Harold Bloom in his book How to Read and Why strikes a high standard: “Information is endlessly available to us; where shall wisdom be found?” The answer, of course, lies in reading. Not reading to pass the time, or to entertain, or to impress people. Rather, reading to engage other minds, to create literary friendships where physical ones are impractical, and to prepare ourselves for grappling with an often inexplicable world.
Bloom’s reading list is formidable. It ranges through time from William Shakespeare to Toni Morrison, and across geography from Jose Luis Borges to Vladimir Nabokov. And if his reading isn’t impressive enough, a check of the TriCollege library catalog yields 390 copies of books he has authored or edited. I stand in awe of such prolific output and input.
My own reading list is more prosaic and driven in part by the practical limitations of too little time for too many pursuits.
The most impressive book I’ve read in 2002 is David McCollough’s biography of John Adams. The book is carried in large measure—and the research greatly aided—by the existence of Adams’ copious notes, letters, and diaries. The book reinforces the already learned lesson that a graceful writer can capture deep insights into humanity. The pace and rhythm of 18th-century American life is beautifully portrayed, yielding an austere yet oddly appealing comparison to the instantaneous and frenetic patterns of modern life. Appetite whetted, now on my shelf for the next foray into colonial history is American Sphinx, the Jefferson biography by Joseph Ellis.
Another longish but worthy read is The Modern Mind by Peter Watson. The book’s subtitle is “An intellectual history of the 20th century.” If you enjoy eclectic voyages over broad landscapes, you’ll like this one. Also in the nonfiction category, a Christmas present (from my parents) was The Science of Illusion by Jacques Ninio. The work deals with the artistic and visual basis for optical illusions, mirages, and related paradoxical images. It is a fascinating exploration of how our perception (and conception) of the world is shaped and misshaped by sensory cues that may or may not be accurate. A perfect metaphor for academic life! Speaking of which, Academic Instincts by Marjorie Garber, former Haverford professor now toiling in the Harvard English department, is next on my list. Billed as a series of essays on the relationships between disciplines and modes of inquiry, this promises much grist for my ruminative moments.
On the fiction side of the aisle, I’ll mention three recent favorites of varying degrees of high culture. First is The Best of Jackson Payne by Jack Fuller. I discovered this book at City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco (you probably aren’t a full-fledged bibliophile if you haven’t been there), and it’s a great blend of academic novel, murder mystery, and riffs on jazz. Very cool. In the science-fiction category (a longtime love) is Calculating God by Robert J. Sawyer. This novel showcases the complete spectrum of the genre, including an intelligent alien visiting modern-day earth, a human hero trying to make sense of the galactic visitor while suffering from a fatal disease, and an interwoven dialogue on whether it is possible to prove the existence of God. Finally, in the potboiler category is Richard North Patterson’s Protect and Defend. The author was a college classmate of mine and I’ve enjoyed reading all his books. This one takes on the difficult subject of abortion in a sensitive way that avoids demonizing the various points of view while showing how divisive deeply held convictions can be.
Two indispensable magazines are The New Yorker and The Nation. Whatever else is happening, these rise to the top of the reading file; the former because of its immense scope, terrific writing, and the ubiquitous cartoons (Louise and I frequently share a quiet, or not so quiet, chuckle over New Yorker humor); and the latter because of its independent, irreverent, and spirited approach to political life. For regular news I peruse the Philadelphia Inquirer each morning with breakfast and, for elevated probity, the New York Times on weekends. Newsweek and Time have also been in the household for many years, although with the advent of Web sources I find them less essential for trying to make sense of the world.
On the professional required reading list are two sets: The Chronicle of Higher Education and Change for gauging the world of higher learning; and Science, Nature, and Science News for pretending that I’m keeping up with my academic profession. No serious higher education administrator fails to read the Chronicle (including the daily e-mail digest) for its range of coverage, and I have found Change to have the most consistently interesting articles among the many other educational magazines that cross my desk. On the scientific front, while I used to read these journals for duty, I now do so for pleasure. Delight seems to be largely dictated by that which is not required. Finally, for pleasure, I also contentedly devour both Golf Digest and the New York Review of Books, probably speaking to a certain oscillation between body and mind.
I’d read more books if I could, and less of the unending flotsam of words that clutter daily life. The difference, as mentioned at the outset, is what separates wisdom and information. The former carries reflection, insight, and art; the latter, merely detail and urgency. Returning to Harold Bloom: “reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you, because it is, at least in my experience, the most healing of pleasures.”
Enough said.