The Fifth Season by N.K Jemisin

By Logan

468 pages
Begun 06/21/19; Finished 06/24/19

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Over a week’s vacation at the beach I read the fantasy trilogy that Tori purchased on our anniversary, which she reviewed here. Instead of writing a blog post about the trilogy as a whole, I want to write a post about each of the books. This is partially because I would like to write about the second and third books without concern regarding spoilers, partially because I want to reflect on each book individually as well as with regard to its place in Jemisin’s overall story, and partially because I use the individual blog posts to actually count how many books I’ve read this year, (not counting some things for classes) which Tori uses Goodreads to do.

The Broken Earth Trilogy is a fantasy series with several bold decisions. It is a genuinely post-apocalyptic entry into the fantasy genre, a choice which I think has inherent risks but gives considerable payoffs here. Jemisin writes one of the perspective characters from a second-person point of view, a move that helps the audience relate to a character who is not the usual fantasy novel protagonist, and also permits a fair bit of distinctive, clever prose. That identification and relation is significant also because of another bold choice Jemisin makes; that is, her chief protagonist is a middle-aged woman of color with two children and a lot of trauma. While most characters in this world are not caucasian, the world is so far removed from our own that patterns of oppression and subjugation flow in ways related to its magic system, but the connection should not be missed.

This is a book series with a lot of hurt people trying their best to make it through very difficult situations alive. For that reason, it is a series that explores pain, shame, and suffering. This is a series of rage. If seeing the raw anger and brutality of the oppressed makes you so uncomfortable that your ability to relate to people in hard positions, this is not a series for you. Otherwise, I hope you dive in.

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The Stone Sky is Jemisin’s lead-in into the Broken Earth. It follows three women of different ages, all of whom are connected to Orogeny, the magic of Jemisin’s world. Essun, the aforementioned middle-aged mother, flees her home on a hunt to try to find her husband and daughter in the shadow of a continental-scale catastrophe after years of hiding her magical abilities in order to live among normal people. Syenite is a professional orogene, controlled by a centralized authority designed to utilize the benefits of the powers orogenes possess while also keeping the population from brutally killing them all in bigotted protest. Damaya is a young child entering the control of the same organization, displaying the disturbing mix of loyalty and cruelty it shows those in its care.

These three characters give insights into not only the excellently built world Jemisin has constructed, but also into the dynamics of oppression and subjugation. Orogenes, called “roggas,” by those who are unsophisticated enough to use an impolite term, are systematically excluded from the broader humanity because of a mixture of fear and irrational hatred. Those that are hiding among others are killed by mob. Those who enter the control of the Fulcrum have every aspect of their lives dictated to them by its power structures, where they go, what they do, how they behave, and even who they have children with (Sexuality is a topic given significant attention in this book. Scenes made me blush, but are rarely crass, though for sure this is not a book I’d want in the hands of a child or most teenagers.).

All of this takes place as the world ends. The first pages show that despite humanity’s attempt to survive the endless, chaotic patterns of destruction arising from turbulent, dangerous underground activity, they are not prepared to survive this last disaster thrust upon them. This fact recontextualizes all of the dangers and cruelty and desperation and fury into something deeply poignant.

The characters in this book will stay with you. Alabaster, an orogene of unprecedented skill and ability, never stops giving wry, tortured commentary on the absurdity of the world around him. Crack, a peer of Damaya, reveals with alarm the depths of the damage people do to each other, how that warps their conduct, and also how that kind of hurt is always bound up in greater, darker systems of injustice. Hoa, a young child Essun meets along the way is nothing at all short of a spectacle and oddity in and of himself.

Jemisin’s work in the Fifth Season is one of reflection, catharsis, but most of all unflinching examination of what it means to be human when the world around us is wrong.

Is God Anti-Gay? by Sam Allberry

By Logan

Begun 06/06/2019, Finished 06/07/2019
83 pages

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The Questions Christians Ask book series is a series of short, simple, helpful books for providing clear and orthodox answers to questions that Christians and others have regarding their faith. It includes other entries like, What makes us human?, Why did Jesus have to die?, Where was God when that happened?, and Is hell for real?, among many others. Sam Allberry’s contribution to this series is a matter of special significance and expertise to him. While going through scripture to attest to the Church’s historic position on sexuality, he weaves in his personal experiences as a pastor and same-sex attracted man in a way that informs his entire public ministry. With many close friends who identify as gay, lesbian, or otherwise, his insistence on practicing humility and asserting the human, God-created dignity of these friends is all that’s needed to see why he has been the most significant thinker on this issue among evangelicals for years.

True to form, Allberry begins Is God anti-gay? on the surest possible footing: exploring what the Bible says not about homosexuality, but instead human sexuality. By locating the doctrines regarding same-sex attraction, acts, and relationships inside the larger docrines of sexuality, humanity’s special creation by God, and Creation in general, Allberry roots his book into streams which are capable of helping Christians give life to those in need, not only rebuke or harsh words, as less careful and pastoral figures have done who have taken up this topic.

This work done, Allberry devotes his four remaining chapters to four key assertions:

  1. The Bible is unambiguous that sexuality is reserved for monogamous marriage between man and women.
  2. That there are good ways for Christians who experience same-sex attractions to live out their lives in dignity, satisfaction, and full obedience to God.
  3. The church must work diligently to support those who struggle because of their sexual attractions, comfort those who face unjust brutality because of their attractions, and stop putting special priority on homosexual attractions and desires such that they outpace the work of the church.
  4. That Christian individuals ought to work hard to let their unbelieving friends who are gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, or otherwise know that they love them and are for them while also speaking prophetically into the world to call all to the gospel of Christ.

All four are argued on the basis of the Bible and the human dignity that is revealed within its pages. I won’t retrace each of the arguments here, but I will say that I find Allberry’s work on each of these points entirely remarkable for the significant space constraints he is operating with.

Allberry’s eyes never drift far from the gospel that Christ came into the world to bear the weight of our sin, disorder, and death on himself so that those who turn to him might live free of these things. As a result, he speaks with a mutually reinforcing clarity and optimism. For Christians struggling to make sense of what God says regarding human sexuality, or unsure of how they ought to love their neighbors in this sense, or deeply bothered by the failure of their local church to love those affected by this issue, this is a crucial and worthy starting point.

Neither Liberal nor Conservative: Ideological Innocence in the American Public by Donald R. Kinder & Nathan P. Kalmoe

By Logan

213 pages
Started 7/02/2019; Finished 07/07/2019

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A lot of ink gets spilled on ideology. Articles show that Congress has divided itself into patterns of ideological gridlock so tightly that it can’t achieve most popular policies. Pundits proclaim that radical liberals or conservative extremists are dangerous and out to destroy what makes the country great. Internet threads invite their members to look down on all of the masses of ignorants brainwashed by whichever ideology they find most distasteful. But what if the masses didn’t have an ideology at all?

This book has a simple argument, which it efficiently and tightly devotes its relatively short length to arguing: The overwhelming majority of people in America (and most democracies) have no strong ideological allegiance. While this may seem counterintuitive, I found their evidence compelling, and perhaps even overwhelming.

Using a number of clever analyses of data about American citizens, Kinder and Kalmoe uncover the reality that somewhere between 80% and 95% of the public lack the features of ideology in their thinking. Ideology is a cognitive organization of beliefs so that instead of viewing the world piecemeal, individual issues become part of a larger, more significant whole. As a result, views of ideologues on issues are linked together by this mental organization, are relatively stable over time unless their ideology changes. In other words, ideologues are consistent and stable in their beliefs.

The book’s first chapter shows that this describes a very small number of people. The rest of the book shows why that would be while simultaneously defending the claim against alternative explanations of the data. Over the course of the book, the authors note that ideology is a complex mental task that requires strong motivation and access to a lot of information. In fact, ideologues of all varieties, whether liberal, conservative, libertarian, or socialist, are almost always considerably more informed about politics and current affairs than their non-ideological counterparts. KInder and Kalmoe note that this explains why so many assume that everyone is ideological: the individuals who devote themselves to politics and the news are the individuals we see and hear about, and so their ideological stances take on a higher profile than is warranted by how common ideology actually is.

In the process of analyzing a huge amount of data, Kinder and Kalmoe discover another explanation for the appearance of ideology: partisanship. While noting that ideological preference is a weak predictor of who a person will vote for in a Presidential election, party identification is a very strong predictor. In other words, for as long as we have been keeping data on the subject (since about the 1960s) we have seen that liberal Republicans will vote for conservative Republicans before they will vote for a liberal Democrat that shares more in common with them on policy proposals. The same is true of conservative Democrats.

When you take into account the vast majority of people who have no ideology to speak of, political parties take on an even more dominant role in their political thinking. Without having strong personal insights into politics and current affairs themselves, most people rely on the real organizations that they have aligned themselves with, often donate money to, and which have real presence in their communities via local party chapters and campaigns. In other words, parties are real and personal, while ideologies are abstract sets of words. Parties determine how people vote far more than ideological identification. It also determines their affections: Republicans dislike Democrat public figures (and vice-versa) far more intensely and consistently than people who can be categorized as conservatives dislike liberals (and vice-versa).

In fact, the data in the book suggest that when people in America say that they are conservative or liberal they actually are using that word to reflect their partisanship on the basis that the high-profile members of that party use ideological words when talking about public affairs, even if they themselves don’t have a strong grasp on what those figures mean in those moments.

This sets up the duo’s conclusion, that because ideology is fundamentally a fruitless measure of public electoral behavior, the entire political science community should shift to other analytical categories. They suggest group identification as the most important factor in electoral behavior, arguing that, like political party, identifications with a religion, race, ethnicity, or profession are the sort of concrete, solid proxies which individuals without ideology are likely to use as proxies for their decision making.

This book was illuminating for me. I think I often have associated the word, “idealogue,” with categories of simplistic views of the world, ignorance, and animosity. This was on a gut instinct which said any kind of one-dimensional view of the world had to be ignoring huge swaths of nuance. I believe this is still often true, but I must also concede that the project of an ideology requires a larger inner, intellectual infrastructure than our public discussions often want to give it credit for.

This does fit with an observation I had quietly ignored for the past several years: most of the best informed people I knew appear to be the most ideological in their understandings of that same knowledge. This fact especially imprinted on me when I was young because most of the well-informed adults I knew when I was  young were very conservative. With a lifelong curiosity about politics and government and the news, I also tended to be conservative as a result. Ideology was never my highest commitment, however, and while I suspect that the ways my views on policy adapt to my religious beliefs might imitate aspects of ideological thinking, it is not, strictly speaking, an ideology.

This is a heavy social science book. If you are very curious about the claim it contains, check it out. Kinder and Kalmoe are very thorough in documenting their approach to interpreting data to arrive at their conclusions. If you’re comfortable accepting the book’s claim on the grounds that it is verified by experts using sound data-analysis approaches, feel free to pass.

Transparent Things by Vladimir Nabokov

By Logan

104 pages
Started 5/22/2019, Finished 5/23/2019

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In my second foray into literary fiction for the year (Tori is insistent that I read more fiction) I chose a novella by a renowned Russian author known by most people for writing Lolita. Transparent Things is a brief exploration of the deep interconnectedness of things. The narrative is complicated and looping at times seems intentionally to want the reader to squint their eyes and ask themselves whether some briefly mentioned fact is in fact referencing an earlier event or character. Many times it is indeed, but just as often Nabokov is weaving a holistic metaphysics in this story in which nothing is arranged by chance, or even purely by motivation, but entirely by the comprehensive story.

Transparent Things is, in a sense, about Hugh Person’s stay in a hotel. The some hundred pages are filled out by a dive into the depth of reality offered by both Person’s person and the objects around him. The opening chapter explains it better than I can, so to quote from it,

“When we concentrate on a material object, whatever its situation, the very act of attention may lead to our involuntarily sinking into the history of that object. Novices must learn to skim over matter if they want matter to stay at the exact level of the moment. Transparent things, through which the past shines!”

This paragraph sets forward not necessarily the work’s premise, but it’s central idea, that the past and present, set apart from the future by their realness, are inextricably linked. To hold a pencil, as Hugh at one point does, involves him in a long history of graphite mixing with clay, with laborers and machines and cutting, trees, saws, blocks, and all that the pencil has written. Nabokov at times seems to play with the reader, throwing them down the rabbit hole of the infinitely-expansive past contained in a moment and then sharply tugging them into a particular later present in which participates in the past we thought we were examining in the narrative. The first several times, this results in a raised eyebrow and maybe a satisfied (or unsatisfied) sound of comprehension. This effect becomes potent and even tragic in the book’s climax, however, when a mundane moment is revealed to be the basis of something altogether more tragic.

That explained, I don’t want to give the sense that Transparent Things is a novella about time or memory in the way that The Book of Collateral Damage is. It is not. Nabokov is instead writing a novella about something which I find altogether harder to grasp for more than a tenuous moment before it fades away like a mist. Comments get worked into the prose which suggest that the act of writing is itself the pursuit of these transparencies of reality, where reality shines through by eclipsing other reality. A chapter towards the end contains a paragraph on the nature of writing a character, that they don’t seem to truly be the author’s, but instead are bound together in their fates and free choices (which are not entirely separable) with only the faintest, breathy, dream-like interference from the author possible.

Transparent Things is something of a love story, but of the sort of kind which feels particularly Russian for some reason. The love is given only some room amid all the book-editing of the main character and the past-exploring of the author. It is more like a universal tragedy. As soon as the opening pages were written, or, if you like, as soon as the characters were born, it appears as though nothing other than a very particular doom could ever have awaited these characters.

Further exploration of a novella this tightly woven is for someone more skilled in literary criticism than I am. Still, this is another book I can strongly recommend for anyone who likes thinking in free, abstract ways, fond of repeated motifs, are interested in book publishing, or who would like to enjoy a kind of tour of a small Swiss town in a hundred pages.

Aspects of Christian Social Ethics by Carl F. H. Henry

By Logan

190 Pages
Began 05/15/2019, Finished 05/22/2019

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Before reading Aspects of Christian Social Ethics, I had often heard the name of Carl Henry in passing conversations. Attending the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary results in hearing names that I rarely, if ever, hear in other settings. I don’t mean the names of prominent figures of Church history that might be discussed among any group of faithful and well-read believers, like John Calvin, Augustine, or George Whitefield. I mean instead a group of people who are known by my fellows because of their particular influence on not only our particular tradition of Christianity, but even particular faculty members and notable alumni. Henry is one of the figures of the past with this sort of notoriety at my school. His writings have been influential on Russell Moore and was the topic of a book edited by Provost Matt Hall. It was for these and several other reasons that I was very interested in reading Henry’s brief collection of lectures concerning how the church ought to related to its broader cultural context.

Henry was well-suited to give these lectures and publish them. He was a professor of Philosophy and Systematic Theology and gave a great deal of time and energy to considering how Christians should apply the truths of God’s word to doctrine, thought, personal ethics, and public conduct. By the time he published this book in 1964 he was a leading figure among mid-twentieth century Evangelicalism, though he had not yet gone on to publish his magnum opus, the six-volume God, Revelation, and Authority.

Aspects of Christian Social Ethics contains five lectures edited into essays and an appendix on “Christianity and Revolution.”  The opening chapter, “Christianity and Social Transformation,” attempts to delineate methods by which any group may attempt to change their society and choose among them for the church.  He argues that they may be divided four ways, though admits that the division is a touch arbitrary, into Revolution, Reformation, Revaluation, and Regeneration. While evaluating and illustrating the commitments and consequences of each, he concludes that the Christian church must hope for the regeneration of society by the power of the Holy Spirit and forsake the other methods of change.

Revolution, he argues, relies on brute force to achieve a deep and fundamental change of the status quo. With the Bolshevik and Chinese Revolutions clearly on his mind, he also asserts that it has an inherently anti-theistic bent. In any regard, however, he sees its violence and autonomy as contrary to Christian teaching. Reformation, the hope of changing society by changing the social environment gradually through education and legal action, is the face of a coin shared with revaluation, the independent hope that by communication of values will cause individuals to take better actions.  Both fall short of recognizing how desperate the human condition is and by asserting a power of change independent of God. Reform is especially undermined by its deep need for contact with the status quo, thus losing the ground of its own normative assertions for change.

The failure of these is not that they are always necessarily wrong, however.  Rather, they fail because they lack a transencent basis for moral authority which allows critique of the status quo and also regulates their own actions. As Henry concludes, “The Christian movement has a stake–a vital stake–in education and legislation.  It need not disparage every effort at reform and revaluation as abortively competitive… Yet Christianity knows–and it dare not forget nor let the world forget–that what the social order most needs is a new race of men–men equipped not simply with new textbooks and new laws, but with new hearts.”

The second essay, “The Christian View of Work,” is more connected to work as the intersection of inner personal piety and our greater social environment.  Henry argues that the work of a person is not chiefly to be a way of securing their personal sustenance or for enriching their employer, but instead an act of creation.  Work is thus a calling, in every individual is to use their talent to join God and serve God by serving others. He notes that the early church would add their manual labor jobs to their tombstones, an unusual behavior for their Roman context, and concludes that they did so because of their grasp of the biblical teaching of work.

He mourns alongside the average worker who feels alienated from the goodness of their work, making the connection between fallen, fruitless labor and a fallen, futile world.  He then chastises Christians for indulging the same feelings, however, because of the glorious nature of their work. He admits that some innovations of modern capitalism make grasping the true nature of work difficult, specifically giving attention to the possibility that Christians ought to oppose the assembly line.  Nevertheless, Christians ought to recognizes that God is well served and perhaps even human lives are saved by something as mundane as properly tightened screws.

He explores the obligations which employers and employees have to each other, that employers ought to pay well enough to enable creative, fulfilling labor and also provide a safe environment conforming to the dignity of the worker, and the worker ought to give their full effort and energy to the labor and not make demands based on coercion or deceit. He laments, “go slow,” policies and is wary of strikes, but commends a handful of labor unions actively organized on Christian principles of work.  He finally concludes that a Christian must pursue excellence at their tasks. God is not a mediocre Creator, nor is a man allowed to be less than the best cook, photographer, teacher, or construction worker which he possibly could be.

The next two sections are essentially two halves of a single unit.  Both bear the title, “The Christian Stake in Legislation,” with the first half dealing with, “Theoretical Considerations,” and the second dealing with, “Practical Considerations.”  They both attempt to give grounding to the question of whether and how Christians should attempt to influence the laws of their country.

Quickly, he sets out that just as no form of governance can claim clear Biblical warrant, neither can almost any specific legislative proposal.  This ultimately prohibits churches themselves from weighing in on matters of political significance, even if it is in pursuit of conditions in which the gospel may plausibly be more easily and freely preached.  Rather, Henry envisions the church’s reaction to social ills as part of an expanded sense of evangelism. That is, he argues that the church’s main responsibility is always to proclaim the good news of Jesus, that his death and resurrection has atoned for our sins. That is not to say that such proclamation ignores injustices in the community.  To the contrary, social injustice is every bit as much of the sin which must be repented from and atoned for by Christ, lest God pour out his wrath for it, as promiscuity, thieving, and murder. In this way, the Church does not establish or lend its support to specific proposals, but does zealously warn of what the Bible warns of, God’s wrath upon evil.

Christians, as distinguished from the larger church body, however, have special obligations for themselves.  They owe a limited but sincere obedience to whatever state rules over them, whether they be just or tyrannical, restrained or totalitarian.  They must resist laws which hinder the gospel or contradict their obedience to God, and they must seek to have full, informed opinion of their world and seek to best use whatever gifts of thought, insight, communication, or even power which God has given them to achieve righteous and good results in the world, both by reminding government of its limitations, for it is created to serve God, and in its obligations and duties for justice.  He encourages Christians to resist inclinations to besmirch politicians as a class and to encourage their children to consider policy-making and politics as worthy a career as becoming a doctor or engineer, so long as it is done ethically.

In any case, Henry is insistent that the aim of believers must never be to secure sectarian benefits for themselves. Neither are Christians permitted to attempt to force through in law for all what is required of them. Such claims of power for the state are beyond what is appropriate for it.  Rather, Christians ought to see to it that the activity of the state is concerned to the utmost with justice, the maintenance of order through equity in public life, so that the state regards all equally and gives to each their due. He is critical of those who claim, for instance, that civil rights was an issue of love and the gospel.  For Henry, such a claim undermines not only the special focus of the gospel, but also the demands of the state. The love of the gospel is elective, given to its recipients despite their deep undeserving. In contrast, the state must be utterly impartial, and thus is the true and right basis of legislation like the Civil Rights Act, etc.

The last of the full chapters is an attempt to flesh out the distinction of justice and love in a section titled, “The Nature of God and Social Ideals,” in which Henry criticizes Protestant Liberalism’s frequent insistence on shaping public policy in terms of Christian love.  This he says is a mistake which flows from an error of theology first and foremost because it is grounded in an assumption that love is the foremost of God’s attributes so that it relativizes all other of God’s attributes and actions. He documents this position thoroughly before asserting that this is an innovation, and that the Bible and church history have seen Righteousness and Love as coequal in God’s nature.  God is sovereign justice no less than God is sovereign love. The result is that Henry imagines a scheme in which the government, tasked with the preservation of society and the restraint of evil, is tasked with a duty toward justice so that all receive what they deserve, where it is the Church, the new humanity created by Christ without any deserving on their part, which is free to dispense love freely. Law is benevolent, but it is distinct from benevolence itself just as justice is distinct from grace.

The book concludes with a brief ten pages devoted to taking an overview of the question of revolution in specific contexts of unjust and tyrannical rulers. Here, Henry asserts much less, and I got the feeling while reading it that this was because he had not yet made up his mind on some key questions.  Nevertheless, several useful principles are established: Christians ought not to permit political murder, but instead seek whole unjust systems to be overthrown so that justice may truly spring forth. It is generally wrong to attempt to undermine civil authorities, and to do so must be on exceptional grounds.  It is wrong for Christians to attempt to pursue revolution on the grounds of a state’s brutality toward themselves, but in such a case ought to pursue the proclamation of the gospel and accept persecution and even martyrdom glady.

Aspects of Christian Social Ethics is a book that, though I suspect is not widely available to most people, I wish many Christians would read.  It is a valuable corrective to wrong ideas that arise from living in this particular cultural moment, and I found many of my own ideas being challenged and in several instances my mind changed entirely.  To be a relatively old book, it is well written and easy to get through. It contains a great deal of wisdom and humility on the part of its author, which permits the depth of his confidence in the authority of Scripture to stand with inspirational clarity.

The Book of Collateral Damage by Sinan Antoon

By Logan

Translated from the Arabic by Jonathan Wright.
303 Pages.
Begun 05/10/2019. Finished 05/12/2019

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It has been a long time since I read a literary novel. Unless I forget something Tori has gotten me to read, this is the first since my senior AP English Literature class in highschool. I always enjoyed literary novels as a child and teenager, despite my first extended times of reading being spent on science fiction. Somewhere very early into college, though, my reading habits became focused on nonfiction and genre fiction, as my prior entries on this site demonstrate. Tori and I went to a bookstore at the start of this weekend, however, with the intention of buying two books each. It was part of our way of continuing to celebrate our anniversary, which is today. We read the rest of the evening and through yesterday together. I chose to buy this book for a number of reasons. It felt right that I should read a literary novel on our anniversary, because Tori dances in the world of beautiful prose written about things that somehow transform mundane things into art. It also has a beautiful dust cover, which immediately caught my eye because of my years of painfully trying to learn Arabic. The fact that it was a novel by an Iraqi author originally written in Arabic and translated also piqued my interest.

I bother to include this prelude not just because I want the world to know that it’s our anniversary today.  The Book of Collateral Damage is a novel about moments, articulated instances where memory gives shape to something very real and tangible.  This gives the book its form and the ground of its philosophical explorations. The moments that the book are chiefly concerned with are those of tragedy and formation.

Nameer, the book’s protagonist, is an Iraqi-born immigrant to the United States who, after his PhD work at Harvard, begins his academic career in Arabic Literature in 2003 in the wake of the beginning of the Iraq War.  During a brief return to assist a documentary of the war consequences with translation, he meets an eccentric bookseller who is attempting to write an index of all of the casualties of the first minute of the Iraq War, an expansive project that mingles robust research with imagination.  The two become friends and begin communicating.

At the intersection of Wadood’s mournful writing project and the American unease surrounding the Iraq War, is Nameer’s restless melancholy, which pushes him to explore New York City as he finds himself increasingly drawn into his own memories, even as he becomes obsessed with Wadood’s own project of reconnecting the world to its past.  Nameer’s narration of his own day-to-day life becomes interspersed and mingled with entries from Wadood’s index, memories from his own past, their letters back and forth, and selected quotations about time, memory, and our relation to the past from Walter Benjamin.

What results is an opportunity to feel the horror of war, not from the perspective of the frantic soldier or the horrified civilian, but instead from the perspective of the memories which are forced into their resolution by an unknown terror.  Ancient tablets, prison-made rugs, pianists, and birds all have their moments and memories resurrected at the same time that Nameer is finding his own memories of an estranged father, more distant past life in Iraq, school-aged exploits, and former lovers all asserting themselves on his day-to-day experience.  The reader is free to see two men attempt, with incredibly varying degrees of success, to make sense of their own past and incorporate the men they’ve become as a result into their present realities in order to keep walking forward.

The poetry of Wright’s translation of Antoon’s ideas are at times breathtaking, and I was regularly moved to real sadness at Antoon’s way of crafting the abrupt endings of shattered lives.  The ending is a remarkable and clever crystallization of what had come before that left me smiling but very sad. There are occasional moments when the past scenes become crude, but these are brief and only serve as articulations of the curiosities and confusions that guide us as we moved from our past selves into being who we are today.

One potential weakness of the book is its dialog.  For the first two thirds of the book, nothing ever broke my immersion.  Later, however, when Nameer begins having long conversations with non-Arabs, my eyes kept stumbling.  I realized that the dialog written between Nameer and others from Iraq sounded like the English spoken to me by my Arab friends in general and my Iraqi acquaintances more specifically.  There’s a brevity and forcefulness in grammatical construction, mingled with what sounds to my American ears like intentional ambiguity, which feels natural when spoken by Arabs that feels less natural when put in the lips of a Black woman raised in New York or a white man from Chicago.  It took me some dozen pages to decide how big of a problem the dialog was before I decided that it was no problem at all. The narration is written in Nameer’s voice, and so too is the dialog that he reports to the reader. With this idea in mind, that these were his reports of what was being said, I coasted through and deeply enjoyed Nammer’s interactions with others as they guided him towards coping with his depression.

I would suggest that anyone interested in memory, time, Arab culture, language, the Iraq War, PTSD, or the pressures of an academic career read this novel.  I found it so delightful that I now plan to return to literary novels a few times this summer. I haven’t very often read 300 pages in less than 48 hours, but the gravitas of Antoon’s prose and arrangement will pull you in for a ride. The book was published just this month, and while I write this, it appears there aren’t many reviews online yet, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

The Great Crash, 1929 by John K. Galbraith

By Logan

Begun 03/03/2019, Finished 03/20/2019
6 Hours 43 Minutes

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When I started The Great Crash, 1929  there were a number of things that I did not yet grasp.  First, I did not realize how prominent of a scholar the author had been.  I didn’t realize this even after reading the book. I only noticed several days later when, by chance, a notable current-day economist referenced him.  A Google search later revealed that John K. Galbraith was a long-time Harvard professor and significant figure in 20th Century economics. In a way, I’m glad I didn’t know this beforehand because it might have ruined a charm of the book for me, for reasons I’ll explain later.  Galbraith wrote over a thousand publications in his career, with many books on economics and economic theory.

I also didn’t have the strongest grasp on the timeline of the Great Depression.  I had an especially hard time recognizing the series of events that led from the Roaring Twenties into the Great Depression.  I knew the details well enough to have passed muster in front of my prior teachers and professors: that a way of buying stocks more cheaply, “on margin,” around the end of the 1920s caused a very serious stock market collapse that, because most people were heavily involved in it, managed to drag the whole economy down somehow into a decade of bad times.  Other than that, I couldn’t have told you much. I only later would see how grossly oversimplified my understanding had become.

Like any good public scholar, Galbraith begins his detailed look into the nature of how speculation, regulatory apathy, and the indefatigable rush of believing in, “good times,” led to the stock market crash which preceded the Great Depression with a case study.  He looks to Florida, where in 1927 and 28 there was a land speculation bubble which encapsulates a few essential aspects of what speculation and its inevitable child, collapse, look like.

In Florida, a prolonged period of increases in the price of land occurred.  People began to buy even land which was entirely useless for any commercial activity on the basis that they believed it would continue to increase in price.  To reduce the burdens of ownership to make speculation more profitable, new ways of owning land were devised in Florida. One prominent one was buying the right and obligation to buy land at a certain price.  The end result was a massive inflation in the price of Florida land, which early in 1928 readjusted to reasonable levels, resulting in hard times for many people connected to the market, hard times which paralleled what was to come for the entire country.  This example also draws attention to an important fact: in bubbles of speculation, the actual pragmatic value of the commodity being speculated on is entirely unrelated to its price in the market. For the speculator, the only determiner of price is the likelihood of the commodity in question increasing in price while in his hands.  The radical separation of the price of a commodity from its actual productive value is a key feature of all crashes.

The Great Crash, 1929 gives a lot of attention to a lot of details of the circumstances of the crash prior to the Great Depression.  While reading it, I felt deeply frustrated with the reticence of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve, who likely had the necessary information to caution speculators, but caved to the pressure from many different sources not to disturb the good times of increasing prices and resulting wealth.

A member of the Hoover administration is quoted as saying that they found it plausible that the country was well on its way to eliminating poverty altogether shortly before the crash.  This optimism is a central part of the Galbraith’s diagnosis of where the crash originated. Run away speculation builds a pretended wealth on the guarantee that times will continue to be good and the commodity being speculated on will continue to increase in price indefinitely.  Galbraith quotes a commentator at the time who thought that the increase in stock prices would also increase indefinitely. It was the assumption of continued good times which enables men to make increasingly foolish decisions with the goal of their implausibly continued prosperity.

Galbraith finds this kind of optimism to be the exact thing which is required to create a speculation bubble and subsequent crash.  He speaks critically of those who assert that speculation must run rampant whenever there is easily accessible credit. He in fact points to numerous counter examples of times when credit was cheaper than in 1928-29 without causing a massive ramp in the market.  Galbraith assesses that the key ingredients, rather than credit, are plausibly good times and forgetfulness. He notes dryly that every major crash, and the American economy has had several, occurs far enough apart for the people involved to have forgotten the lessons of the one prior.  That speculation is dangerous and that regulation is needed to curtail its consequences is apparently an easily forgotten lesson.

A feature of the crash which began to stun me was the complete and utter lack or regulatory infrastructure which existed to prevent it.  Not only were the watchers on the wall lacking in the courage necessary to make a warning which could undo the illusion of endless prosperity before there was a great deal of harm, but the Hoover administration was also loathe to intervene.  This was not, as might be expected, out of pure fondness for free markets, per se. Hoover had no particular love for speculation. Rather, Hoover held certain disdain for speculators and preferred to see them come to their own ends, whatever that may be.  That Hoover imagined the economy would be unaffected and that he held a desire to not involve the government too deeply in affairs of the common people were largely incidental. Other vehicles by which the crash could have been avoided were idle on more purely laissez-faire grounds.

The lack of regulation combined with the feelings of good times to produce a staggering number of economic inventions.  The most interesting of these was surely the stock company. These firms had no business other than to buy stock and sell stock of their own to consumers.  These were marketed as a means by which regular consumers could get into the stock market game without having to devote a great deal of time and resources to knowing how the market worked.  Instead of buying stocks themselves, they could buy the company which bought the stock. These companies at various points in the late 20s were springing up by the day. These often had dubious claims to solvency, but because of the lack of oversight of them, this trouble was usually discovered only after the Great Crash.

Debt is another feature of great and recurring significance throughout the book.  Debt played a number of roles in producing the long bull market prior to the crash, causing the crash to happen, and in causing the effects of the crash to be felt throughout the economy.  Speculators used debt as a means of lessening the burdens of ownership of the commodity in which they were interested. By securing loans from their broker for up to 90% of the cost of their stock purchase, investors were able to purchase a great deal more of stock than they could reasonably afford.  Only the stock itself was required for collateral, so long as its value remained above the loan amount. When the stock inevitably doubled or tripled in value, it could all be sold, except for the smaller amount of stock at much greater price required to serve as collateral for the loan. Then, ten times or more of stock could be purchased on a new marginal loan.  In this way, virtually everyone involved in the stock market became heavily indebted, or leveraged. This constant buying resulted in rapidly increasing prices of stocks, and thus a creation of a lot of money for those who participated in the market.

Until it took all of the money back.  Debt not only enabled the unprecedented rise of the stock market; afterward, it made the inevitable crash much, much worse.  Galbraith records the chilling process step by step until the massive inevitability and danger becomes finally apparent. After some arbitrary and random, but small and otherwise harmless and probably short-term, downturn happened, the prices of a large number of stocks no longer were of sufficient value to serve as collateral for a margin loan.  This resulted in broker calls to clients, saying they needed other collateral or to pay off the difference in the balance immediately. Worried clients sold off other stock to make up the difference. Mass sell-offs of commonly held stock resulted in further decreases in prices, which resulted in more calls, which resulted in more sell-offs. Over the course of a few months, this process occurred some eight times, each time eventually being stopped by a closing of the markets, or some other initiative.

Finally, debt made the consequences of the crash resound throughout the economy.  Despite Hoover’s assurances that the essential principles of the economy were sound, there were already signs of a troubling slowdown in consumer purchasing.  This was masked in its impact upon wages and employment only by the increase in the purchase of luxury goods at great expense, such as cars and boats, by the investor class.  However, these investors had just lost a lot of money. Many of them lost their principle incomes. This combined with large firms who normally sold consumer goods having also invested in the market and taking severe losses to result in substantial layoffs and price-decreases throughout the country.

This is now the second book I have read which links large debt to great catastrophes in American life.  The first was Edward Baptist’s The Half Has Never Been Told.  It spoke of a great economic crash caused by a slaveholding public optimistic that the prices of slaves, cotton, and land were only ever bound to increase.  Because slavery-based farming was eternally thirsty for more capital, this optimism led to increasingly convoluted packages of markets of debt and interconnectedness which, when the price of cotton inevitably fell, nearly shut down the entire American and British economies in the 1850s.  The lack of regulation by any state or the federal government in the creation of new debt, the short term economic good times thus created, and the brutality of the result of those times ending were all brought to my mind when I read this book.

For the second time, parallels to 2008 present themselves.  Indeed, since so little has changed about our economic situation (the dreadful science of economic engineering continues unabated, the stock market continues to play a very  important part of many people’s lives, and seemingly everyone is in great debt) that it feels as though I am reading something specifically meant to warn our current moment. Debt and deregulation seem to be ever at the fault of the country’s economic woes.  I do not think it is insignificant that those economic problems, always caused by debt and libertine approaches to wealth, are also always associated with some evil. Slavery speaks for itself. Reinhold Neibuhr, a theologian concurrent with the Depression, wrote prior to it about the injustices being created to prop up the increasingly lavish lifestyles of the Roarin’ 20s. (Interestingly, Martin Luther, the great Protestant Reformer, wrote more than once that speculation itself was inherently unjust act because it necessarily involved buying something at less than you believed it was worth and thus making a decision with apathy, even disdain, for the good of your neighbor.)  The crisis in 2008 was caused by predatory loans made to the unwitting poor. It seems that whenever moral punishment is due to a society, debt and more freedom are easy ways to ensure that the punishment comes in due time and stings deeply until the lesson is forgotten. This trend, which I have discovered unwittingly, having not sought it out, is enough to discourage me from any real debt, even had I not grown up listening to Dave Ramsey on the car radio.

That is not to say that all trust in greater powers is good.  In fact, Galbraith also traces the tendency across these years for people to trust that, “they,” were in charge of the whole process.  Who, “they,” were is unclear to the reader because it is unclear to those who trusted it. It was assumed, when prices were rising, that some mixture of the government, the banks, and the great titans of industry, were all collaborating to see the market rise substantially for some interest or other of their own.  Thus, it was the little man’s best odds to trust that, “they,” would keep increasing the market and get in on it himself. Likewise, when the market crashes happened, newspapers regularly spoke of expecting, “organized support,” for the market which would come from, “them.” This support, of course, never materialized.  Despite a few clever interventions, the market did inevitably collapse. It had to collapse. The market’s rise was not based on the increasing value of the companies, but in the belief only that owning the stock itself would become more desirable based on eternally increasing prices. Had, “they,” existed as a single body of influence in the first place, “they,” would have been ultimately powerless to make any real difference.  The lesson seems to demand to be learned: even the most powerful interests of the most powerful people is insufficient to countermand reality.

I enjoyed reading Galbraith’s account of this era of American history.  It is, of course, a very narrow slice of that history, ignoring virtually every aspect of not only the broader culture but also the economy which did not directly contribute to the Great Crash.  In exchange for this narrowness of scope, the reader receives an excellent depth of understanding and material. I feel as if I not only understand a previously murky event much more clearly, but I also have paradigms with which to understand economic occurrences in American history much more readily.  If either interest you at all, I strongly suggest you pick up a copy (or rent the audiobook from your local library, as I had the pleasure to do.)

Ethics and Moral Reasoning: A Student’s Guide by C. Ben Mitchell

By Logan

Begun 02/02/2019 Finished 03/03/2019
111 Pages

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I’m glad to get to finally add one of my books for class to this blog and my list of books for the year.  Reading books for class is an odd occupation when in pursuit of a goal like what Tori and I are attempting here.  The method of class reading, in which sections of a book are read slowly across a month or two, does not translate well to the pattern of books implied by attempting to read a book and then write a reflection or review on it.  C. Ben Mitchell’s Ethics and Moral Reasoning did not get the attention it deserved from me, as a result.  None of the other books which are added because of my coursework at SBTS will, either.

That said, Mitchell’s short summary of Christian ethics is an enjoyable read and likely would prove very useful for anyone attempting to take their first dives into the field of ethics, Christian or otherwise.  This is precisely its goal as an entry in the Reclaiming the Christian Intellectual Tradition series, which seeks to introduce Christian students and teachers with the philosophical ideas which have been related to Christian thought across its long history.

Ethics and Moral Reasoning begins by establishing the need for it with an attack on, “relativism,” Mitchell’s label for the  sense in modernity that trying to actually determine what is good and bad is a waste of time and that instead we should think of morality in terms of, “right for you,” and, “wrong for me.”  After examining the logical bases for this way of thinking about ethics, Mitchell dives into the task of elucidating the broadest contours of a distinctly Christian ethics. He does this by first showing the relationship between the ethical statements of the Old and New Testament and the ethical thought of the broader Ancient and Medieval world.  He proceeds on a brisk tour of modern Western philosophy, surveying the ethical thought of Kant and Bentham and Mill before noting favorably the arguments of Virtue ethicists in recent decades against them. Finally, he overviews the best of Evangelical ethicists of the past century before setting up general guidelines for those who themselves do the work of discovering right and wrong in the world.

Mitchell’s work is an excellent, though perhaps too brief, introduction to ethical philosophy and theology for those unacquainted with these ideas.  It also serves as a handy list of names who should be read and wrestled with if one wants to engage seriously with what it means to live as a follower of Christ in a world with ethical decisions to make.  I found the penultimate chapter by far the most enjoyable, no doubt because it was the chapter with the most content that was new for me, personally. Getting succinct summaries and a few excerpts of the great thinkers like John Murray, Carl F. Henry, Arthur F. Holmes, the now virtually preeminent Stanley Hauerwas, Oliver O’Donovan, and Gilbert Meilaender was fascinating and novel.

This book is at times too compact and risks oversimplification of the ideas that it presents, but for Christians looking for a quick way to get into ethical thought, especially those who are young, it’s definitely the right tool for that job.

The Time of Illusion: an Historical and Reflective Account of the Nixon Era by Jonathan Schell

By Logan

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Jonathan Schell’s The Time of Illusion is a peculiar book written in response to a peculiar era of American history.  Unlike virtually any attempt to discuss the Nixon administration which might be published today, it spends remarkably little time actually discussing Watergate and Nixon’s subsequent resignation.  It receives a paragraph in the fourth chapter, it interspersed with other material such as Nixon’s re-election campaign in the first and larger portion of the fifth chapter, and receives only 30 or so pages of focused attention.  This neglect of what is for many perhaps the only detail of the Nixon administration they know is not an artistic flair. The book was published in 1975, one year after Nixon resigned on public television. Instead of devoting attention to details that almost certain everyone reading it at that time would have more than familiar with, Schell recounts the Nixon administration with an eye towards tracing the less high-profile, but much more horrifying, secret war waged by President Nixon against the constitutional system of the United States.  In doing so, he attempts to explain how and why the crisis had happened, with particular emphasis on geopolitics, leaving modern readers with much more understandings of the era of American history than they likely would have before and ominous patterns within which to read present history.

Schell’s account of what the Nixon administration did is uncanny in its narrative cohesion, but at the same time deeply troubling.  The majority of the book is a simple chronological recounting of the Nixon administration’s secret actions and reasonings. This was made necessary at the time of its publication by the fact that the public became privy to most of these events years after the fact and almost always out of order.  It was necessary for me because, despite the fact that I thought I was largely proficient in my knowledge of American history, for a layman, I knew almost none of the facts of the administration, except in the broadest of senses.

From the beginning, the Nixon administration set to separate reality from appearance.  Nixon was elected in 1968 on a platform of healing and unifying the division the country had faced during the Johnson Administration and public outcry against the Vietnam War by decentralizing power away from the White House and by ending the war.  Schell records that almost immediately after his inauguration Nixon began to enforce a new kind of secrecy. While promising that he would soon withdraw troops from Vietnam, he began a very intense program of bombing in Cambodia in such secrecy that it effectively created a second, covert chain-of-command in the U.S. military.  Instead of reporting to people who the Nixon administration did not trust, he had those in charge of this program report directly to his White House. This duplicity extended into warrantless wiretaps pursued by giving commands to the CIA that avoided all of the normal procedures established in protection of the Constitution. It also prompted him to shape his domestic proposals in illusory ways.  To quote Schell, “In [the administration’s] civil-rights policy, the Administration presented a conservative program as a liberal program. In its crime policy, it took actions that it knew were futile in order to create an appearance of effective action and to transfer the blame for inaction to the political opposition. In its welfare policy, it presented a liberal program as a conservative program, and the image was so convincing that the liberals joined the conservatives to defeat the program.  But whether [it] was saying one thing in public while doing the opposite in secret or was saying one thing in public while doing the opposite also in public… the one constant was that it had broken the unity of word and deed which makes political action intelligible to the rest of the world.”

After attention swung back to the ongoing War, however, Nixon’s public image changed, and he began an offensive against the press, demonstrators, and the nebulously defined, “elite.”  Schell uses numerous quotes from internal memos and public speeches to document Nixon’s deep frustration with forces which he saw as attempting nothing less than the castration of the Presidency.  Among the other elements of the, “Presidential Offensive,” were ambiguously legal covert actions to infiltrate and subvert domestic anti-war organizations, attempts to threaten news organizations which didn’t supply adequately favorable coverage to the administration, and Spiro Agnew’s bold and brazen diatribes against, “effete snobs,” who he claimed were out to destroy the institutions of American governance.  Behind these actions were a deep conviction that the elements of public life that were against the war and critical of the president were dangerous to the continued functioning of America.

Since this, “Presidential Offensive,” is the seed which gave life to virtually all other crimes of the Nixon White House, it’s worth examining Schell’s explanation of where it came from.  In his last chapter, Schell connects dots that appear throughout his accounting of the Nixon era. He argues that you cannot fully understand the Nixon era without understanding how the doctrine of Credibility and the Vietnam War intersected.

Credibility emerged in the late 1950s as an academic idea from a number of top theorists of military and geopolitical policy.  It attempted to deal with a paradox inherent to the possession of nuclear weapons: the incredible efficacy and horror of using nuclear weapons meant that they had to be reserved for the most dire of conflicts.  It also meant that conflicts which could escalate into the use of nuclear weapons had to be avoided. The fact of the USSR’s nuclear arsenal also ensured that the use of nuclear weapons would be functional suicide.  To deal with this, Henry Kissinger and others proposed an idea of limited war, small, aggressive military actions taken for some aim or another that would convince the world, both America’s allies and her enemies, that the US had the will to use the full weight of its power if challenged, with the result hopefully being that such a display would never prove necessary.  In effect, it was an attempt on the global stage to separate appearance from reality, to cover the unusable nature of nuclear weapons with the most intense displays of willingness to use all other weapons.

Schell draws a persuasive line that this notion of Credibility not only was the actual cause of America’s entry into and persistence in the Vietnam War, but was the background of all of Nixon’s actions on the domestic front.  He quotes numerous speeches and statements in which Nixon seems to fear a kind of castration by those who would restrict his actions. This included war protestors, for certain, but also included Congress, the press, and a figure of his imagination which he frequently referred to in private as, “the establishment.”  Because the President of the United States was the center of American Credibility, from Nixon’s view, any constraint on himself was tantamount to a threat to not only the entire country, but all of humanity.

The consequence is that even while Vietnam continued on into his second term, Nixon’s real war was entirely domestic.  Because the war of his interest was here, so too did the weaponization of illusion follow it. Schell shows how every action, from the timings of announcements of bombings in Vietnam to detente, from Supreme Court nominations to regulations on the production of milk were tactical moves made to shape and then conquer a battlefield of public relations and appearances.

Reading Jonathan Schell’s account of the Nixon era was illuminating.  In pages of this book are details of the Nixon era that I was not taught.  Watergate was a problem for Nixon not because he was connected to a burglary of the Democratic National Headquarters, but because the elaborate infrastructure he used to have this burglary performed had been in place for years to covertly accomplish every kind of crime including assaulting an Editor of the Washington Post, placing illegal wiretaps, and performing similar burglaries of the primary election candidates for the Democratic nomination in 1972.  Watergate becomes a sort of sad anti-climax when it is appended to the far more intense and intimidating threat to the democratic foundation of the country that occured in the late ‘60s. In fact, Watergate, rather than a scandal, becomes the saving grace preventing the permanent settlement of another, much more heinous and horrific scandal.

The blood-curdling aspect of Schell’s account of this attempted coup-from-the-top is the nation’s apathy.  The constant barrage of changing tactics, swings in decisions, and self-contradiction quickly left the country fatigued even beyond what had been the case after years of Vietnam protests in the Johnson administration.  There were hints of the trouble long before Watergate, but few attempted the sound the alarm because the appearance of such charges being partisan slander instead of dangerous truth made few willing to take the risk. Those that did were barely cared enough about to be shouted down, let alone listened to.  If the portrait of Nixon and his fellows during this era is nefarious, the mirror this work holds up the character of the country is deeply unsettling as well.

This is an old book that is broadly available online in paperback.  If you have any interest in the behavior of the powerful, American history, or Presidential politics, I strongly recommend you give it a read.

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) by Mindy Kaling (Logan)

By Logan

222 Pages
Begun 02/15/2019, Finished 02/17/2019

I don’t normally read memoirs, and I certainly don’t usually read memoirs of actors.  Delving through the personal details of the lives of people I don’t know personally isn’t exactly my cup of tea in the first place, but some obnoxious part of me finds the attention we pay to entertainers outside of their jobs very peculiar and at least a little unsettling.  I don’t know why I feel this way, but this isn’t the place to try to self-psychologize. During a road trip, Tori asked if she could listen to Kaling’s 2012 memoir on audiobook while we drove a few hundred miles to visit family.

My default grumpiness about the genre was smoothed over pretty quickly by Kaling’s charming writing and conversational delivery (she narrates her own memoir for the audiobook).  Mindy traces her life primarily among the contour of her trajectory towards a career in comedy. For those of you who would, like I did, break Tori’s heart by asking who Mindy Kaling is, she’s the actress who plays the Indian woman on The Office.  She also wrote for the Office. She also has written an award winning play (I’ll save you the absurd details, she goes over them in the book), voice-acted in several Disney films, played Mrs. Who in a Wrinkle in Time, and finished her own comedy series for Fox in 2017.

The memoir was written while Kaling was on the cusp of full-blown importance and is a pretty good demonstration of how she got there.  Her best, earliest friendship was with another girl who was, like Mindy, obsessed with comedy. The details of how that friendship formed among the fairly normal background of a highschool girl struggling with her identity and fitting in are funny and endearing.

I could write a similar paragraph for each phase of the memoir, her transition to Dartmouth where she began writing for public audiences in earnest.  Her move to New York with her two best friends, where she began trying to get into show business while nannying. He first job on a TV psychic show. Getting that attention for that play I mentioned.  Transitioning into writing and acting on The Office.

I don’t know a lot about Hollywood, but I suspect the story is pretty normal for people who have, “made it,” and who almost did.  What makes this book stand out is the way that Kaling weaves her insights about how people work, her lists of preferences, hopes, disgusts, and everything else a person can experience in response to the world.  This is where her personality and intelligence really shine through. Since these were by far my favorite parts of the memoir, it feels appropriate to finish this review with a similar list

4 Things I Liked About Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?

1. Relationships

Mindy doesn’t spend much attention on dating or relationships at all.  Romantic pursuits are always shoved to the far background of the story until we get to material that seems to be pretty close to the time of writing.  She does devote two or three lists to dating and marriage and one rant to dissecting why guys take so long to tie our shoes, which ends up related. At the time she wrote the book, at least, Mindy wanted to be married one day.  She expressed her desire to date men rather than boys, with one of the better secular explications of what that meant. She also expressed longing to see examples of good, healthy, happy marriages. As someone who wanted to be married one day, she was fed up with all of the people who talked about marriage chiefly in terms of how hard and laborious having a marriage was.  I found that last part interesting precisely because Tori had expressed similar frustrations before we were married. Overall, I was struck by the ways that a human heart naturally longs for the kinds of relationships that the Holy Spirit makes possible. Humans are incurably set to seek out the good things that God designed for us, even when we aren’t seeking after the source of those gifts.

2. Seeing how television works

This isn’t exactly the kind of memoir that provides an in-depth look at some specialized field the author is acquainted with, but it isn’t not-that either.  Throughout the last third of Kaling’s book we get a lot of glimpses at the creative process for television shows, how the people behind those shows interact on and off the job, and what it’s like for fans of some remarkably talented people to become their coworkers.

3. The Places

Mindy describes three distinct places she’s lived in some detail: Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she grew up, New York City, and LA.  I like hearing about places I’ve never been to, especially when what I get to see is the ways that people there are more or less like the people anywhere, just with their own ways of being that way.  Cambridge Massachusetts and Los Angeles are definitely in that category. NYC is special to me because that’s where Tori and I honeymooned. Beyond that, it’s always had a special allure to me as THE big city on my half of the continental United States.  I could listen to anyone talk about living in New York for as long as they wanted to talk. The fact that it was a remarkably gifted writer and comedian doing the explaining was a nice bonus.

4. The Upswing

Mindy is tough, and that doesn’t get diluted in the least because her goal the entire book is to work in comedy.   In fact, I’d argue it gets amplified. There are a lot of barriers between anyone who wants to work in media and the actual accomplishment of getting to do so.  Even knowing that she will be successful, it’s impossible to not grit your teeth every time she reflects on a setback or hold your breath when she narrates a new opportunity.  The drama may have been amplified for me because I had no idea what her career path had looked like. Still, I think for anyone, the strength of Kaling’s writing will align them with her goals and hopes and frustrations in a deeply satisfying way.

(See Tori’s thoughts on the book here.)