A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

A Hollow Life For Kings and Planets

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for kings and planets - ethan caninWho will we become? Is the longing for something greater in life something we should chase or should we be happy with what we have? When farm boy Orno Tarcher meets the worldly Marshall Emerson on Orno’s first day at Columbia in For Kings and Planets by Ethan Canin, these are the questions that are set in motion. And if the book had lived up to that struggle, I would have been thrilled.

I keep wondering why I was so critical of this book as I was reading it. It spoke to a struggle I face every day. The language was pleasant and the central metaphor was mercifully subtle. It featured characters who felt deeply familiar to me. But there’s another, much deeper reason I could not love this book…

My Struggle

I wrote last week about my desire for an unwritten life. But I also want to feel grounded in myself. Throughout their college experience, Marshall pushes Orno to do something more, something greater. And Orno pushes himself to accept his own limitations. Hell, not even limitations. Orno pushes himself to enjoy the more grounded life he’s drawn to. He experiments with Marshall’s kind of life and he loves his friend dearly, but he knows it isn’t right for him.

I don’t know yet what’s right for me. I know I need to create, but in the past month I couldn’t point even to a poem that I’ve started, at least nothing for myself. The dreams and projects are building up inside me but something is holding me back. And while I’d been reading a spate of poetry and hybrid books by women who were experimenting with voice, the last couple of books I’ve been drawn to (after a couple of weeks of barely reading) have been relatively conventional narratives, both by men, that haven’t rung bells in my soul.

So I know I want one aspect of Marshall’s life—the element of seeking something greater and more fulfilling (or more accurately, I can’t escape it)—but I want Orno’s sense of fulfillment. Can I have both? I think so, but some days it’s really slow going.

Language and Metaphor

Remember when the most stressful question on your English test was, “What is the meaning of the title?” The origins of the title of For Kings and Planets aren’t revealed until about halfway through and then it seems like a casual aside. Orno is writing to Marshall that something or other is named much more conventionally, that it’s not named “for kings and planets.” Actually as I’m typing this, I’m realizing that with Marshall’s love for quoting poetry, it must be a quote, likely from Auden, but I’ll let you seek that on your own (poetry is better in context anyway). What I like about the title, though, is that a whole other dimension of it emerges just in the final pages of the book and in a very subtle way and I started to understand who is orbiting whom.

When this book was published, Canin was teaching at The Iowa Writer’s Workshop and the language is suitably beautiful without being at all show-offy. Still, this is a book where I underlined lines more because I recognized something in the characterization than because of a turn of phrase I loved. Speaking of characterization…

Familiar Characters

If I told you that both Marshall and his professor father—men who are hungry for a greater life which sometimes makes casualties of the people around them—seemed familiar, you might think I was talking about you. Because the truth is that most of the people who read this blog are my friends or family. The other truth is that I’m surrounded by seekers and dreamers. Or rather that I surround myself with seekers and dreamers.

The scary truth is I recognized that “making casualties of the people around you” part as something I’m prone to. It’s something I fight against, when I’m aware of it, but sometimes that hunger to become something greater is all-consuming. All. Consuming.

Why I Can’t Love this Book

And this book isn’t consuming at all. It’s distant, not angst-ridden. It’s psychological when I want it to be emotive. And it never acknowledges the place between dreamer and grounded that most of us make our lives in. Which means the characters ultimately lack nuance.

So many times as I was reading this book as Marshall quits school and runs off to Hollywood to read screenplays all the while showering admiration on his more grounded friend, I wanted Marshall to find some element of satisfaction. I wanted Orno to feel some control over his own destiny. But never the twain shall meet. And the book ends up feeling flat in that way that so much contemporary fiction is criticized for.

I hope I haven’t completely spoiled the book for you. But maybe I’ve saved you a little time, too. Because whether you’re a seeker who longs to be grounded or a salt-of-the-earth type who longs to dream, I think you can push yourself harder than Canin will push you with this book. And I’d love to hear about your struggles and triumphs in the comments.

As for me, I’m off to harvest some plums from our back yard. Maybe somewhere in the manual, mindless tasks of picking, washing, peeling, boiling, and preserving, I’ll find the space to dig into my creative self and wrench out whatever’s standing in my way. Because the grounded self and the seeker self are not mutually exclusive. And my destiny is to try to be both at once, or at least in turns.

Wish me luck…

If you want to decide for yourself, pick up a copy of For Kings and Planets from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Seeking Myself in a Pile of Books by Women

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Lately I’ve been searching. Digging into books by women about women—trying to find out what it means to be me. Although I have some very dear friends, I’m feeling the absence of a community as we’re too busy to get together or too far apart. Most likely I’m sheltering myself too deeply inside me.

So I’ve taken this quest where I take all of my quests—into the pages of books. The place where it’s safe to learn and stretch and grow. To shine and blossom away from any influence that might divert or derail me. But I’m ready to come out now—my thoughts jelled enough I’m no longer terrified I’ll twist and shape them to please others. At least for now.

Men Explain Things to Me

men explain things to me - rebecca solnitI picked up Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit on a night when I was headed to a gathering of female writers (a group that will not be named). During dinner before the event, Ann Hedreen and I discussed what we really thought of this group. I was wrestling with the fact that the event had to be secret. That the organizers felt they had to exclude men. And that they had named their group after a remark by someone they would consider part of the patriarchy. It all felt so reactive.

Ann and I had a really good discussion that night about feminism and what it means to be a woman. It was just the kind of conversation I’d been craving. We wandered into Elliott Bay Books and ran across this book and I thought it would be just the right time to get a new perspective on feminism. The event went well. It actually felt amazing to be surrounded by so many successful women who were so open and generous with each other. I was still sad that it needed to be exclusive, but if that’s what made them be as open as they were, I can understand the place for that.

What I didn’t love was this book. I actually had a fight with my husband about it before I even opened it. I think I was reacting to some sense of being stifled and he was reacting to the combative title. But I put myself in the position of defending something I hadn’t even read. Which I now deeply regret.

What I wanted from Men Explain Things to Me was some insight into the reasons I sometimes feel small or less than. To slights and microaggressions that might be undermining me as I try to build myself up. What I got was a story of how men victimize women. Solnit was saying that not all men intend to put women down, but behind her hand her tone sounded as though they should know better. They should be responsible for our feelings even when we are not responsible for ourselves. I think the book is meant to be playful, but I didn’t feel playful in reading it. I felt less than rather than equal. And not in a way that made me want to improve my lot.

Strike one on finding empowerment in the pages of a book.

When She Named Fire

when she named fireThe next book I picked up, When She Named Fire is a collection of poems by women. I have to admit I haven’t gotten very far into the book yet because I was so floored by Kim Addonizio‘s contributions (the book is alphabetical by last name if you want to know how soon I got hung up) that I stopped reading.

In just four poems, Addonizio struck deep into the heart of how the two sexes wound each other and ourselves. She opened up sensuality. And she made me reconsider (deeply) my relationship with my mother. I don’t know how good the rest of the book is, but I’ll be reading this one slowly and for a long time. If even one or two more poems are as good at helping me take ownership of myself and my experience, that sense of empowerment will bleed into my next book, which is a good and necessary thing.

Courage: Daring Poems for Gutsy Girls

Courage daring poems for gutsy girlsCourage: Daring Poems for Gutsy Girls was co-edited by Karen Finneyfrock, someone I’ll dare to call a friend although we don’t yet know each other that well. Karen and I spent a few days up at the Whiteley Center together with Nicole Hardy and I was so impressed by her centered sense of self and her presence.

Karen works a lot with teens and this collection was created to empower teen girls by showing a wide diversity of experiences. The poems get to the heart of owning yourself and of the myriad ways we can be beautiful and strong and sometimes hurt ourselves. I fell in love all over again with Sarah Kay and Patricia Smith. I read this book fast and will probably read it over again. I’m definitely buying copies for the young women in my life.

What stuck with my most about Courage: Daring Poems for Gutsy Girls, though, is the sense that we write for ourselves. Full of many right answers and a few wrong ones, I’m sure that girls will take comfort in (and power from) this book. They will learn that they are not alone. But they will also not really listen and will instead go off and make their own lessons. And that is how it should be.

What surprised me about this book is how maternal it made me feel. And maybe that’s because my best friend is having her first baby this weekend (so it’s on my mind), but maybe I’m growing up a little, too. But reading and communing with these women over their tenderest moments, I came to realize how small and individual our lives are. I have so many things I want to teach to young women, but maybe the lessons we need to learn cannot be taught. Maybe I could not be taught. Maybe it’s okay that I, like many young girls, longed not to be told how to live but to be loved no matter what choices I made—what successes and failures I created.

Talking to My Body

talking to my body - anna swirThe irony of Talking to My Body is that I found author Anna Swir through a collection anthologized by Czesław Miłosz who at every turn celebrated her feminism but in the most misogynistic tone. I can’t really explain and I think it was well intentioned and also cultural. Regardless, after reading one or two of her poems, I had to have more.

And the real reason I picked this book up is because Swir’s poetry is incredibly sexy. And not in a 50 Shades of Grey sort of way. I actually thought there would be more erotic poems in the book, but twenty-five or so poems gathered as “To Be a Woman” were enough. What Swir does in this section is explore the experience of being a sexual being through the voices of three very different women. It’s gorgeous and full and the three diverse perspectives open up an entire plane of acceptable possibilities.

“A night of love with you,
a big baroque battle
and two victories.”
– Anna Swir

Why this Now

One of the things I’ve been struggling with in this post-publication summer (if not my whole life) is that I ache to be known. Deeper than that, I ache to be accepted in all of my faults and failings. I’ve built a wall to shield those tendernesses and I understand that as long as I hold strong this wall, none of that will happen. I’ve learned a lot from Rebecca Bridge about the power of exposing your experience while sitting with yourself (see her essay about her boyfriend’s suicide on Gawker), but I also see how vulnerable being at that edge can make her (and watched others jump over) and I’m not sure I’m brave enough to sit that close to the fire.

Some days I think that the pain of not being known is just slightly less than being rejected for who I am. On those days I do not write. And some days I am strong enough that I want to dig and become no matter what anyone says or thinks or feels. That is when I unlock the door—let the words tumble out into the shape of the real me. Whoever that may be.

What I’m looking for in these books—in all the books I ever read—are the edges I butt up against—the rubs that show me the negative space that is me. With each book I shift and change shape—sometimes a little and sometimes a lot—find my center of gravity and learn to occupy this space.

I don’t know if I’m a feminist. I do know that I am most happy when I’m surrounded by a sea of voices speaking their own truths and when I speak up so that my voice is counted among them.

I have a date, soon, with Roxana Arama where we’re going to talk about writing—where I’ll get real with her about the things I’m struggling with most and I’ll listen as she does the same. And tonight I’ll talk about books and reading and life with a very accomplished group of women. I feel lucky to be counted among all of the women I’ve named in this post and those whom I have not named. As much as I long for a large communal kitchen filled with all the generations of women and all the voices I love, I know, too, that this is my way of engaging, and that maybe, if I’m lucky, my voice will endure to someday help someone else.

Beachcombing at Miramar and What it Takes to be a Writer

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beachcombing at miramar - richard bodeI read Beachcombing at Miramar: The Quest for an Authentic Life by Richard Bode just as I was changing jobs earlier this summer and somewhat terrified that I’d never write again. Things are better now, as of this weekend I have two books started and a jumble of poetry I vow to someday edit, so I feel like I can finally talk about this book and what it means to me.

Isolation

Bode retreated to his house on the beach after a divorce from a marriage it sounds like he was never that into. And this book is a collection of essays about the year he spent beachcombing. Like many memoirs (most particularly Walden), it feels carefully trimmed to highlight the experiences that string together into the best narrative. I guess fiction does that too, but in this instance, especially as he talks about his isolation, I wondered if he was anywhere near as removed from society as I dreamed he was.

“Since they have never learned how to be by themselves, they have never learned how to be together.” – Richard Bode

My relationship with isolation is cloudy. A first born, there was a time in my life where I was very happy with only my own company, but I feel like my parents resisted this impulse in me. Perhaps because of the adorable baby brother who soon followed or just to fit into society in general. But somewhere very early I got the impression (in a way that was difficult to argue with) that I was supposed to be social. I started flitting from group to group engaging just enough to feel like I’d satisfied the requirements and then I’d go on to the next. But I never again settled into my own company.

Even in grad school for writing, a time when I should have been most deeply immersed in my thoughts, I was experiencing an immense push-pull between the isolation I craved and the importance of sociability that I’d internalized.

But there are times when a writer cannot be social. It’s perhaps the lonesomest of careers (and maybe that’s why it calls to me). Because I work with words, the slightest verbal interruption can throw me off completely—sometimes for the whole day (especially when I’m in that nuance of language place). I cannot even listen to music with lyrics.

And yet, I’m still pushing and pulling myself about whether that isolation is okay. Often all it takes is a declaration of intent that “I will be writing today and cannot be interrupted” for me to then turn around and follow my husband around the house all day (unlike Bode, I’m very lucky in my choice of spouse).

The best times—the most productive times— are when I find balance, as I believe Bode did, between the alone time required to think and create and the social time that almost everyone wants some degree of. To do that, I have to give myself permission to be alone sometimes and to be honest with myself about the times when I don’t.

Inspiration

“Where does your inspiration come from?” has to be the most frequently asked question of writers. With this book, Bode allowed himself time to think and to observe the world. Although his book is self-referential (inspiration comes from the very time and space that he’s writing about), I believe the magic of inspiration actually comes from an artist’s brain.

I’m not saying that artists have different ways of thinking than others—that would imply some sort of biological predisposition toward art I’m not prepared to champion—but I do believe the openness, fluidity, and tangential nature of thought are necessary to the creation of art. Because the magic of inspiration is actually the magic of connections that we make, of looking at the same thing as everyone else from a fresh angle. Some of that is allowing ourselves the time to think, and some of it is allowing ourselves the space to see whatever it is we are looking at in the light of our unique experiences (and then honing the skills to express that viewpoint).

“I have a task that is greater than all the labors assigned to Hercules. It demands that I live in the richness of this moment because that is all I have or will ever know.” – Richard Bode

Bode is just walking up and down the beach. But by being on that beach through the seasons, he sees the experience of being there in a different way. The thoughts in his mind are shaped by that presence and evolve into something a day visitor might not understand. It’s pretty wonderful.

And inspiration, as long as you are open to it, really is inexhaustible (I’m sure I’ll kick myself for writing that someday, but I do believe it). At work this week, I was treated to this presentation:

That was at a marketing conference. But because I didn’t have my head stuck in the “this is the place I work” vs. “this is the place I write” rut, this fabulous presentation inspired me professionally and personally. Not every part of this presentation will be tailor made for you. That’s the point. Pluck the parts that resonate and marry them with something else and go make work.

There is a line from Gattaca that is with me always. Vincent (Ethan Hawke) is explaining to his much more athletic brother how he beat him at swimming this vast distance when they were kids. He says, “You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back.” If you are saving back ideas for the next project or for the right moment, you are holding back a part of yourself. Go back to that presentation above. Check out slide 7. Then slide 8. 20. 21.

The time to make your best work about that burning issue is right now. Because tomorrow something else might be burning and you will have lost that moment forever.

Coping with Fear

“The individual who fears the criticism of others is no different from the one who seeks their praise. Both are shadow figures, fading into the landscape, lacking the will to act for themselves.” – Richard Bode

Just before that quote, Bode relays an anecdote about Georgia O’Keeffe that is likely apocryphal, but the sentiment is important. He says that before ever showing her work to the world, she set up a show for herself to decide what she thought of the work. She had the wisdom to look into the work and to see it for all of its flaws and also its successes. She also had the wisdom to know that it was her critique that would be the most valuable to future work.

Making art is scary. I’ve been writing about that a lot lately, here, here, and also in my notebooks. But that’s life and it’s time to move on.

I found a lot of comfort this week talking with a beloved writer friend about art and fear. We walked through Madison Park with her kids and talked about our work and the things that are inspiring us. She is a person to whom it is safe to say aloud the things I haven’t worked out on paper. I even let her thumb through notebook #1 – the next novel. The point is that the world is a lot less scary once you find those people to whom you can open up. My husband hears about my emotions and my writer friends hear about my art. And everything else must go into the work.

“I am on my way toward the center of myself, doing my best to strip away layers of sham and pretense as I go along.” – Richard Bode

Beachcombing at Miramar is a very Buddhist book—right down to the quotes from Thich Nhat Hanh. And I love it. It helped me find some of my center during this latest transition, and re-reading it today it helped me all over again.

What are the books and influences that shape your life as a writer? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

If Beachcombing at Miramar is your thing, pick up a copy from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Revisiting Art & Fear in a Time of Crippling Self Doubt

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art and fearIt feels like a long time since I reviewed anything here. It’s been even longer since I wrote anything I consider creative or good that isn’t a blog post. There are lots of reasons for this–things like marketing a book, changing a job, and getting my life in order all take time. But the big reason, as I’ve come to realize this weekend, is fear. So I turned, as I have so many times before, to this slim little volume called Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland.

Identifying the Problem

When I was talking to my husband this weekend, trying to figure out why I sometimes feel lately like I am hollow or don’t have a voice (wow, that looks so much smaller, more manageable in type–I should have started blogging earlier), the conversation inevitably turned to fear. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of being seen for who I really am. Fear of not being seen for who I really am… the list continues.

I should have known (by now) that fear had become a problem because I was feeling paralyzed in a somewhat similar way to how I feel when three salespeople flank me at Best Buy (BTW, if we ever happen to see a war, I might not be the best person to have your back), except for much, much bigger. And I’ve been flailing. I’ve made some big declarations about what I’m writing on social media. While they often sound self-congratulatory (which I hate), they are for me–to remind me what it feels like to believe I can do good work.


I’ve been making equally big declarations about not writing. Because I need to admit to myself that I’m not.


Note that those tweets are from the same day. The ups and downs for me is a symptom of the fear. This is how I am when I don’t feel grounded in myself–which means my work.

Art & Fear

Of all the amazing books my husband brought home from art school (Motherless Brooklyn, White Noise, City of Glass and more), Art & Fear has to be the most useful. It’s written by two artists and it’s written for practicing artists (as opposed to the genius-types that we like to put on pedestals and assume they have no struggles). It delves into the feeling of creating work and, more importantly right now, the feeling of not creating work. They write simple phrases like, “There’s a painful irony to… discovering how frequently and easily success transmutes into depression” and “tolerance for uncertainty is the prerequisite to succeeding.” They remind me that “Art happens between you and something” and that it is only by producing quantity that a perfectionist like me has any hope of producing quality.

Art & Fear covers fears you might feel about yourself and your work. It covers fears you might have about others and the art world in general. It’s so comprehensive and concise. And it’s insightful. And I think everyone should have a copy for the harder days.

The book is 122 pages and I read the whole thing over again in just over an hour last night. It has to be the third or fourth time I’ve read the book and I’ll go back again when I feel this way. Because it always gets straight to the heart of what I’m feeling and why. It reminds me that the very things that make it hard for me to write are the things that make me a great writer (writing that I’m a “great” writer was a bit of an exercise for me there and I want to delete it but I’m leaving it).

One of the many things I love about being married to an artist is that he sees this struggle in me and he can relate. I hope I won’t wait for him to point it out next time before turning back to the book, but any way that this gentle reminder of the fact that the fear is both normal and motivating makes it into my hands is a gift and I’ll take it.

So What’s My Deal?

“Artists don’t get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working.” – Stephen DeStaebler

Now that I’m coming out of this funk a bit, I can look at what the causes are and see what, if anything, I can do to avoid it next time.

Starting Over

“The depth of your need to make things establishes the level of risk in not making them.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

I made a book this year! I made two! And then I was empty. I’ve written a little about this in the past few months, but I spent so many years honing Polska, 1994 that I cannot remember what it is like to start a new project. That’s been really, really scary. And I’m trying to push myself even farther with the next book, which makes it scarier still.

Starting a New Job

“Lesson for the day: vision is always ahead of execution–and it should be.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

I was recently hired at this really fantastic company (Moz) that deeply cares about my success and me as a human being and they want to pay me to write. That’s both an enormous gift and a whole lot of pressure (especially for someone who trucks in hiding behind her work–something that’s already been noticed and mentioned to me in a helpful way). I’m trying to live up to it because I know how rare this opportunity is. But aside from the exhaustion that comes from learning all the norms of a new culture, I’m also terrified that the faith they have placed in me is mislaid. I guess I feel a little like an imposter about to be found out. For my first big project, I’m investigating some things that are deeply exciting for me, but the farther I stretch, the more concerned I become that the work isn’t good enough or right enough or right for the audience. And despite the fact that I’m working inside a framework where it’s safe (and encouraged) to talk about these things, I haven’t yet opened myself to that process.

“The seed for your next art work lies embedded in the imperfections of your current piece.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

So this week my homework is to talk with this wonderful group of people about how I feel. It’s to be brave about what I think my failings might be and to ask for help. It’s to accept that I will fail (if I’ve gone far enough) and to trust that I can get up from that and do better next time. That all looks so good in type…

Approval

“Courting approval, even that of peers, puts a dangerous amount of power in the hands of the audience.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

Putting my books out into the world is part of their natural life cycle. It’s also exposing them to judgment. That’s hard, but I can man up and accept it’s part of the deal. Starting a new job is putting myself out there and it’s exposing me to judgment as I worry I can only disappoint.

I am smart enough about myself to know that changing jobs right after putting my artwork into the world was going to be treacherous. But this opportunity was too great to pass up. One of the things about me that works as an artist is this insane ability to get deep inside myself and my work and only care about what I think. But I don’t get to do that right now. Instead, I’m presenting all my fingerpaintings to the world and asking for them to find value in them by buying my book or signing my paycheck. It’s okay. It’s normal. But it’s going to take me a little while to find myself in the process and find the comfort zone where I am in charge of my own judgment again. Where I feel strong enough to open up and receive the kind of feedback I need to grow without it feeling like my underlying worth is being challenged.

Postscript

After writing the bulk of this blog post, I had an epic conversation with one of my closest friends. We talked about a lot of things I’ve written about here and about some of the ways they manifest in our lives overall. I’m lucky in my life to have a few of those people (including my husband) who intrinsically get me and whom I trust to challenge me. They help me be stronger and more myself in the world at large. I just want them to know how grateful I am for that.

Growth is hard, but it’s worth it. And it’s easier when you have a good support system. I feel very lucky in that regard.

Oh, and I’ve re-started my second novel. That’s what the first tweet was about. I’m scared as hell but I won’t let that stop me from making good use of the notebook I’ve put into my purse just for that project. Wish me luck!

If you need some help navigating Art & Fear, pick up a copy from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Reflecting on The Dismal Science of Fatherhood

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the dismal science - peter mountfordEven before I opened The Dismal Science by Peter Mountford, I wanted to share it with my dad. The main character, Vincenzo, is an economist and vice president at the World Bank. My dad is a forest economist who’s worked for USAID and spoken at the UN. Kismet, right? As I delved deeper into Mountford’s wry humor and brilliantly aware look at the world of an economist, I got closer and closer to ordering a copy for my dad for Father’s Day. It reminded me so much of him and the things he’s taught me that wanted him to share this book with me.

And then I realized he already had.

Art Imitates Life

Because what I loved about the book, aside from the re-immersion into the world of economics (for a brief few years I thought I’d go into International Political Economics and work at the World Bank), was that I felt closer to my dad while reading it. Mountford’s portrayal of a man testing the boundaries of his career as he jumps into a midlife crisis felt very real and very personal. It brought back all kinds of memories of when my dad’s career took a sharp left turn. Vincenzo is sick of being told what to do by the administration so he pushes back and ends up jobless (despite several attempts by colleagues to get him to save himself). My dad pushed up against his own administrative constraints as he battled with an unreasonable dean and ended up an independent consultant (which is when the really interesting work began).

All the while Vincenzo is battling with his college-aged daughter over her vision of who he should be. My dad was battling with teenaged me (okay, I may have been battling with him) over, well, everything.

Flexibility of Thinking

“‘Any good economist knows how to read the data in a way to get a favorable result'” – Peter Mountford, The Dismal Science

Sometimes I think having a background in Economics is a curse. It’s also a crazy blessing. What my dad taught me is that economists have this amazing ability to pull back and view the entire world as a game with rational actors behaving in their own best interests. If the game pieces (people) aren’t behaving the way you think they should, then the model is wrong and you go and reassess your parameters. This flexibility of thought is the most amazing resource for a writer and I think Mountford (whose father is also an economist) must have benefited from the same education because there’s an openness about this book and the possible results that arrange themselves in front of Vincenzo.

But the thing is that Economics is also the opposite of Creative Writing in a lot of ways. It’s creative all right (see openness of possible results), but the best books create a sense of deep empathy that’s missing from the (dismal) science of behavior. I’m not saying empathy is missing in economists, but I do think that for men like Vincenzo and my dad, operating at the level of the intellect in ignorance of their sweet hearts is what causes their breaks.

You see, my dad the academic is probably also the biggest softie on the inside that I’ve ever met. But something about the combination of the generation he was born into (men will be Men) and life with his father made my dad think he needed to hide all those feelings. (It’s actually a family thing my cousin was just in town and the phrase she used most often was “have FEELINGS about” which is the perfect way of showing exactly where my generation of McKettas is in the struggle to integrate our intellects with our hearts as we earn more graduate degrees than I can count while learning that it’s okay to cry at least occasionally).

I don’t know if it’s Mountford’s wonderful sense of empathy or his clean reportage that let me get so deep into Vincenzo’s crisis, but The Dismal Science is both deeply human and intellectual in the most wonderful ways.

Breaking to Build

“When Leonora called fifteen minutes later, she was rapturous, beginning: ‘Oh my fucking God, Dad, what did you do?!’ He hadn’t heard her sound so pleased with him in years. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time that she’d sounded so pleased with him.” – Peter Mountford

Vincenzo’s break may in part be caused by seeing for a moment his life through the eyes of his daughter, Leonora as she asks him how he’d feel if she protested in front of his office. I don’t know if daughters really have that kind of power, but I think we do, and I’ve often felt like my dad’s touchstone. After Vincenzo goes off the deep end, he meets up with Leonora again for another check-in, he realizes how much she admires this new turn he’s taken.

I don’t know that my dad has ever had that aha! moment where he gets insight into how much I admire him. Our nonfiction relationship is more complicated. We commiserated once about an Econ professor we’d both had, but I don’t think I ever told him I considered going into IPE. And when he’s shared his deepest feelings with me, I’ve probably been in reactive “Let me be a kid” mode. But I know where my dad comes from and as much as I brag about his forays into the Khyber Pass with USAID, his visits to Afghanistan and the Philippines, or his testimony before Congress, what I am most proud of are the moments where he lets the world see his incredibly caring heart. It takes a lot of work to break out from our collective McKetta Intellectual Shield and share your FEELINGS. It’s messy and it hurts (and sometimes feels like you’re inside Garden State). Worst of all, it’s imperfect.

Screw that. BEST of all it’s imperfect. Because it’s human. Because it’s the closest any of us can be to Baba–my grandmother who we all deified because she was kind, gentle, and caring–the woman who we knew we didn’t have the courage to be.

The Art of Imperfection

I’ve had a very imperfect year. I’ve been really busy with a lot of important things. I’ve made new connections and leveled up on the career ladder (in more than one career path). But I’ve neglected the people who make me feel human. And although I wanted desperately to send my dad a copy of this book, I was worried he’d see in that some sort of impugning of his human side. So instead I sent him nothing this Father’s Day–in a year when I think he could most use my admiration and love.

So here it is, Dad. This is your Father’s Day gift. I read a book that reminded me so much of you for exactly the opposite reasons you’d think. Instead of the “failure” you remember, it reminded me of your courage and your sweet heart. It reminded me that you are more Baba than you’ll ever know. It’s not an easy road, but it’s a rewarding one. And if you choose to continue following it, know that I’m looking up to you along the way.

What We Read into Books

There is so much more to The Dismal Science than Vincenzo’s career suicide and his relationship with his daughter. Some people might relate deeply to his relationship with Walter or the ebb and flow of his libido. You might rejoice in his willingness to throw politics aside and end up embroiled in new politics in a third world country. The art of what Mountford has done with this book is to create one gorgeous story with multiple entry points. You can see how it sucked me in. I’ll be interested to see how it reads from your point of view.

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