Eden and immortality: new in bookstores

Just another day in Eden; credit:  Țetcu Mircea Rareș Man, Adam and Eve had no idea how lucky they were. No botox, no mortgage, no shame, no global warming. You name it. This summer, the superb publishing firm Palgrave MacMillan is bringing us two books that illustrate in dramatic, sometimes bleak terms what we've lost (besides Paradise) and what the future holds for us in terms of ourselves and our environment.

First, some myth-inspired longevity numbers:

--Methusaleh was 969 years old when he died -- Moses was 120 years old when he died -- "Twilight's" Edward Cullen is (I think) 17 on the outside, and  (I think) about 105 or 106 years old on the inside

Alex Zhavoronkov's new book "The Ageless Generation: How Advances in Biomedicine Will Transform the Global Economy" suggests people today are doing fairly well when it comes to longevity. Soon, he suggests, you won't have to be a legendary biblical figure -- or a teen vampire -- to make it well into the triple digits.

ageless generation coverJust consider a couple of facts, courtesy of the author. A hundred years ago, in 1913, life expectancy was the age of 47. And what about prehistoric man? 22 years!

What's helped us today, says Zhavoronkov, who heads a bio-gerontology research institute, are many things, including: the rise of democracy, the concept of retirement, the information age, medical advances. All of these have fostered new possibilities for the elderly.

If your uncle or grandma complains about their Medicare coverage, you might remind them, as he says, that "the medical advances of the twentieth century dramatically increased life expectancies the world over."

What are some of these advances?

Thanks to potential new methods to regenerate tissue and address organ failure -- man-made stem cells and artificial organs are two of several subjects he surveys in his book -- we might all have a better shot at Methusaleh-dom one day. It requires a massive shift in world views about aging and medicine, but Zhavoronkov sounds an optimistic note as he asks all of us to join him, via social media and the internet, in a campaign to raise awareness about the possibilities ahead:

"By New Year's Eve 2099, many of the promising breakthroughs discussed in this book will be ancient history. Some will have been surpassed by even more exotic life-extension therapies. Extreme longevity will be common throughout the developed world. Millions of healthy, active centenarians will celebrate the arrival of a new century. I plan to be one of those healthy seniors. Choose to join me. There are dark clouds on the horizon, but the distant future promises to be bright."

At first, it's harder to hear the optimistic note -- or see the bright distant future -- in Amy Larkin's "Environmental Debt: The Hidden Costs of a Changing Global Economy," but it's there. The author, a former Greenpeace activist who now runs a consulting firm called Nature Means Business, provides us with precious information about what's going on at the front lines of the global environmental debate.

environmental debt coverThe title of her book points to her main argument: Pollution shouldn't be free. Why not? The future cost and damages of pollution -- in other words, the environmental debt -- is "just like any other debt, at some point the bill will come due." Her book looks at ways of making business and government more accountable by connecting "the profitability of business with the survival of the natural world."

Like Zhavoronkov, she's arguing for a massive shift in public understanding, especially when she says, for instance, that the fossil fuel industry  should embed the costs of its pollution "in its profit and loss statements."

Larkin's book supplies an intriguing overview of the issues and arguments, along with some openminded efforts by some corporations -- PepsiCo, for instance,  which has worked on improving sustainability practices at its factories, and McDonald's. In the past decade, in fact, the Golden Arches worked with Greenpeace on a moratorium for soybean production on deforested Amazon land (in case you didn't know, soybean is fed to all those chickens turned into six-piece and 20-piece orders of McNuggets).

I know both books certainly don't fit under the category of "easy beach read," but if you're interested in updating yourself on such issues this summer before the fall begins, both are an excellent place to start.

They'll remind you, as they did for me, that we really don't have the opportunity of sailing off, like King Arthur or Frodo Baggins, to Avalon or Valinor to find our Paradise. It's here, it's now; we have to work with the world we've got.

Books of death: new in bookstores

balloonist When Julian Barnes writes about losing his wife to a brain tumor, he writes instead about the adventures of 18th and 19th century balloonists. It makes for the most unusual kind of memoir -- and it highlights how truly difficult it is to express what we're feeling when one of our loved ones dies.

The loss goes deeper than any words can reach, and that may be why Barnes turns to the early history of ballooning in his forthcoming book "Levels of Life" (Alfred A. Knopf). He's able to speak of the harrowing experience of losing his wife, Pat Kavanagh, only in terms of something else.

Joyce Carol Oates recently weighed in on the U.K. edition of the book in the TLS. She called its approach and perspective "unorthodox" -- but she means it as a compliment. I can't help but agree. Most memoirs of death and dying sound the same. I think we've all lost loved ones, right? If it's a loss from illness, there's an existential formula you just can't escape: symptoms, diagnosis, terror and treatment, slight improvement and hope, sudden decline, death. Grief. Every book about such a loss can't help but sound the same. The Illness Industry is mercilessly efficient.

I think that's why Barnes has recorded his own sorrow in such an "unorthodox" vehicle. He avoids the formula. His love for his wife, and the meaning of her loss, deserve more than the typical formula. His pain is still there, between the lines, hovering at the margins. He doesn't directly confront it for many pages. Still, as we read about the excitement and perils of hot-air ballooning in the pages that precede, we can feel his grief indirectly in passages like this one:

In August 1786 -- ballooning's infancy -- a young man dropped to his death in Newcastle from a height of several hundred feet. He was one of those who held the balloon's restraining ropes; when a gust of wind suddenly shifted the airbag, his companions let go, while he held on and was borne upwards. Then he fell back to earth. As one modern historian puts it: 'The impact drove his legs into a flower bed as far as his knees, and ruptured his internal organs, which burst out on to the ground.'

I'll risk saying it -- isn't that how you feel when someone you love dies? Like you've been ripped off your feet and driven into the ground? If it were just a book about ballooning's history, I'd call this a colorful anecdote. In a book about losing his wife, it means so much more. This is also Barnes at his best. Something to pre-order at your neighborhood bookstore for your fall reading.

Also this season...

endings happierYou can tell from the title that Erica Brown's "Happier Endings: Overcoming the Fear of Death" (Simon and Schuster) isn't coming from the same personal sense of loss as Barnes' book. Instead, what Brown gives us is an excellent overview, a little in the Mary Roach vein, of death and dying in the contemporary world. Bucket lists, ethical wills, cremation or kafn, last words, final forgiveness, suicide and survivors -- it's all here. A scholar-in-residence for the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, Brown capably navigates a myriad number of topics and issues connected with the Great Beyond. The daughter of a Holocaust survivor, Brown marshals a compelling amount of information to illuminate an often gloomy subject. Hence her book's title. The fact is, she reports, "the grim reaper is not always grim."

bright abyss coverChristian Wiman's "My Bright Abyss: Meditation of a Modern Believer" (Farrar, Straus & Giroux) is about what Wiman, a published poet, thought about after being diagnosed with cancer. His book assembles several essay meditations, full of poetic allusions and excerpts from world literature, on his struggle to understand his faith in the face of his mortality. What he realizes is that faith, true religious faith, is something different from what's taught in church on Sundays. It's "tenuous, precarious," he says. "The minute you begin to speak with certitude about God, he is gone. We praise people for having strong faith, but strength is only one part of that physical metaphor: one also needs flexibility."

Tolkien's household and poetic places

Knight_of_the_woeful_countenance_05424uFAMILY MATTERS: Andrew O'Hehir gives a nice overview of Tolkien's "The Fall of Arthur" in the pages of the New York Times that only stumbles at the very end. A couple of reasons why Tolkien abandoned that poem, which his son Christopher notes in the new book, involved the pressures of work and his family. Tolkien the Elder's interest also seemed to flag as his conception of Middle-earth started to grow.  All sounds pretty reasonable to me. If you've ever tried to compose a long work of fiction or nonfiction, and you have a young family, that line about Tolkien's situation might resonant as strongly for you as it did for me. I can relate to the bard. I can easily see us, side by side in the pub down the road from Merton College, throwing back what's left in our pint glasses.

"I'm stuck!" he says. "I can't get a bleedin' moment to meself  for Arthur!"

Tears pop from my eyes. I pound my fist on the bar.

"Aye John, you dinna hae to tell me!  Barkeep, two more glasses!"

Near the end of his review, O'Hehir thinks Tolkien more likely broke off his work because the alliterative, Anglo-Saxon style of the poem doesn't fit the Arthur of history: "If there was ever any historical cognate to Arthur, he was a Celtic Briton who spoke a language ancestral to modern Welsh and Cornish. To write about him in the Germanic or Anglo-Saxon verse style of later centuries ...  can only have struck this eminent philologist as an uncomfortable linguistic and historical pastiche."

Holy smokes that's fancy. Maybe it's true, but more compelling for me is the fact that in the years when he composed his Arthur fragment, Tolkien and his wife had four kidlings -- two early teens, two pre-teens. I'm sure any attempt to write about Arthur's clash with  Saxon invaders paled beside the battles taking place in the Tolkien house!

OH, THE PLACES YOU'LL GO: A post last week on worthwhile poetry websites drew some nice responses from my friends, Jilanne Hoffmann and Michael Odom. Along with my recommendations:

Red Hen Press

Sarabande Books

Copper Canyon

they suggest a couple more that you should start patronizing:

SPD (Small Press Distribution)

Marick Press

Bookmark them and make a point of dropping in on a weekly (or more frequent) basis. You don't have to do too much, but the small gestures count for so much. They encourage the small publishers to continue on with their sacred work and, who knows? You might find yourself discovering some exciting new voices. Hope you're having an excellent week, friends.

Poetry: More salt, please

Salt and pepper granules: credit -- Jon Sullivan Poet Michael Odom passed along a recent item from the UK edition of the Huff Post that illustrates poetry's continuing difficulties in the publishing marketplace. (Read Michael's work at Mao's Trap.) One of the big supporters of new and upcoming poets, Salt Publishing, has decided to scale back from publishing books solely devoted to a single author. Instead, they're sticking to the anthology and "best of" routes, and I get it, even though I'm not happy to hear about it. The official Salt announcement doesn't mention the business side -- anthology publishing, it says, will be used for "raising [poets'] profiles and reaching new readers" -- even though that's clearly what it's about.

The part that bugs me more is Robert Peake's response in the Huff Post blog, which I like and don't like. There's plenty to admire in his post (check it out for yourself), especially his inspiring words about the power of poetry to transform "our grey morning commute" and "[take] the top of our head off." But there's also a real defeated tone to the whole thing:

Maybe we're doomed. But we are doomed in good company--you and me--which is to say we are blessed indeed. Ask anyone. The poets always throw the best parties. They dance like they have nothing to lose, because it's true. And you and me, we've made it this far somehow, getting by, doing our thing, making life just about work.

John Keats died largely unrecognised. But ask his friends at the time, and he meant as much to them then as he does to many of us now. Do we really expect better for ourselves than the respect of a few respectable peers?

The audience is dwindling. Fine....

Really? It's fine? Yikes. I cherish Keats, but I don't think any working poet today wants to die young of consumption in some forgotten corner, right?  I understand that words are immortal, but isn't it good to stick around and belong to a community? Here are a couple of small things I'd suggest:

1) Buy poetry.  Don't just attend a poetry reading at your local bookstore: buy the book after the reading is done. Readings are about sharing and supporting each other, and if we can spend eight or nine bucks on two extra-large mochas with extra whipped cream, we can certainly invest in a chapbook of someone's observations.

2) Show some support to nonprofit and small publishers of poetry. Let them know you're out there. Here are three that I admire (the third one, by the way, keeps W.S. Merwin's works within easy reach):

Red Hen Press

Sarabande Books

Copper Canyon Press

3) Blog about the poets you've read and drop a link to their websites. Give readers a taste (and a place on the web) so that they won't have to wait for an anthology by Salt or somebody else. Let them know (along with the publishers) that you're out there and what they say is important to you.

In the comments field of this post, you're welcome to drop links to poetry publishers deserving of support. Onward, my friends.

Books, books, books: It's time to show us your shelves!

A few of my favorite things: But watch out for the gargoyle... So what's on your bookshelves? Jilanne Hoffmann and I would like to know. What you see (above) is a corner of my decent collection -- decent, but definitely not crazy. I followed a strict diet a few years ago and passed along multiple boxes of books to a very grateful local library.

photo(4)I know, this post is supposed to be about pictures, not words, but forgive me for adding just a small bit of commentary. See those three large volumes, the ones in brown and blue? They're from the Nonesuch Dickens Collection, and they reproduce Dickens' novels in the exact format, with illustrations, that Ole' Boz saw in his lifetime. There's also a signed reader's galley of "The Unknown Terrorist" by the wonderful Tasmanian novelist, Richard Flanagan. And, what bookshelf wouldn't be complete without a gargoyle? He's on guard, night and day, to protect my collection from browsers who want to become borrowers! (If any other titles intrigue you, let me know and I'll give you more information than you wanted.)

So, just to repeat, what's on your shelves? Drop Jilanne a note at her blog, or leave one for us in the comments field and send us to your page for a look!

The Dogpatch Writers Collective is already on board. We hope you'll join us, too!