A 9-Year-Old’s Poem

This is a poem my 9-year-old son wrote this afternoon. Seriously, he wrote it really fast:

The fire burned

They were too late

We never knew it would

cross the river

People fled

but one stood up

Raised everybody’s spirits

as we rose

we scratched the sky

But two stood out

You could barely tell the

difference of height

The great city of Chicago

Checking In On Temple’s New Library

I have an ignorant layperson’s interest in architecture. I know just enough to make myself dangerous. I can throw around a few words—cantilever! curtain wall!—while remaining blissfully ignorant of the actual mechanics of the things they describe.

So my take on this library is not to be taken seriously. I’m just interested in it. There’s lots of gray stone (is it real though?). There’s glass on top. The roof curves. These are my insights. Here’s what it’s supposed to look like when it’s done:

Looking into the atrium at night.
The plaza in front of the main entrance.

And here’s what it looks like now:

It is no coincidence that the renderings highlight the library in the evening. Much will depend on how the light plays off the wood that extends from inside the atrium to the curving roofs above the East and West entrances. How will it look at noon on a sunny day? Hopefully it feels warm and inviting at all times. It seems to me there’s a risk of it feeling like a gray monolith, as you see here on the West side:

That’s…kinda bleak! And a little too much like a forbidding wall. So, the entrances will make or break the exterior. Here’s how the smaller Southeast entrance looks now:

You can’t really see it in this photo, but that wood paneling will extend right through the atrium and out to the larger entrance on the other side. It might end up looking really good. And here’s the entrance on the East side:

Of course, all of this has little to do with how students and the public will actually experience the new library. In keeping with the times, Temple is going to put the vast majority of its circulating collection in an “Automated Storage and Retrieval System.” Though there will be traditional shelves on the top floor of the new library, most of the books will be hidden away. If you want to check something out, you’ll have to find it in the catalogue and ask the robot to get it for you. So much for serendipity in the stacks.

There have been so many times that I have found useful books simply by browsing a subject area in person, books that I failed to locate when doing keyword and subject searches in the catalogue. Maybe I’m just bad at this digital stuff, but I lament the passing of large physically accessible collections.* The exterior of this building will be a centerpiece of Temple’s campus for decades to come, but it’s even more important that its insides accomplish what libraries ought to do. In this digital era, the traditional “oughts” are up for negotiation, and I’m grumpy about it! Another sign of the times? The forthcoming Obama Presidential Library isn’t actually going to have papers on site. Don’t get me started on how stupid this is.

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*This guy tells me my feeling of serendipity is actually a problem, so who knows.)

Recent Fiction Roundup

In the past couple months I’ve been on a bit of a fiction binge. This isn’t normal for me but I’ve needed an escape from my work and TV doesn’t seem to work anymore. My approach to fiction-reading is not particularly sophisticated. I browse the prizewinner lists and go from there.

Here’s a roundup of my reading binge. As is always the case when people share what they are reading, this is partly an exercise in vanity. But it also reflects my curious impulse to see the book covers gathered in one place.

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The full title of this book might as well be Union Atlantic: This is America (and It’s as Bad as You Feared). Some of the themes in Adam Haslett’s more recent book are evident here, but without the redeeming factor of being truly interesting. A depressing book with a revolting character who, as so often in our time (or every time?), never really receives the comeuppance you wish for him.

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A slow-burning, small story that didn’t grab me. At the end Maud finally seems poised to escape her suffocating existence. But getting there is a dreary catalogue punctuated by sex. Lots of sex. The picture painted of Indian life in 1920s Oklahoma is fascinating even if it doesn’t seem to burst into full color.

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A beautiful book. I thoroughly enjoyed this one. The two women at the center of the story seem almost like archetypes, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

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The first half of this book expertly carried a sense of looming calamity. But after the cathartic event, the second half of the book flagged. I also got tired of everyone stumbling around drunk all night and sleeping all day. Lots of people go to college without living like this! I enjoyed The Goldfinch more (but that one was strange too!)

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A weird and wonderful book. With Franzen, it may be strange and obnoxious, but you don’t want to put it down. Definitely better than his first one, and I think on the level of his later more highly-regarded books.

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This is the one I’m getting into now. So far it has a really appealing tone: light, unassuming, very accessible.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Describes Depression

Chimamanda

In a recent profile in the New Yorker, Adichie discussed her battle with depression:

As a child, she had a kind of natural authority. Many girls wanted to be her friend, and in an effort to win her they would present her with their lunches, and she would eat them. At the same time, she had episodes of depression—the beginnings of a disease that continues to afflict her—though she did not yet have a name for them. “I was a popular child who had tons of friends and did well in school,” she says, “but then I would have moments where I didn’t want to see anybody, didn’t want to talk to anybody, cried for no reason, felt that I was bad and terrible, isolated myself.”….

She dreaded falling into that pit again. She knew that some people thought there was a link between depression and art, that it gave you insight or depth or something, but the idea that someone could write while depressed made no sense to her. “I can’t even read. It’s a horrible, horrible thing. I can’t see my life, I’m blind. I feel myself sinking—that’s the word I use with my family and friends. Well, actually, I don’t talk about it with my family much, as lovely as they are, because they don’t really understand depression. They expect a reason, but I don’t have a reason.”

This rings true. There is no reason. It just is. “I can’t see my life” is especially evocative and apt. That’s exactly how it feels. I admire Adichie’s work and assigned Americanah in one of my classes. It’s nice to know even globally famous writers are human!

On the Futility of Car Horns

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Car horns can be useful sometimes. I use them on occasion. They can even enhance safety. But most commonly, they are a device used by bullies who ought to be in anger management class. This is one of the axioms by which I live: if someone is beeping at you, it is possible you’ve done something dangerous; but usually they’re beeping at you because they’re doing something dangerous.

I seem to have encountered a lot of horn honkers lately. There are two especially interesting circumstances that have occurred on more than one recent occasion. One is when a driver behind me would like me to run over a pedestrian in a crosswalk. I have old-fashioned scruples about not doing that. The other is when a driver is upset at me for using a left-turn lane for, you know, turning—when I ought to know that they were in the process of appropriating it for a passing lane. There, too, I’m hopelessly out of step with the exciting possibilities of the post-modern roadway.

I am looking forward to driverless cars.

Thoughts on “This is America”

Here is the music video for Childish Gambino’s (aka Donald Glover’s) new song, “This Is America”:

The great thing about a provocative music video is that it’s open to multiple interpretations. At a glance, I’ve seen a few takes that describe this as a video about guns, riots, policing, and the like. Here’s my two cents: this is a video about black men in the American imagination on the one hand, and the experience of being a black man in America on the other.

In both of those dimensions, it is a video about fear.

In the opening minute or so, Glover alternately embodies the primary ways we have of seeing black men. He is an entertainer one moment, and a threat the next. But when he embodies the entertainer he is not empowered. He is a minstrel character; he is Jim Crow himself:

Jimcrow

And then suddenly he transforms into a hyper-masculine, violent, threatening other.

In the final moments of the video, we glimpse the irony in all of this. Black men, objects of fear in the American imagination, have ample reason to be afraid. The theme that most stood out to me in Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me was fear. White Americans spend a lot of time being afraid of black people. We’re left with little room in our imaginations for how fearful the experience of being black in America can be.

When I think about the fears I have for my children—how I get angry at even the suspicion that they are being mistreated, that an adult might not be judging them as individuals—and then consider what it means to be a black parent…I am overwhelmed by all the extra work every black parent is doing to keep themselves and their children on an even keel.

I’ve now strayed a bit away from the song. But these are some rough thoughts inspired by it.