Are You Somebody

I bought Are You Somebody: The Accidental Memoir of a Dublin Woman on the sale rack at a Barnes and Noble store in Bellingham for absolutely no explicable reason. Then I left it on my shelf for over a decade without reading it, again for no reason whatsoever. If third time’s a charm, then I ought to know why I picked it up the other night and read it. But I don’t.

Much like Nuala O’Faolain herself in writing the memoir, I stumbled into it and found it absolutely moving. As O’Faolain describes moving along in life without strategy, I felt that creepy sensation of someone reading my diary, but, actually it was me reading hers. I picked the book up the evening I discovered that I had not had a real conversation in a week. As disconcerting as that is, I’m young, go to social group things, work, have a housemate, etc, so it’s not as though I’m at risk of having some disaster befall me and not be found for a week. O’Faolain, however, has that grim possibility presented to her even as she recalls the people she knew for whom it was reality.

There are many tracks that O’Faolain’s memoir takes which entranced me. She can put so many specific pieces of information into each story, to the point where the details almost overtake the actual event, making them more solid, whereas for many authors they would instead become tedious. She lists her relationships in a mesmerizing way for they were at once the part of her life she most obsessed about and was most detached from. She cites her strokes of luck and her irresponsibility and continual subscription to faith and ignorance without any chagrin or shame or uncertainty or defensiveness. She gives another context for the budding women’s movement of the mid-late 20^th Century, sharing freshly and intelligently.

I love her matter-of-factness. I love her ability to say plainly terrible things without sensationalism. I love that she understands something of the plight of humanity and that she isn’t scared or unusually brave, either. I don’t know if everyone needs to read this story, this memoir of a Dublin woman. But I needed to read it. I also need to have another good conversation!

Flights

If you have any latent romantic heartstrings that can be pulled, then James Collins’ Beginners Greek is your ticket. This is the kind of story that may even inspire frequent flights cross-country. Personally I’m about ready to hop a flight to LA. And that’s not solely because I have heaps of family and friends down there I’d really like to visit.

So, the premise is that two young people fall in love. Setting: airplane. Distance: NYC to LA. Focal point: the woman is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann (I still remember who I was in love with when I read that book! – and, as wonderful as second breakfast sounded, it was the rest cures that captured my imagination… and which have appeared in my lifestyle…..). Tragedy: the guy loses the girl’s phone number. Resolution: ahem, well, really, you’re literate, read it yourself.

I do, in fact, feel that it is worth reading – major caveat: unless you’re like my sister; I can’t imagine her liking it one bit, or my roommate’s boyfriend, either. It’s a little less intellectual than, say, Thomas Mann, but it isn’t trite. It moves with the intrigue of Gone With the Wind but was compared by critics to something by Jane Austen. The ‘hero’ seems a little bit too wussy and perfect to be believed – what investment banker do you know who’s able to recite an entire poem by an little-known American, who lived in Greece, at a dinner party just off the cuff, and yet not tell a girl he’s been in love with for nearly a decade that he fancies her? Perhaps I’m too judgmental. He sounds a little absurd. He sounds like someone I might know but don’t get….

At times I felt that the book could have been written by someone a bit like the character Charlotte – someone who tries so very hard. Incidentally, Charlotte felt like the absolute most authentic person, followed, but not very closely, by the heroine, Holly. The author wrote about women so well; I wonder if his mother died when he was young and now he’s just trying to earn the love of women…. A joke, once you’ve read the book you’ll get it.

The one string left hanging was the only one I saw from a fair distance the easiest resolution. In other words, one character’s presence in the story was purely to be a catalyst. Sort of the same role as the apothecary in Romeo & Juliet. Funny, her name was Julia…. I ended up respecting her a tiny bit and not minding overly much at all that it looks like she suffered a completely renewed spirit over the course of the book and would choose the right path from here on out.

The setting being New York City, with brief flights to LA, Paris, etc, was alright. I often wondered while reading why two such good people ended up there, but I shouldn’t. I know some lovely people, whose stories don’t even remotely resemble this one, living in NYC. But I’ll readily admit that finding love there and the description of the lifestyle enjoyed did not entice me. This realization surfaced into my consciousness multiple times while reading the book. Usually as a scene is created I get entirely caught up in it. This was a disconcerting break from my suspension of disbelief, and I have no ready explanation.

Pickled Herring

It’s not very often that I am given jars of pickled herring. This fine day did occur very recently and was quickly followed by a meeting with Rene Redzepi, the chef of Noma, which was recognized this year with the S Pellegrino award as the Best Restaurant in the World, and is located in Copenhagen, Denmark.

Prior to consulting Redzepi’s cookbook to see if pickled herring was indeed part of Nordic Cuisine, I fashioned a pickled herring salsa. I used the tomatoes I had processed at the end of summer (which I cooked very little and added to caramelized onions, thyme, and oregano – not super typical of salsa, I realize). Just some herring and cooked wheat berries didn’t quite make the salsa swing. However, I heated the combination, which ended up being too strong, but the following day when I tried it cold again – delicious.

Now that I have looked through NOMA: Time and Place in Nordic Cuisine, as well as searched the Index for herring, I find that indeed, the only herring dish is pickled! In fact, the herring is marinated – with salt and vinegar, whereas mine also has sugar. The herring is paired with pumpkin and walnut, both ingredients I often employ in the more moderate Northwest. I’m looking forward to experimenting with the rest of my herring!

As for the other recipes, I can understand why I was told that it really isn’t the sort of cooking one does on a day to day basis. And yet, the combinations feel entirely familiar and reasonable. Well, maybe not potato, anise, and chocolate…. But, as interesting as the food sounds, I’ll admit that the greater delight for me is in the photographs. Each section follows from raw ingredients and landscapes to plated dishes in a mesmerizing flow. I look forward to trying more combinations and techniques this fall and winter, when thoughts of the Nordic are closer than ever.

Evelyn Waugh in short

I just finished reading The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh. It was a book with short shorts, long shorts, and incomplete shorts. The New York Times review stated “It is never too late to read or reread Evelyn Waugh.” I would have to agree wholeheartedly. This statement does beg the question, however, whether it is ever too early.

Considering that I groaned audibly at the end of more than one of these stories, causing my roommate’s dog, Canyon, to come check on me as he does when my nieces cry when falling off the swing in the back yard, I imagine it might be at least PG13 reading. I know kids read JK Rowlings’ Harry Potter series which is full of suspense and drama. Somehow Waugh’s stories aren’t enough of that genre, but more the gut-wrenching ironic twist for a finish that will make one gag a bit and realize that the story has hit much harder than one quite wishes for an evening in with a book.

Having said that, needing to set the book aside from time to time as certain stories keep me from sitting comfortably in the overstuffed leather chair with the ottoman didn’t keep me from it long, as the stories were so well-told that the occasionally humorous and light ones enticed me back again and again. So, I will likely reread Evelyn Waugh, long before it’s too late.

The Age of Persuasion

Everyone who sees my book, The Age of Persuasion: How Marketing Ate Our Culture has a comment or question or both. This is a fantastic ice breaker if you’re pretty much anywhere. I’ve traveled most of the West coast of the United States with it while on a road trip. This does lessen the punch somewhat. I find that reading over long periods of time and long distances usually weakens the message. But with the message coming from award-winning ad-men, Terry O’Reilly and Mike Tennant, I guess that’s an apt description of their point. Who can contemplate massive redwood forests and guerrilla marketing simultaneously? (Not to mention keeping one’s eyes on the road in order to catch all the Hwy 101 signs.)

I think that there is a lot about marketing that I really admire and enjoy. The authors, O’Reilly and Tennant, agree and even elucidate for me what those areas are. I now understand the ‘implicit contract’ between advertiser and advertisee. There are also innumerable annoying things about ads, which the authors not only identify, but tear apart thread by thread the way I used to go at mozzarella sticks as a kid. Covering the age from snake oils to product placements in entertainment, it is quite a big cheese stick.

I’d like to quote at some length what this implicit contract really is, as it’s such an easy way to determine the quality of ads. “While much of the work is highly creative, it (speaking here of billboards), like many other media, must figure out a way to honor an implicit contract between advertisers and consumers which, simply put, promises that advertisers must give you something in exchange for their imposition on your time, attention, and space…. The key is that it offers some tangible benefit.” (Age of Persuasion, p29)

Since I avoid most forms of marketing (don’t watch TV, listen to public radio, avoid clothes with insignias on them, etc) billboards are by far the most typical thing I see. In the city I commute past a number of them and historically they stand out since their message is so big and bold. They sometimes make me blush. Apparently that is not altogether certainly good or bad. Hmm.

If you’re interested in how our culture was consumed, then this book may be of interest. I got a kick out of the style: corny, engaging, informed, opinionated, anecdotal, with pleasant cartoon boxes full of extraneous information. Good, fun reading! The implicit contract was met –and that with a phenomenal cover design to boot.

‘Ad giant Phil Dusenberry put it: “I have always believed that writing advertisements is the second most profitable form of writing. The first, of course, is ransom notes.”’ (Age of Persuasion, pxxiv)

No's the Answer

A number of evenings ago I read an enjoyable account of Beth Wareham, a woman who learned to say ‘no’. She says no in every imaginable arena and over every possible situation. And her point is that she’s happier and more productive than ever.

Glorious. I essentially told the Seattle Public Library ‘no’ in order to keep The Power of No; How to Keep Blowhards and Bozos at Bay in my possession long enough to read it (about a month past return date). It didn’t take long to read, it was just finding the time to sit with a book, which I find incredibly challenging in the height of summer. Of course, now it’s no longer the height and saying no to other exploits kept me home reading just long enough to learn how it’s done.

Wareham broke saying ‘no’ into various entertaining chapters. How to say ‘no’ to a boyfriend, a colleague, a boss, a friend, a stranger, a parent, a spouse, and a sibling are all just different enough to necessitate varied tactics. They might even require altogether different vocabulary. I myself remember a certain boss who yelled at me, “Don’t tell me ‘no’!” which I will admit having done…. I laughed then, and the situation was ludicrous enough that I still laugh about it now. Wareham doesn’t recommend my approach. Even I haven’t used it much since then. J

I was super surprised that she did recommend what I consider ‘playing games’ in relationships. Don’t answer phone calls, wait to return texts, etc. I hate that. Of course, I’m not in a relationship…. Oh well, apparently what I call considerate, Wareham calls too yessy.

Finally, after all outside influences have been slayed and silenced, Wareham focuses on how to say ‘no’ to oneself. It appears a straight-forward, you’re-not-fooling-anyone-here routine is the correct style. You don’t need peanut M&M’s or a new sun-dress were her clever and ubiquitous examples which, on my own level (ice cream and shoes), I rather understand.

When all is said and done it appears I have a handy familiarity with saying ‘no,’ and even though I employ many of the varied methods of communicating ‘no’ I’m not sure they’re at all equal. Wareham’s discussion has definitely brought choice new ways to say ‘no’ to my attention. Wonderful!

Good to be Great

I picked up The Curse of the Good Girl: Raising Authentic Girls with Courage and Confidence for three reasons: perfect cover design, excellent ‘advance praise’ on the back cover, and the author, Rachel Simmons, started what looked like an interesting program for girls and writes about her passion. There really is a fourth reason. I have nieces and teach girls in Sunday School, and I want to be prepared to give my girls the best possible encouragement.

The introduction, I realized was the author explaining in her own words the importance of the French phrase, etre bien dans sa peaux, which I have grown to love. Literally it means ‘to be well in your skin’ but what you want to get from it is a sense of ‘it’s my own self in my own body, and I like it.’ Simmons doesn’t go into French idioms, but she certainly supports the idea!

Now that I’ve read the book, however, I realize that Simmons’ main objective for someone who teaches girls or leads girls or mothers girls is that said woman herself est bien dans sa peaux. Yes, Simmons thinks the healthiest way for girls to become great, rather than just ‘good,’ is to be around people who are modeling how to be oneself. This reminds me of the Jewish rabbi who discovered that God was not asking him to be Moses, but to be himself. What a beautiful way of life to embrace.

Using an immense number of girls’ interactions that she documents from her summer programs, Simmons illustrates many essential communication rituals among girls which assure them that they are being good. Of course, with every example, she explains that it is impossible to actually be good, therefore the girls incessantly set themselves up for failure. And that is not good.

Good Girls don’t fight, so if a girl is in a fight with a friend, she’s not good. Good Girls don’t promote themselves, so if a girl asserts her abilities, she’s not good. Good Girls don’t make mistakes, so if a girl gets negative feedback from a coach, teacher, etc, she’s not good. These end up being strangle holds on girls, keeping them from really learning how to grow all the way up.

Simmons rightly differentiates between girls being social together and girls in relation to authority. She also identifies that girls themselves do not always properly draw that line between the girls and the adults. I have seen this particular issue with older girls who are about to be adults, but aren’t actually there yet.

Ultimately, Simmons’ goal is to encourage girls to become great, and leave good alone. The only way to be great is to discover who you are, to take risks, to have courage. Raise your hand even if you’re not sure about the answer. Be challenged and mobilized by change, not defeated. Be honest about your feelings. Pursue risk and adventure, for these, not the worry of failure, may “yield exhilarating leaps in growth.” (p90) Sounds good to me.