books

Book Break: Orbiting the Giant Hairball

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Today I finished another of my boss’s books, recommended to me by our research assistant, Ben, who was responsible for sorting the boss’s library as we moved from Morrill Hall to the Humphrey. I’d seen the book before, and it looked like a gimmicky, gifty book someone would use to decorate a shelf or display as light bathroom reading. It featured multiple styles of fonts, “handwriting,” and illustration, and bore the oddball title, Orbiting the Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool’s Guide to Surviving with Grace.

“I think you should take a look at this,” Ben said, when I raised a skeptical eyebrow upon seeing it again, in his hand. “It’s actually pretty good.”

I took it, exhaled, skimmed the opening poem by Rumi, glanced at the whimsically illustrated table of contents and a two-page spread that looked like a grade-school painting, and started to read. And read, and read, and read.

The author, Gordon MacKenzie, worked 30 years at Hallmark, and this book is his attempt to show adults how to recollect their creative genius; to flush (or even remove) their PC, company-line filters and begin to really innovate and invent again…like when they were kids. For 30 years, he worked for a great “hairball” of a corporation, and for much of that time, he managed to orbit the hairball, close enough for mutual benefit, far enough to never be sucked into the mess and stifled. The book is, at times, a little New Age-y, but it’s inspiring, nonetheless. Here’s a guy who tends to say the things we wish we said, who pushes the envelope of acceptable behavior, gives the wrong answers, writes his own rules…and time and again, shows that it pays, both in terms of profit and personal fulfillment.

I’ve been that guy only once that I recall — when I applied for my former job at a Minneapolis marketing firm. The job posting was quirky and creative (somewhat moreso than the job, as it turned out); I wrote a solid but straightforward cover letter to accompany my resume. I was trying to stretch my experience a bit to cover the position described, and a friend read my cover letter and said, “This isn’t going to do it.” She told me that, since I didn’t have the qualifications they were looking for, I should show that I could market myself in the same way they were selling themselves in their ad. I went home and thought, “What do I know about branding?” Immediately I thought about my rancher friend Jinglebob, and wrote a completely different letter, excerpted here:

You aren’t looking for me. The anthropology degree is all wrong—I studied people, not business. My work history skews journalistic, with infrequent forays into student recruitment and fundraising. Where I come from, branding involves a flame, a red-hot iron and singed hair. It’s difficult work, and it scars.

That said, it’s not so different from what [COMPANY] does. Your clients want what every rancher seeks—a brand that leaves an indelible mark that the world will recognize and associate with its owner. It’s hard work, sure, so you do what any good foreman would: hire the best hands and stoke the fire.

My friend read the new letter and grinned. “This. Is. It.” she said. “They may love it; they may hate it, but they will definitely remember it.”

I had abandoned the way you apply for a job and had done something new. It paid off — both the HR manager and the hiring manager called me, stumbling over each other to set up a flight and an interview. I had successfully re-written the rules, and “The Hairball” had given me the benefit of the doubt, and a shot. That never happened, before or since.

I’ve tried the revise that letter in applying for other jobs, but it doesn’t work. I’ve tried to build writing routines and exercises to spark consistent writing that moves me as much as, for example, last year’s Holiday Letter, but everything sounds forced and derivative. It’s frustrating…and then, as I neared the end of MacKenzie’s book, one of his main points struck me like a ball-peen to the forehead — rang my head like the ginormous bell that it is: Once creativity is routine, it is not creativity. You cannot do something completely different, over and over again.

The cover letter accomplished its intended purpose; I can ask no more of it. Should I need another, I must again give birth. Which is hard work. But worth it.

Blogger’s Note to His Bride: You’ve noticed I’ve been goofier lately. It’s the fumes from the rocket fuel, keeping me just clear of the Hairball.

Who Is the Public?

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

I have just finished another book I would not have read if not for my job, Barry Bozeman’s Public Values and Public Interest: Counterbalancing Economic Individualism. First, permit me to confess that, left to my own devices, I would read fiction, poetry, and an occasional history — so I am being forced to broaden my horizons and get educated, which is never a bad thing. Second, let me say that, as a wannabe writer, I have many, many thoughts about this book, mostly concerning its readability. I would not say that I enjoyed it, but it did provoke thought. The primary thought it provoked may be worth sharing. I say “may be” because I am not an economist, a philosopher, a political scientist, or a public interest or public management theorist, so it’s possible that I simply didn’t get it.

My primary thought about the book is that it spends a great deal of time on the topics of whether and how it is possible to identify public values and the public interest, and contrasting those with private or individual economic values and interests (which are often not the same), but it spends remarkably little time on the question of “Who is the Public?” The author is very conscious (almost too conscious) of the limits — the squishiness — of terms like “the public interest” and “public values,” but while his book tackles “interest” and “values” at length, it gives short shrift to “public.”

Especially in the U.S., a vast nation with remarkably diverse cultures, religions, lifestyles, and economies depending on where in the country you reside, it seems to me that the more immediate the “public,” the more practical and realistic it is to identify shared public values and pursue the public interest. At the state level, this becomes less realistic: every state in which I’ve ever lived has had marked, or even deep, social, economic, political, and cultural divisions (“Outstate” or greater Minnesota versus the Twin Cities metro. East River versus West River. Downstate versus the U.P.) and different lifestyles worth protecting. At the national level, then, it seems unlikely that we could identify public values and a cohesive public interest, aside from the broad priorities of securing the nation and preserving our rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The difficulty of pursuing public values and the public interest is not identifying values and interests — these are abundant, diverse, and obvious — but identifying who shares them, which helps to decide at what level of society they should be implemented.

The critique of economic individualism (which, says Bozeman, is increasingly driving our public policy agenda) in the book insists that individuals in this model are concerned primarily with their own economic interests, and perhaps those of a few close others (immediate family and the like). That may be the proper definition of economic individualism, but I don’t know anyone who lives this way. As a friend in Western South Dakota has explained, in his part of the prairie, neighbors take care of each other — and if someone doesn’t contribute to the good of the community, over time they are made unwelcome. They simply don’t last. Those who remain recognize that it is in their personal interest to take public interest: to be engaged in the community and preserve their shared values and lifestyle.

I enjoy a similar experience in “The Bubble” — the devout, small-town Catholic communities in Albertville and St. Michael. My circle of public interest begins at home, with my family; then expands to encompass my parish and the people with whom I share a fundamental belief system and way of life; then to my town(s), which provide the education my children receive and the goods and services we need to live and thrive; then to my state and nation, which should be responsible for ensuring my towns, parish, and family have the opportunity and freedom to thrive. I invest what time, talent, and treasure that I am still free to spend as I wish in the circles closest to me — which makes sense, since the more distant circles I am already obligated by law to support.

It seems to me that Bozeman’s approach to identifying public values, public interest, and ultimately, instances of failure of public policy to deliver in the public interest, is useful in inverse proportion to the size and distance of the “public” considered. At the local level, the public interest is much easier to identify — because although our population is increasingly diverse, we tend to cluster together with likeminded folks who share similar values. But as long as the majority of public resources are allocated at the state and national level, we will struggle with coming up with one-size-fits-all solutions to generic political issues that approximate real-world challenges, but do not reflect the actual problems of real people living in genuine community with each other.

Fiction Writing Reading List

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

So I’ve promised my famous writer friend Jacqui Robbins that I will continue to read to the end of her 15 Classics in 15 Weeks challenge (no matter how long it takes; the challenge began in Summer 2008), and I’ve promised Fr. Tyler that I will read a favorite of his, Brideshead Revisited, next (especially since his first recommendation, East of Eden, proved to be perhaps the best thing I’ve ever read). And so I shall.

In the meantime, however, I’m diving headlong into fiction writing, because, quite frankly, it’s about damn time. Sorry, Coach Robbins, this isn’t the book you’ve seen parts of. This one requires more from me, but it’s already giving more in return. I’ll say no more, except that it’ll be like nothing I’ve every seen before, and I’ve compiled a reading list, along with a few flicks, to help guide this journey. (If you make it to the end of the list, I have a few questions for you.)

Books (in no particular order):

Goethe’s Faust (and other tellings)
The Spiritual Combat by Dom Lorenzo Scupoli
The Book of Job
The Book of Tobit
Genesis Chapter 32: Jacob wrestles the angel
The Book of Revelation
The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist by Matt Baglio
Silence by Shusako Endo
Shogun by James Clavell
Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai
The Way of the Samurai by Richard Storry
Black Mass: The True Story of an Unholy Alliance Between the FBI and the Irish Mob
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum
Understanding Comics and Reinventing Comics by Scott McCloud

Movies and Television (also in no particular order):

Ghost Dog (1999)
Twilight Samurai (2002)
The Godfather series
The Departed (2006)
Scarface (1932)
Angels with Dirty Faces (1938)
The General (1998)
Road to Perdition (2002)
St. Valentine’s Day Massacre (1967)
Gangs of New York (2002)
Kung Fu (seasons 1-3)

That’s a decent hodge-podge of material, isn’t it? Now, the questions I have for you (all three of you):

  • Does anyone know of a solid (ideally non-fiction) account of the relationship between the Catholic Church and the mafia or Irish mob?
  • How about organized crime and the occult? (But I don’t want to go too far down the rabbit-hole.)
  • How about recommendations of books or films about saints, especially St. Nicholas (not Santa so much) or other saints and their intercessory roles after death?
  • Good explication of the biblical books and accounts above: Job, Tobit, Jacob and the Angel, the origins and history of belief around St. Michael?
  • Accounts of missionaries and martyrs in Japan (in addition to Silence)?
  • Does anyone have any of the movies listed that they would be willing to loan to me?
  • Other stories about ancient beliefs and codes colliding, sold souls, angels and demons in our world, evil appearing to be good, love and loss, fathers going to great lengths to protect their children? Recommendations?
Much of the material above is adult-oriented, but this book will not be. Basically, it’s a fantasy about a boy who is trying to regain his deceased mother and a distraught father trying to regain his lost son. With St. Nick and a samurai thrown in. As wacky as it all sounds, I think it’s gonna be deeply personal, even though it’s nothing like my life.
It’s going to be terrible, isn’t it? But you’ll still read it, won’t you?

Book Break: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment
A couple years back, I recommended to my boss the book Carter Beats the Devil (which may be magically transformed into a movie at some point in the future), and she loaned me, in return, her copy of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. I told her at the time that it would take me a long while to get to it. I was right; I just finished it today. It’s the story of two Jewish cousins – one escaping Czechoslovakia ahead of his family; the other escaping a crippled and fatherless existence in Brooklyn – who break into the fledgling comic book business in the run-up to World War II. As soon as I cracked it, I could see the parallels with Carter. I knew I was going to love it.

As it turns out, I loved most of it. About 85 percent of the book was engaging, compelling, genius fiction. The other 15 percent left me scratching my head, picking through my own thoughts and prejudices (a good thing), and coming away with the conclusion that certain parts just didn’t add up (not so good).

Two aspects of the story stuck out like sore thumbs to me. First, one of the themes of the story is the conflict within one the characters concerning the possibility that he may be homosexual. The possibility is hinted at early in the book, and is actually presented in an interesting and thoughtful way, subtly showing his inner conflict, particularly since, at that time, a young gay man might not only be harassed and bullied, but arrested or publicly interrogated and humiliated by government officials. Toward the end of the book, we see this character realize that he has never fully dealt with this conflict, but has instead spent his life pretending that there is nothing to see here. Regardless of your feelings and beliefs about homosexuality, the unresolved turmoil of a lifetime spent going through the motions and consciously not dealing with the central problem of one’s existence is tragic, and overall, this thread ties in with themes of escape and rescue and hope that pervade the book.

However, in the middle of the book, a fair amount of time is spent on a key relationship with another gay character. Parts of this were well written, even if, as another (surprisingly sympathetic) character suggests near the end of the book, “I don’t cotton very well to these proclivities” – but given the nature of this particular protagonist and his internal conflict, I was never convinced he would have been attracted to such a handsome dingbat. Later, details and situations emerge that were particularly strange (to me, at least) and unsavory (for the protagonist). It seemed to me that this section was written with less context and introspection than the rest of the book (though I supposed it is possible that since I haven’t lived through it, I simply didn’t get it). I never grasped the character’s motivations; as a result, these few sentences and paragraphs struck me as the author attempting to illustrate “gayness” – conveying “this is gay and strange,” “this is gay and funny,” “this is gay and tragic,” rather than simply this is strange, funny, or tragic. For me, this section backfired: what I’m sure was meant to make us see this character in a sympathetic light seemed stereotypical and made me instead wonder, “What the heck is he doing? He should trust his gut – gay or not, he doesn’t belong here!”

My other objection was in the portrayal of the other protagonist’s sexuality, which was decidedly hetero. This individual is shown as a deeply emotional young man who (to our knowledge) has only loved one woman in his entire life. He is also shown, early in the book, taste-testing American cursing and slang. There is strong language scattered in bits and pieces throughout the book, including, on occasion, by this particular character – and in most cases, it fits the time, place, and situation. I was disturbed, however, to notice that, when this emotional young man who doesn’t quite understand the lingo thinks of his beloved, he does so in terms befitting a sailor. Both he, and the narrative, use abruptly vulgar terminology for anatomy and sexuality which, between two tender lovers, seemed to warrant more gentle and affectionate treatment.

I am not reflexively prudish about cursing or sexuality in books, and I have used my share of foul language – in fact, in college, I may have used up my share. But I remember, in a college psychology class, reading a study that purportedly showed that use of obscenity for emphasis when making an argument was ineffective. I’m not sure I disagree with the conclusion, but I recall perceiving a flaw in the experiment – namely, that the words chosen for “emphasis” were words and phrases that I rarely if ever heard an adult use, even in anger. They were over-the-top, the kind of thing that would shock a person to hear; it didn’t seem realistic that people would use those words and phrases in any reasonable context. Similar to the objections above, the instances in which the author chose to use obscenity to describe objects of affection seemed to me like overly intentional doses of “realism” – grit, in situations in which grit could only cause discomfort.

I spend time laying out these objections because these areas stuck out to me as inconsistent and bothersome additions to an otherwise cohesive and beautiful book. I laughed out loud at times, choked up at others, and found much inspiration for my own writing. I do not recommend it without reservation, but if my PG-descriptions of my R-rated objections above do not scare you off, I do recommend it.

The Second Third, Week 30: Male Bonding

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

I’ve written a number of Second Third posts about the reasons I need to scale back my work hours and volunteer commitments, but this week drove it home, and gave me a new reason to seek better balance. The past few weeks have been intense at work — a number of major and important projects to bring to a close, a handful of goodbyes to colleagues leaving for new jobs in this time of transition, plus those of us accompanying my boss on his next adventure were supposed to be packing our offices for the move.

Add to that the start of soccer for two of our children, and of daily weightlifting for a third. Then layer on Albertville Friendly City Days this weekend — our KC council sponsors the softball tourney, the beer tent and the pedal-power tractor pull, and appears in the parade. (I have direct involvement with two of these events and at least some vested interest in the success of all of them.) Plus we are trying to organize the annual parish-wide weekend at Camp Lebanon and need to meet with our co-chairs. It’s no wonder I’ve come down with shingles (seriously).

I need to scale back for my family, for the new baby, for my bride, and for my future as a writer. And now I need to do it for my health. But last night, I realized I have yet another reason. I swung by a friend’s place to discuss the fact that I probably didn’t have time to hit the shooting range with him this weekend (and to ask if his family wanted to hand out candy in the parade). He was enjoying the Twins game in his garage, sipping a Summit India Pale Ale. He offered me one, but I was too tired already and had to be up early. We talked about shooting (no), retrieving a deer stand at his brother-in-law’s this weekend (maybe), and other things we ought to get on top of this summer. I told him something I’ve said many times over the past year: “We’re overcommitted. We’ve said ‘yes’ too much.”

“I know,” he said. “You do a lot. It’s good…and it’s bad.”

“It’s bad,” I said.

“You’re needed,” he said.

I don’t know for sure what he meant: needed by the people and organizations we work with and for, or needed by our friends we don’t see. But I know how I took it.

I’ve never had a lot of close male friends, because I’m not a sports nut or a partier; I don’t tell dirty jokes or golf; I don’t build much or have a motorcycle or anything. I love being married, dig my kids, and enjoy reading, writing, music, and faith.

Only now, living in “The Bubble,” I have men around be to whom I can relate, who are walking the same road with the same end in mind. And they like to hunt and fish and enjoy a good beer (and maybe even brew one). They love their wives and balance doting and discipline with their kids. I like these guys. And they deserve more than me swinging by their garage to say I can’t go shooting this weekend.

A while back, another friend was asked by a third if he had seen me around lately. “Nah, I haven’t seen him,” he said. “He’s probably at the church. They volunteer for everything.” That’s gotta change.