Nicholson Baker: The Mezzanine

Reading fiction is an important part of my life.  I have no academic literary pretensions.  I read because I enjoy it.  My choices tend to the serious.  I read a mixture of classics and contemporary fiction.  Only in the last few years has writing itself (and appreciating the writing of others) become important to me.

I cannot claim to have read every important novel of the last twenty years.  But I don’t think there are many important contemporary authors that I’ve totally missed.  (But then again if I’ve missed them, how would I know?  That’s what it means to have missed them.)

Nonetheless Nicholson Baker has managed to stay below my radar completely.  I have no idea why.  The publicity, promotion, and advertising sides of current fiction are a mystery to me.  I listen to some podcasts.  I read some journals, newspapers, and magazines.  And I’ve totally missed Nicholson Baker.  Shame on me.

So I decided to start with The Mezzanine, a short novel that has garnered considerable critical acclaim.  I’ve never read anything like it.  The novel is a description of the narrator's trip on a escalator back to his office at the end of his lunch hour.  There are diversions and flashbacks here and there, but the strictness of focus is drastic .  The attention to detail (reflected in the footnotes) reminds me of David Foster Wallace.  The Mezzanine is full of remarkably detailed observations of contemporary life.  The attention to detail is microscopic and wonderfully expressed in prose.  Yet there is no explicit emotional life.  None.  Zippo.  Total zero. 

In some writing the absence of emotional vibrations is a cry for help, a searing plea for feeling and sensitivity.  But in The Mezzanine the narrator seems at peace with his detached view of life.  He’s not totally human; he’s almost  a robot programmed with an advanced AI application that observes incredibly, but cannot truly feel. 

The minuteness and accuracy of the observations is stunning, and in that way the writing is a tour de force.  But nonetheless I felt empty at the end.  I didn’t feel that the narrator wanted his life to be different.  He’s just fine as a detached observer of the world and of his own thoughts.  Large amounts of mental energy go into just categorizing, counting, and sorting out his own thoughts.  Yet he never crosses the line into longing, love, pain, hate, jealousy, or envy. 

So as I appreciate the level of magnification that Baker manages to bring to bear on his own thoughts, I miss the larger emotional context that is often present in the fiction of DFW.

I will definitely read more of Nicholson Baker.  There’s a new novel out that focuses on sex.  Does he bring the same level of observation and detachment to this subject matter?  Is that possible?  No idea.  Can’t wait to find out.

We Learn What We Do

Is that the good news or the bad news?

We try to learn to play the piano or to play tennis. Both involve complex physical motions that comprise many component parts. Both are expressive large-scale gestures that need to fit into a rewarding emotional and/or competitive experience. Each minute segment requires relaxing here, exerting there, moving this way, looking here, thinking there. Lots of moving parts. But without the overall context it’s dry as bones.

So how do we practice?

If we take a strictly analytical approach, we break down each large piece (tennis forehand, piano scale, etc.) into multiple segments and we practice them (focus on them) separately and slowly. By breaking it down, the number of moving parts becomes manageable. We can devote conscious attention to each of them, and we have at least a chance at getting it right by lavishing conscious attention on the mini-movement.

But by breaking it down into tiny parts, we miss the whole. We miss the meaning, the joy, the purpose, the fun. But if we go for the meaning when we practice, we’ll screw up some of the details.

Unfortunately, we learn what we do. Play a difficult passage at the piano up to tempo over and over before you've mastered it? You’re just learning to be sloppy and inaccurate. Play it very slowly or in tiny chunks and focus on the small technical details? You’re missing the overall meaning and learning to be unexpressive.

It’s possible to hide the overall meaning from yourself through excessive attention to the technical details. It’s also very possible that many important technical details will never be mastered if the larger context is not at least temporarily sacrificed.

There just isn’t an easy answer. That’s why people with an extraordinarily high level of natural talent have such an advantage. The details fall into place for them without thinking about it. What an edge! The ultimate “Just do it”. But for us mortals, we have to practice. We alternate between focusing on the details (and sacrificing the overall meaning) and letting it fly (go for the overall effect even though the execution of the details will be flawed). Both are fatally flawed.  But we do them.  And we learn what we do.

If we’re lucky, there’ll be a moment when the two come together.  A spark, a leap of faith happens.  It's like a welder’s arc that suddenly connects two points.  Somehow the meaning-deficient yet perfect details and the meaningful overall gesture with sloppily executed details come together in a truly magical moment. I’ve experienced it countless times myself and with students. For me, it’s the essence of learning.

Reminds me of breeding dogs. You breed together breed A and breed Z. You’re hoping for the best of breed A to combine with the best of breed Z in the offspring, and you make your selections for breeding accordingly. You’re also hoping that the worst of breed A and worst of breed Z will be suppressed in the offspring. When that welder’s arc moment happens, you make progress towards your goal. Of course, there’s no guarantee that the best of the two breeds won’t be suppressed and the worst preserved in the offspring.

We learn what we do. So do it slowly and get every damned detail right. Then do it at pace and learn about the overall meaning, even if the hygiene of the details is suspect.  Do both over and over and hope for the spark. If you’re lucky and skillful it will happen. The two experiences will come together to produce a real ‘ahaaaa’ moment. It’s the ultimate reward for both student and teacher. It’s learning at its best.

Attention Deficit vs. Attention Surfeit

Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). Seems to be running rampant, doesn’t it? We hear about it in both children and adults. “Experts” point to many potential causes: diet, heredity, environment, stress, chemical imbalance, hard-wiring. Who knows?

I’m reminded of a clever description of a map as a kind of filter. When we look at a map of Manhattan subway lines we see the general outline of the

island and the subway lines and stations. For the most part we don’t see streets, buildings, power lines, water lines, bus routes, or mail delivery routes. All of those items (and many others) have been filtered out so that we can direct our attention to the subject of the map: subway lines. Similarly, our ability to focus on a particular task is really an ability to filter out all other tasks and distractions for a period of time. The person with ADD is less good at that filtering. He tends to be distracted by the next ‘shiny metal object’ that he comes across. The word “deficit” puts this tendency in a negative light.

But what about the person who is very good at focusing on a single task, the one who is very good at filtering out ‘distractions’? That ability is usually seen in a positive light, and the individual often praised for his ability and singled out as more likely to succeed in the world.

I wonder if there isn’t a disorder on the opposite side of the spectrum that is characterized by excessive filtering and focus. What’s the downside of too much focus? I sometimes find that after I set myself a task I focus on it to such an extent that I can no longer see alternatives. I stubbornly persist in plodding down the path I’ve envisioned, even though the going may be tough. The tougher it gets, the more I persist. I'm in harness and I keep moving forward. I lose awareness of anything off the path. I don’t see other paths, I don’t reconsider the task, I don’t go back and rethink. I don’t even take a break. I just push on. I may well get to the end, but I’m probably miserable by the end, and I might have accomplished something that was ill-considered in the first place. I’ve wasted valuable time and mental energy. Excessive focus can deny me the ability to see outside the box. It can prevent me from seeing what I need to see when I need to see it. It can stifle creativity and bog me down in tedium. I can fall into this trap in many areas, including professional work, relationships, and even ‘leisure’ activities. Yes, I can take something that is supposed to be fun (a hobby or pastime) and make it into a real chore. Now that’s an accomplishment.

I’m no psychologist but I presume that there is such a disorder and it has a name (or two). I’ll call it ASD (Attention Surfeit Disorder). I can tell you from personal experience that it’s neither fun nor productive.

Surely we need a healthy balance between focus on the task at hand, and the ability to step back and see ourselves in a larger context at all times. How do we achieve that? Beats me. Awareness helps. If I’m able to see how small I’ve made the box for myself a few times, I’m more likely to recognize the feeling the next time it happens.

For now I’m content to remind myself that the ability to focus is not an exclusively good thing, and allowing oneself to be ‘distracted’ is not an exclusively bad thing. Sometimes a few good distractions (enhancements, observations, adjustments, second thoughts) are just what the doctor ordered. At least for this donkey.

Jokes

It's no secret that jokes reveal something about the teller, but also provide some benefit or comfort to the teller.  Jokes are a way of socliciting allies to secret causes.  I love jokes, and I love thinking about them.  It's fascinating that some jokes just resonate with me, and others leave me flat.  I'm not qualified to speak to the hows and whys or the particulars, but I want to share some of my favorites. It may well be that many aspects of myself will be revealed in the choices that I make here, but so be it.  I have no need to hide. Or do I?

Nixon: A Joke

For those of us that lived through the late 60's and the first half of the 70's, there's nothing like a Nixon paranoia joke.  The man was brilliant, but was crippled by paranoia.  So in the height of the Watergate mess Nixon decides to relax a bit and go to an NFL game.  He goes to a Baltimore Colts game (yes, the Colts were in Baltimore then, and the only Manning was Archie, the father).  He enjoys the game and decides to exercise a presidential prerogative and go to the Baltimore lockerroom after the game.  While there he can't help but notice that so many of the players are remarkably well endowed.  He is so fascinated he decides to inquire.  He tentatively approaches Bubba Smith (Police Academy) and asks him why the players are so generously endowed.  Bubba says that the technique is a secret, but since it's the President asking, he'll have to tell the truth.   "Mr. President, all you have to to is whack it against the bedpost three times every night
before you get into bed.  After a few weeks, you'll be amazed at the results."  Nixon is incredulous, but thanks Bubba nonetheless.  That night Nixon is about to get into bed.  Pat is already asleep in the big bed at the White House.  Nixon thinks about what Bubba said.  "What do I have to lose?"  So he whacks it three times against the bedpost.  Pat stirs a bit and mumbles, "Is that you, Bubba?".

Bread and Butter: A Joke

A destitute Polish peasant lives alone in a one-room hut with a dirt floor.  He has only a table, a scrap of bread, and a bit of butter.  He awakes in the morning not knowing how he'll get through the day.  Nonetheless, he spreads the little bit of butter on the scrap of bread.  He puts the bread on the table so he can get some water.  A noise outside startles him.  He jumps up and bumps against the table.  The bread falls to the floor.  It lands on the dirt floor butter side up and is still edible.  He can't believe his good fortune.  He can't understand why he should be so lucky.  He decides to try to find out why.  He goes to the local rabbi, but the rabbi can't explain it.  It makes no sense to him either.  After considering the problem for a while, the rabbi says they have to ask the big rabbi in the big town.  They travel together to the big town and ask the big rabbi.  But he too is stumped.  No explanation.  So they all go to the head rabbi in Warsaw.  They explain what happened to the head rabbi.  He strokes his beard and thinks for several minutes, then says "I understand what happened. Here's the explanation.  You put the butter on the wrong side of the bread."

Why is good fortune so hard to accept?