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Review of The Gift of Rain by Eng

The Gift of Rain by Tan Twan Eng

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Layer upon layer of story -- events during WW II in Malaysia remembered fifty years later, the relationship of a half-Chinese half-English boy with his Japanese sensei martial arts teacher who was also a Japanese spy, the moral ambiguities and difficult choices of life after the Japanese conquest.
I internalized the story as if I were living it, to the extent that halfway through the book I woke up in the morning with a sharp pain in my right shin and an indentation a couple inches long, an inch wide and a quarter inch deep, as if any injury from a kick in a fight. The indentation was in the bone. It wasn't a muscle spasm. But no cut, no bruise. A few hours later both the pain and the indentation were gone. That was spooky.
I had recently read and greatly enjoyed the author's second book, The Garden of Rising Mists, which had ben recommended to me by the widow of a close friend of mine who died twice. I had also recently read the Complete Stories of Somerset Maugham, many of which were set in Malaysia and its environs, and Maugham himself merits a brief cameo almost appearance in this novel. I had read Maugham and I read much of this as well sitting on a bench, looking out at the sand and waves of Long Island Sound.
And aside from the story, which at times and especially near the end, had me near tears, the language, the turns for phrase, the metaphors were often magical. I certainly wish that I could write like that.
The magic began with the first sentence, "I was born with the gift of rain, an ancient soothsayer in an even more ancient temple once told me."
Here are a few other samples:
p. 11 "If one steps out of time what does one have? Why, the past of course, gradually being worn away by the years as a pebble halted on a riverbed is eroded by the passage of water.
p. 23 "The life I had lived was folded, only a blank page exposed to the world, emptiness wrapped around the days of my life; faint traces of it could be discerned, but only if one looked closely very closely. And so, for the first and last time, I gently unfolded my life, exposing what was written, letting the ancient ink be read once again."
p. 43 "Picture your breath as a long slender string."
p. 45 "Ad there were the smells, always the smells that remain unchanged even to this day -- the scents of spies drying in the sun, sweetmeats roasting on charcoal grills, curries bubbling on fiery stoves, dried salted fish swaying on strings, nutmeg, pickled shrimps -- all these swirled and mixed with the scent of the sea, fusing into a pungent concoction that entered us and lodged itself in the memory of our hearts."
p. 47 "... the islands that collectively formed the nation of Japan made it look like a tilted seahorse swimming against the currents of the ocean."
p. 62 "...the storm clouds had come in low, scraping the tops of the range of hills like a dragon's underbelly moving over rocks... On days like these, when the clouds are thick, heaven seems closer, and I almost feel I can touch it." He looked at me, hearing the wistful tone of my words. "You can touch heaven any time you wish. Let me show you."
p. 103 "Endo-san's lessons had taught me that there is often movement in stillness, and stillness in movement."
p. 186 "Far away the surf raced along the sand, hissing as it melted into the beach."
p. 187 "Thoughts floated by like intoxicated butterflies..."
p. 218 "In an instant I saw that I had unconsciously replicated Musashi's drawing, the drawing that had been copied by Endo--san and for the briefest moment I saw how everything and everyone and every time was connected in some manner."
p. 223 "The sea was so bright it was almost without color, just a shifting sheet of light."
p. 275 "Blood was curdling on the tarmac, thick as engine oil."
p. 349 "...we waited there on the bench, shielded from the world by the palace of the rain..."
p. 355 "Michiko and I sat on a bench along Gurney Drive, which had once been the North coastal road, facing the narrow sea, doing what most people do along here, makan angin -- eating the breeze."
p. 398 "That is what growing old consists of, mostly. One starts giving away items and belonging until on the memories are left. In the end, what else do we really require?"
p. 420 "The monsoon returned like a family guest, to be tolerated by some, hated by others, loved by one or two, and the brilliant sunshine of our days became a clouded memory again a fleets of storm clouds sailed in and anchored themselves in the sky."
p. 424 "... the sand gleamed brightly, white as angel bones... Endo-san was right. In the end, we fellow travelers across the continent of time, across the landscape of memory, we did not need words."




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The Importance of Taking the Easier Path by Richard Seltzer

(Excerpt from Lenses, a book-length colleciton of essays, available at http://www.seltzerbooks.com/lenses.html
_________________

A friend of mine bemoans the invention of GPS. Relying on GPS, people lose their sense of direction and their ability to use maps. He sees that as an impoverishment of our spatial awareness. He also bemoans the availability of the information resources of the Internet, because people don't remember facts when they can easily look them up. He hearkens back to what was lost culturally with the invention of the printing press, and the decline in the ability to memorize with the invention of writing. He sees it as a moral failing to take the easy path made possible by advances technology.

My view is that we are programmed to take advantage of every opportunity to do more with less, to not waste effort or memory space unnecessarily, to follow the path of least resistance, like water flowing down a hill. When an easier way to do something becomes available, we have a strong inclination to adapt to it and forget the old way, and that inclination has repeatedly been important for the survival and advancement of mankind.

Admittedly, our increasing dependence on technology puts us at risk if and when the electrical and electronic underpinnings of modern civilization vanish (through such disasters as solar flares or nuclear war). But if and when that happens, we'll adjust again to the new reality and relearn what we need to relearn. And in the meantime, we'll advance far more quickly both as individuals and as a society, by supplementing our natural abilities with the use of technological innovations.

The End-Game Generation Seeks Meaning by Richard Seltzer

(excerpt from Lenses, a book-length collection of essays, in search of a publisher)

In an extended game of chess, there comes a moment when the tree of branching possibilities reverses − you visualize the ideal end position, and instead of from planning ahead, you begin to plan backwards, figuring out how to get to that ideal end position.

As those of us in the baby boomer generation retire and start new lives, we find ourselves in a unique position with regard to when we recognize that we are in end game.

Previous generations knew that they would die, but, for the most part, had little or no idea of how or when. Advances in medicine and genetics are now making possible early diagnosis of long-term fatal illnesses. New treatments can postpone the onset of such conditions and slow their progress. But it will probably take decades before cures and more effective preventive measures are developed. That means that many of our generation will learn that they have a long-term illness and will live for years with that knowledge and with everyday reminders of impending disability and death.

How will we meet the challenge of knowing that we are in end game? How will that knowledge change how we choose to live the rest of our lives and how we perceive the meaning of our lives?

I suspect that we can learn something of value from this experience and pass that on to future generations who may not be subject to such illnesses. Then the stories of our lives might provide insights into human relationships and into how we should live and who we can become.

Defining Action by Richard Seltzer

(excerpt from Lenses, a book-length collection of short essays, in search of a publisher)

After World War II, authors like Sartre and Camus reacted against abstract philosophy that neglected the immediacy, emotion, and empathy of everyday life. They blamed abstract dehumanized thinking for the horrors of the Third Reich. In opposition to that perspective, they harkened back to Dostoyevsky and other writers who believed that we are defined by our actions, regardless of the rationalizations we might use to justify what we do. Action in that sense means far more than muscle movement. They focused on decisive moments when one puts one's whole self behind what one does, where one is willing to risk everything to do what one feels must be done. Such acts are fraught with meaning due to the context in which they are performed. Such acts, particularly ones involving self-sacrifice/martyrdom, can trigger a tidal wave of consequences, For example, Moses standing up against Pharaoh, the martyrs of the early Christian church, Sir Thomas More standing up to Henry VIII, Martin Luther rebelling against the Catholic Church, and the signers of the Declaration of Independence.

Few of us will ever perform history-changing heroic feats. But we all do affect one another through principled, heartfelt acts that serve as memorable and inspiring examples to those around us. And what, at the time, may seem an insignificant act could through its influence on others have major consequences.

Through our genes, we are connected to those who came before and those who will come after us. Through ideas and chains of teaching and learning, we are connected to those who inspired us and whom we inspire. And we are also connected to one another by the consequences of our meaningful acts.

Does Light Matter by Richard Seltzer

(excerpt from my fantasy The Lizard of Oz, in which an elementary school class on a field trip goes to the Underworld. You need to stand under the world to understand it. There are many levels of understanding.)

Everybody in the class put on sunglasses and stretched out on the beach, with the waves tickling their toes. They felt even better than they had when they fell into the river from the mushroom. Maybe they were relieved to be safe after all the danger they had passed through. Miss Osborne, in particular felt good that the quest was ending. Finally they were in Ome, and soon they'd be Home.

"Gosh," said Donny, "that bush over there looks like it's on fire."

Everybody went running to the bush.

Timmy got close enough to touch it.

"Watch out!" shouted Miss Shelby. "You'll get burnt."

"But it isn't burning, Miss Shelby," Timmy answered.

"Of course it's burning," said Miss Shelby. "You can see it's on fire."

But when she got closer, she too saw it wasn't burning.

"I wish Mr. Shermin were here," she said. "He was so good at explaining things. I learned so much from him."

"Why that's the fire that doesn't burn," said Miss Osborne, and she rushed forward with the stick that Plato had given her.

"What are you doing?" asked Joey.

"I want to see if this stick will catch fire, so we can bring the fire back home."

The stick glowed when she put it in the bush; but when she took it out, the glow faded.

"Do you think it's God?" asked Miss Shelby.

"Beware," a voice boomed, like it was coming from a loudspeaker.

Miss Shelby screamed, "The bush is talking!"

But Donny said, "Gosh, no, Miss Shelby. It's that astronaut over there.",

On top of the hill two men in space suits were walking toward them, waving as frantically in their cumbersome suits let them.

"Stand back from that bush," they said. "Return to the water. This area is contaminated. Radioactive material."

Everybody ran back to the water and got up to their waists in it. The spacemen plodded close to them.

"What's wrong?" asked Miss Osborne. "Did somebody drop a bomb or something?"

"No, miss, it's a natural phenomenon," answered one of the men. "Alpha and omega particles. It's long been a mystery, but we're very close to a break-through. Research has been going on here for years. Scientists named this land "Ohm" because they thought the phenomenon was electrical. An ohm is a measure of electrical resistance. But just last week we successfully separated and identified the two major forms of radiation: the alpha particle and a new particle we've christened the ohm-ega particle. That's an event of cosmic significance."

Miss Shelby explained to the class, "That means it's very important."

"Well, not really," the scientist corrected her. "Alpha and omega particles are cosmic rays and our discovery is very important in the study of cosmic rays. But nobody's sure how significant cosmic rays are in elementary particle physics."

Miss Shelby explained to the class, "Elementary means basic. The most important things, the building blocks you need for further study are elementary. Our school is an elementary school."

"It's different in physics," the scientist explained. "Elementary particles are very advanced. Not that we've advanced that far in our knowledge of them, but that only advanced students ever study them. Actually, very few people study them, and we know very little about them and how they relate to the world of ordinary experience."

"You mean they don't matter?"

"Brilliant, my dear, brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Particles matter. The very word we've been looking for. It's difficult to explain what happens at the subatomic level. Sometimes we talk of matter, and other times we talk of energy. Neither concept alone is sufficient, and yet the concepts of energy and matter seem mutually exclusive. When we try to put them together, we wind up with strange-sounding expressions like 'matter waves.' It all makes sense in terms of equations; but when we try to tell people what we're doing, language keeps leading us into trouble. The words we use often mean more than we mean them to mean.

"We have to be very careful with our words, for they can imply whole systems of thought, and no single system of thought or set of concepts is adequate for describing the world around us. We are faced with the difficult task of using contradictory sets of concepts, now using one and now another, according to the needs of the moment. It's a complicated process that can only to be learned by experience. There are no signposts to tell us when to use which."

"Gosh," said Donny, " Winthrop's like that. There aren't any street signs, and it's awful easy to get lost unless you've got a magic coin."

Miss Shelby started to reprimand Donny for interrupting, but the scientist just kept talking.

"Particles matter," he said. "That's beautiful. A simple pun might make it easier to talk about elementary particles. Yes, 'matter' is a verb as well as a noun, and on the subatomic level it makes more sense to use the word as a verb. Light isn't matter as a noun, but it is matter as a verb. Language, for all its pitfalls, is capable of unexpected beauties. Its very imprecision can be a source of clarity. Light matters. Electrons matter. Elementary particles matter. Perhaps even matter matters."

"I certainly hope so," said Miss Shelby. "I'd hate to think people spend their lives studying things that don't matter."

The scientist laughed, "That's another good one. The words keep meaning more than we mean them to mean. If we aren't careful, we might find ourselves talking about values and morals and other things that have nothing to do with physics."

The full text of The Lizard of Oz is available for free at http://www.seltzerbooks.com/lizardill...

The Gentle Inquisitor and Other Stories by Richard Seltzer

This book of mine was just published by Untold Tales Publishing. It is available for free online at
https://untoldtalespublishing.com/the...

These eight ironic stories deal with serious questions in unique and playful ways. They'll make you smile and wonder and prompt you to think about human nature and the meaning of life from new perspectives.

Does Dark Matter? by Richard Seltzer

(an excerpt from Lenses, a book-length collection of short essays, in search of a publisher)

We're told that dark matter and dark energy account for 95.1% of all there is in the universe. Ordinary matter amounts to just 4.9%. The exact numbers change with new scientific advances, but the overwhelming dominance of the dark over the ordinary remains constant.

You can't see dark matter. You can't feel it or smell it or interact with it in any way. In aggregate, dark matter and dark energy account for the gravitational force that is necessary for equations that are fundamental to our understanding of the physical world. Basically, dark matter and dark energy are a fudge factor. If we want to believe that we understand the physical world, if we want to believe that the physical laws which hold true in our solar system and our galaxy also hold true billions of light years way, if we want to believe we can look back 14 billion years and ahead billions of years and understand what was happening and what will happen, then we have to believe in dark matter and dark energy.

But concepts like spirit, soul, and self are non-
scientific, beyond the pale, mere mystical speculation.

An Ultimate Unit of Space and the Need for a New Calculus

(excerpt from Lenses, a book-length collection of short essays. in search of a publisher)

When I was reading The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene, which explains superstring theory for the masses, I was also reading Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson, an historical novel with Sir Isaac Newton as a character. On p. 670 of Quicksilver, one of the characters challenges a basic concept of calculus. He asks, "What happens then if we continue subdividing? ... Is it the same all the way down? Or is it the case that something happens eventually, that we reach a place where no further subdivision is possible, where fundamental properties of Creation are brought into play?"

The character is contrasting Newton's notion of infinite subdivision, with other concepts of the world in which there is a natural limit to such subdivision.

There appears to be a contradiction between superstring theory, which postulates an ultimate unit of length, and the assumption of calculus that space is infinitely divisible.

I sent an email to Brian Greene, wondering if fundamental concepts and procedures of calculus need to be refined to take this ultimate unit of length into account.

He was kind enough to reply, "In fact, that is just what we are working on today. The notion that the usual procedures of calculus are only relevant on length scales larger than some lower limit--we are trying to piece together the new procedures that take over."

Welcome to the Family -- review of We Were the Mulvaneys

We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



It wasn't the plot that grabbed and held my interest. It was the way the story was told -- layer upon layer, putting me inside the mind of each family member. I got involved in the lives, the thoughts, the emotions of all of them. To me, they were alive, and I would have been interested in anything and everything they did. I was hooked and would have been happy if it had continued for another four hundred pages.

One of my goodreads friends warned me that this book is depressing. I found it inspiring. With the exception of the father, Mulvaney family members are all resilient. The survive and move on from events that at first seem disastrous. Those events change the direction of their lives, but they grow stronger and in the long run wind up happier than they would have been otherwise..

For me, the conclusion -- a family Fourth of July gathering was particularly poignant as I, by chance, read it alone, covid-sequestered, on the Fourth of July, with fireworks going off in the background.




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Moving Beyond the Limitations of Science by Richard Seltzer

(excerpt from Lenses, a book-length collection of short essays, in search of a publisher)

Science progresses by testing educated guesses − hypotheses. But hypotheses depend on expectations based on previous knowledge and cultural bias.

We face the same limitation in everyday life. We filter what we see based on what we expect to see. We ignore anything seriously out of the range of our expectations. If we don't ask the right questions, we don't get the right answers. And as human beings, we have a limited range of hypotheses we are likely to consider plausible. Intuition and thinking-outside-the-box can expand that range, but not by much.

Today, computer simulation is used widely in conjunction with physical experiments to generate hypotheses and then test them. But such simulation typically stays within the range of human expectations.

To overcome that limitation, we need programs which generate hypotheses that are implausible and would not otherwise be considered; programs that come up with complex and improbable ideas and ways to test them. Such hypotheses could lead to experiments that record and help interpret data that would otherwise be ignored.

In the Middle Ages, the rule of thumb known as Occam's Razor was important in setting the stage for scientific advancement. "One should not increase, beyond what is necessary, the number of entities required to explain anything." That rule made practical sense because humans have limited time and limited brain power − focus your research on the most likely explanations. In today's vernacular KISS − "keep it simple stupid."

Now computers can deal with far more variables than humans can; and can calculate trees of causation far further; and hence can identify multiple explanations for the same event, all valid from different perspectives, and perhaps eacy leading to different long-term consequences. It is time to move beyond Occam's Razor, to expand the range of our research to deal with the complex, the unlikely, the redundant, and even the totally outlandish, admitting the possibility that truth might be messy rather than systematic and beautiful.