December 29, 2016--The Year In Reading

At the end of each year, the New York Times asks an assortment of creative people what they have been reading.

They get interesting responses from a cross-section of avid readers and writers from Junot Diaz to Margaret Atwood to Joseph Ellis. But also from a mix of non-literary types such as Bryan Cranston, Paul Simon, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Though maybe with Bob Dylan having won a Nobel, Paul Simon is not so easily categorizable.

Depending on one's own literary aspirations and pretensions you can peruse in wonder Salman Rushdie's top dozen of the cool and exotic or sneak a peek at what Kareem has on his bedside table.

I can't wait to pick up Abdul-Jabbar's recommended poems by Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth. But I'm not racing to get Valeria Luiselli's, The Story of My Teeth, listed by Rushdie.

I know Salman, he's a friend, but really?

Writers can be very competitive. I should rephrase that--writers are very competitive and I am certain that all who were invited to participate took hours coming up with a list that would not only be (sort of) true but would interest--let me rephrase that--impress readers and even trump their colleagues' picks.

No one, for example, would consider listing All the Light We Cannot See, even though it won a Pulitzer and has lingered on the Times best sellers list for 131 weeks, or maybe All the Light would be actively ignored because of these achievements.

Nor would any writer wanting to show off his or her esoteric side or the global reach of their readings even hint at mentioning anything escapist from the likes of John Grisham, though it would be more honest to list some guilty-pleasure reading, which we know everyone occasionally engages in, as that would make strivers such as me feel better about sneaking off with something from James Patterson, which to limit judgmental looks I read with the dust jacket slipped off.

Instead in the Times' Year In Reading we have Nobel Prize winner Orhan Pamuk listing Halldor Laxness' Independent People, set among Icelandic farmers, and essayist Mary Oliver taking note of the work of Patricia Fargnoli, New Hampshire's poet laureate.

Competitive myself, and something of a compulsive reader, if the Times as an inclusive gesture to its average readers was ever to ask me for my list, I already have it ready--

Moby Dick
Don Quixote
The Brothers Karamazov
The Iliad
Finnegan's Wake
Madame Bovary (in the original)
And Peter Balakian's poems, Ozone Journal, which, sorry, did win the Pulitzer.

Salman Rushdie

                               

December 23, 2013--Social Theory

For some time I have been attempting to find ways to feel good about social networking. Up to recently, struggle as I have, everything I come up with is negative.

I'm face-to-face oriented and all this staring at smart phones, thumbs in constant motion as texts are exchanged, continues to turn me off and has me wondering what kind of people, especially young people we are becoming.

I am somewhat consoled by the fact that tweeting, texting, posting, and old-fashioned e-mailing are forms of writing. At a time when little writing is required in school and that that is is little commented upon by overburdened teachers, I'll take any shred of any kind of writing as good news.

But then I remind myself that fuddy-duddies such as I have always complained about paradigm-shifitng new technologies, ruing that they represent the end-of-civilization-as-we-know-it.

Plato, recall, wanted to ban poets and musicians from his Republic, claiming that their emotive power interferes with reasoned, philosophical discourse--it "feeds and waters the passions." And of course he is right. Though this hardly justifies banning them since in fact we need both.

And the literate priestly and royal elites of the time did not welcome Gutenberg's invention of movable type and the resulting proliferation of print material to the otherwise disenchanted. They feared that through the ideas contained in books the powerless would come to feel empowered and at some point would demand that Church and State be reformed and overthrown. Both of which, in turn, occurred.

Then there were those who opposed industrialization and the machine age--Luddites, among others--who rightly saw their widespread use presaging the end of self-sufficiency, craft, and rural yeoman life. And they were right.

So what of me now as I watch the self-hypnotized wandering up and down Broadway, eyes glued too their blue screens, thumbs tapping away?

Am I the cranky heir to Plato, the Renaissance princes, and hopeless machine-smashing Luddites? In many ways I feel I am but, knowing the history of how Plato's Republic turned out--no matter how noble it never came into existence--how after Gutenberg nothing could stem the avalanche of books and ultimately newspapers, and how the machine-driven Industrial Revolution changed everything forever worldwide, aware of these tectonic waves of culture-altering change, I am determined to try to remain relevant (at least in my own mind) and keep searching for the good that will come from the latest Internet-inspired brave new world.

Perhaps I had a glimpse on Saturday of a way to begin to feel better about the shape-shifting power of social networking.

It was a beautiful day and Rona said, "Let's finally go to Williamsburg. We're both originally from Brooklyn and haven't been to Williamsburg since all the young people moved in, displacing the Polish people and the Hassidim."

I readily agreed, feeling a little behind the times in not getting myself there to where so much is happening. "The Girls TV show is set there," I said, "and that's about as close as we've gotten to taking a look at the New Brooklyn."

"Half the best New York restaurants of the last few years are in Brooklyn and we keep going to our familiar nearby places."

If I needed additional reasons to venture across the East River, making me feel I am out of the latest hot restaurant loop was all the incentive I needed to get me headed toward the L train.

Incredibly, less than 10 minutes from Union Square, the fourth stop, Bedford Avenue plopped us down right in the middle of this remarkable urban transformation.

"Can you believe this," I said, with I am sure my jaw hanging open in wonder, "All these shops and terrific-looking young people."

The average age of those filling the streets could not have been more than twenty-five. "Can you believe it, my father's parents used to live on Bedford Avenue, not to mention all the Yeshivas that were here. Now every store is a cafe, restaurant, or clothing boutique."

"Let's wander up and down," Rona suggested. "To get a feel for what's going on."

So we did, for two hours wandering south on Bedford, across Grand Street, and then north on Union. "While we're at it, let's look for a place to have a cup of coffee."

"That's not going to be difficult to find. We've already passed at least 20," Rona said, an exaggeration but more true than not.

On Wythe Avenue we found Bakeri, an "artisanal bakery," which in fact it turned out to be. The display chest was full of wonderful-looking confections, from basic scones to fanciful tarts. It was packed with customers and it took us some time to be helped, which offered the opportunity to take in who was there.

As expected, everyone was very young and fresh from biking or jogging; and if I would have been pressed to guess, looked like they worked for IT start-ups, were living on family money, or both.

We both ordered coffee, Rona with two coconut macaroons, me an "apple cider flower," which looked like a version of Danish I used to get in my old East Flatbush bakery.

"You can sit in the garden, if you like," suggested a friendly young woman, dressed, as all the staff were, in faded-blue Bakeri coveralls. "It's such a beautiful day." She smiled to welcome us. "Find a table and I'll bring your coffee and pastries."

We squeezed by the crowd and made our way through a small passageway in which, tucked in nooks, were two tables and then down a fews steps into the garden.

"This will be beautiful in the spring," Rona said, looking up at the now bare trees, making plans to return even before tasting the coffee and macaroons. "Let's sit there," she said, pointing to a small marble-topped table nestled under the largest of the trees right by an unexpected stone pond full of golden koi.

Before we could look around and see who else was there, our coffee arrived. It was hot and delicious as were our baked goods, which we eagerly shared.

All the tables but the one next to us were occupied with yet more young people, chattering away about the weather and the trips from which they had recently returned.

"I loved Sri Lanka," said an Allison Williams lookalike. "And I can't wait to get back to the Seychelles," said a Zosia Mamet clone. "But best of all, have you been to Madagascar? The natural life there is amazing," said Lena Dunham's double.

Rona and I smiled at each other. This was even more fun than we had expected.

As I drained my final sips of coffee, scanning the garden, I asked, "Was it Thomas Wolfe who said about Brooklyn that, 'You can't go home again'"?

"I think he was referring to another place. Somewhere in the Midwest. But," Rona winked at me, "he did write that terrific short story, 'Only the Dead Know Brooklyn.'"

As by far the oldest person in the garden, I tried to get comfortable with her reference.

While we were finishing our drinks, eavesdropping on the nearby table talk, and trying to remember our Thomas Wolfe, a twenty-something woman slipped into the last unoccupied table right next to us. She was dressed in what we after a few hours in the area began to discern as Williamsburg chic--well-tailored grunge.

As has come to be usual, she did not look around but pulled her smart phone from her peacoat pocket and placed it on the table. Her tea arrived in what seemed like an instant. She didn't look up to acknowledge or thank the waitress; and before taking her first sip, was already tapping away at the screen.

Rona and I, curmudgeons together, smiled at each other.

Here she was, I thought, in this happy place, clearly among peers, in a lovely setting on an even more lovely day, and she can't even wait for a second to pick up her texts to look around, take it all in, feel good about life on such an afternoon.

As she bent closer to the screen, as if to cuddle with it, she began to chuckle. Her thumbs were now in even more rapid motion. Chuckles turned to laughter and head nodding. She took a quick sip of her tea, not taking her eyes off the glowing screen.

We had been making moves to pay the bill and leave, but without exchanging a word or glance of agreement stayed on to witness this as she eventually finished her tea, all the while smiling and talking under her breath as if to herself.

With her tea cup now drained, she took some money from her wallet. Still with her eyes on the flashing screen.

"It was Libya Hills," she said as if to no one in particular. She then half-turned toward us. "Libya Hills that Wolfe was referring to." Puzzled, we looked in her direction. "That you were wondering about. Not Brooklyn." With her free hand she gestured at the garden. And with that she was gone.

Back on the L train, Rona said, "Maybe that's where we're heading."

"I think we're heading toward Union Square. Two more stops."

"I mean culturally, silly. That girl in the garden." Getting her reference, I nodded.

"She was not there alone. Having tea by herself."

"Maybe this is our new sense of community."

"While bowling alone," Rona said, referring to a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago with a young friend from the IT world.

"But what about solitude?" I asked.

"Solitude?"

"Since we're sort of having a literary day, remember Alexander Pope's poem about solitude?"

"Vaguely."

"It goes something like--

Blest the man, who can unconcernedly find
   Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
             Quiet by day.'"

Rona slid closer to me on the subway. "You old Luddite, you."

November 11, 2013--Amazonia

Is Amazon on a course to take over the world? The world of commerce? And who knows what else?

What started in 1994 as a small scale on-line book store has become a retailing behemoth--the world's largest cyber retailer.

In addition to selling virtually every book in print as well as millions of used books via AbeBooks, Amazon now offers almost everything. There is a recent book, the well-titled, The Everything Store, that tracks this remarkable and potentially ominous growth.

From books Amazon quickly moved on to sell DVDs, CDs, video games, and consumer electronics such as TVs and VCRs. After they, from Amazon one could purchase furniture, appliances, apparel, toys, jewelry, and food. In fact, I buy my cookware from Amazon as well as olive oil and even pine nuts!

And then there are other, more exotic goods and especially services that Amazon has been successfully marketing. Best known, through cloud computing, they have been offering infrastructural computer services to some of the nation's leading companies as well as the U.S. government. Clients include NASA and the CIA. Also, the Obama reelection campaign used Amazon's cloud services! Too bad they didn't ask Amazon to run the website for the Obamacare federal health care exchanges.

Amazon discovered that the computer, information technology, data, and storage systems they devised to service their own customers could be used by others such as Netflix. Rather than Netflix developing its own  system to serve its subscribers they in effect rent space on Amazon's enormous computer and data networks.

Beyond this, Amazon has been a leader in the field of big data. They know so much about anyone who logs onto to their website either to shop around or buy something (200 million annually by objective measure) that they are able to mine that data and use it to market other enticing products to us.

If, like me, you buy olive oil, pots and pans, and spices from them, they can easily determine that I might be interested in cook books and kitchen electronics. Or, if I looked for information about Doris Kearns Goodwin's new book about Teddy Roosevelt, they pitch me with information and special deals about the equally recent book about the 2012 presidential election--Double Down.

Some people find this to be helpful; others, me very much included, find it spookily intrusive. I do not like the idea that "they" keep track of what I read and other items I look around for on the Internet. But I guess we are living in a post-privacy world and I should surrender to it since living off the grid--not attractive to me--is the alternative.

As Amazon has grown in size and the services it offers, there is mounting pressure by investors that it begin to make money. Though income last year was in the $61 billion range, as in all the years since it began, Amazon has lost money. Because of increasing its investment in its e-reader, Kindle, in 2012 it posted a loss of $40 million. Thus they pay no dividends, reinvesting almost all their gross income to scoop up other companies such as Kiva Systems and Zappos and expand the range of its own products and services.

People have been wondering what founder and CEO Jeff Bezos has in mind as his long-range business plan.

I think the answer is simple--drive competitive bookstores such as Barnes & Noble and electronics giants such as Best Buy out of business by underselling them; and then, after they are gone or reduced in size, begin to raise prices and allow income to move into the black.

Home Depot put local hardware stores and lumber yards out of business and Walmart wiped out downtown merchants on their march toward market dominance; and then, after doing that with deeply-discounted prices, began to raise them as the competition evaporated.

But I've noticed something new stirring in Amazonia--a few small steps to increase profitability that might suggest their future corporate strategy: rather than continuing to cut prices to undermine competition, Amazon has begun to raise prices. For example, they are charging more to ship books and some of their book prices--always heavily discounted--are beginning to creep up.

Until now, shipping has been free for orders of $25 or more. Soon, just in time for the holidays, customers will have to order at least $35 dollars of goods to qualify for free shipping. This will save the company a few million dollars a year and may also increase sales by prodding people to spend at least $10 more to continue to qualify for free shipping.

But then book prices are also quietly increasing. The evidence thus far is anecdotal. According to the New York Times, if you placed a "save-for-later" order recently for the University of Nebraska Press' bibliography of the novelist Jim Harrison, it was listed as costing $43.87 and then a week later returned to your "shopping cart," you might have found that if you wanted to complete your purchase it would cost $59.87. And this pricing strategy is proving true for some more popular books

That new Doris Kearns Goodwin biography of Teddy Roosevelt, The Bully Pulpit, offers another example. When I went to look for it on Amazon I found that though the list price was $40, it was available for $24, including shipping. Wondering if I could do better, I checked AbeBooks (ironically, an Amazon company) and found a bookseller who had them available for $19.88, also including shipping. True, from Amazon the book would arrive in 2-3 days and from the Abe dealer it would take 10 or so days; but, if you are not in a hurry, the savings would be $4.

I opted to be patient and ordered it in hardcover from PaperbackShop--US in Secaucus, New Jersey, the AbeBooks independent book dealer. I was not only happy to save a few dollars but also liked the idea, in a small way, of not so automatically helping Amazon take over the world.

August 15, 2013--Eyeglass Update

A number of friends reading here about my eyeglass plight kindly wrote to share stories about their own struggles with aging eyes and offered helpful suggestions about what I might do to manage my proliferating need for various kinds of glasses--from reading to those for intermediate and long-distance viewing.

Bifocals was the answer for some while others shared the ease and convenience (after a considerable transition period) trifocals provide.

I thought you might like to know about the adjustments I've made and how I am managing.

For my readers, rather than worrying about which book I should leave them perched on (since I usually have two or three books going at once) or buy one or two back-up pairs--one for each book--I am placing them only on the book by my bedside. Not the one on the daybed nor the other next to my favorite reading chair.

This seems to be working as long as I remember it's the book in the bedroom that I'm intending to use as my eyeglass repository and do not confuse things by leaving them on top of the last book I was reading before nodding off for my afternoon nap. (Currently, the fine Fools by novelist Joan Silber.)

Rona's suggestion about this--admittedly she has a lot to put up with in regard to me, now multiple eyeglasses in addition to other matters I'd prefer at the moment not to discuss--her recommendation is that I read only one book at a time and thereby solve my reading glasses issues and, as a happy consequence, have more time to be involved with her.

But there I go stumbling into those other matters.

For intermediate viewing I believe I reported last week that my old, out-of-date readers were serving well for TV watching, cooking, and eating. But Rona so hated the "old-man frames"--her description--that made me look, she claimed, "just like" my father, that she confiscated them and then donated them for recycling to the local hospital.

"Let someone else look like your father," she said.

"But you loved him and he loved you so I'm  . . ."

"I did, but you're not him, and my love for him was different from mine for you."

I was happy to hear that. The part about loving me.

But still frustrated, I rooted around in my draw-full of old glasses and found a pair that appear to work perfectly for midrange seeing. And since they have "cool" frames (Rona's description again), I do not as a result look anything like my father. At least when it comes to eyeglasses.

I watched Sunday's episode of Newsroom with them and could see perfectly. On the other hand, I couldn't hear or understand any of the dialogue and had to ask Rona repeatedly what was going on.

But my hearing is another issue I prefer not to talk about.

For long-distance seeing, my old 1.0 magnifiers continue to serve well. I have my two pairs in the car--tinted ones for daytime driving and clear ones for after-dark. Again there is the problem of twilight. At this time of year it commences at about dinner time and driving to restaurants in half-light is becoming problematic. But when going out we're staying close and eating in more than usual.

I'm fine with that. Rona, however, isn't. When driving, she has been giving me attitude about all the switching from tinted to clear glasses and then, at twilight, to wearing no glasses at all.

"Perhaps I should drive," she offers as the sun begins to set.

"I'm fine," I respond half-truthfully. "This way you can drink as much wine as you like and I'll be the designated driver." I try winking to show I have a sense of humor about this subject (I don't). But suspect even my version of charm is not working.

Maybe I should look onto getting glasses for long-distance needs of the kind they advertise on TV that get darker or lighter depending on the ambient light.

I know what Rona would say to that--"Trifocals."

But that's yet another matter.