the textured richnesses of very modest lives

I recently read Tinkers, Paul Harding’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, and I’d like to share some favorite excerpts and invite you to ponder them with me. The book is more discovery than story; I had to slow myself down to cherish each paragraph. Of the book, Marilynne Robinson remarked, “Its fine touch plays over the textured richnesses of very modest lives, evoking again and again a frisson of deep recognition, a sense of primal encounter with the brilliant, elusive world of the senses. It confers on the reader the best privilege fiction can afford, the illusion of ghostly proximity to other human souls.”

On the human condition:

“Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn’t it? And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God’s will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to you at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it. And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough.” (p. 72)

A little bit about the wind:

“A wind would come up through the trees, sounding like a chorus, so like a breath then, so sounding like a breath, the breath of thousands of souls gathering itself up somewhere in the timber lining the bowls and depressions behind the worn mountains the way thunderstorms did and crawling up their backs the way the thunderstorms did, too, which you couldn’t hear, quite, but felt barometrically—a contraction or flattening as of tone as everything compressed in front of it, again, which you couldn’t see, quite, but instead could almost see the result of—water flattening, so the light coming off of it shifted angles, the grass stiffening …” (p. 128)

On our limits:

“And as an ignorant insect crawling across the face of that clock, who sees not the whole face, the full cycle of numbers, the short hand and the long … but who merely treads over the surface which hides the gear train and the springs without any but the most indirect conception of what lies beneath, so does man squirm and fret on the dusty skin of our earth, ignorant of the purpose of the world, indeed the cosmos, beyond the fact that there is one, assigned by God and known only to Him, and that it is good and that it is terrifying and that it is ineffable and that only rational faith can soothe the desperate pains and woes of our magnificent and depraved world.”

As we begin another week of Advent waiting, this last portion prompts me only to say: Come, Lord Jesus.

morning sun on a merry mini tree

Our mini tree is by the bookshelf this year; its spot in the window is taken by plants seeking shelter from the cold. I think Borges is glad for the cheery company (see upper left corner).

giving thanks

We hosted our first family holiday feast last week. This included our first turkey, which was successful thanks to an overnight brine. Smoky picture below.

My sister arrived early, bearing coffee, cheese, and chocolates. I documented them right away! Her husband is a barista at Princeton's famous Small World coffeeshop and supplied the fresh-roasted beans.

Some shots of our fine feast and the Thanksgiving spread (two folding tables pushed together, with Mom's tablecloth and some borrowed chairs).

networks

In an era of online social networks, it’s easy to quickly link to half a dozen people whom you haven’t met but with whom you share a common profession, passion, or pumpkin pie recipe. Facebook allows me to keep in touch with friends across the country—in places I’ve lived and places I haven’t. But there’s still something to be said for the synergy of physical proximity.

This is often acknowledged in the context of friendship, but I’ve been surprised by how much it’s true for professional networking as well. DC feels smaller all the time. There is something valuable in “running into” the same people over and over again at different events around the city. And people seem more interested in grabbing coffee if they’ve seen you in person somewhere else first. In other words, the old job-hunting tip—move where you want to live and print a local address on your resume—still holds weight. I was thinking about this in the context of David Brooks’ recent column about the power of American networks. He says,

“ … creativity is not a solitary process. It happens within networks. It happens when talented people get together, when idea systems and mentalities merge.”

Even though it’s easy to connect with American networks without being physically in America, Brooks might argue that the local social context matters, and that’s why the U.S. will continue to draw enterprising individuals:

“America hosts the right kind of networks — ones that are flexible and intense. Study after study suggests that America is one of those societies with high social trust. … The crucial fact about the new epoch is that creativity needs hubs. Information networks need junction points. The nation that can make itself the crossroads to the world will have tremendous economic and political power.”