Chelsey Cosh's Blog: From Mind to Mouth - Posts Tagged "chuck-klosterman"
Making Up for Lost Time
June was a busy month. Not only did I have family over for my wedding, but -- hello! -- I got married. I had a wedding in two parts: an intimate ceremony and dinner with family, and then, a few weeks later, a reception with DJ and dinner for more family and friends. So, a busy bee I have been.
I tried to read, but nothing came to fruition. I did chip away at it, though, so as not to fall too far behind. I really tried to get back in stride for July.
This is what I managed to muster this month.
Book #22: A book set in your hometown
There's something to be said about this whole graphic novel thing. After reading Umbrella Academy a little over a month ago, I wanted to read another graphic novel. And considering how difficult it is to find a book actually set within the confines of the townlines where I reside, I knew I was going to have to be flexible.
So, with this prompt, I figured anything even in the vicinity of Toronto was close enough. I was a little shy about reading Margaret Atwood, considering that my high school literature teacher who would and could read just about anything absolutely despised Atwood. I do intend to read The Edible Woman , but not today. In lieu of that, I went for something unique: the story of a Japanese-Canadian attending an all-girls Catholic school. Going in, I knew nothing about Skim except that its reception was very positive. I also knew the authors were cousins: one wrote the story, the other illustrated.
Skim is about Kim Cameron, nicknamed Skim; she's a depressed, lonely, and confused teenage girl. Her "friend" Lisa is moody and exploitative and self-centered. Lisa gives meaning to the phrase, "Who needs enemies with friends like these?" Like I said, Skim attends an all-girls' Catholic school. There, the girls are catty and dismissive, especially the self-important Julie Peters and her lemming-like friends, all of which treat Skim cruelly or don't notice her at all. Isolated in their own little private-school sphere, these spoiled girls in their clique-y world bounce off each other, creating conflicts that need not exist or campaigning for causes they don't really care about, just for something to do. These are your stereotypical mean girls and very hypocritical ones at that; they preach kindness and compassion as they're sharpening their claws. We all know the type. (And if you don't, it was probably you.)
Not everyone gets to go to private school, like Skim does, but her story has a very universal quality. The experience Skim has seems very genuine, very true, as if either one or both of the authors went through this mill themselves. I know that, for many, that is how teenage life feels. In an effort to survive, Skim turns rather unsuccessfully to Wiccanism. She has no outlet. She writes in her diary. She is struggling to figure things out. She falls in love and makes what could have been a serious error -- a crime, in fact. However, in the end, Skim eliminates some of the darkness from her life and finds someone a little more like her -- not a lover, but a real friend. And I don't think this book is filled with any lessons or happy endings, but it doesn't have a sad ending either. If anything, there is a modicum of hope for Skim yet. And that's happy enough for me.
Book #23: A book about a road trip
Boy, did I take my sweet time reading this one.
I started reading this book at the beginning of June. Then, as aforementioned, my family visited from England for six weeks.
So, needless to say, I put down Paper Towns until July. It was trickier to get back into it with such a long break in between. I was about 100 pages in already and I wasn't keen on rereading them. It came back to me fairly quickly, but I had lost the mood I had back in June. The tone had changed, at first almost imperceptible, but once realized, still ineffable.
I can see why my sister calls this book her "least favourite John Green." It is by no means a bad book; please don't misconstrue my lower preference for it as a negative criticism for the writing. The thing is, the plot is largely lacking. It has all the makings of a mystery with no get-up-and-go to actually investigate. So much time is spent in the earlier chapters of this novel with an adolescent protagonist whining about life and obsessing about his missing sort-of-friend without straining himself too much to actually do much about it. It reminds me a lot of the rantings of Holden Caulfield. For that reason, you lose interest before the real action starts on page 243. That's right; the road trip doesn't start until page 243. The book barely scratches the 300-page mark. After that, we get an hour-by-hour rundown of travelling up the East Coast in a minivan. And I won't go any further because, if you do happen to want to read it, I don't want to spoil it for you.
Yes, I saw the film first again, but, unlike with The Fault in Our Stars , that experience had no effect on my enjoyment of this book. Paper Towns is not a teenage fairy tale. It is a journey, both literal and metaphorical, about impressions, expectations, and the breaking of those illusions by truly knowing a person. People are windows, in essence, but we cloud them up and use them as mirrors instead. Ultimately, this novel teaches us a lesson in empathy, realizing that everyone has emotions and is struggling with something and that people live their lives not to feed into some caricature painted by outsiders but to fulfill the needs of one's self and loved ones.
So, while it may be impossible to walk in someone else's shoes, there is something noble in the attempt. And while it's not my favourite John Green novel because of the ambling pace combined with the hecticness of the constantly shifting narrative, I still appreciate the hamfisted delivery of its message.
Book #24: A dystopian novel
I get that Fahrenheit 451 is a cautionary tale about censorship. Oh, boy, I couldn't not get that; without an ounce of subtlety, Bradbury whacks you over the head repeatedly with that message. I also understand that we as readers should empathize with the plight of poor Guy Montag whose eyes have just been opened and whose mind has been blown by the capacity to think freely. But I don't pity him at all; frankly, I don't care for the guy. With its writing style that, to me, is too reminiscent of the ramblings of a madman rife with paranoia (Montag, not Bradbury), I found it incredibly hard to get absorbed in this tale of a dystopian future in which the population indulges in a hedonistic lifestyle prescribed by conformity-loving social authorities that tell you what to think and constantly placate you into feeling good by never really feeling anything at all.
It's an interesting concept; it’s what drew me in in the first place. And the idea of firefighters burning books is genius because Bradbury automatically has his audience, readers, on his side without much need for persuasion.
However, I cannot get behind the execution of this story. Everything seems so drawn out and tedious. Instead of cheering Montag on, I grew to hate him, not because of his actions but because of his babble. Regardless, Fahrenheit 451 sparked the ideas for so many other stories, so for that alone, I am grateful.
I still have a few books that I took a huge chunk out of this month, but those will have to wait because, with a chapter or two left to read, they are still pending completion. We won't even touch on the various books that didn't fit this challenge that I read anyway. I read a book on cognitive behavioral therapy (because I'm boring); Neil Gaiman's book of speeches, articles, and other non-fiction writings, The View from the Cheap Seats ; my husband's favourite Goosebumps volume, The Beast from the East , which is evidence that I am regressing into an eleven-year-old child; and a fairly dense Chuck Klosterman anthology (which included a handful of articles that I read years ago when I borrowed my friend's copy of Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs in high school.
So, yeah, I can't be contained to the list. I should stop fighting it.
Still, I managed to get through a fair share, enough to make it less horrific that I didn't read at all in June.
Next month, I hope to conquer what I have still in progress, which includes a book from Oprah's book club, a book that's set in summertime, a National Book Award winner, and a book set in Europe, as well as tackling a book at least 100 years older than me and a book with a protagonist who has my occupation.
Until then, happy reading!
I tried to read, but nothing came to fruition. I did chip away at it, though, so as not to fall too far behind. I really tried to get back in stride for July.
This is what I managed to muster this month.
Book #22: A book set in your hometown
There's something to be said about this whole graphic novel thing. After reading Umbrella Academy a little over a month ago, I wanted to read another graphic novel. And considering how difficult it is to find a book actually set within the confines of the townlines where I reside, I knew I was going to have to be flexible.
So, with this prompt, I figured anything even in the vicinity of Toronto was close enough. I was a little shy about reading Margaret Atwood, considering that my high school literature teacher who would and could read just about anything absolutely despised Atwood. I do intend to read The Edible Woman , but not today. In lieu of that, I went for something unique: the story of a Japanese-Canadian attending an all-girls Catholic school. Going in, I knew nothing about Skim except that its reception was very positive. I also knew the authors were cousins: one wrote the story, the other illustrated.
Skim is about Kim Cameron, nicknamed Skim; she's a depressed, lonely, and confused teenage girl. Her "friend" Lisa is moody and exploitative and self-centered. Lisa gives meaning to the phrase, "Who needs enemies with friends like these?" Like I said, Skim attends an all-girls' Catholic school. There, the girls are catty and dismissive, especially the self-important Julie Peters and her lemming-like friends, all of which treat Skim cruelly or don't notice her at all. Isolated in their own little private-school sphere, these spoiled girls in their clique-y world bounce off each other, creating conflicts that need not exist or campaigning for causes they don't really care about, just for something to do. These are your stereotypical mean girls and very hypocritical ones at that; they preach kindness and compassion as they're sharpening their claws. We all know the type. (And if you don't, it was probably you.)
Not everyone gets to go to private school, like Skim does, but her story has a very universal quality. The experience Skim has seems very genuine, very true, as if either one or both of the authors went through this mill themselves. I know that, for many, that is how teenage life feels. In an effort to survive, Skim turns rather unsuccessfully to Wiccanism. She has no outlet. She writes in her diary. She is struggling to figure things out. She falls in love and makes what could have been a serious error -- a crime, in fact. However, in the end, Skim eliminates some of the darkness from her life and finds someone a little more like her -- not a lover, but a real friend. And I don't think this book is filled with any lessons or happy endings, but it doesn't have a sad ending either. If anything, there is a modicum of hope for Skim yet. And that's happy enough for me.
Book #23: A book about a road trip
Boy, did I take my sweet time reading this one.
I started reading this book at the beginning of June. Then, as aforementioned, my family visited from England for six weeks.
So, needless to say, I put down Paper Towns until July. It was trickier to get back into it with such a long break in between. I was about 100 pages in already and I wasn't keen on rereading them. It came back to me fairly quickly, but I had lost the mood I had back in June. The tone had changed, at first almost imperceptible, but once realized, still ineffable.
I can see why my sister calls this book her "least favourite John Green." It is by no means a bad book; please don't misconstrue my lower preference for it as a negative criticism for the writing. The thing is, the plot is largely lacking. It has all the makings of a mystery with no get-up-and-go to actually investigate. So much time is spent in the earlier chapters of this novel with an adolescent protagonist whining about life and obsessing about his missing sort-of-friend without straining himself too much to actually do much about it. It reminds me a lot of the rantings of Holden Caulfield. For that reason, you lose interest before the real action starts on page 243. That's right; the road trip doesn't start until page 243. The book barely scratches the 300-page mark. After that, we get an hour-by-hour rundown of travelling up the East Coast in a minivan. And I won't go any further because, if you do happen to want to read it, I don't want to spoil it for you.
Yes, I saw the film first again, but, unlike with The Fault in Our Stars , that experience had no effect on my enjoyment of this book. Paper Towns is not a teenage fairy tale. It is a journey, both literal and metaphorical, about impressions, expectations, and the breaking of those illusions by truly knowing a person. People are windows, in essence, but we cloud them up and use them as mirrors instead. Ultimately, this novel teaches us a lesson in empathy, realizing that everyone has emotions and is struggling with something and that people live their lives not to feed into some caricature painted by outsiders but to fulfill the needs of one's self and loved ones.
So, while it may be impossible to walk in someone else's shoes, there is something noble in the attempt. And while it's not my favourite John Green novel because of the ambling pace combined with the hecticness of the constantly shifting narrative, I still appreciate the hamfisted delivery of its message.
Book #24: A dystopian novel
I get that Fahrenheit 451 is a cautionary tale about censorship. Oh, boy, I couldn't not get that; without an ounce of subtlety, Bradbury whacks you over the head repeatedly with that message. I also understand that we as readers should empathize with the plight of poor Guy Montag whose eyes have just been opened and whose mind has been blown by the capacity to think freely. But I don't pity him at all; frankly, I don't care for the guy. With its writing style that, to me, is too reminiscent of the ramblings of a madman rife with paranoia (Montag, not Bradbury), I found it incredibly hard to get absorbed in this tale of a dystopian future in which the population indulges in a hedonistic lifestyle prescribed by conformity-loving social authorities that tell you what to think and constantly placate you into feeling good by never really feeling anything at all.
It's an interesting concept; it’s what drew me in in the first place. And the idea of firefighters burning books is genius because Bradbury automatically has his audience, readers, on his side without much need for persuasion.
However, I cannot get behind the execution of this story. Everything seems so drawn out and tedious. Instead of cheering Montag on, I grew to hate him, not because of his actions but because of his babble. Regardless, Fahrenheit 451 sparked the ideas for so many other stories, so for that alone, I am grateful.
I still have a few books that I took a huge chunk out of this month, but those will have to wait because, with a chapter or two left to read, they are still pending completion. We won't even touch on the various books that didn't fit this challenge that I read anyway. I read a book on cognitive behavioral therapy (because I'm boring); Neil Gaiman's book of speeches, articles, and other non-fiction writings, The View from the Cheap Seats ; my husband's favourite Goosebumps volume, The Beast from the East , which is evidence that I am regressing into an eleven-year-old child; and a fairly dense Chuck Klosterman anthology (which included a handful of articles that I read years ago when I borrowed my friend's copy of Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs in high school.
So, yeah, I can't be contained to the list. I should stop fighting it.
Still, I managed to get through a fair share, enough to make it less horrific that I didn't read at all in June.
Next month, I hope to conquer what I have still in progress, which includes a book from Oprah's book club, a book that's set in summertime, a National Book Award winner, and a book set in Europe, as well as tackling a book at least 100 years older than me and a book with a protagonist who has my occupation.
Until then, happy reading!
Let me be, I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity
I am horribly naive, but I prefer it that way.
This is the conclusion I have drawn from the book I’m currently reading, called But What If We're Wrong, by Chuck Klosterman. Chuck writes with a sense of sarcasm and looks at the world somewhat unconventionally with this need to question every damn thing, which makes for good reading on a fairly wide range of subjects. He is known as an essayist and I find that kind of writing is where he really shines, but there really is something for everyone. For anyone who hasn't read his work, I highly recommend you do so.
Anyway, in his introduction to this book, Chuck mentions how gravity as we know it might only be partially explained, leaving us with lots of wrong answers that we accept on an objective level. It brought to mind an argument between the characters of Phoebe, a flaky hippie, and Ross, a paleontologist with a doctorate, on the popular TV show Friends. Chances are high that you saw those names and didn't need me to name the show. You've probably seen this episode. Phoebe questions, first, evolution, and then gravity, debating its existence and even the type of the direction of the force being exerted. "Lately," she says, "I get the feeling that I'm not so much being pulled down as I am being pushed." Everyone laughs. Ross pops a blood vessel in his forehead.
And, in this scenario, I am, at least inwardly, Ross. I would like to think I would not throw a tantrum if someone disagreed with my thoughts on gravity. (I cannot say the same about my views on movies, but I digress.)
Look, I am not very good at handling that level of uncertainty - I know this about myself, that's why I don't go to magic shows - but spend a great deal of time learning as much as possible to eliminate it by providing an endless parade of answers, answers, answers.
But, I wonder, am I really eliminating it?
I took a class in wellness once and there are various dimensions of wellness, the number of which varies depending on the theorist. There's physical wellness, spiritual wellness, occupational wellness, and so on. I learned that actions informed by one type of wellness, such as reading to engage and improve intellectual wellness, can overlap with other wellness dimensions, like emotional wellness if the reading is for escapism.
I think this is the case for me. But reading is much more than mere enjoyment. The pursuit of the intellectual soothes what would otherwise bother me in regards to uncertainty. I derive the emotional from the intellectual, not in spite of it.
Now, there is the ironic catch-22 that the more we learn, the less we know, which I learned at 7 years old from The Hogan Family theme song. Yet, for the most part, I do feel soothed by reading. It fills the black holes with … something.
I think this is why I read and watch movies and listen to music. It calms the part of me that is frantically searching for answers.
It gives even more credence to Chuck Klosterman's argument, too. Sometimes we just want to know. Not know, but "know." We placate ourselves because something at least halfway feasible is better than a verified nothing. So we believe scientists and findings and studies and the latest literature in the same way that those who have faith unquestionably hold to scripture or the words of religious leaders.
So, if I've learned nothing else this far, I will give my fiancé the benefit of the doubt and humour him on his theory of who assassinated John F. Kennedy, to which I used to respond, "Are you sure it wasn't Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?"
Now, to gravitate away from these thoughts (see what I did there?) for a fun little exercise in creativity and my swiftly diminishing long-term memory, I do want to venture into my own personal version of what Chuck Klosterman describes as the few times he got something right ("the exceptions") in contrast to the many times he was wrong (the "most things").
Because that's the beauty of learning. To get from the "most things" to "the exceptions", the list will always be wildly unbalanced and never in your favour. Anyone who thinks they have been right more than they've been wrong … well, they're wrong right there.
My List of Times I Got It Wrong (Massively Abridged for the Sanity of Readers)
The time I confidently fell asleep on the sofa during U.S. election night, confident I would wake up to the first female American president, Hillary Clinton.
Not saving my allowance as a child and letting compound interest work its wonders, instead of buying the third Spice Girls album (the one without Ginger).
Thinking I'm fine until the next rest stop.
Every single time I felt like a slippery eel covered in sunscreen with SPF bajillion and someone said, "Do you want more?" and I said, "No thanks, I'm good." (You remember this moment and hate yourself when you're looking down later that very same day at your Elmo legs and your lobster body.)
My published review of Adele's album 19, where I thought she wouldn't amount to much.
The wedding vows at my first marriage.
The time I swore I would never need a smartphone.
Treating all-you-can-eat buffets like a challenge.
Taking anyone's word that something doesn't have raisins in it.
The fifth drink in two hours.
The time I filled two gigantic emergency jerry cans as part of a COVID-19 quarantine kit days before the self-isolation orders and watched gas prices plummet the next week.
Karaoke.
Pulling an all-nighter before heading back by bus from Montreal to Toronto on my grade 8 grad trip thus sleeping the entire ride home.
That time I spelled it "pidgeon" and my third-grade teacher made me write it out fifty times the correct way. (Maybe that's why I dislike birds…)
Every single time I try to play along with The Price is Right.
My List of Times I Got It Right (Not Nearly As Abridged As I'd Like It To Be)
When the teen tournament runs on Jeopardy.
Every game of Trivial Pursuit.
When the fiancé asked me what type of animal family orcas belong to, and I said the dolphin family.
Betting on Kelly Clarkson as the first American Idol.
Bulk buying toilet paper.
This is the conclusion I have drawn from the book I’m currently reading, called But What If We're Wrong, by Chuck Klosterman. Chuck writes with a sense of sarcasm and looks at the world somewhat unconventionally with this need to question every damn thing, which makes for good reading on a fairly wide range of subjects. He is known as an essayist and I find that kind of writing is where he really shines, but there really is something for everyone. For anyone who hasn't read his work, I highly recommend you do so.
Anyway, in his introduction to this book, Chuck mentions how gravity as we know it might only be partially explained, leaving us with lots of wrong answers that we accept on an objective level. It brought to mind an argument between the characters of Phoebe, a flaky hippie, and Ross, a paleontologist with a doctorate, on the popular TV show Friends. Chances are high that you saw those names and didn't need me to name the show. You've probably seen this episode. Phoebe questions, first, evolution, and then gravity, debating its existence and even the type of the direction of the force being exerted. "Lately," she says, "I get the feeling that I'm not so much being pulled down as I am being pushed." Everyone laughs. Ross pops a blood vessel in his forehead.
And, in this scenario, I am, at least inwardly, Ross. I would like to think I would not throw a tantrum if someone disagreed with my thoughts on gravity. (I cannot say the same about my views on movies, but I digress.)
Look, I am not very good at handling that level of uncertainty - I know this about myself, that's why I don't go to magic shows - but spend a great deal of time learning as much as possible to eliminate it by providing an endless parade of answers, answers, answers.
But, I wonder, am I really eliminating it?
I took a class in wellness once and there are various dimensions of wellness, the number of which varies depending on the theorist. There's physical wellness, spiritual wellness, occupational wellness, and so on. I learned that actions informed by one type of wellness, such as reading to engage and improve intellectual wellness, can overlap with other wellness dimensions, like emotional wellness if the reading is for escapism.
I think this is the case for me. But reading is much more than mere enjoyment. The pursuit of the intellectual soothes what would otherwise bother me in regards to uncertainty. I derive the emotional from the intellectual, not in spite of it.
Now, there is the ironic catch-22 that the more we learn, the less we know, which I learned at 7 years old from The Hogan Family theme song. Yet, for the most part, I do feel soothed by reading. It fills the black holes with … something.
I think this is why I read and watch movies and listen to music. It calms the part of me that is frantically searching for answers.
It gives even more credence to Chuck Klosterman's argument, too. Sometimes we just want to know. Not know, but "know." We placate ourselves because something at least halfway feasible is better than a verified nothing. So we believe scientists and findings and studies and the latest literature in the same way that those who have faith unquestionably hold to scripture or the words of religious leaders.
So, if I've learned nothing else this far, I will give my fiancé the benefit of the doubt and humour him on his theory of who assassinated John F. Kennedy, to which I used to respond, "Are you sure it wasn't Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?"
Now, to gravitate away from these thoughts (see what I did there?) for a fun little exercise in creativity and my swiftly diminishing long-term memory, I do want to venture into my own personal version of what Chuck Klosterman describes as the few times he got something right ("the exceptions") in contrast to the many times he was wrong (the "most things").
Because that's the beauty of learning. To get from the "most things" to "the exceptions", the list will always be wildly unbalanced and never in your favour. Anyone who thinks they have been right more than they've been wrong … well, they're wrong right there.
My List of Times I Got It Wrong (Massively Abridged for the Sanity of Readers)
The time I confidently fell asleep on the sofa during U.S. election night, confident I would wake up to the first female American president, Hillary Clinton.
Not saving my allowance as a child and letting compound interest work its wonders, instead of buying the third Spice Girls album (the one without Ginger).
Thinking I'm fine until the next rest stop.
Every single time I felt like a slippery eel covered in sunscreen with SPF bajillion and someone said, "Do you want more?" and I said, "No thanks, I'm good." (You remember this moment and hate yourself when you're looking down later that very same day at your Elmo legs and your lobster body.)
My published review of Adele's album 19, where I thought she wouldn't amount to much.
The wedding vows at my first marriage.
The time I swore I would never need a smartphone.
Treating all-you-can-eat buffets like a challenge.
Taking anyone's word that something doesn't have raisins in it.
The fifth drink in two hours.
The time I filled two gigantic emergency jerry cans as part of a COVID-19 quarantine kit days before the self-isolation orders and watched gas prices plummet the next week.
Karaoke.
Pulling an all-nighter before heading back by bus from Montreal to Toronto on my grade 8 grad trip thus sleeping the entire ride home.
That time I spelled it "pidgeon" and my third-grade teacher made me write it out fifty times the correct way. (Maybe that's why I dislike birds…)
Every single time I try to play along with The Price is Right.
My List of Times I Got It Right (Not Nearly As Abridged As I'd Like It To Be)
When the teen tournament runs on Jeopardy.
Every game of Trivial Pursuit.
When the fiancé asked me what type of animal family orcas belong to, and I said the dolphin family.
Betting on Kelly Clarkson as the first American Idol.
Bulk buying toilet paper.
