was halfway done with it when I packed. Bringing half of a book's worth of already-read pages would overfill my backpack.
I did the only thing I could do: plopped down on my parents' couch and steamrolled my way through the second half of the book. It is worth reading slowly, though it holds up very nicely when read fast.
I was recently visited by my good friend Kristen, aka Gingersnap, who is through-hiking the Appalachian Trail. Going on a gear run with her made me reassess both the contents of my apartment (not able to be carried on my back for a few months) and my packing for this trip. In short, I crammed all of my clothes into a compression sack, cinched it down, and will be flying to England with a daypack-sized backpack and my camera case.
I did the only thing I could do: plopped down on my parents' couch and steamrolled my way through the second half of the book. It is worth reading slowly, though it holds up very nicely when read fast.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Messianic Children's Books
I've recently read two children's books whose tone can be described as "messianic." This is an esoteric word to use, particularly in describing children's literature. I will let my examples speak for themselves.
I) Surfman
First, the more obscure: The Coming of the Surfman, by Peter Collington. The book concerns a young skateboarder-turned-surfboarder caught between two rival gangs, and the intervention of the enigmatic Surfman, whose departure leaves the gangs back at each others' throats and the boy hoping against hope for the Surfman's return.
Such a summary minimizes the power of this book, and I have summarized it in a way to make the messianic imagery stand out. In fact, the illustrations veil the allegory to a satisfying degree, and it is their power that carries the story.
II) Maniac
The second book is more widely read, particularly here in Pennsylvania, the author's home state: Maniac Magee, by Jerry Spinelli. The eponymous hero is the messianic figure, who bridges the racial, geographic, and soci-economic divides between the East End and the West End in the course of his own search for home and family.
The book's outstanding introduction is what brings me back to this book, casting what might otherwise be a good, run-of-the-mill children's book in the light of myth, legend, and redemptive change.
III) Messianic Narratives
Both of these books are very good, which makes me wonder two things: is the messianic narrative, one that I always consider to be an abstract, adult concept, present in more children's literature (please share suggested titles in the comments)? And, what about the messianic narrative applies to childhood.
Surfman's messianic narrative is one of waiting and hoping for the return of a good thing. Maniac's messianic narrative is one of miraculous action towards community change, and the community's reaction. That is putting them in socio-religious (abstract, adult) terminology. How would a child read these stories?
Not being a child, and without children myself, I can speculate that childhood is a time of waiting; of understanding that one's agency is limited and that change can only come from the return of the Surfman.
That said, childhood has also been cast as a time of timelessness; of the unselfconsciousness that we cast as the innocence of youth. Maniac Magee works in this light; the boy believing and doing the impossible, unlimited by the constraints of the adult world, yet effecting real change in that world.
IV) Conclusion
As a Christian, it is tempting for me to spin these observations into some neat reflection on the messianic narrative through which I view the world, but that would be doing both of these books a disservice. They tell different stories, and present true mysteries of the world in very different (yet similar) ways. Needless to say, it is my religious background that causes me to read them in this way, yet I suspect that someone without my biases would also find strong messianic imagery in these texts.
I leave you with the prompt from above: Is the messianic narrative more common in children's literature that we may have thought? Why do these stories seem to ring true with children, who might not grasp all of their complexities?
I) Surfman First, the more obscure: The Coming of the Surfman, by Peter Collington. The book concerns a young skateboarder-turned-surfboarder caught between two rival gangs, and the intervention of the enigmatic Surfman, whose departure leaves the gangs back at each others' throats and the boy hoping against hope for the Surfman's return.
Such a summary minimizes the power of this book, and I have summarized it in a way to make the messianic imagery stand out. In fact, the illustrations veil the allegory to a satisfying degree, and it is their power that carries the story.
II) Maniac
The second book is more widely read, particularly here in Pennsylvania, the author's home state: Maniac Magee, by Jerry Spinelli. The eponymous hero is the messianic figure, who bridges the racial, geographic, and soci-economic divides between the East End and the West End in the course of his own search for home and family.
The book's outstanding introduction is what brings me back to this book, casting what might otherwise be a good, run-of-the-mill children's book in the light of myth, legend, and redemptive change.
III) Messianic Narratives
Both of these books are very good, which makes me wonder two things: is the messianic narrative, one that I always consider to be an abstract, adult concept, present in more children's literature (please share suggested titles in the comments)? And, what about the messianic narrative applies to childhood.
Surfman's messianic narrative is one of waiting and hoping for the return of a good thing. Maniac's messianic narrative is one of miraculous action towards community change, and the community's reaction. That is putting them in socio-religious (abstract, adult) terminology. How would a child read these stories?
Not being a child, and without children myself, I can speculate that childhood is a time of waiting; of understanding that one's agency is limited and that change can only come from the return of the Surfman.
That said, childhood has also been cast as a time of timelessness; of the unselfconsciousness that we cast as the innocence of youth. Maniac Magee works in this light; the boy believing and doing the impossible, unlimited by the constraints of the adult world, yet effecting real change in that world.
IV) Conclusion
As a Christian, it is tempting for me to spin these observations into some neat reflection on the messianic narrative through which I view the world, but that would be doing both of these books a disservice. They tell different stories, and present true mysteries of the world in very different (yet similar) ways. Needless to say, it is my religious background that causes me to read them in this way, yet I suspect that someone without my biases would also find strong messianic imagery in these texts.
I leave you with the prompt from above: Is the messianic narrative more common in children's literature that we may have thought? Why do these stories seem to ring true with children, who might not grasp all of their complexities?
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Ur-Texts: Cannery Row
Never have I had a segue so simply handed to me, and I'm going to run with it, because it is this book's quality of vision that makes it one of my Ur-Texts. At its most fundamental level, "Cannery Row" is an encouragement to see things as they are, not as we want to see them. This is a lesson that I also learned reading "East of Eden," but that will come later.
I love just about everything about this book, from its dedication ("To Ed Ricketts, who knows why or should") to its disclaimer ("The people, places, and events in this book are, of course, fictions and fabrications" emphasis mine) to the final, climactic party scene. Other noteworthy portions of the book include the first, enigmatically unnumbered chapter (the beautiful opening lines of which are quoted here), and the beer milkshake sequence. More on the beer milkshake here.
And of course, more to come as I finish reading this lovely little book.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Ur-Texts: The Dharma Bums II
At long last, I've finished my re-read of "The Dharma Bums." It was interesting to read with Joel's critical comments punctuating the reading (I also got to talk more about Kerouac with Joel at the New Years Party).
Whether because of those comments or because it would've happened anyway, I got really frustrated with Kerouac around the middle of the book. He goes home for Christmas, stays with his parents, and gets into stupid arguments with his older siblings. That's fine, if not in keeping with my vision of Kerouac the wanderer. It gets annoying when he tries to re-cast these struggles, including his own immaturity, as a deep spiritual quest. I realize that all young folks (myself included) tend to see all their problems as being writ large; my suffering as the suffering of the world (shout out to Ben Mazer, who made this plain to me when he described Tchaikovsky as "angsty teenager music"). That being true doesn't make it any more enjoyable to read.
The ending of the book, however, returns to all the things I loved about "The Dharma Bums" when I first read it. It may have been those last chapters alone that sold me on this book to begin with. Kerouac finds himself encamped alone as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak, and he communes with nature, which makes for lovely prose:
"In the middle of the night while half asleep I had apparently opened my eyes a bit, and then suddenly I woke up with my hair standing on end, and I had just seen a huge black monster standing in my window, and I looked, and it had a star over it, and it was Mount Hozomeen miles away by Canada leaning over my backyard and staring in my window."
It's that, coupled with Kerouac's pure religious sincerity, that I found enjoyable and meaningful in "The Dharma Bums" this time around. A lot of today's hipster/ironic culture takes its cues from the Beats, who, it must be admitted, could be incredibly ironic. What I love and, on my initial reading, embraced about this book was its sincerity. Nowhere does Kerouac seem to think that he is not on the true path to the Dharma, always becoming a Buddha. Everything in the book, even the annoying Christmas interlude that makes plain his privilege, is mapped onto this spiritual quest, which is never doubted or satirized. I find that admirable, and worth imitating.
I close with one of the book's last paragraphs, one of my favorites:
"Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said 'God, I love you' and looked up to the sky and really meant it. 'I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other.'"
Whether because of those comments or because it would've happened anyway, I got really frustrated with Kerouac around the middle of the book. He goes home for Christmas, stays with his parents, and gets into stupid arguments with his older siblings. That's fine, if not in keeping with my vision of Kerouac the wanderer. It gets annoying when he tries to re-cast these struggles, including his own immaturity, as a deep spiritual quest. I realize that all young folks (myself included) tend to see all their problems as being writ large; my suffering as the suffering of the world (shout out to Ben Mazer, who made this plain to me when he described Tchaikovsky as "angsty teenager music"). That being true doesn't make it any more enjoyable to read.
The ending of the book, however, returns to all the things I loved about "The Dharma Bums" when I first read it. It may have been those last chapters alone that sold me on this book to begin with. Kerouac finds himself encamped alone as a fire lookout on Desolation Peak, and he communes with nature, which makes for lovely prose:
"In the middle of the night while half asleep I had apparently opened my eyes a bit, and then suddenly I woke up with my hair standing on end, and I had just seen a huge black monster standing in my window, and I looked, and it had a star over it, and it was Mount Hozomeen miles away by Canada leaning over my backyard and staring in my window."
It's that, coupled with Kerouac's pure religious sincerity, that I found enjoyable and meaningful in "The Dharma Bums" this time around. A lot of today's hipster/ironic culture takes its cues from the Beats, who, it must be admitted, could be incredibly ironic. What I love and, on my initial reading, embraced about this book was its sincerity. Nowhere does Kerouac seem to think that he is not on the true path to the Dharma, always becoming a Buddha. Everything in the book, even the annoying Christmas interlude that makes plain his privilege, is mapped onto this spiritual quest, which is never doubted or satirized. I find that admirable, and worth imitating.
I close with one of the book's last paragraphs, one of my favorites:
"Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said 'God, I love you' and looked up to the sky and really meant it. 'I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other.'"
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Ur-Texts: The Dharma Bums
 | ||
| A great cover: funny & poignant, like the book. |
I make this comparison, perhaps, because I am re-reading "The Dharma Bums." It is the first in my re-readings of my ur-texts. I plan on reading all the books on this list (as well as a few more, depending), and commenting on their place in my personal mythology. Thus far (I haven't finished my re-read), I love "The Dharma Bums" all over again. It reminds me of all the flaws and beauties inherent in the Beat/Zen/Hippie/Stoner outlook on life, and it reminds me of those things in ways that no self-consciously Beat/Zen/Hippie/Stoner writings can. Kerouac was writing early enough in his era that he was not yet a cliche, and the earnestness that comes from that position shines through in his writing. Consider:
"See the whole thing is a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures."
...which has great rhythm and pacing as well as great content; alongside a brief, hilarious gem like this:
"let's see, 'Lake below . . . the black holes the wells make,' no that's not a haiku goddammit, you can never be too careful about haiku."
It's that assured spirituality of the counterculture combined with that flippant and reverent need for beauty that really speak to me in this book.
Perhaps more to come as I finish this book, as well as a meditation on Wendell Berry's "Jayber Crow," the book with which I finished out my new reading before embarking on this ur-text project.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Ur-Text
As is the privilege of the under-employed in winter, I've been reading a lot lately. Nathan and Frank and myself have had a conversation or two about reading -- how we do it, what we get out of it, etc.
I myself am more of a drive-by reader. I read fast, noting important passages for later review, but ultimately feeling the need to move on to other books. This strategy has its ups and downs, but one of the ups is that I always feel welcome to return to a book, feeling that I may have missed something in an earlier read-through.
So, while reading the Wendell Berry chapter in Bill Inchausti's Subversive Orthodoxy, I realized a desire to revisit The Mad Farmer Liberation Front, The Wild Geese, etc. This quickly blossomed into a desire to re-read all of my favorite, formative books; my Ur-texts, to use the German (and if you want to know more about the prefix "ur," just let me know -- it's one of my favorite German prefixes). A quick perusal of my bookshelf, my earlier post on my favorite books, and my memory yielded these results:
The Dharma Bums (Kerouac)
East of Eden (Steinbeck)
Cannery Row (Steinbeck)
For Whom The Bell Tolls (Hemingway)
Moby Dick (Melville)
Lord of the Rings (Tolkien)
One Man's Meat (White)
The Practice of the Presence of God (Brother Lawrence)
The Prophet (Gibran)
Bear in mind, the notion of the ur-text is not just "books I like a lot," but rather "books that are the basis of my founding mythology as a person." If it was the former and not the latter, the list would be much longer.
So, dear readers, I leave you with the question, to be answered in the comments or in your own blogs, facebooks, etc. :
I myself am more of a drive-by reader. I read fast, noting important passages for later review, but ultimately feeling the need to move on to other books. This strategy has its ups and downs, but one of the ups is that I always feel welcome to return to a book, feeling that I may have missed something in an earlier read-through.
So, while reading the Wendell Berry chapter in Bill Inchausti's Subversive Orthodoxy, I realized a desire to revisit The Mad Farmer Liberation Front, The Wild Geese, etc. This quickly blossomed into a desire to re-read all of my favorite, formative books; my Ur-texts, to use the German (and if you want to know more about the prefix "ur," just let me know -- it's one of my favorite German prefixes). A quick perusal of my bookshelf, my earlier post on my favorite books, and my memory yielded these results:
The Dharma Bums (Kerouac)
East of Eden (Steinbeck)
Cannery Row (Steinbeck)
For Whom The Bell Tolls (Hemingway)
Moby Dick (Melville)
Lord of the Rings (Tolkien)
One Man's Meat (White)
The Practice of the Presence of God (Brother Lawrence)
The Prophet (Gibran)
and of course, the poems of Wendell Berry.
Bear in mind, the notion of the ur-text is not just "books I like a lot," but rather "books that are the basis of my founding mythology as a person." If it was the former and not the latter, the list would be much longer.
So, dear readers, I leave you with the question, to be answered in the comments or in your own blogs, facebooks, etc. :
"What are your ur-texts?"
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Fi'ty Cent
The other day at the store, I was straightening up books on the carts. The carts sit outside the doors. They feature our clearance books. Just outside the door is a bus stop on the third street line, so there's often a crowd out by the carts, browsing and reading. The books are $0.50 for paperback and $1.00 for hardcover, so management (that is, Eric Papenfuse, owner of the store) is not that upset if some of them end up on the third street bus without us having seen any money. But Eric still likes us to keep the carts looking presentable, so I was out there when I heard a bike roll up behind me.
"Fi'ty cent, fi'ty cent, book for my girlfrien', fi'ty cent."
The guy on the bike laid down that little vocal line in a tone of voice that was so soft as to be menacing. I knew he was asking for money, and I knew I wasn't going to give him any. He hadn't directly addressed me, so I kept straightening, my back to him. His song trailed off into muttering, and then he said, "'scuse me sir, you got fifty cents?"
"Sorry," I said, "I'm working, and I don't have any cash."
The first part was true. The second part was not.
"Oh, you work here," he said, "Cool."
He biked on by. I see him out by the carts and biking up and down third street a lot now. I'm glad I didn't give him cash. I feel like if I had given him fifty cents then, I'd be unable to look him in the eye and have a conversation now. Sometimes he comes into the store to buy a soda, and I give him the nod that is standard parlance for "hello" around here. I still have his surprisingly catchy little ditty stuck in my head.
"Fi'ty cent, fi'ty cent / book for my girlfrien' / fi'ty cent."
"Fi'ty cent, fi'ty cent, book for my girlfrien', fi'ty cent."
The guy on the bike laid down that little vocal line in a tone of voice that was so soft as to be menacing. I knew he was asking for money, and I knew I wasn't going to give him any. He hadn't directly addressed me, so I kept straightening, my back to him. His song trailed off into muttering, and then he said, "'scuse me sir, you got fifty cents?"
"Sorry," I said, "I'm working, and I don't have any cash."
The first part was true. The second part was not.
"Oh, you work here," he said, "Cool."
He biked on by. I see him out by the carts and biking up and down third street a lot now. I'm glad I didn't give him cash. I feel like if I had given him fifty cents then, I'd be unable to look him in the eye and have a conversation now. Sometimes he comes into the store to buy a soda, and I give him the nod that is standard parlance for "hello" around here. I still have his surprisingly catchy little ditty stuck in my head.
"Fi'ty cent, fi'ty cent / book for my girlfrien' / fi'ty cent."
Monday, July 26, 2010
Turn, Turn, Turn
I. Whoever Would Love Life
"Whoever would love life
and see good days
must keep his tongue from evil
and his lips from deceitful speech.
He must turn from evil and do good;
he must seek peace and pursue it."
This passage, as the diction may have indicated to you, is from the Bible. This blows my mind. Rarely do I think of the Bible as giving explicit instruction on how to love life, yet there it is, right at the top. It encourages me that this passage exists, and I love these words. But perhaps more interesting is where this passage exists. If you click on that link, you'll see that it is from First Peter 3, (1) a chapter known for its controversial "Wives, in the same way be submissive to your husbands" passage (2). More important to this reading for me is the fact that "Whoever would love life, etc.," a passage I have never heard of or heard discussed before, is nestled in the shadow of this other, controversial and thus popular passage.
This is one of my favorite things about the Bible: Not only is it polyglot and heterogeneous on a grand scale, it also manages such diversity on a micro level, as evidenced here. I recently found myself drawn to another passage in a similar situation...
II. Beautiful In Its Time
"I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God." (3)
This passage is, coincidentally, (4) also located in the third chapter of its book (Ecclesiastes). It follows immediately after the famous "To everything there is a season" passage, and again, it's not one I have ever heard discussed, yet it rings very true with me.
"Whoever would love life
and see good days
must keep his tongue from evil
and his lips from deceitful speech.
He must turn from evil and do good;
he must seek peace and pursue it."
This passage, as the diction may have indicated to you, is from the Bible. This blows my mind. Rarely do I think of the Bible as giving explicit instruction on how to love life, yet there it is, right at the top. It encourages me that this passage exists, and I love these words. But perhaps more interesting is where this passage exists. If you click on that link, you'll see that it is from First Peter 3, (1) a chapter known for its controversial "Wives, in the same way be submissive to your husbands" passage (2). More important to this reading for me is the fact that "Whoever would love life, etc.," a passage I have never heard of or heard discussed before, is nestled in the shadow of this other, controversial and thus popular passage.
This is one of my favorite things about the Bible: Not only is it polyglot and heterogeneous on a grand scale, it also manages such diversity on a micro level, as evidenced here. I recently found myself drawn to another passage in a similar situation...
II. Beautiful In Its Time
"I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God." (3)
This passage is, coincidentally, (4) also located in the third chapter of its book (Ecclesiastes). It follows immediately after the famous "To everything there is a season" passage, and again, it's not one I have ever heard discussed, yet it rings very true with me.
III. ?
I feel like there should be some sort of wrapup here, but I don't know what to say. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
---
(1) Paraphrasing the psalms.
(2) As someone who identifies as a feminist on some level, that passage always troubles me. But that is, for this post, beside the point.
(3) In the interests of gender awareness and equality, I always feel compelled to write "[sic]" after "men" in passages like that. But I cannot use "[sic]" in any context without feeling like a pretentious ass, so I abstain, while mentioning it here.
(4) Or, if you're into numerology, not coincidentally at all.
---
Life Update:
I am going swing dancing tonight. I just finished reading Jane Eyre. I heartily recommend both.
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