Posted on by Jo Gent · 1 Comment

Know Thyself

I recently read about an author who claims people repeat the same patterns over our lives. She feels it’s important to notice those patterns and acknowledge them. I was mildly interested in this idea although not swept up by it, mostly because I think growth and change are more important and interesting.

Nonetheless, I may have stored it subliminally because last night my husband and I were having a conversation and a pattern just leapt out at me, one so obvious and ubiquitous I could not believe I had never marked it. We were talking about TV shows at the time, but the pattern definitely applies to books and many other aspects of us.

My husband approaches the library with a sense of mystery and the expectation of revelation. He walks the aisles and checks out the displays seeking seeking something that sparks his joy. He approaches TV the same way, starting with the homepage of the stream and scrolling through, occasionally watching a trailer, but mostly just jumping in.

I approach the library with a curated list of books I have vetted by reading reviews, mostly, or getting a recommendation; I might also search for a book on a topic of interest, most recently Harriet Tubman’s military contributions to the Civil War. I’m also pretty picky about TV shows, and very reluctant to start one without some research.

I’m very willing to drop a show after one episode, or a book after one chapter, if it’s not working out for me. My husband is much more patient with his finds; he will also drop either a book or a show if it doesn’t work out, but he’ll give it more time then I will.

It would be incorrect to say that my husband never reserves books, or that I never grab something that caught my eye on the Lucky Day table. But this basic pattern of being willing to try unknown paths versus planning the route in advance describes us in many ways, not just content selection.

Happily, we have both absorbed some of the others’ energy over the years: I try to be more spontaneous, and he certainly can plan when it’s useful. Patterns can inspire growth.

And now for something something completely different…we made a video of our robot jar opener today. This is a miraculous device. The music is Inisheer’s version of Jay Unger’s tune Wizard’s Walk, the best one in my view. It’s on Spotify if you want to hear more. Meanwhile my physical therapist recommends this and the robot can opener for protection of everyone’s wrists.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/eVQrWZTXXrouHr48A

Posted on by Jo Gent

James, not Huck

I recently read both Huckleberry Finn and its re-imagining, a book called James by Percival Everett. James is the best book I’ve read in a while.

At the beginning, James follows the story line of Huckleberry Finn pretty closely, but it’s narrated by the slave in the original, Jim, who thinks of himself as James. Despite being set in 1860, the lives of the slaves very much resemble those of Black people today. They practice code switching when interacting with white people. They explicitly train their children how to do that, and also to behave differently around white people, in an attempt to avoid egregious results. They live with the possibility of being a victim of violence, or of encountering someone who expects them to do as they are told, continually.

Modern Blacks have a chance to live normal lives, though the normality is fragile. For slaves, egregious results were impossible to avoid. Violent acts occurred almost daily, and subservience and obedience were expected by every white person encountered, regardless of age or social status. Even their homes are not safe, with no chance of locking their doors and no possibility of preventing any white person from entering and committing any act with impunity from either the law or the community.

At some point in both books, Huck and Jim/James are separated, and after this the stories diverge quite markedly. James is very exposed by himself, as without a white “owner” nearby he is presumed to be a “runaway,” which he is by that society’s reasoning. He manages to find and carry some books for a while, and his inner dialogue as he ruminates over his readings and imaginatively interacts with the authors, mostly enlightenment philosophers, reveals his intellect and his despair. Hanging onto these books proves impossible; even harder is his attempt to obtain pencil and paper so he can write his own life story. We learn that a white person regards stealing a small pencil stub as a capital offense.

For much of the book, James himself is not living under the thumb of a master, yet occasionally he experiences and observes evil actions when he interfaces with white adults. There aren’t “just” beatings, but lengthy, vicious beatings that strip deep layers of skin and break limbs. There aren’t “just” rapes, but repeated rapes, rapes of children, even rapes of Black women by Black man forced to do so in order to “breed.” People are chained and caged like animals. Every slave is chronically underfed, often near starvation, yet expected to do hard labor for 10 or 12 hours a day. A slave can be hung for an unintended lack of deference, or for knowing how to read or write.

It’s an impossibly fraught way to live.

My husband did not read this book, but we spent some time thinking about how we might be different if we have been born then. Not every white person was a beater or a rapist, but every white person felt free to ignore any Black person, or to tell that person to do something for them and expect them to obey immediately. Every white person thought that “niggers” were inferior, and stupid, and ownable. Even most abolitionists of the time would not assert that Black people were equal to white people. My husband and I agreed there was no certainty we wouldn’t feel the same way if raised in those conditions.

The tension in Huckleberry Finn comes not only from our modern knowledge that these things were never true, but also from the very smart and humane actions taken by the slave Jim. The tension in James comes from us being inside his head and experiencing just how brilliant, honorable, and charitable he is, and how agonizing his life is as a result. This is much more intense.

Huckleberry Finn ends with Jim a free man, though even a casual reader will realize his black skin will ensure he continues to live in fear. James has a more hopeful ending, simply because James has more agency, and perhaps even a slim chance of escaping the evil society of the antebellum US.

A less hopeful takeaway: One hundred and eighty years later, much evil not only remains, but also thrives.

Posted on by Jo Gent

The Message and the Narrative

The Narrative is the way humans explain things to ourselves, and like most of what we invent, it can be used to inform or to obfuscate. Narratives are powerful, and an entrenched narrative in a society is very difficult to dispute, much less dislodge. The narratives of America are very much in play right now, with currents of patriotism and paternalism, generosity and exploitation, diversity and exclusion, unity and retribution swirling madly through our public discourse.

Can Americans be both good and bad, kind and hateful, on the right side and on the wrong side? Since we are humans, how can we not? The narrative of, We built a great country but we had to ride roughshod over a lot of people to do it is simply not as compelling as the narrative, We did our very best and though not perfect the positives vastly outweigh the negatives.

Most difficult is the realization that a narrative we’ve been believing for a long time is not completely true. We all encounter inconvenient truths in life, perhaps as a poor job review, a lower than expected grade, an unanticipated breakup, or a recording of ourselves singing. Such revelations, while initially painful and unwelcome, can lead to strengthening changes if we are open enough to consider them.

The Message is a new book by Ta-nehisi Coates, a daring challenge to many of our most closely held narratives, which has incited critical responses ranging from vitriol to acclamation. In it, Coates travels to South Carolina, Senegal, and Palestine hoping to clarify some of his own life experiences and observations. At each location he probes the narratives he has internalized, comparing them to the reality in situ. The result combines history and revelation into an extraordinarily thoughtful and moving personal account, an account that starts with his own soul and expands to embrace the world.

I love this book, a compelling mental journey described step by step in an almost intimate exploration of his thought processes. He revisits his own past as well, exploring his experiences and thoughts as a younger person, as a successful writer, and as a seeker. All of these pieces come together to form a moving and persuasive whole.

I loved it, but I can’t do it justice! How The Message made me feel, made me think, and most important, transformed my relationship to and awareness of the ubiquity of Narratives, stands out compared to other books, yet I am simply not finding the words to convey that. Perhaps the Muse is not with me today.

Posted on by Jo Gent

Floating Motes

I’ve started to think of humanity as a cloud of floating motes. Floating motes can be wafted by water or breezes, carried by flora or fauna, or moved by cascades of snow, dirt, rock, or lava. That they have no agency of movement, however, does not mean they have no effect. Particle density affects air quality for everything that uses air, alive or mechanical, as well as water sedimentation, sunlight impinging on Earth, sunset spectacularness or lack thereof, and how often I have to clean my windshield.

Dust was the leading factor in the extinction event that ended the 165 million year reign of the dinosaurs after that asteroid hit Earth. Don’t underestimate the power of tiny, brainless, nearly invisible specks.

Humans similarly seem to cause large effects without intending to. We refer to this as unintended consequences, and the way we wield that term implies that these are rare, that most consequences of our actions are just as we intend. This may be true in a very local sense: When I wipe down the countertop, it looks cleaner. Of course if I had a microscope, I would realize it is completely covered with Colony Forming Units, aka CFUs.

Though the bacteria and fungi that comprise CFUs are quite small, they are not motes, not only because they are alive–that’s how they form those colonies!–but also because they are much tinier; though the size of dust particles can range widely, in most cases each is 3 to 25 times larger than a bacterium. It’s easy to read some shocking stats on how disgusting most kitchens really are, but why bother? We are all covered with CFUs, both inside and out, as is the air, the water, pretty much the entire planet. We evolved to live with these things, and if you know how to keep your immune system healthy you shouldn’t worry too much about it.

Since we’re human, what we do doesn’t matter to us so much as what we believe we do. The countertop looks, feels, and smells great after my husband cleans it–really, he is so talented, you would not believe it–and that works fine for me. I don’t even own a microscope, and my vision is deteriorating each year, so I’m going with the evidence of my senses, especially since I can’t do anything about the situation anyway.

At least when we clean the countertops we aren’t making things worse. When we heightened smokestacks to improve local pollution, we created nationwide acid rain. During the Plague, Londoners killed the dogs and cats that might otherwise have eaten the rats carrying infected fleas. We tried to stop forest fires by just stopping them, leading to a massive increase in underbrush that fueled megafires many times more dangerous.

Unintended consequences can be positive too. Demilitarized zones often become vibrant ecosystems. Reduced human activities in cities during the pandemic allowed birds to sing more softly.

When we are noisy, birds have to yell.

I don’t mean to suggest that we shouldn’t try to do our best. I think our best strategy is to be as kind and patient as we can and to not try to influence other humans other than by our own example. They will take from it what they will. Doing my best is, well, the best I can do.

As a retired person, I sometimes enjoy thinking of myself as a floating mote, open to whatever happens without trying to force it. Wonder what I’ll do today?