All Too True!

I blush to think of how many times I've thought this!

Elegance

It's also the ultimate complication.

***

The most elegant solution is always best.

Never Judge a Book by Its Cover?

To whom it may concern:

Ted Bishop, a professor at the University of Alberta, wrote a book chronicling a motorcycle trip he made from Edmonton to Austin Texas (and back again - Just like a Hobbit - well if Hobbits rode motorcycles). While in Austin he did research on James Joyce's Ulysses. Among other things which he observed, what struck him most was the fact that the notes and questions left by previous owners in the various margins of the editions available to him (and apparently, the University of Texas at Austin has quite the collection of this work) varied greatly depending on the cover of the book and the various prefaces and introductions. He claims, as you'll see below, that all that preceded the text in a given edition of Ulysses colored the reader's expectations, and therefore his marginal remnants. 

Now, loving books myself, I've judged many a book by its binding, cover, paper (quality, thickness, AND color), age, and too many intangibles to mention. However, when I read this paragraph congealed from Bishop's careful research, I was astonished at it's truth.

"Seeing all these different editions together I was beginning to get a sense of how the physical book would change your reading of the text. I don't know the term yet, but what I was doing was reading the "paratext," the elements surrounding the text - cover art, blurbs, prefaces, introductions - all of those "thresholds," as the French critic Gerard Genette calls them, that we must cross before encountering the text itself. There is no such thing as a pure text; we always reach it through the paratext , and though we may try to ignore it, it shapes our reading. Who said, "Don't kjudge a book by its cover"? We always do. (Riding With Rilke: Reflections on Motorcycles and Books. Ted Bishop. 2006. W. W. Norton & Company. New York. p. 119).

Because of this paragraph alone, I now consciously attempt to begin reading a book at the first line of chapter 1 regardless of what precedes it. Of course, I must still see the cover, must still evaluate (at least when purchasing a copy) the quality of the paper if I expect it to last, and the myriad of other things related to the pure physicality of the volume itself. Thus, in many ways I don't always succeed. After all, we all know that often an author's best argument is in his prologue. So not being swayed by paratext material is hard under the best of conditions. Nevertheless, I thought I'd share this one caveat about reading which might have otherwise gone unobserved by readers like myself.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe (and skip the paratext material!).

Maybe

It seems I'm as calm and as at peace as I've been in years. No decades: no nervous coughing, no habitually unnecessary clearing the throat, no annoying sniffing, no wiggling, no wringing the hands, no tapping or drumming the fingers. 

Maybe it's the nightly mixed drink I've begun to enjoy. 

Maybe it's the prospect of knowing that my major issues have come to a head - after all, they can only end one way or another - I can't see how they can continue unresolved, for better or for worse, much longer. Certainly not forever.

Maybe it's knowing I'm free to live my life as I want, on my terms, outside the box which was depressingly too small for my vision, for the first time in my life. 

Maybe my body took leave of its senses and has fundamentally changed on it's own. 

Maybe it's just I'm too stressed to feel nervous any more? 

Maybe I'm where I was always meant to be, doing what I was made to do, enjoying life for its own sake, without expectation or requirement, in harmony with bigger, unseen plans. 

Maybe all the stars have magically aligned for the first time in my belabored existence. 

Maybe I no longer care, and I'm at peace simply because of the way things are.

Maybe it's being with the love of my life, safe, secure, cuddled in her embrace every night.

Just Maybe.

Maybe it's all these things. 

Maybe it's nothing at all. 

Maybe . . .  

Truth be told, I honestly don't know. But maybe, a thousand to one shot maybe, I really don't care.

But somehow I think I do.

Regardless, maybe I'm just happy to be happy for a change.

Maybe one day I'll know.

Maybe I won't.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

Maybe.

Mind and Matter

I have at least one more post about books in the works. Can you tell I'm obsessed with them? However, after my last two, I thought you might need a break. Also, truth be told, I didn't write much (ahem . . . any) this weekend. So, I decided to post this nugget of wisdom on the left from one of my former professors instead.

It's reminiscent of one of my favorite adages:

"If you cannot make an appointment or accept an invitation, simply tell the person 'no'. A friend won't demand an explanation, and an enemy won't believe the one you offer."

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.