I am an Orangutan, or What I'm Reading: Party of One, The Loners' Manifesto

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.

Wilkie Collins

I’ve formerly recommended Wilkie Collins’s books based solely on my experience reading The Moonstone, which I quite liked. And I promised an update when I finished reading The Woman in White, Collins’s earlier mystery novel. Here’s my consensus: Is it possible for me to grow up to be a 19th century male writer? Because I think he’s my new hero.

Collins’s novels aren't action packed, especially not in the way that modern mystery novels or movies are. While his plots are complex enough to keep you wondering how the forces of good will win in the end, his characters are the real reason to read. Each character is given a chance to speak for him- or herself, and they each express a unique voice and personality that draws you in, sometimes despite yourself. For instance, I ended up loving the villain, Count Fosco, despite—or maybe because of—his nefariousness. He loves white mice, vanilla bon bons, and the true heroine of the novel, Marian. His glee at duping the heroes is almost contagious, and I couldn’t help rooting for him, just a little.

The epistolary narrative style Collins favors might make you hesitate, but it shouldn’t. I felt that the broken narratives—written like letters or diary entries—helped me continue reading when the plot felt dry. After all, if I didn’t like the narrator, I could always look forward to a change in outlook in a few chapters.

I wouldn’t recommend reading Wilkie Collins on an every day, "entertainment reading" basis; his stories move a little too slowly for that. But if you're willing to read a little slower and you want to meet some of the most interesting fictional people in existence, you really should give Collins a try.

A Recommendation

Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone. Read it; it's fabulous. Especially if you have a fondness for nineteenth century writing, which I do. Writers in the nineteenth century preferred character development over plot, so the book sometimes moves slowly, but the characters who narrate the story more than make up for the pace.

Also, it's considered to be one of the first mystery novels. Actually, he wrote one before The Moonstone called The Woman in White, but people seem to prefer The Moonstone generally. I'll let you know how I feel after I finish WIW. Thank you, and good night.