Books and Audio Books
I’ve been doing some more reading lately; actual reading and “reading”. The bound pages in my hands are The Complete Henry Bech by John Updike, Six Early Stories and A Death in Venice by Thomas Mann, and The Enormous Room by e.e. cummings. I’m finding comfort in these old tomes, these old pages. Thomas Mann’s stories are familiar and I find myself NOT having to re-read sentences that I have read previously. I do that often. It may be because my mind is always going. I can read sentence after sentence, but my mind is somehow thinking of something else. My mind does the same thing when I pray. It may be the subject matter, or it may be the environment. I read a lot of my Updike in a bar.
- My Favorite Place to Read
In front of my fireplace, a glass of wine on the table, and my parker 51 waiting to take notes.
The audio book I’m “reading” is John Adams by David McCullough.
This is the kind of book that should have been used in my history classes.
I’m finding similarities between myself and John Adams. You know what that means? We all have the same problems, the same struggles, the same thought processes. Time, fashion, mores, and technology change, but we are all human beings with the same insecurities and questions as our forefathers. This connection of “weakness” is as strong as steel cables forged by God. Our doubts and worries bind us together. They transcend geography and time.
Adams’ feelings were fragile and often trod upon while he worked in Congress. He felt inferior physically to Jefferson and many others, and Jefferson had his insecurities as well in regards to Adams’ political savvy. There is always someone who can best you at something you feel you’re good at on any given day. I feel that way so much of the time. But, I feel some modicum of redemption hearing through McCullough’s words that Adams felt many of the same feelings as I do on a daily basis. When I talk to friends and acquaintances I analyze myself. I find myself identifying areas where I’m deficient in my knowledge. Conversation is such an incredible test of knowledge. I internally beat myself up for not being able to talk at my conversational-partner’s level when we segue to a topic that is out of my realm. And readers, that be a lot of topics!
That’s not healthy. I know. But that be the way it is.
Anyway, I envy the mental focus (nay, not the lifestyle nor hygiene nor living conditions) of our Founding Fathers. I feel pride and and a sense of betrayal while listening to John Adams. Proud of the accomplishments of these men and betrayed by the poor teaching of the processes they went through.
Public school history portrayed the events of the revolution in some sort of mythical framework; it was like a cartoon.
The men and women of the revolution (and for much of the Civil War Era) are, as you all know, portrayed in only illustrations and paintings. Yes, I know this is a technological necessity for the time period, but the lack of actually seeing where the events happened, or seeing relics of the actual events separates the reality of it for me. It is true for all “ancient” history. Maybe those who grew up in the geography of the history being taught have a better grasp of the realities of the situation. For me however, it didn’t hit me as hard as I’d have liked until I was older, and it took the works and words of Ken Burns, David McCullough, and Tim Boylan to open my eyes to what really happened there. It wasn’t as simple as I believed, and that my just be my own naiveté. Learning about Adams’ and Jefferson’s relationship, the words and letters they wrote to each other, the thoughts and processes in designing and developing this fledgling democracy of America are now special to me; somehow sacred.
I am looking forward to listening to the rest of Mr. McCullough’s work on the short, stout Adams, and I’m intrigued to read more about his the tall and angular junior Thomas Jefferson (his love of books and words, and the correspondence between the two men).
Well my FEW dear readers, I am off to turn up the volume on my Radio Classics program on Sirius (Bing Crosby’s Christmas Special from 1943), clean out the fireplace, remove the ashes so I can start a good fire as I attempt to turn my living room into the impossible Christmas postcard I see in my mind’s eye.
Merry Christmas.
Not really…
Papa's Point 