I love this time of year for a number of reason. Among them is revisiting favorite movies, books, shows, and music, my own and those of friends and family. The last week of the year always holds a surprise. Here’s hoping I can point you to one of mine as we finish of 2020.
Upon Further Examination
I’d like to think I live a rich interior life. I try always to be conscious, present, examining. One of my favorite experiences is the moment when I realize that a personally held narrative needs reexamination. It might be due to new found information, or it might simply be the result of spending some time thinking in a different frame of mind. Whatever the reason, these moments reveal that the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, are crafted. And if they can be crafted once, they can be reworked again.
I grew up around some pretty great music. I’m from The South™️, and I grew up around a lot of what I think of now as Nashville Country music, a genre I don’t care for. At the same time, I was also exposed to the blues and folk and zydeco. (That last was thanks to our proximity to Louisiana.) Ultimately, for every twangy song I heard sung by some suburbanite masquerading as being from down the holler, I heard 5 by Johnny Winter, Woody Guthrie, or Stevie Ray Vaughn (I even got to se him live at the ripe age of 3). I still enjoy a lot of the music from my early years, but it was never really my own.
The story I’ve held for a long time is that I didn’t come into my own musical taste until college. Around middle school, I progressed from a metal phase to pop punk, real punk, “alternative”, and finally ska. Each time, I was simply following what my friends listened to. These were avenues of connection, and they still bring feelings of nostalgia, but I don’t have near the same fondness for them that my friends maintain to this day. There was a time in high school when I deviated and was full on into what is often called Red Dirt/Texas Country. It fit great with my redneck phase—drove a pick up, wore cuffed button ups and cut off jorts with a perpetually dirty Pat Green baseball cap—but the deviation was really more of the same. The music and the style were things I picked up from my closest male role models: my uncles.
When I left the nest for school, sharing .mp3s was ascendant. I discovered the nascent medium of podcasts (we’re talking 2005 here), and found “indie music.” I was finally certain. Here was the first music I could call my own. There was at least one more significant taste change to come—I came to love rap in my 20s—but the music I found when I was 18 has stuck with me.
This narrative, it seems, needs revision. If I look back with newfound perspective (my recent listening habits) at my childhood, it’s pretty clear I found some of my favorite music entirely on my own at a yard sale when I was 6 years old.
My mom used to adore Saturday morning garage sale hopping. We’d load in the car with a friend of hers and poke through the classifieds, making a map of our morning outing. I really enjoyed it. I was a bit of a loner and had no interest in the things my mom sought out at the sales, so I wandered around finding the things that would make me me. Over the years, I found Roald Dalh and Mad Magazine, Lincoln Logs and weight lifting. And when I was 6, for some reason I still can’t name, I found compositional music.
No one around me listened to it. I had no exposure at all that I can recall. My dad had a record player but never seemed to use it. I was often bored when I went to see him because he didn’t have a TV and lived out in the country. That is the only reason I can come up with for buying a record of Beethoven’s 5th, inadvertently sparking a love of compositional music. Here I am being careful to say compositional, not classical, because I’ve largely remained ignorant of classical. When my wife and I watch Jeopardy, I turn to her for everything to do with the subject. In any case, I found something that was truly mine (a bit earlier than college), something which I eventually lost sometime during the genre hopping years.
According to Spotify Unwrapped, my top genre this year was “compositional and ambient.” My adulthood return to the form was precipitated by a chance encounter with Jóhann Jóhannsson’s 2006 concept album IBM 1401, A User's Manual, a piece inspired by…well, the user manual of the IBM 1401, one of the best selling computers of all time. I’ve loved Jóhann Jóhannsson since and was heartbroken at his early death in 2018. Incidentally, I had the amazing fortune to see his last major composition performed live in late 2019 at the Greek National Opera House in Athens, Greece while there on a brief work trip.
Jóhannsson served as a re-entry point for me, and drew me to more Icelandic composers—Ólafur Arnalds & Hugar to name a couple—but also into the broader world of European compositional & ambient music, including Ludovico Einaudi, Federico Albanese, and Max Richter.
Despite the fact that I have been listening to this music for years, I only recently realized how much of what I listen to can be traced back to randomly buying Beethoven on vinyl nearly 30 years ago. I sure wish I still had that record. Instead, I have a memory and the joy of a new narrative of my musical journey through life. The fact that we can write our personal narrative is one from which I take a good deal of hope. I believe people are capable of change, and I think that starts with being able to dispense with old stories that no longer serve us.
Confounding Questions
Some questions really throw you for a loop. For instance, being asked “whatcha doin?” while looking something like this:
I’ve gotten that one quite a few times, though not for a good many years. Of course, in this case the subtext behind this question is often something like “why you doin’ that?,” which is really the baffling part.
Other such questions, like “do you like to eat,” can be similarly confusing (who doesn’t?), but then again someone out there invented Soylent—a nutrient slurry for those who need their daily calories in a tan sludge—so clearly the answer isn’t always an enthusiastic yes.
I got one such question the other day, albeit one which was was confusing because of how I took it rather than how it was intended. My dental hygienist asked if I drank coffee. Uhh, yeah. Like everyone else, I drink coffee.
My reaction is just a bit of false-consensus bias, a tendency in thought that others must surely agree with you. I’ve known plenty of people who don’t like coffee and even a few who’ve never had it. But even still, drinking coffee has just always struck me as something we Americans do, for good or ill.
I know too that the reason she asked this question was a mix of social nicety and as a way to explain away the discoloration behind some of my teeth, but still I was surprised…and then curious. How many of us actually do drink coffee?
According to a handful of cross-referenced sources (one, two, three), in 2019, 64% of Americans drank coffee every day and 83% are coffee drinkers in general. The latter number struck me as dead on, while the prior was a bit lower than I expected. Of course there is nothing valorous in drinking a stimulant every day; again, I was generalizing my experience and really just thought one had to drink it daily in order to maintain citizenship. Just like all Americans are given their first gun at age four and every Texan owns a horse and wears a ten gallon hat. Some things are just givens.
So her question was not so baffling after all, but the moment stuck in my head. What about y’all? What questions really throw you off kilter, if only for a moment?
A Year in Books
“This year has been a lot” — cliché of the decade that was 2020. Unless you amassed nearly $80 billion this year (Jeff Bezos…what are you doing reading my newsletter? Shoo now, you’re a goblin and I won’t have it) you’ve probably had a rough go at it. All things considered, our family has had it easier than so many—we still managed to buy our first house, somehow—but the psychic weight of this year has been challenging for everyone who actually takes the pandemic seriously (and perhaps even more so for those certain it’s all a hoax…).
I’m an avid reader, and for many years I published a year end digest list. I stopped a few years back when I left Tumblr, but I still love reflecting on the books that made my year. My reading this year was certainly impacted by COVID, though maybe less so than I expected.
I re-read more than usual, returning to Parable of the Sower and Kindred, both by Octavia Butler, both because I love these books and because they were unfortunately very fitting for a year filled with more racist police violence and mass calls for government intervention to stop unnecessary deaths from neglect and hate. I also re-read Neal Stephenson’s Anathem, a book that imagines a social continuity maintained by mathematicians cloistered from a world frequently rocked by upheaval.
Lest you think I’ve spent all of 2020 abusing myself with fiction, I also returned to Wayside School Beneath the Cloud of Doom with Louis Sachar. Did y’all read those books when you were younger?
I read a number of books, fiction and non-, around themes of political and economic restorative justice. To be honest, this wasn’t really about 2020—I tend to read a decent amount of political news, theory, and history. Fiction by Kim Stanley Robinson and N.K. Jemesin, alongside non-fiction from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, Cornel West, and Paul Hawken helped to pull me away from the nihilist’s edge.
The prospect of buying a house reignited a long standing want to take the final pages of Voltaire’s Candide quite literally, and it shows in the list. I read about gardening, permaculture, and homesteading. I certain don't want to rush the winter away—it’s my first in New England—but I can’t wait to plant my garden in the Spring.
Despite all the hours indoors, I read fewer books than in previous years (64 this year, compared to 70+ for the last 3 years) but Pocket, the article saving service, says I read 1.8M words on their site. I’m sure that was excellent for my mental well-being.
Instead of rambling on any longer, let’s get to some of my favorite books of the year (a couple of which were actually published this year):
The Gameshouse by Claire North
Fun. FUN! Games make for excellent fodder in fiction, and setting the world as the gameboard works so well in this collection of novellas. In each story, the scope of play grows and so too do the stakes. Beautifully written and a real nail biter; this is one of the best times I’ve had reading about power wielded so unethically.
Uncanny Valley by Anna Wiener
I’ve worked in tech for a long time, but I got my start in more traditional IT. If you’re not clear on the distinction, let’s talk. I’m not sure either, but I’m certain there is one. Capital-T Tech is the subject of endless thinkpieces, denunciations, and hyperbole. I have my own complicated thoughts on the role of, and working in, Tech, thoughts I’ll save for another time. If you’d like an insider view, sans the Kool-Aid, Wiener’s book is a great read. I especially loved reading it while walking around Silicon Valley.
On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden
I try to read at least a few indie comics every year. Walden’s On a Sunbeam isn’t just my favorite graphic novel of the year, it is among my favorite novels I’ve read in years. Queer characters, flat hierarchies, and a space-faring saga based on the upkeep of ruins and family ties; this books is gorgeously illustrated and so very moving.
Tower of Babel series by Josiah Bancroft
One of my absolute delights of 2020 was discovering the Tower of Babel series by Josiah Bancroft. Just before things started locking down, my wife and I were on Kauai, Hawaii in Hanapepe, home to Lilo & Stitch, the self-proclaimed “Worlds Westernmost Brewery”, and an excellent little book store. I found myself in a bind without a book, and lucked into my favorite series in ages. The Tower of Babel series is set in a steampunk-like alternate Earth (not usually my thing) and the titular tower is something between Mecca and the worst things that comes to mind when you think about Atlantic City. It’s an excellent adventure story that I just can’t do justice too in short order. Check out the first book in the series, Senlin Ascends; if you’re anything like me, you’ll catch up in no time.
Hollow by Owen Egerton
Owen Egerton is an Austin, Texas native, a member of the excellent Master Pancake Theater, and apparently an incredible writer. Hollow tells the story of a man driven to life shattering grief and conspiracy theory following the death of his young son. Egerton paints a picture of a man lashing out, largely at himself, and reaching for any truth that feels easier than his own. It’s heart-wrenching in so many beautiful ways.
The Radical King by Martin Luther King Jr., Cornel West (Editor)
We have to be honest about Dr. King’s legacy. It has largely been co-opted by the type of people who fought and vilified him during his life. Dr. King was an orator of the highest order, an incredible and humble thinker, and a radical. Much is said about Malcolm X’s political shift, one which led to his murder by the Nation of Islam, but far too little is said of a similar turn left by Dr. King, a move which also lead directly to his murder at the hands of a small, hateful man. The small and hateful are still among us and Dr. King knew then what we must take heed of now: hate cannot hold in an equitable society, so we must all fight for it, striking down all systems of oppression. Read King’s words, find hope, and fight.
All New Square Foot Gardening by Mel Bartholomew
I’ve wanted to try out Square Foot Gardening for years, and now I finally can. I helped farm a bit as a kid, but that ended when I was young enough that a lot of the knowledge I would rely on to succeed in my first year is absent from my mind. I’m sure I’ll branch on it years to come, but in 2021 at least, I have my plan. An excellent introductory book for home gardening.
Building a Better World in Your Backyard by Paul Wheaton
My dear friend turned me onto this book (previously) and I learned so much. If you’ve any interest in homesteading, permaculture, farming, etc, this is a great place to build a foundation.
The Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson
I mentioned Kim Stanley Robinson last month, but his work deserves another nod this month. KSR has said this will be his last novel, which I have to hope isn’t true. That said, if it is and he sticks to writing non-fiction from here, I’m still excited for what he publishes next. The non-fiction prose in Ministry is no less enthralling and promising than the rest. If you need a view to the very hard, but doable, work of responding to climate change and late capitalism, this book is it.
I’d love to know what you’re reading. Anything you particularly loved this year? Anything you hated? Good, bad, or indifferent, leave me a comment. Let’s talk books.