Book Review: We Are Not Like Them

Christine Pride and Jo Piazza, a Black woman and a white woman, long-time friends and colleagues, write a book about a Black woman and a white woman who are best friends faced with incredible challenges to their relationship. It has the potential to be trite or overwrought, but it's neither of those things. It's thought-provoking, gut-wrenching, insightful. The prose is straight-forward, not overly flowery or emotional, but laced with wonderful well-turned phrases and astute observations. As I started reading, I was almost immediately sorry I was reading a library copy because I wanted to underline and comment. Instead, my book is filled with little post-it tabs I'll need to remove before I return it to the library.

When Pride and Piazza talk about their book, they quip "Come for the friendship, stay for the social justice." They explore the challenges of any close friendship (honesty, different life experiences, diverging achievements). And then they add an incendiary social justice issue to the mix. Riley is Black and a rising media figure in Philadelphia. Jen is white and married to a cop who kills an unarmed Black teenager. As a journalist, Riley takes the lead in covering the story. (No spoilers here. This is on the book flap and in the first few chapters of the book.) Through alternating first person narratives, Pride and Piazza explore the many cracks this exposes in Riley and Jen's relationship with nuance and compassion. 

We Are Not Like Them probes difficult subjects, often painfully, but it does so against the backdrop of a deep lasting friendship. As Riley says to herself, "Sometimes you just need to be around someone who loved you before you were a fully formed person. It's like finding your favorite sweatshirt in the back of the closet, the one you forgot why you stopped wearing and once you find it again you sleep in it every night." Awkwardly constructed but heartfelt. And I'm sure these two experienced writers and editors thought long and hard about each turn of phrase. 

As Jen struggles to cope with the fallout from her husband's horrific mistake, she pleads with Riley, "I just need you to be on my side." Riley, the more introspective of the two, and the authors along with her, understand that's it's not that simple. The situation has multiple sides, and there is no right side. And therein lies the strength of this book. There is no easy answer. There is no escaping the impact of race, so Jen and Riley (and the readers) might as well face it and deal with it. Here's Riley again: "I've been consumed these last few months (or a lifetime, really) with all the ways race oozes its sticky tentacles into every relationship, every interact, every intention... There are no easy choices, no safe choices, you can't plan your way to happiness."

We Are Not Like Them is a terrific, timely, important book.

Quote of the Day -- Eurdora Welty

My continuing passion is to part a curtain, that invisible veil of indifference that falls between us and that blinds us to each other's presence, each other's wonder, each other's human plight.

----------

According to Wikipedia, Eudora Alice Welty (1909 – 2001) was an American short story writer, novelist and photographer, who wrote about the American South. Her novel The Optimist's Daughter won the Pulitzer Prize in 1973.

Bird by Bird, Book by Book

TBR (to be read). One of the most seductive and sometimes terrifying acronyms that I know. My physical TBR has reached monumental proportions, justifying the labels aspirational library or the lovely Japanese tsundoku. And my physical to-be-read library is positively dwarfed by the 1200+ titles on my Goodreads TBR. How in the world did I get here and how will I ever dig my way out?

For starters, I've always been an avid reader, and I've always loved to own books. I go through cycles where I try to restrain myself and rely solely on the library, but eventually I re-offend and start buying books again.  My family and friends know that I'm incapable of leaving a bookstore empty-handed, and I love bookstores.

I've stepped up my reading game in the past several years, partly because of the pandemic, of course, but also simply because it was time. Time to get a bit more serious.  Time to get over the graduate school experience of always needing to read so critically that it ruined "good books" for me for years. But those scars have healed. And there are so many "good books," both classic and recent, that I've decided to avoid wasting my precious reading hours on just average books or relying on the Barnes and Noble 3-for-the-price-of-2 table to make my selections.

I'm actively seeking out book recommenders whom I respect, and I'm entranced by all the possibilities. When it comes to books, I'm what Gretchen Rubin calls an abundance lover. I really, really enjoy being surrounded by lots of books. I have a priority list of sorts for my next 5 or 6 reads, but if none of those suits my mood when I'm ready for a new book, I know that everything within reach is "worthy" of my attention. I've set myself up to avoid the dreaded DNF (did not finish).

I sometimes wonder why I feel excited about all these books that I might never read, why I don't feel completely overwhelmed. Then I remember the story Anne Lamott told in her wonderful book Bird by Bird. When her brother was in elementary school, he had a big project that required him to research and report on a number of birds. As elementary school kids (or 70-year-old women) are wont to do, he procrastinated. And then, a few days before the project was due, he panicked. So much to do, so little time. Anne tells us: "Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.'” And that is my approach to my TBR. My eye isn't on some end goal of reading them all. I just want to take it book by book and enjoy the journey.

Quote of the Day -- Thomas Sowell

The march of science and technology does not imply growing intellectual complexity in the lives of most people. It often means the opposite.

 ----------

According to Wikipedia, Thomas Sowell is an American economist, social theorist, and senior fellow at Stanford University's Hoover Institution. Sowell has written more than thirty books, and is a National Humanities Medal recipient for innovative scholarship which incorporated history, economics, and political science. Sadly, I had never heard of him until I encountered this quote.

Thoughts on Aging

People today are living longer, dramatically longer. The details of the chart on the right from Our World in Data are a little hard to read but the visual image is striking. For the developed world or the "global north," life expectancy was relatively stable from the mid 18th century through the mid 19th century. Starting in about 1875, it rises sharply from 35 years to nearly 80 years today. In the "global south," the increase in longevity starts almost 75 years later, but it is equally dramatic. And the increase continues. Experts estimate that a child born today in the developed world has a 50% chance of reaching the age of 100.

This trend has huge societal implications, particularly in the global north where the birth rate is declining. The growth in the percent of the population that is "elderly" isn't as shocking as some news stories imply, but it has the potential to become a significant burden. (As an aside, Our World in Data is a treasure trove of fascinating information.)

The Stanford Center on Longevity recently launched a new podcast called Century Lives. Their premise: if many of us now have the possibility of living to see 100, that calls for radical new thinking both as a society and as individuals. We need to construct lifelong learning, for example. The notion that we can educate our children intensely from ages 5 to 22 and equip them with everything they will need to know for the next 80 years is clearly misguided. As is the notion that most people should "retire" at age 65. Doesn't it make more sense to intersperse learning with work? And if we're going to work for 45 or 50 years, should we consider instituting sabbaticals for everyone?

On an individual level, we need to think about age differently. What does it mean to "look your age" or "act your age" when our potential lifespan is so much longer.  This image of the stars of Golden Girls in 1985 and the stars of the reboot of Sex and the City in 2022 is making the rounds on public media accompanied by lots of heated discussion. You can certainly make the argument for ageism and the outsize emphasis on appearance. On the other hand, no matter how much work (both physical and airbrushing) the ladies on the right have had, they simply look younger. 40+ years has made a difference in how people think, act, and feel after 50 (or 60, or 70). We as a society and we as individuals are doing a lot of soul searching about what age really means, and I think that's a good thing.

You can make the argument that we "elders" (the boomer generation) still want to have it all. We are spending substantial time, energy, and money trying to ensure that our wellspan aligns with our lifespan as much as possible. We want both a quantity of years and quality in those years. At the same time, we crave a society that isn't so focused on youth and that values the knowledge and wisdom we've acquired in our 6 or 7 or 8 decades. In my last decade or so of working, I was pretty careful to disguise my age. I dyed my gray hair. I hid my age in social media. I worked with lots of young people and didn't want them to think (or know) that I was old enough to be their mother. I'm not sure that was necessary, but at the time, it seemed the wisest course. When I turned 70 last year, I chose to be very public about it (and to expose my age on Facebook for my friends of all ages to see). I want friends, young and old, to see that you can have a full vibrant life at 70. That a 70-year-old woman knows some things that they don't. That being a "village elder" is something you earn and should wear proudly.

 

Quote of the Day -- Ingrid Fetell Lee

... most creative endeavors are an exercise of craft, not genius. The initial concept matters, but it’s the slow accumulation of progress that happens when you edit, revise, leave it alone and come back with fresh eyes, that actually makes it great. The first draft of a great idea is almost never better than the tenth draft of a so-so idea.

----------

Ingrid Fetell Lee (age well hidden but she's in her 40's) is a Brooklyn-based designer and writer whose work focuses on the way that design affects our health and happiness. As founder of The Aesthetics of Joy and in her role as IDEO fellow, she empowers people to find more joy in daily life through design (and she has a good publicist who writes this stuff). She is the  author of Joyful: The Surprising Power of Ordinary Things to Create Extraordinary Happiness (on my TBR).

Quote of the Day -- Annie Dillard

One of the things I know about writing is this: Spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.

----------

Annie Dillard (1945 -- ) is an American author best known for lyrical, narrative prose. In May 2021, I read and reviewed Pilgrim of Tinker Creek:

I have no interest in being a naturalist, a botanist, an etymologist, but I was enthralled by Dillard's lyrical, enraptured descriptions of nature in all its wild diversity. I can't imagine inching on my belly through long grass filled with who knows what bugs and critters just for the chance to observe a muskrat up close, but I'm glad that's exactly what Dillard did. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek opened my eyes to so many aspects of the natural world that I've never observed or even considered, giving me a new perspective on the "natural order" (or disorder). All in all, a very satisfying reading experience.

Book Review: Parable of the Sower

 Written in 1993 and set in 2025, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler is a story set in a California that has descended into anarchy as a result of the impact of climate change. The fifteen-year-old narrator, Lauren Olamina alternates between fierce anger, gritty determination, and numb acceptance as she and first her biological family and then her adopted family struggle to survive.

With her straight-forward, understated style, Butler lays bare the many horrors of a rapidly disintegrating society. My mom always said "the veneer of civilization is very thin," and that's a central motif in Parable. When pushed to the brink, many will do unspeakable things.

The idea of a new "religion" called Earthseed is central to the book. It stems from the narrator Lauren's attempt to find meaning and hope in the insanity all around her. I confess that I don't really "get" Earthseed. It doesn't resonate with me, but Lauren's struggle to find meaning certainly does. Parable made me feel more terrified than hopeful. Definitely a parable for our times.

I thought that I struggled with dystopian books and that Parable of the Sower is an exception (along with Station Eleven), but then I googled "best dystopian novels" and discovered many I have loved and would even consider re-reading: 1984, Animal Farm, Handmaid's Tale, Hunger Games, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, Oryx and Crake, to name just a few. I need to figure out the sub-genre I haven't enjoyed (Zone One and A Visit from the Goon Squad) so I don't miss out in the future.

Quote of the Day -- Josh Billings

Love looks through a telescope; envy, through a microscope.

----------

According to Wikipedia, Josh Billings was the pen name of 19th-century American humorist Henry Wheeler Shaw. He was a famous humor writer and lecturer in the United States during the latter half of the 19th century. He is often compared to Mark Twain.

What Comes After?

It might seem strange to begin a discussion of the afterlife with A Wrinkle in Time, but for me the book was incredibly formative. I was 11 years old when it was published and was lucky enough to read it shortly after publication. I remember very little of the story (which obviously wasn't that earth-shaking for me) but the idea of tessering blew my mind: "essentially the act of traveling faster than the speed of light using a fifth dimension. ... You add that to the other four dimensions and you can travel through space without having to go the long way around." The idea that there were other worlds, that time isn't linear, that alternative ways to approach reality are possible -- just wow!  To this day, I'm fascinated by stories on the page or in film that break the barriers of time, space, or both.

Fast forward to 1989 and another book that has stayed with me, The Boat of a Million Years by Poul Anderson. It gave solidity to my notion that "after," we will be able to see across the expanse of history, understand what happened and why, and ask questions of whatever designer put it all together. I remember attending a confirmation class with our younger daughter. The facilitator asked each of us to describe heaven (assuming, of course, that we all believed in heaven). People waxed poetic about fluffy clouds and angels, beautiful pastures, seeing deceased loved ones. When my turn came, I simply said that heaven would mean getting the answers to life's unanswerable questions.

And that brings me to today and the source of these meanderings about what comes after. I recently read (and loved) The Sentence by Louise Erdrich, which prominently features the ghost of a beloved and irritating book store customer. My treadmill podcast for today was a conversation between Erdrich and Kerri Miller, an outstanding interviewer on our local public radio station, MPR. They had a lengthy, delightful, and funny conversation about ghosts, angels, and being haunted.  I remain skeptical but... as Erdrich pointed off, we often say "(fill in your favorite deceased relative) would be so happy if she saw us having so much fun ... or so much success." And of course, we say "Grandpa X would turn over in his grave if he saw this."

Ultimately, I don't long for immortality. I just long to see more, know more, understand more -- to be able to bridge space and time. In the party game where you ask everyone to name the super power they would love, I rarely hesitate -- Beam Me Up, Scotty.