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This book is by a man who wouldn't let experts discourage him from long-distance running, in spite of his injuries and his physical build.
Caught at the crossroads of medical warnings and anecdotal evidence of aborted running careers, on one side, and the growing awareness that most mammals and some people manage to run most of their lives without significant injury, Christopher McDougall embarks on a journey to learn to run without injury. His book Born to Run has a dual focus, the smaller emphasis being on his personal journey, the majority of the book on explaining the relationship between the Tarahumara people of Mexico and the larger world of running, including its commercial and technological mis-steps.
The writing style of this book, like my running style, suffers from excesses and omissions that frequently work against its intentions. As one might hope for a running style, the prose in the book improves with time, so that by the middle or so, the prose often reaches that remarkable standard described by George Orwell where it no longer draws attention to itself.
So my caution to potential readers is not to be discouraged by the hyperbole, mixed metaphors, and apparently unnecessary delays during the first fourth of the book. Perhaps those pages suffer from some of the habits of "sports writing," when it engages in a flamboyant style comprised of unlikely comparisons and forced exclamations. There is nothing, however, necessary or universal about sports requiring those writing habits, as several later chapters in Born to Run illustrate.
As McDougall sets out to discover the Tarahumara runners, he is leery of neighboring drug gangs, one of which made "five heads" roll "onto the dance floor of a crowded nightclub" (2). Five people dying and five heads rolling are not identical situations, the latter suffering from Hollywood imagery.
Going to great lengths to describe the Tarahumara as a people who have deliberately avoided the crass commercialism of the West, the author uses the unfortunate comparison of a good looking Tarahumara being "Hollywood handsome." Again, in describing a Tarahumara, the language draws attention away from the man, Arnulfo, to a conglomerate of a cinematic pirate and a robocop: " . . . a thigh-length skirt and a fiery red tunic as billowing as a pirate's blouse. Every time he moved, the muscles in his legs shifted and reformed like molten steel" (27).
In one final example, a young Tarahumara named Marcelino, " . . . looked like the Human Torch . . . he looked as if he'd burst straight out of the Steve Prefontaine poster on the bedroom wall of every high school track star in America" (41).
This kind of prose is the heel striking sort, and if that sounds good, it isn't in light of the book's excellent, short history of the running shoe. In Chapter 25, it traces the history of the shoe over the last forty years, and how the shoe helped hijack the natural ability of humans to run long and to run for fun. Being from Los Alamos, I'm more tolerant of one more grand comparison that summarizes the effect of the shoe industry as McDougall assesses it: "Asics spent three million dollars and eight years--three more than it took the Manhattan Project to create the first atomic bomb--to invent the awe-inspiring Kinsei, a shoe that boasts, 'multi-angled forefoot gel pods,' a 'midfoot thrust enhancer,' and an 'infinitely adaptable heel component that isolates and absorbs impact to reduce pronation and aid in forward propulsion'" (170).
The chapter traces the history of the running shoe in terms primarily of Nike, showing that well-intentioned technologies had serious negative consequences, and that various research continued to question these technologies. Not an expert except concerning my own experience, I was completely taken in by that chapter.
Earlier on, the book achieves a similar cogency after narrating the forays of the Tarahumara into the challenges of the Leadville Trail 100 in Colorado. While the Leadville narrative is interesting, it is after that, in Chapter 15, that McDougall--at his best--questions the recent trends in running. Using Coach Vigil, noted running instructor from southern Colorado, as a touchstone for the vision of running as a form of love and joy, the discussion notes that in the 70s, runners such as Frank Shorter made great advances. Soon after, shoes became more developed and endorsements became more lucrative, while long distance running achievements in the western world lagged behind the achievements of their forbearers. While there is likely some counter-evidence that should be sifted through, the book offers a challenging thesis, that there's an inverse relationship between commercialization/civilization and successful long distance running.
It is this realization that began to inform various training approaches, including Chi running and the POSE method, approaches that illustrate an almost spontaneous appearance of thoughtful antidotes to the excesses of heel-striking, jogging, and other inefficient movements (206).
While this book could have become perhaps another method book--which might not be a bad thing, given that the expository chapters such as 15 and 25 are so good--it chose to remain a narrative. And it is the last quarter of the book that ties together so many loose ends, bringing a handful of ultramarathoners to Mexico to join the Tarahumara (also known as the Rarámuri) for a rigorous run through the Mexican canyons, competitive but not commercial, a run most likely forgotten except for the memorializing effort provided by this book.
last updated: 2011/03/29
When I reviewed Christopher McDougall's Born to Run, I ignored two major characters in his book that have belatedly come into my field of vision. One is Caballo Blanco, also known as Micah True. He plays a large role in McDougall's book, and has now passed on to what might be hoped to be longer trails and wider canyons, having died this year.
The other character is Scott Jurek, who is—as was Caballo Blanco—a resident of Boulder, Colorado. It was in Boulder that I heard Scott speak after a local fun run, and shortly after that I read his book, surprised that I had not taken more notice of him in McDougall's book.
Eat & Run is a book I highly recommend to anyone who is interested in either long-distance running or stories of tough beginnings leading to real successes later in life.
The book would also would be of interest to any vegan, particularly one who wanted a response for critics who think a balanced, high-protein, high-energy vegan diet is impractical. Scott has given the lie to such thinking, proving time after time that he is able to maintain his stamina and speed over long distances covering tortuous terrain. Skimming his "Ultramarathon Race History" at the end of the book, I see pages of runs that range between 50k and 160k, punctuated by the U.S. record for a 24-hour distance of 267k (165.7 miles) in 2010.
The last feat, being a test of the mental capacity to resist boredom as well as the physical capacity to keep moving, might make one question the psychology of the runner, which is something Scott himself does in various ways through the book. Whatever the motivations for running are, it is toward the end of the book that he takes a journey through trails in the Grand Canyon to once again find the joy that gets lost along the professional way (a liability in any sport, probably).
Outside of some necessary biographical chapters, each chapter follows a simple structure. It narrates an especially memorable or educational ultra marathon. The chapters usually conclude with a few paragraphs of carefully selected running tips, followed by one of his favorite vegan recipes. This structure makes the book eminently readable and, at the same time, helpful to the novice runner or vegan (or both).
The books appears to maintain quite an honest account of Scott's career. The following examples assured me of this fidelity:
his difficulties as the son of a harsh and stubborn father
his friendship with Dusty, who may be at times faithful, inspiring, and also irritatingly crass
accusations of Scott's failure to make wise decisions when he was pacing Brian Morrison in the 2006 Western States 100
the loss of his first wife who told him frankly that he wasn't funny and he wasn't interesting (193)
the recognition of greater runners: "The greatest Spartathlon champion was—and probably always will be—home-grown. Twenty-six-year-old Yiannis Kouros . . ." whose award for the Spartathlon was withheld for several days because of suspicions he could have arrived with such an early finish only by cheating
This book is inspirational, in that it shows that sometimes pain is something to be greeted and endured. It might not convert the reader to ultramarathons nor to veganism. It isn't attempting either. But it can help the amateur runner push a little harder on the next run or the pescatarian add a few more vegetables to the next meal.
last updated: 2012/09/28
Among the reviews on this site, this one is least like a book review, and instead primarily provides a sample of quotations. The book promises to focus on the lives of the physicists whose work led to the field of nuclear physics, the starting point which is attributed to the "Miracle Year" of 1932. In that year the existence of the photon and neutron had been established, and these discoveries made the annual meeting of the Copenhagen circle even more momentous. Segrè nominates seven physicists as comprising the core that provided the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics.
Four of the seven—Niels Bohr, Paul Dirac, Werner Heisenberg, and Wolfgang Pauli—would be placed in most physicists' selection of the century's top ten physicists. Lise Meitner, the only woman in the group, ranks high on anyone's list of the century's most important experimentalists. Another of the seven, Max Delbrück, changed fields soon after the meeting, though he never stopped defining himself as a physicist. He went on to become one of the founding fathers of modern molecular biology and ranks as one of that discipline's top ten. All of them taught and mentored a generation of future scientists. The last of the seven, Paul Ehrenfest, was perhaps the greatest teacher of them all. (1)
It's Niels Bohr who carries the focus and celebratory spirit of the book, but it's Ehrenfest who perhaps explains best the title and subtitle of the book. It became a practice at these annual meetings for the younger physicists to put on a skit that poked fun at the older physicists. Accordingly, in 1932, the skit was a parody of Goethe's Faust. The unfortunate Ehrenfest was both cast as Dr. Faustus and, soon after the meeting in 1932, was subject to deep depression and committed suicide. Segrè writes, "In light of the suicide, it seems almost ghoulish to go back to the 1932 Faust parody and read into it further parallels flowing from the association of Doctor Faust with Ehrenfest" (252-53). Nevertheless, the author does hint at a few parallels.
While the skit based on Faust seems more relevant to the book as a result of Ehrenfest's suicide, the references to the skit throughout the book often seemed to interrupt the less speculative, ultimately better material of the history. Using the skit provides an angle for Segrè that most likely differentiates his account from any other, but for me it was unnecessary. Perhaps a long footnote or an appendix would have done more for my appreciation of the skit's role. Of course, the book's title would have to change (perhaps to Physicists in Copenhagen). The subtitle, however, could remain, with a dual focus on the search for the soul of physics (is it a quantum or a classical soul?) and on the search by each person for his or her soul.
It is Niels Bohr, the man with a heart for both science and the welfare of others, who brings the brightest moments to the book:
Bohr also encouraged invitees to bring along particularly bright students. Ehrenfest took him up on the offer and arrived in Copenhagen with twenty-year-old Hendrik Casimir. . . . As their train approached Warnemünde, where they caught the old ferry across the Baltic to Denmark, Ehrenfest suddenly fell silent. Turning to Casimir, he said, "now you are going to know Niels Bohr and that is the most important thing to happen in the life of a young physicist. . . ."
After arriving in Copenhagen, Casimir is allowed to extend his stay from a matter of days to two years. Casimir's parents worried about this unexpected separation from their son until they learned that they could send letters to him with speedy delivery, simply by addressing them,
c/o Niels Bohr
In a similar vein of generosity and appreciation of younger physicists, Bohr met George Gamow, on leave from the Soviet Union. Gamow's schedule allowed him only one day to visit Niels, but after spending a few hours together discussing alpha particle emission, Niels "said to him, 'My secretary tells me you have only enough money for one day. If I arrange for you a Carlsberg fellowship at the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences, would you stay here for one year?'" (187)
Stories such as these provide sufficient background for the work Bohr performed helping Danish scientists escape to Sweden during the Nazi occupation.
The scientific discussions do not require a knowledge of mathematics or physics, only an interest in the outlines of the theories developed in the 1920s-30s. Many pages involve Heisenberg, who, though much younger than Bohr, thought inventively like Bohr, and ultimately took some of the greatest risks to conceptualize the nature of atomic structure. Pauli formed a theoretical third with them, offering scathing critiques of everyone's work. Dirac did with pure mathematics what these three did with an amalgam of analysis, conjecture, and equations. Einstein, in America, and Schrödinger, in Switzerland, are paired off as two of the leading physicists who remained suspicious of the Copenhagen interpretation. Einstein in particular never subscribed to the loss of causality implied by the uncertainty principle, stating that if there were no causality, he'd rather be employed in a gaming house than a scientific institute. The book credits all the scientists with significant and often astonishing discoveries or explanations. Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and Bohr's principle of complementarity are presented as the culmination of the Copenhagen interpretation, also perhaps to be considered the soul of that kind of physics. The author, by the way, is a physicist and astronomer, who handles the scientific discussions with more authority and finesse than one would guess by reading these scant notes.
last updated: 2012/07/21
This book portrays one man in North Carolina whose consciousness is split between enjoying nature through immersion and reforming society through example and precept. Reflecting on the man's family, including his unaccepting father, his supportive mother, and his disciplinarian grandfather, the author suggests how much easier it is for a man to leave civilization than to leave his family's influence. True to its title ("Last" and "American"), the book provides a historical dimension, fitting Eustace Conway into a lineage of true American men, including Daniel Boone, Kit Carson, Lewis, and Clark. The historical lines suggest that the traits that make for this American man are also traits that lead to frustration and alienation. Or is it the reverse?.
As I read, I wished the narrator of The Last American Man could have remained distinct from the character she was describing. Increasingly, though, the two merge, making the narration colloquial and clichéd. Referring to Eustace's search for food while on a long hike, she concludes a paragraph with the statement that he was "starving to death." He certainly wasn't, although he might have felt that way. He might, elsewhere, have used words such as "bullshit" and "goddam," but there was nothing to indicate why the narrator relies on the same language, although she does. About half way through the book, I decided to declare a moratorium on referring to people "hanging around" or two people "sticking together." Perhaps I've been reading too many 19th century writings lately, but, for whatever reason, I expected a narration that drew less attention to itself and its own kinship to the culture being described.
In spite of this objection, I recall some events are told quite well, including a series of failed relationships that Eustace had embarked upon, each obtaining about a paragraph to trace the rising and falling action (Valerie, Mandy, Marcia, Dale, Jenny, Amy, Tonya, and Carla) (140-143). Eustace's relationships with his two brothers and one sister are described memorably, showing that the siblings are both interested in and—at the same time—unable to be close to Eustace (236-239). Perhaps it is more than a coincidence that some of the best narration involves the relational side of Eustace's life, because that is the side where the narrator was forced to keep her distance from her subject, the side that Eustace had not mastered and for which Eustace could not begin to provide an adequate explanation.
last updated: 2012/12/30
Like Naked (1997), Me Talk Pretty One Day is another collection of short stories from David Sedaris. For some reason, I enjoyed Me Talk more than the earlier collection. Perhaps one reason is because it contains several stories that I consider perfect. They are perfect in that I cannot think of anything that should be added, removed, or changed from them.
The first example would be the first story, "Go Carolina," which describes the experience of being identified as a grade school student in need of speech therapy, and then receiving it. In the margins of the story lie dual recognitions: his teacher identifies him as being unable to pronounce his sibilants well; he, himself, identifies himself as a member of a minority of male students who are neither popular nor steadfastly heterosexual:
I started keeping watch over the speech therapy door, taking note of who came and went. Had I seen one popular student leaving the office, I could have believed my mother and viewed my lisp as the sort of thing that might happen to anyone. Unfortunately, I saw no popular students. Chuck Coggins, Sam Shelton, Luis Delucca: obviously, there was some connection between a sibilate 's' and a complete lack of interest in the State versus Carolina issue. (9)
Remove the stereotypical assumptions about the lisp from the story and it still stands as a remarkable record of how demoralizing and discouraging speech therapy can be for a grade-schooler. Everything is restricted to the point of view of the fifth grader, including the similarities between how detectives pursue and arrest suspects and how "Agent Sampson," the therapist, hones in on the speech problems, with the result that Sedaris learns to avoid using plurals altogether in order to avoid further scrutiny. Ironically, years later when he lives in France, he is perplexed by the gender of French nouns and learns that the only safe way to speak is to use the plural, which means the typical shopping trip results in two of everything, including things like blenders.
Capturing and maintaining a specific point of view, allowing that point of view to provide the humor, is a major strength in Sedarus' writing. Later in the book, a story takes him to France where he enrolls in a French class. This single sentence proves the helplessness he feels as he struggles to stay above the water line, when the ruthless teacher attempts to weed out the incompetent students:
"If you have not meimslsxp or lgpdmurct by this time, then you should not be in this room. Has everyone apzkiubjxow? Everyone? Good, we shall begin." (167) Another perfect story is "The Youth in Asia." While providing the history of pets in the Sedaris family, it sketches well the family itself. The story captures many of the moments of pet keeping, from the affection a first pet inspires to the insipidness of that pet's replacement, from the struggle to keep pets alive at all costs to the moment of surrender to the youth in Asia who says you must put your pet down, because, "'It is required.'" At first pets are brought in the home to entertain the children, but as the children grow up, pets are maintained to replace the children. Finally, "When my mother died and was cremated herself . . . my father and Melina [Great Dane] had each other all to themselves" (80-81). The stories often take the side of the person who doesn't fit into current trends or fashions. This part appeals to me because I share several of Sedaris' preferences.
the American offering of only newly released movies in theaters—, and the habit of eating voraciously during the movie ("The City of the Dark Lights") restaurant dishes that contain unusual ingredients and are presented in a way that disguises the entrèe as a new type of architecture ("Today's Special") the lust for the newest technology with a consequent disdain for older technologies ("Nutcracker.com") Concerning this last item and in conclusion to this review, I will quote one episode in "Nutcracker.com":
When forced to leave my house for an extended period of time, I take my typewriter with me, and together we endure the wretchedness of passing through the X-ray scanner. The laptops roll merrily down the belt, while I'm instructed to stand aside and open my bag. To me it seems like a normal enough thing to be carrying, but the typewriter's declining popularity arouses suspicion and I wind up eliciting the sort of reaction one might expect when traveling with a cannon.
Another perfect story is "The Youth in Asia." While providing the history of pets in the Sedaris family, it sketches well the family itself. The story captures many of the moments of pet keeping, from the affection a first pet inspires to the insipidness of that pet's replacement, from the struggle to keep pets alive at all costs to the moment of surrender to the youth in Asia who says you must put your pet down, because, "'It is required.'" At first pets are brought in the home to entertain the children, but as the children grow up, pets are maintained to replace the children. Finally, "When my mother died and was cremated herself . . . my father and Melina [Great Dane] had each other all to themselves" (80-81).
The stories often take the side of the person who doesn't fit into current trends or fashions. This part appeals to me because I share several of Sedaris' preferences.
the American offering of only newly released movies in theaters—, and the habit of eating voraciously during the movie ("The City of the Dark Lights")
restaurant dishes that contain unusual ingredients and are presented in a way that disguises the entrèe as a new type of architecture ("Today's Special")
the lust for the newest technology with a consequent disdain for older technologies ("Nutcracker.com")
Concerning this last item and in conclusion to this review, I will quote one episode in "Nutcracker.com":
When forced to leave my house for an extended period of time, I take my typewriter with me, and together we endure the wretchedness of passing through the X-ray scanner. The laptops roll merrily down the belt, while I'm instructed to stand aside and open my bag. To me it seems like a normal enough thing to be carrying, but the typewriter's declining popularity arouses suspicion and I wind up eliciting the sort of reaction one might expect when traveling with a cannon.
"It's a typewriter," I say. "You use it to write angry letters to airport authorities."
The keys are then slapped and pounded, and I'm forced to explain that if you want the words to appear, you first have to plug it in and insert a sheet of paper.
The goons shake their heads and tell me I really should be using a computer. That's their job, to stand around in an ill-fitting uniform and tell you how you should lead your life. . . ." (147)
last updated: 2012/09/23
If you are considering becoming a public health worker, a doctor without borders, and/or someone who cares for the poor, read this book. It is going in the same direction and will be a good companion.
The book narrates parts of the life, and the life's work, of Paul Farmer, MD, who grew up in the United States, sometimes on a used school bus and sometimes on a house boat. Unlike many who grow up under what may be considered impoverished conditions, Paul continues to embrace them in his adult life instead of taking refuge in cleaner, safer environments. Once he discovered the Central Plateau of Haiti, and began to establish a free clinic in Cange, he could never leave for long. He is a doctor who is refreshed and vitalized by his patients, and he is never at a loss for patients in the clinic, Zanmi Lasante (Creole for "Partners In Health."
The scope of the book goes far beyond Haiti, and follows Paul to Peru and Siberia (among other places) in his crusade to treat the poor who have Tuberculosis (TB), a poor person's disease by and large. The strain of TB he sought to cure was multi-resistant (MDR). His goal is to provide treatment that reflects a preferential option for the poor, fully independent of economic, geographic, political, or social considerations. The author sums up the attitude that pervades Paul's efforts in the following sentence:
He's still going to make these hikes, he'd insist, because if you say that seven hours is too long to walk for two families of patients, you're saying that their lives matter less than some others', and the idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that's wrong with the world. (294)
The friend who recommended the book to me wrote, ". . . it is so amazing and important (and well-written) . . . ." The good writing arises not only from Tracey Kidder's prose, but from Paul's extemporaneous speech. When he is quoted, one often hears a good aphorism, with epigrammatic irony and often a bid for the underdog. Following is a (nearly) random sampling from Paul:
I would read stuff from scholarly texts and know they were wrong. Living in Haiti, I realized that a minor error in one setting of power and privilege could have an enormous impact on the poor in another. (78)
"Surely someone is witnessing this horror show? . . . I was taken with the idea that in an ostensibly godless world that worshiped money and power, or more seductively, a sense of personal efficacy and advancement, like at Duke and Harvard, there was still a place to look for God, and that was in the suffering of the poor. You want to talk crucifixion? I'll show you crucifixion, you bastards. (85)
One thing that comes back to me, with all this cost-efficacy crap, if I saved one patient in my whole life, that wouldn't be too bad. What did you do with your life? I saved Michela, got a guy out of jail. . . . To have a chance to save a zillion of them, I dig that. (187)
And there's the preemie who worried me because she's no bigger than a peanut. But she looked fine. . . . For a tadpole. (188)
The book, published in 2003, ends on an optimistic trajectory. The Gates Foundation endows several organizations with money to fight MDR TB. Other donors help expand the work of Partners in Health in the Central Plateau. However, after the book's publication, President Jean-Bertrand Aristide (an acquaintance of Paul's) was ousted by a military coup, in 2004. It is always worth noting when a democratically elected leader who has found favor with a humanitarian such as Paul Farmer is removed from his country. The ousting of someone who understands the poor probably fits into Paul's concept of the uphill battle that he fights, "the long defeat" that he finds so worthwhile.
last updated: 2009/02/21
Not having read him extensively, I've always thought Abraham Heschel (1907-1972) a writer who could be appreciated by followers of the Torah and of Jesus, alike. A Jewish philosopher, he wrote with great respect for the Torah and the rabbinical traditions. He also marched next to Martin Luther King, Jr. in one of the Selma civil rights marches (1965). And in this book, he echoes Jesus, writing, ". . . the Sabbath was a union that no one could disjoin. What God put together could not be set apart" (52).
The central concept of the book is that the first six days of the week allow humans to build and achieve things in space, whereas the seventh day is set aside to allow humans to appreciate time. The difference between the two modes of being is great. Space, and all its belongings, are temporary—easy to engage in, being visible and tangible, and easier, therefore, to be misled by. Time, by contrast and by Heschel's definition, is eternal and is the palace where we meet God. It is also the palace where rest and celebration replace ambition and labor. Not the rituals, but the psychology and the spirituality of the Sabbath are the primary concerns of the book.
I recommend the book for anyone who, independent of their attraction or rejection of ritual and tradition, seeks for a calmer, more meaningful life that is not governed by pace but by a balanced rhythm. It is fairly short, and even brief if one chooses to skip the middle chapters on the allegorical meaning of Rabbi Shimeon's life. This allegory is carefully explicated, but for those who do not savor that way of thinking, the conclusions in the final chapters are compelling apart from the allegory that leads up to them.
Following are a few of Heschel's memorable aphorisms:
Man is not a beast of burden, and the Sabbath is not for the purpose of enhancing the efficiency of his work. . . . The Sabbath is not for the sake of the weekdays; the weekdays are for the sake of the Sabbath. (14)
The faith of the Jew is not a way out of this world, but a way of being within and above this world; not to reject but to surpass civilization. (27)
If God is everywhere, He cannot be just somewhere. (81)
One good hour may be worth a lifetime; an instant of returning o God may restore what has been lost in years of escaping from Him. (98)
The book offers a bridge between the drive for occupying space and the necessity of allowing time to be an end in itself. When we control space we are bound to things, and time evaporates; when we submit ourselves to time, we are courted by eternity, and space becomes silent. "To men alone time is elusive; to men with God time is eternity in disguise" (101).
The Sabbath, being defined as a day that is not only good but holy, provides a portal to eternity. Each individual occupies space exclusively, with the result the human relations are rivalrous, and our attention becomes frozen on what (and who) is—and is not—ours. In contrast, the entire race can share the same time, with the result that everyone can share will all their praise.
While many of us are not committed to the Sabbath with either the rigor or the eagerness extolled by this book, we all find ourselves stalked by time. But it is not time that stalks us; it is the lack of time. Each effort to buy time, whether through another finished task or another, faster electronic communication—each effort uses up the time for which we increasingly thirst. The book invites us to let go of time, to stop seeking to control it, and thereby to finally appreciate it and the eternity that stands behind it.
last updated: 2009/09/27
If you have read The Shack, the following quote may echo your reading experience:
But the reader should be warned neither to expect a story nor to judge the book as such. Basically . . . the narrative outline advances the argument by providing the leads and transitional matter in the schematic conduct of the discourse. The voices in this enquiry are for the most part undifferentiated tonally, and bear labels chiefly in order to give a semblance of dramatic interchange to rational demonstration, and thus to lighten proofs.
That description was written 49 years before The Shack was published, and is part of Bertand H. Bronson's introduction to Samuel Johnson's The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia. The point is that The Shack shares something in common with other fictional works concerned more about certain ideas than about creating a fully nuanced world in which the actors might take control of the plot and lead it where they will. A kind of "dream vision," The Shack may disappoint any reader who is not in the mood for the priority of sentiment over ideas, as well as of ideas over character and phrasing. It does not have, alas, the quotability of Rasselas with its Johnsonian eloquence such as, "Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures."
What The Shack does offer is an imaginative detour from the rutted pathway of traditional Christian discourse to a fresher expression of (mostly) traditional discourse, landscaped with terminology that would not have been fashionable prior to the nineties. At times the words "relationship" and "relational" permeate the dialogue therapeutically. But that form of therapy became popular for a generation of westerners who were acutely aware of their inability to maintain relationships. And, similarly, The Shack addresses the root question of our inability to know our Creator, something that is seemingly either so basic as to not need instruction, or so far-fetched as to not merit discussion. And, yet, the need persists.
Readers may find themselves disagreeing with the book's theology. In fact, it seems that many readers feel a need to state that they did not agree on all points (although who would think they had?). But few readers who finish the book--except by assignment--will disagree with the importance of the quest the book portrays. Why, otherwise, finish the book?
The book offers a vision of a kinder, gentler God than the one often preached in many Catholic or Protestant circles, at least wherever the concept of the final judgment is conveyed. In a less elegant manner than CS Lewis' The Great Divorce, The Shack invites the reader to consider that the distance between humans and God is a specifically human orientation and that there is nothing in the divine promoting that distance.
This concept of an unfathomable love is something worth exploring, whether one does it through The Shack or in his or her own imaginary journey. If it is a valid concept, it is an absolutely important one in the long run.
At this point, my review ends, and what is left is a biographical note with its own imaginative turn. Prior to reading The Shack, I read an article that quoted various readers' reactions, among whom was a prominent Pastor of a prominent "church" that I had thought was an organization that would have welcomed a book like The Shack. Far from it, this Pastor denounced the book for being dangerous and something to be avoided. Of course denunciations like that get movies and books higher on the best-seller lists, which is probably not what this Pastor intended.
At any rate, I mentioned to one of my friends that I was quite surprised this Pastor had denounced the book, and I was curious to read the book to find out what was so repugnant. At that point something like The Great Misunderstanding crept into our dialogue. Although my friend claims he did not say this (and I believe him, since he should know), what I heard was, "That's because the book puts that Pastor in hell."
Accordingly, I bought the book and read it, wondering how this easy going God was going to put the Pastor in hell. Toward the end of the book, I realized my expectations were skewed. But on reflection, I think the book could have afforded such an ending. I think this because whether or not we believe that the concept of hell that Jesus described applies to this life only or also to the next, it is a concept tied closely into how much grace we offer others.
In this ending--not that I'd want to wish this fate upon anyone--the main character would have returned from the shack and attended a popular fellowship, one where he could meet with the Elders and share his experience, somewhat as Paul did when he eventually met Peter and John.
During this meeting, not the book, but the main character would suffer complete castigation and rejection from the Elders, finding himself fully invalidated by the Christian leaders, and in a position worse than his initial state. Not only had he disclosed the secret of his miserable state, the culmination of years of guilt and months of grief, but he was left now without the only hope he had ever encountered.
And then the secret of heaven would be revealed, that heaven welcomes those who welcome others, excluding only the exclusive.
The narrative would zoom out on this character, Mack, as he was being expelled by the Elders. The reader would see Mack, collapsing to the ground beneath the weight of his discouragement. Across an expanse, perhaps a large parking lot, inside a building, would be the Elders, conferring with each other, affirming their response to Mack. But the temperature in the building would rise, and rise. They would find themselves in an unbearable heat, and would finally realize that this was more than a heating and ventilation problem. This was their judgment day. They could open the door and ask Mack for a second chance, or they could not.
The word "church" should be voluntarily banned in English since it has lost its ties to the original Greek word, "ekklesia." The Greek word refers to the "called out" ones who have left the institutional system of false authorities for the intangible leading of the spirit. The word "church" refers to the "called in" ones who are finding security within an institutional structure.
last updated: 2009/04/05
Only a note on this book. By the author of Doctor on Everest (2000), this newer book extends Dr. Kamler's unique viewpoint as a medically trained, physically able adventurer to several other climates and terrains (including desert, jungle, and ocean).
The technique of the book is to begin narrating a harrowing experience (sometimes the author's) and to analyze the factors of survival at work from a medical point of view. One can learn how the bends occur underwater, as well as how pulmonary edema occurs at high altitude (to name a few maladies).
At times mental laziness caused me to breeze past the anatomical discussions, although they dip no further into technical details than a non-medical reader like myself could follow. My interest was more on the situations themselves—the things movies are made of.
One element that grew tiresome to me, although it probably would be unnoticed by many readers, is the recurrent reliance on "natural selection." While I do not care to explicate the patterns—and feel no need to persuade others of these—it struck me that "natural selection" explained everything and was explained by everything. Particular mechanisms and physical attributes gave evidence to the role of natural selection, and the theory of natural selection explained why those mechanisms were either present or not present in a particular instance. My quarrel is not with the theory but with its exclusiveness. The book allots some room for mysticism (life-giving chants and inexplicable alternative medicines), but one imagines that if more were known, these, too, could be fitted into the naturalistic thesis. Perhaps this is all one should expect these days. But the recurrence seemed ultimately dogmatic and didn't allow for a universe with a creative intelligence guiding at least some of its development.
last updated: 2009/01/17
(Frank Furedi, Routledge, 2004)
This sociological study of the influence the practice and reliance on psychotherapy has had on Anglo-American culture stakes its subject matter on a data-rich field. Somewhere between the 1980s and the publication of the book, therapy has become institutionalized with our culture to the point where the therapists, their organizations, the popular media, and a large sector of the population recognizes therapy as the answer to nearly every unpleasant event, from birth to death. With the continuous (if unwilling) retreat of religious and moral "absolutes" in our society, therapy now fills the need for guidance and purpose. The peculiarity of therapy, in contrast to religious and moral codes, is that it is, on one hand, dependent upon an external authority (the therapist), and, on the other, free from external imperatives. The individual is the measure of all things, the goal of therapy being the harmonizing of emotions and thoughts so that the individual feels whole. When necessary, this process may require the cultivation of--or deliverance from--various emotions.
At its best, the book focuses not on the efficacy of therapy, but of the efficacy of the cultural patterns that derive from therapy. When it treats therapy as a metaphor, the book is most persuasive. In that context, therapy is a placeholder for this culture's dual trajectory: it searches for meaning and at the same time avoids reliance on external systems of belief. Therapy understood as a metaphor is appropriated by politics and commerce to lead the populace into easily manageable paths. The appropriation damages the reputation of counseling and has the capacity to turn entire nations into citizens who, in their search for self-esteem, learn that they really do not have that much within them worth esteeming.
Furedi is quick to point out various paradoxes, the most memorable being:
While the inner life of the individual is the premium value to be protected and nourished through therapy, the process of therapy itself publicizes this life through a confessional mode that requires at least that the therapist become privy to the inner life, and at most that a group (or a nation, in the case of celebrities) becomes privy (My name is Everyman, and I am an addict of Everything).
While the therapeutic agenda empowers the individual with a sense of significance, of being heard, it does so at the cost of endowing the individual with a sense of frailty. This point is best summarized by the final sentences of the book, "[Individuals] are far more likely to be instructed to acknowledge their problems than to transcend them. Therapy, like the wider culture of which it is a part, teaches people to know their place. In return it offers the dubious blessings of affirmation and recognition" (204).
Developed to heal society, therapeutic claims show a steady course of creep and expansion. The claims extend the meaning of "trauma" from a life-threatening event to other less threatening events and finally to states of anxiety. Similarly, the identification of groups with some form of victimization extends from war syndromes that arise from highly violent circumstances, to other instances of victimization, whereby for significant segments of society, being able to claim that one is diseased is seen as an advantage, as a desirable status.
Branches of the British and American government increasingly offer counseling as a remedy to losses that are not specifically psychic in nature, such as unemployment. This trend raises the question of whether more funding may be directed toward free counseling than toward job relocation during layoffs or toward the repair of housing following a natural catastrophe.
Some criticisms that arose in the reading of the book: "The lady protests too much, methinks" (Hamlet, Act III) is hard to forget when Furedi consistently discounts and at times ridicules the need for some kind of therapy among certain individuals. One wonders if there is something the author does not want to expose in counseling, with the result that the critique of counseling remains one-sidedly negative. When I wasn't wondering whether or not some actual denial was behind the discourse, the book made me doubt that the author had ever known closely someone who had been truly traumatized, with the fragility and danger that such trauma entails. When the book abandons its focus on the metaphorical nature of therapy and gets inside the therapist's office, it is at its weakest. By criticizing in a broad and vague way the curative power of therapy, the book makes one wonder about the individuals whose lives may be saved through counseling, even if it is a small minority of the clientele.
Finally, the book suffers frequently from being written within the jargon of sociology. If there were a corresponding term to "psycho-babble" I'd apply it to this book. How many sentences like these would a keen reader want to endure: "The process of medicalisation has been inseparable from that of professionalization" (100), or "The readiness with which the pathologisation of human behaviour is embraced indicates that the medicalisation of life has become an accomplished fact" (101)? This sociologisation of language has more than an aesthetic drawback. It deadens the discussion over the course of two-hundred pages. It invites the slightly suspicious reader to long for something concrete, for a description of modern life that is more nuanced, more lively, than the polarization of sociology and psychology. It may encourage the reader to put down the book and do something much more enjoyable. Having said that, I would still recommend the book, or parts of it, to anyone who hasn't taken full stock of the structuring role of the therapeutic metaphor in our daily lives.
last updated: 2008/07/06
About the titles: as the "Author's Note" (ix-x) explains in greater detail, the initial title, Racing the Antelope, was changed because of not one, but two other books published at nearly the same time, each also bearing a form of "run" and "antelope" in the title. The likelihood of confusion was too great.
About the author: Bernd Heinrich loves both animals and running, being qualified, by training and certification, to write about the two together. A few decisions as he reached adulthood hint at the kind of person he became (disciplined, courageous, and independent). He distinguished himself from his father (an entomologist) by choosing to be, instead, a zoologist who studies beetles (15). The fact that such a marginal difference is recalled by Bernd as a fairly radical step suggests how rigid his father's thinking was. His notable rebellion against his father occurred around that time when—against his father's advice—Bernd enlisted as a paratrooper for the Vietnam War (a fate he never experienced). Born in 1940, he earned his Ph.D. two years before the Olympic marathon was won by Frank Shorter (whom he references several times in the book), placing Bernd in that generation of long-distance American runners who celebrated long-distance running before the activity became more fashionable, as it is today. The only endorsement Bernd ever sought or received was from Ocean Spray, as a result of his reliance on cranberry juice during his 100 kilometer run.
About the book: this book is written by a scientist for readers who care about nature, non-technical science, and running. Being a zoologist, the author has both an eye for nature and a technical vocabulary for describing it. His writing will most easily engage those who are already intimate with the world of insects, birds, and various mammals, as is illustrated by this passage, which culminates with a poetic jingle: "Tiger beetles stay in sunshine to maintain a high body temperature by basking, and if they are hot enough they may fly instead of run . . . . The wood pigeons coo, a jay screams raucously, a raven croaks. The chaffinches and the chiffchaffs sing" (32).
His chapter "Ultramarathoners of the Sky," lucidly describes the flight patterns of birds who migrate annually from the Arctic nearly to Antarctica and back. Even readers with no interest in running could easily be absorbed by the astonishing feats and survival mechanisms this chapter reveals.
So also is the case with his description of how camels manage to prolong their travel in the desert with minimal water in maximal heat. In "The Camel's Keys to Ultraendurance," we find one asset is their ability to urinate saltier fluid than can humans, thus not requiring as much water to eliminate toxic byproducts. Another aid for camels is their hump, which provides concentrated food (not water), and life-saving shade, much as the human head, with its hair, helps protect humans.
Most chapters provide a mixture of a bit of Bernd's running biography combined with longer segments of natural description, inferences, and analogies. By the end of the book, every major element of running, including respiration, metabolism, fast and slow twitch muscles, stride, gait, temperature regulation, and motivation, is analyzed relative to the way other animals successfully manage one or more of these elements.
Along the way, Bernd weaves some of these anatomical observations together into an evolutionary biological hypothesis of why humans are well suited for both short and long distance running. The short distances can of course be explained as a defense mechanism against predators. These distances require the fast twitch muscles powered anaerobically. The long distance running—given the running habits of other animals that might have been the motivation behind the run—is explained best as a predatory habit of humans, one that allows man to outlast faster animals with the result of ultimately killing and eating them. A long distance race is, to Bernd, a modern hunting expedition, the prey being the finish line, which grows more valuable the longer the race and/or the faster the pace, relative to the individual runner.
The discussion of diet emphasizes, among other things, the merits of meat as a food for long distance running, one paragraph concluding, "And the more I ran, the more I craved greasy pork chops" (209). Meat is presented as both a source of calories and a source of many other nutrients, including fats, minerals, and vitamins. Bernd does admit, "This is not to say that we absolutely need meat. We can also get the same nutrients from vegetable sources or pills, but proper eating then takes much greater effort" (209). This effort has been realized and documented since the publication of Why We Run with Scott Jurek's Eat and Run. It may be with some relief that the scientist in Bernd forced the omnivore in Bernd to make this concession to vegetarianism.
The book culminates with the 100 kilometer race in Chicago (1981), Bernd's antelope. That race is hinted at from the beginning of the book, when, during a 50 kilometer race, the author passes the "then-current U.S. National 100-kilometer record holder" (ix). Upon passing him, the author wondered "if, just possibly, I had the potential to race well at long distances." Not only does he run well at long distances, but he writes well about those runs. The final chapter, "The Race," is worth waiting for. It substantiates, at least in part, the meditations and musings about the animal kingdom that precede it. And it provides a few philosophical reflections. At one point in the run, Bernd writes,
I'm still passing people on successive loops who are miles behind me in the race. Bystanders can't tell who is up front from who is way back in the pack. Just as in real life. (257)
Finally, he is elated by one thing, an expectation that looks back to the recent death of his friend with cancer and ahead to this own inescapable mortality, "This will end soon" (258).
Bernd Heinrich and Scott Jurek share on culinary experiment in common: they have both relied on olive oil as a primary food source during a long run (and they both have determined to never do that again).
My copy of Why We Run was a gift from Dee, of Dee's Coffee Company, Puerto Vallarta.
last updated: 2013/01/29
This book offers an antidote to all those who have been poisoned by a pessimistic view of God's interest in—and ability to redeem—every human being, no matter where or when that person lived. It puts the "good" back into the news about Jesus, who is represented as the clearest representation of the God who in all times and places beckons people to follow the light they have been given.
"Sinners are not in the hands of an angry God" (177) the book concludes, after showing multiple ways to meet your Maker whether or not you have been exposed to an adequate portrayal of Christ. Where there is wrath, it is the anger of a loving Creator who sees his creation ignoring what is best for them and instead destroying each other. A person who seeks to do right and to honor God apart from the Christian tradition(s) is in a far better place than a person labeled as a Christian who eschews the opportunity to seek the Creator.
In times past, it was perhaps not so troublesome to think narrowly about Christianity, in exclusion of the merits of other religions. But, as the world is shrinking as a result of global communication, it is absurd to ignore the claims and values of other religions. This book urges Christians to open up dialogues with members of other religions, to look for grace and truth wherever they occur, and to openly share what is so appealing about the life of Jesus. In this way, Christians may be delivered from bigotry and those in other religions may be exposed to something truly worthwhile in the gospels.
Neither a universalist, nor a restrictivist, the author seeks to show that from the beginning God planned for the salvation of humankind. In executing this plan, God spoke to various people and nations in whatever way possible, and that these intentions were furthered, not countered, by the coming of Jesus into the world. When the purpose of God is understood in this way, then hell is logically understood as "not the prison from which people are longing to be freed, but [as] a sit-in where sinners have barricaded themselves in to keep God out" (180).
In addition to undoing the damage of overly pessimistic, conservative evangelical thinking, the book also insists that religious pluralism ignores important differences between religions. Not all religions are equally true or noble. Even if God has spoken to various people in various cultures, it does not follow that the voice was as clear or as final as it was when it declared Jesus the "son in whom I am well pleased." Just as there is nothing arbitrarily exclusive about the salvation offered by Jesus, there is also nothing arbitrarily dispensable about his role in the human future.
It is fashionable and politically correct to preach a loving God who cares infinitely about every human being, independent of that person's lifestyle or beliefs. This concept thrives on an ethical sensibility that is shared by many of us who have no patience for bigotry or pettiness projected on a divine plane. However, the book suggests (but doesn't develop) the assertion that this appealing portrayal of God arises from the Christian revelation:
Ironically, the proposal of theological pluralism, which would undercut the normativeness of Jesus Christ, removes . . . at the same time the very basis for knowing God as personal and gracious, loving and forgiving. The paradox lies in the fact that the universality of God's love is known through the particular event of the Incarnation. One can only be sure there exists a gracious and loving God if it is the case that Jesus Christ is Lord (45).
While I recognize that this assertion is not beyond dispute, it strikes me as a worthwhile inquiry. Before Jesus there was talk about a just and loving [if not personal] God, but the signal-to-noise ratio was usually pretty low. One does not always see the source of light itself but what the light illuminates. Similarly, our conception of a truly loving God (if there is a God at all), may be much more indebted to the words and actions attributed to Jesus in the gospels than to any other single source. Think about how God or the gods come off in ancient creation myths; in Greek and Roman myth, religion, and tragedy; or in the other ancient eastern and African faiths. Do not we gain something from the Sermon on the Mount, something that establishes a perfect Father who does not reciprocate evil for evil, who causes the sun to shine on the righteous and the unrighteous?
I think we do.
last updated: 2009/05/30
This is a story by a woman who was raised without a reliable father, who, at the age of twenty-two, lost her mother to cancer, who compensated for the lack of a father's love through promiscuity, who destroyed an outwardly good marriage through acts of adultery, who became involved in heroin use, who had an abortion without apparent grief, and who attempted to break away from these darker elements of life by hiking over eleven hundred miles. The miles lie along the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).
Both the life that the author had lived and the trail that she hiked were difficult. The interest in the book lies in the authenticity it achieves. The prose infrequently seems masterful, but it never sinks below being clear and serviceable.
One of the finest statements of the book occurs toward the end, where Cheryl writes, "I had arrived. I'd done it. It seemed like such a small thing and such a tremendous thing at once . . . " (309). The antecedent for "it" is the completion of her long hike, but "it" could also apply to the writing of the book.
Wild lacks the humor and elegance of Bill Bryson's 1998 A Walk in the Woods, about his adventure on the Appalachian Trail, but Wild also lacks the meanness of Bryson's book, which pokes fun at others about as frequently as he and his hiking partner decide to take a break from the trail. The tone of Wild is anything but judgemental, and this humility may endear readers to the book.
While the book is a story about Cheryl's salvation, it rarely touches on anything transcendental. There are some prayers that could be as easily construed as curses, and there are a few encounters with new age mysticism that is neither affirmed nor discredited. But on the whole, the form of salvation offered depends on subjecting oneself to the right types of pain and enduring that pain until new pleasures arise.
To those interested in the Pacific Crest Trail, quite a few anecdotes are offered. Certain parts of the trail, as well as some jeep roads leading one off the snowy parts of the trail, are described in detail. The year during which Cheryl hiked the trail, 1995, was a year during which accumulated snow shut down the High Sierras for all but the hardiest of hikers. Not only did she bypass the most snowy parts, but she had always planned to start the trail north of the Mexican border and to end it at the Washington border. There is no pretense, ever, about hiking the entire trail, "A world that measured two feet wide and 2,663 miles long" (4).
The author echoes many other through hikers of America's long trails in noting that natural beauty along with any philosophical reflection frequently fades next to thoughts about either the next grocery store miles up the trail or the immediate pain of taking the next step. For Cheryl, it was often the thought of the next bottle of Snapple that both distracted her from her environment and encouraged her to endure it. Apparently, she carried a backpack that was disproportionately heavy for her body, heavier than any other pack encountered on the trail, and ultimately addressed by her as "Monster." Her feet suffered unusual pain, perhaps a result of the weight she carried and the fit of her boots, which, incidentally, REI replaced in the middle of her journey (and in one size larger, at her request).
A memorable piece of dialogue occurs when she is hitchhiking back toward the trail and is interviewed on the side of the highway by a journalist. He is interviewing hobos, he says, and insists on interviewing her although she insists more and more vehemently that she is not a hobo. At the end of the comical interview, he hands her a "Standard-issue hobo care package," (181) which contains a can of beer and some snacks. "'But I'm not a hobo,' I echoed for the last time, with less fervor than I had before, afraid he'd finally believe me and take the standard-issue hobo care package away."
The ultimate pain behind Cheryl's drive to hike the Pacific Crest Trail was the death of her mother, at age forty-five. Toward the end of the hike, her mother's birth date arrives, and, along with it, an internal psychodrama, during which the daughter finally accuses the (highly devoted) mother of her failings. This passage is well written, convincing, and makes the end of the book more credible. While the end of the hike is perfectly credible (she sits down at an ice cream store in Cascade Locks, Oregon, and eats a chocolate-vanilla twist cone), the end of the book projects life changes that implicitly arose from the long hike, but which cannot be attributed to the narration of the hike itself. These auspicious changes include a marriage and family that strongly contrast with Cheryl's previous life style. But they are credible, not only because she confronted her conflict and grief toward her mother, but also because over fifteen years transpired between the time she hiked the trail and published the story of the hike. This retrospectivity lends her the luxury of authority: she can tell us not what she hoped would unfold, but what unfolded in the years to follow. And there is no reason for the reader to doubt that she gives a reliable outline of the trajectory her life has taken.
last updated: 2012/11/14
Created 2008/06/07, Last updated 2013/01/29©
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