What this book really sets out to do, though it takes a lot of detours on the way, is to redefine the word "loner." The author, Anneli Rufus, says we only use "loner" in bad ways. I agree with her. Almost every criminal--serial killer, school shooter, or otherwise--is labeled a loner, Rufus points out. When someone is weird, we call him or her a loner. We would never put Michelangelo in the same category, but he, too, was a loner. Maybe there's something wrong with the way we think.
One of the topics Rufus explores is why we think this way. To put it simply, it's the us vs. them paradigm. For the most part, primates--that's the us--are social creatures. In the past, we had to be this way in order to survive. Communities, and the people in them, relied on each other for success, love--everything. Anyone who didn't contribute to the community in the same way--there's the them--was looked down on. We still think this way, for the most part. But the question Rufus asks is, is that necessary? Her answer: not in this age of independence. And then she posits that we should make a distinction between true loners, those who want to be alone, and pseudo loners, those who are alone because they've been rejected by others.
Party of One is a very interesting book. Rufus takes the time to look at the fields that have built our culture--technology, art, music, literature, etc.--and shows how many of the people we revere as innovators and geniuses were also true loners. To name a few: Isaac Newton, Edgar Degas, Georgia O'Keeffe, Alexander Pope, Barry Bonds, Emily Dickinson, and J.K. Rowling. If these are the people who change the world for the better, Rufus asks, shouldn't we be treating them better? She also takes the time to look at those who make "loner" a bad word, and she comes to the conclusion that they were not true loners. What drove the acts of murder and terrorism was their longing for acceptance and the pain of rejection, two things true loners don't ache for or care much about.
I never would have labeled myself a loner. I've always had friends, always hung out or gone to lunch. But my friend (Hi, Kirsten!) (See, I have friends!) lent me this book after a discussion one day about how I only enjoy people for a limited amount of time. And as I read, I started a checklist:
A loner...
*Prefers her own company Check
*Rarely gets bored or lonely on her own Check
*Doesn't feel a need to conform to other people's standards Check
*Is very stubborn about not conforming Check
*Gets tired after being with others for long Check
And etc. Hm, I thought to myself while reading, I guess I am a loner. And it's really not a bad thing. Even in the world of apes--notoriously social creatures--there are orangutans, who prefer to be alone.
Do I sound curmudgeonly? I almost feel like I should be hanging out a window yelling, "Shut up and got off of my lawn! And turn down that rock 'n' roll while you're at it!" Maybe the real problem isn't that I'm a loner; perhaps I was just born with a 70 year old soul and I've only gotten older since.
But being a loner, like Rufus points out, doesn't mean that you don't love or enjoy associating with others. It means you're picky, picky about when, with whom, and for how long you spend time. You're choosy. As one of my friends pointed out to me, I don't have that many friends, compared to most people, but I have more really close friends than most people do.
What I'm trying to say was that I enjoyed the book, even though I think Rufus spends too much time talking about how she thinks loners are better than everyone else and not enough time giving examples of how loners have changed the world. I admire her stand. I don't recall ever being harassed for being a loner, so the term really doesn't bother me personally. But I do think that there should be awareness on all our parts: you like to spend their free time with lots of people, and I prefer to spend their free time alone, but that doesn't mean either of us is a psychopath.
Showing posts with label What I'm Reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label What I'm Reading. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
What I'm Reading: The Eyre Affair
Or rather, What I Read, because I'm done with it now.
Finding this book was one of those rare instances where I broke my own rules and bought a book before I knew that I would love it. I was at Half Price Books the other day, buying Dracula, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Cry, the Beloved Country for a dollar each (I love clearance) when I ran across The Eyre Affair, also on clearance. The summary on the back seemed familiar and intriguing, and it was only two dollars, so I bought it.
And what was so intriguing, you ask? Well, the setting for the book is in a bizarre alternate-reality 1985 in which cloning is so common that people own dodo birds as pets and there's a branch of the government totally devoted to time and space travel. The main character, Thursday Next, is an operative of the LiteraTech branch of government, investigating literary crimes like forgeries and the defacing of Will-speaks (machines that, for ten pence, will quote monologues from a Shakespeare play) by Baconians (those who support Sir Francis Bacon as the writer behind the front of "William Shakespeare"). When the original manuscript of a Dickens novel goes missing and the main suspect is an old professor of hers, Thursday gets involved. Throw her uncle's invention that allows anyone to transport him or herself into a work of literature and even bring a character back, and you've got intriguing. At least to me.
Was the book funny? Yes. Was it original? Yes. Did I want more? In the sense that I could tell there was more imagination where this came from, yes. Mostly, I enjoyed it. There were times when I wished for more explanation--How could her dad travel through time? Was it a genetic ability, or something he was trained for?--but the story was good enough to mostly distract me from my lingering questions.
Um, I feel like I meant to write more, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't remember what it was. If my forehead burning my hand is any indication, I'm less than well this weekend. If you remember what else I meant to say, let me know. Enjoy your Memorial Day weekend!
Finding this book was one of those rare instances where I broke my own rules and bought a book before I knew that I would love it. I was at Half Price Books the other day, buying Dracula, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Cry, the Beloved Country for a dollar each (I love clearance) when I ran across The Eyre Affair, also on clearance. The summary on the back seemed familiar and intriguing, and it was only two dollars, so I bought it.
And what was so intriguing, you ask? Well, the setting for the book is in a bizarre alternate-reality 1985 in which cloning is so common that people own dodo birds as pets and there's a branch of the government totally devoted to time and space travel. The main character, Thursday Next, is an operative of the LiteraTech branch of government, investigating literary crimes like forgeries and the defacing of Will-speaks (machines that, for ten pence, will quote monologues from a Shakespeare play) by Baconians (those who support Sir Francis Bacon as the writer behind the front of "William Shakespeare"). When the original manuscript of a Dickens novel goes missing and the main suspect is an old professor of hers, Thursday gets involved. Throw her uncle's invention that allows anyone to transport him or herself into a work of literature and even bring a character back, and you've got intriguing. At least to me.
Was the book funny? Yes. Was it original? Yes. Did I want more? In the sense that I could tell there was more imagination where this came from, yes. Mostly, I enjoyed it. There were times when I wished for more explanation--How could her dad travel through time? Was it a genetic ability, or something he was trained for?--but the story was good enough to mostly distract me from my lingering questions.
Um, I feel like I meant to write more, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't remember what it was. If my forehead burning my hand is any indication, I'm less than well this weekend. If you remember what else I meant to say, let me know. Enjoy your Memorial Day weekend!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
What I'm Reading: Lucy
In an effort to be true to myself and also to write more and about things that I like, I'm going to try some new things. Right now I'm going to try a What I'm Reading post, which I may continue to write. Let's see how it works, shall we?
Some of you may know that before I was ready to formally declare my nerd status with an English major, I studied anthropology (the social science, not the clothing line, which is spelled Anthropologie). I'm still interested in anthropology, so much so that occasionally I have a hard time watching Bones on Fox because I want to be Kathy Reichs. Right now I'm feeding this interest (read: obsession) by reading a book called Lucy: The Beginnings of Humankind by Donald Johanson and Maitland Edey.
The great thing about this book is that it matches the hard science explanations with closer looks at famous anthropologists and their great discoveries, meaning that it reads less like a scientific paper than like a novel. There have been a few places where my eyes have crossed during an explanation of the science (potassium-argon dating, I'm looking at you), but for the most part, it's been really fascinating. The book itself is almost an introduction to physical anthropology. Though the book is about Lucy (the famous bones of one 3+ million year old hominid discovered in Ethiopia--the oldest and most complete set of human-like bones anthropology has discovered), it winds its way through the history of physical anthropology and paleoanthropology to explain the significance of finding Lucy. It's history, science, and good old fashioned storytelling, all in one book.
My favorite part of the book, however, is how Don Johanson, an anthropologist, acknowledges the faults of anthropology and acknowledges the biases of anthropologists. Frequently, anthropologists pretend to themselves and others that they are completely objective, that nothing clouds their interpretations of the evidence. But the reality is that every human brings biases to everything they do; we can't leave them behind. In looking at the goals and dreams of the anthropologists in the book, including himself, he highlights the lack of objectivity that they all have, but also tells how many anthropologists have understood that enough to try to work around it.
I'm not done with the book yet, but I already love it. I think one question I can anticipate from some is what I believe about human evolution, since I am a very religious person. My opinion is this: science and religion are two different types of knowledge that don't have to invalidate each other. As humans, we don't know everything about science, and we don't know everything about God. I don't know how the science of physical anthropology and evolution fit with what I know from religion. But that doesn't mean that they can't fit. And maybe someday we'll figure it out, if we don't stop trying.
Some of you may know that before I was ready to formally declare my nerd status with an English major, I studied anthropology (the social science, not the clothing line, which is spelled Anthropologie). I'm still interested in anthropology, so much so that occasionally I have a hard time watching Bones on Fox because I want to be Kathy Reichs. Right now I'm feeding this interest (read: obsession) by reading a book called Lucy: The Beginnings of Humankind by Donald Johanson and Maitland Edey.
The great thing about this book is that it matches the hard science explanations with closer looks at famous anthropologists and their great discoveries, meaning that it reads less like a scientific paper than like a novel. There have been a few places where my eyes have crossed during an explanation of the science (potassium-argon dating, I'm looking at you), but for the most part, it's been really fascinating. The book itself is almost an introduction to physical anthropology. Though the book is about Lucy (the famous bones of one 3+ million year old hominid discovered in Ethiopia--the oldest and most complete set of human-like bones anthropology has discovered), it winds its way through the history of physical anthropology and paleoanthropology to explain the significance of finding Lucy. It's history, science, and good old fashioned storytelling, all in one book.
My favorite part of the book, however, is how Don Johanson, an anthropologist, acknowledges the faults of anthropology and acknowledges the biases of anthropologists. Frequently, anthropologists pretend to themselves and others that they are completely objective, that nothing clouds their interpretations of the evidence. But the reality is that every human brings biases to everything they do; we can't leave them behind. In looking at the goals and dreams of the anthropologists in the book, including himself, he highlights the lack of objectivity that they all have, but also tells how many anthropologists have understood that enough to try to work around it.
I'm not done with the book yet, but I already love it. I think one question I can anticipate from some is what I believe about human evolution, since I am a very religious person. My opinion is this: science and religion are two different types of knowledge that don't have to invalidate each other. As humans, we don't know everything about science, and we don't know everything about God. I don't know how the science of physical anthropology and evolution fit with what I know from religion. But that doesn't mean that they can't fit. And maybe someday we'll figure it out, if we don't stop trying.
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