Consolation Prizes, They Ain't

'Books, which we mistake for consolation, only add to our sorrow.'

This line comes from the character Black in Orhan Pamuk's My Name is Red. I've become a fan of Pamuk in recent years, ever since reading his tender memoir Istanbul: Memories of a City. 

Then I read Pamuk's The New Life, a metaphysical thriller about a guy who reads a life-changing book. Feeling somewhat more appreciative of spirituality in the last couple of years, I enjoyed the wisdom within.

However, I disagree with the quote in bold. 

Do books add to sorrow? 

Not in my opinion. It depends what you read. I don't read harrowing biographies or novels, but I'm pretty sure that despite all the tragic events in them, they become more positive towards the end and inspire the reader. 

The closest I got to this kind of book was reading the Angela's Ashes trilogy by the pioneer of miserable literature, the late Frank McCourt. I loved it. And far from depressing me, the trilogy introduced me to literature I'd not read before, namely Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment (which I thought was brilliant!), and new observations on life.  

What do books do for us, then? (Or why I love them so much!)

The obvious answer is, they educate. You don't have be an astrophysicist to know that.

But not only do they educate. Far from add to any sorrow, they inspire me. Whether it's a fiction novel, a blog post, a business biography, a reference book on an area of interest, or a 'smart thinking' book... I feel inspired to write and by what I'm reading and what I'm learning from them. If the person who wrote the book can be that brilliant at writing or whatever else they specialise in, then so can I!

As well as educate, books broaden our (mental) horizons and provide us with different perspectives on the world. Though we may not always realise it, they develop our capacity for thought, even if we might not be trying to solve a mind puzzle or contemplating a piece of philosophy at the time. 

And books do offer consolation. When we're feeling bad, there are books out there that can help lift us out of the mire, books by people who have been through what we have. By reading others experiences and their ideas, we can also make sense of our own lives, not to mention life itself. Well, maybe some of it, at least!

Books are an aid to a lifelong project

That project goes by the name of happiness. They may have added to Black's sorrow in My Name is Red, but, for the reasons above, they've enriched this blogger's happiness.

Life is a learning curve, and when  the teachers and the lecturers are gone, you've still got to learn from someone. Books can help you live the life you want to lead, both personally and professionally. 

And I think here is where I'll end the lesson for today....!

Let's See How They Got On...

Have you ever read Outliers by Malcom Gladwell ?

Pretty interesting stuff, this interesting theory on success. The book challenges our assumptions that exceptionally successful people, or 'outliers' as Gladwell refers to them, are so because they're extraordinarily talented. In each chapter, he illustrates how people from different walks of life have made it big on circumstances other than sheer natural gifted-ness.

Gladwell argues that:

• culture
• timing / date of birth
• practice
• communication (in some cases)
• opportunities

... are all factors in success. Very interesting ideas, it has to be said.

And so...

This got me thinking about some of my own achievements, about my own life, and whether any of these factors could be said to have had an underlying influence. Let's take a look at the findings!

Timing/date of birth -- Let's start with my birthday. I was born in '79. This was also the same year Maggie 'Milk Snatcher' Thatcher became PM. Nasty! Can I attribute any of life's disappointments to spending the first 17 to 18 years of my life under Conservative rule? Since I've had a terrific upbringing, I think I'll say yes!

Culture -- Well, we Brits are famous for our good manners, reserved, er, manner and fleme britannique (the good ole British stiff upper lip). I'd have to say being quintessentially British has gotten me far at home and abroad. Cup of tea, old chap?

Practice -- According to Gladwell's Outliers, Bill Joy, one of the world's most successful computer programmers put in 10,000 hours of computer programming practice. Using my noggin and the power of Excel, that works out at 416 days, 6 hours. To be the very best at writing, blogging or anything else I choose to do, that's over a year of solid, round-the-clock practice. That sounds quite pleasurable, actually! Am I a geek?

Opportunities - Sticking with our friend Bill Joy, it turns out that not only did Billy boy put in 10,000 hours behind the computer screen, he also happened to be in the right place at the right time. At the time Joy attended university, computer programming was a tedious and lengthy process. However, he studied in Michigan, one of the first places in the world to switch to a new system of programming, the timeshare. Better still, the computer labs were open 24 hours a day. Joy may as well have given up his student digs and moved into it!

Have to say I've had my fair share of the breaks in the past. But at the same time, some of these breaks I've also created for myself. Not sure I can concur with Gladwell on this one (not that he cares, I imagine!). Sometimes you gotta make your own luck.

Communication --  I'm a languages specialist. I'm a wordsmith. I'm a customer service expert. I read a lot. I write a lot. It's gotten me places. (Just a short entry in case you felt I was waffling above!)

Didn't he do well!

Okay, I've been messing about in this post, but Gladwell puts forward some interesting arguments, though some of his theories may only ever be just that: theories.

Nevertheless, it makes his book somewhat inspiring. If you're no good at something, it doesn't mean you never will be. You've just got to keep at it and keep your eyes and ears open. Eventually the breaks will come and things will start to fall into place. The forces of the world will conspire to make it your oyster. Bon appetite, soldier!

This is your life?

Not sure what it is with me and (auto)biographies lately. I tend to think they're a vain kind of writing. 

Of all the subjects to write about, people write about their life as if we actually cared.  

Yet in a bizarre twist of fate, over the last year or so I've started to become quite interested in them. Since last summer, I've read:

• Motley Crüe: The Dirt 
• Marilyn Manson: The Long, Hard Road Out of Hell 
• Steven Tyler: Does the Noise in my Head Bother You? 
• A Book About innocent: Our Story & Some of the Things We've Learned
• Pour Your Heart Into It: How Starbucks Built a Company One Cup at a Time
• Onwards: How Starbucks Fought for its Life Without Losing its Soul
• My Dark Places, by James Ellroy
• I, Partridge: We Need to Talk About Alan by Alan Partridge

That's three rock (auto)biographies, three business ones, a comedy one and a part-autobiography part-crime investigation, and still I'm thirsty for more (keep your eyes peeled for Keith Richards's Life, Karren Brady's Strong Woman and Walter Isaac's Steve Jobs going cheap for me, would you!).

Life begins at...? 

My disillusionment with the genre stems from seeing bookshops littered with biographies and autobiographies by people who have barely been in showbiz 5 minutes yet feel compelled to tell the whole world their story. Take Jedward - barely out of school and they'd already published a book about their lives! It's dumbed down the genre.

I've enjoyed the above (auto)biographies - except for the Marilyn Manson one! - because the subjects have had interesting life experiences and ideas worth discussing. The point of biographical writing is for someone to look back on their career, on their achievements and low points (and how they came back from the latter!) and share some of the magic behind it all. 

To my mind, these days, the memories don't even have time to begin before the memoirs are already being published. But maybe I should get with the programme and think about writing my own memoirs?

What do you think? Do you think biographical writing has somehow lost its purpose?