Literary Mash-Up reviews come from a concept I started on a previous blog. I'm always reading very different books at the same time. I try to have a finger in the pots of religion, philosophy, history, medicine, business, and (perhaps most importantly) literature all at the same time. When my Goodreads account says I'm currently reading 6 books, I really am. So, after finishing a pair of them, I like to think about them together. The result? Literary Mash-Up.
I'm late to the Jonathan Franzen party. Lauded in 2001 with the release of The Corrections, a book that The New York Times gushed "seems ruled only by its own self-generated aesthetic: it creates the illusion of giving a complete account of a world, and while we're under its enchantment it temporarily eclipses whatever else we may have read," Franzen waltzed his way into the 21st century literary discussion (and set himself up for critical hysterics when he released Freedom in 2010, now firmly on my to-read list).
What sets this novel apart for me is the intimate (not that kind of intimate), realistic detail Franzen uses to pick at the stereotypes each of his characters initially represent. Each one seems to progress from stereotype (some that are particular pet peeves of mine...I can't stand philandering, angsty humanities professors), to vulnerable victims, to individuals of completely normal personal strength, to people who might just make it after all and some who won't.
Franzen compelled my reading further by adding in the type of detail that described emotions so specific to family life, emotions that I've either experienced, observed, dreamed about, or imagined. The tricky path of familial cohesion is revealed in all its splendor here: the difficult balancing act of loving spouses and children, the passage of time and its effect on love and trust, the powerful devastation for both the perpetrator and the victim that accompanies an act of broken trust. Just to name a few.
Broadly speaking, Franzen shows families for what they are. Individuals tied together in powerful, inexplicable bonds not of their own choosing. And it's not just that they don't choose each other. The normal rules and expectation of society don't apply within the home. You can't pass summary judgment. You can't choose to sever the bonds if something doesn't go your way (not really, not permanently). You can't simply say the polite things until the party's over. Families are an annoyingly imperfect aspect of society, but one that is incredibly rich and necessary. Thus, I'm willing to say that The Corrections champions the necessity of family and the accompanying obligations to family members that are often maligned in a world focused on the "me."
Similarly, Karen Armstrong in her book Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence, seeks to shift the paradigm of a major modern idea. Beginning with an analysis of how the human brain evolved, Armstrong rejects the idea that "religion is the cause of most violence in the world," a thesis popular among both atheists and religionists (though usually trumpeted by one and worried about by the other), Armstrong works to show why religion is actually not implicated as the prime culprit throughout (mostly Judeo-Christian-Muslim) history.
The best way I can think of to represent her argument is to use the analogy of water. We might observe water acting in a very unstable manner. Creating blight flashes and explosions. Rising up in huge waves and destroying towns and cities. But the water isn't inherently destructive. It's the addition of conditions (like adding pure cesium or a nasty mix of seismologic activity and bad luck) that make water destructive.
Thus, religion is not really the culprit behind violence. Rather, the constant struggle endemic to agrarian empire, feudal property-ownership, and colonial enterprise are the potassium to religion's water.
That might be an idea you've already believed. Or, in my retelling, it might not sound like a compellingly new idea. But the way Armstrong weaves together global history, both ancient and modern, to make her case will either change your mind or give you evidence where you only had assumption before.
The most thought-provoking part of Armstrong's thesis is the way she implicates the division of church and state that began in the European Enlightenment (and its accompanying consequences of sacralized nationalism, persecution and destruction of moderate clergy, and violent repression of religious opposition) as a new idea that results in major violence being committed in the name of all entities: nations, religions, and other groups. You can check out her book for the details, but the argument is compelling.
Taken together, Franzen and Armstrong's books reveal an important theme that I hope continues for a long time to come. To often, we accept the established wisdom, folk and scientific, at face value. And then make critical decisions based on skewed data. We look at the media representation of suicide bombers and simplistically accept the narrative that religion (a term which others undoubtedly interpret the same way I do) is the cause of all of this. We look at our family, compare them to the Huxtables or the Smiths next door, and think that we're trapped or missing out on what "real" family life looks like. Instead, we need to start recognizing the messiness of every action and relationship in our globally connected world. Then embracing and rejoicing in that messiness. There are no simple explanations for these things, not if we truly want to understand our fellow global denizens' motivations, fears, hopes, and decisions.
The best way I can think of to represent her argument is to use the analogy of water. We might observe water acting in a very unstable manner. Creating blight flashes and explosions. Rising up in huge waves and destroying towns and cities. But the water isn't inherently destructive. It's the addition of conditions (like adding pure cesium or a nasty mix of seismologic activity and bad luck) that make water destructive.
Thus, religion is not really the culprit behind violence. Rather, the constant struggle endemic to agrarian empire, feudal property-ownership, and colonial enterprise are the potassium to religion's water.
That might be an idea you've already believed. Or, in my retelling, it might not sound like a compellingly new idea. But the way Armstrong weaves together global history, both ancient and modern, to make her case will either change your mind or give you evidence where you only had assumption before.
The most thought-provoking part of Armstrong's thesis is the way she implicates the division of church and state that began in the European Enlightenment (and its accompanying consequences of sacralized nationalism, persecution and destruction of moderate clergy, and violent repression of religious opposition) as a new idea that results in major violence being committed in the name of all entities: nations, religions, and other groups. You can check out her book for the details, but the argument is compelling.
Taken together, Franzen and Armstrong's books reveal an important theme that I hope continues for a long time to come. To often, we accept the established wisdom, folk and scientific, at face value. And then make critical decisions based on skewed data. We look at the media representation of suicide bombers and simplistically accept the narrative that religion (a term which others undoubtedly interpret the same way I do) is the cause of all of this. We look at our family, compare them to the Huxtables or the Smiths next door, and think that we're trapped or missing out on what "real" family life looks like. Instead, we need to start recognizing the messiness of every action and relationship in our globally connected world. Then embracing and rejoicing in that messiness. There are no simple explanations for these things, not if we truly want to understand our fellow global denizens' motivations, fears, hopes, and decisions.
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