Oh, that inevitable moment when you look at the book that’s about to go into print and realize it’s superficial, clumsy, repetitive, and needs to be tossed in the bin and rewritten from scratch. 

So, in the end, it’s this one. The logo gets in the way but you get the general idea.

Unlike the waterfalls, it isn’t peaceful, and it definitely would have been a letdown to announce something peaceful on the cover and then hit people over the head with liquid capital.

Ikea will be sold on Amazon? Wow, the world will never be the same. 

All day I buggered around with the goshdarn cover images and ended up with nothing but waterfalls. Then my sister came, ridiculed the waterfalls, and found the perfect image in under 1 minute. Literally.

So I read this article about the post-election Hillary Clinton in a strange little magazine called New York. Two things in particular attracted my attention. The first is the tiresome idea that everybody who says that it’s time for Hillary to leave public life is a sexist. One would think that the results of the last election would teach people not to substitute analysis with the chant of “racist and sexist.” 

Another thing is that Huma Abedin is still hovering all over Clinton. Which, to me, is mind-boggling. 

The whole article left a nasty aftertaste. 

But I also read a very good piece in the same magazine which suggests that the most promising strategy Democrats could use right now is to pedal the healthcare issue and talk about the horrible AHCA. I believe it’s true that this issue is a winner together with the words “a tax cut for the ultra rich.” This will sound like a very tiny thing, but I tried this line on the neighbor who’s a Trump supporter and it had an effect. 

OK, folks, I have until tomorrow to select an image for my book’s cover. Here are some images that I’m considering, and I need help choosing. Think crisis literature, liquid capital, fluidity, etc. Of course, you have to imagine the photoswithout the “Istock” logo on them. Please vote in the comments.

Image 1:

Image 2:

Image 3:

Image 4:

Image 5:

Image 6:

Image 7:

If they all stink, I can keep looking.

Folks, it’s time for a new challenge. We need to refresh ourselves intellectually, get out of a mental rut, and approach the new academic year (or the Fall, for those who are not academics) feeling renewed and prepared to solve problems and find original, unexpected answers to our questions. 

The challenge is based on the principle that intellectual enrichment is impossible without some discomfort. We preach this to our students (or to the whiny folks on faraway campuses who beg for safe spaces and trigger warnings.) Now is the time to practice what we preach. 

WEEK 1. Starting with the basics. 

This week we will try to introduce some variety into our sleeping arrangements. At least twice this week, try to sleep in a way you normally don’t. Sleep on a different side of the bed, put your head where your feet normally are, sleep in a different room. 

The goal is too see something different when you wake up, force yourself to take a different route to the bathroom if you do get up at night, etc. We are experimenting with geography here, so keep that in mind. 

Welcome to the Challenge!

I’m not into the memoir genre but I’ll read anything by Russo, so I devoured his memoir Elsewhere like a total maniac. God, he’s a good writer. I massively loved the book. 

The story Russo tells, however, is deeply disturbing because his insight into the events of his life is beyond superficial. Elsewhere is the story of relentless emotional abuse the writer’s mother subjected him to and – much more inexcusably – his wife and daughters. One of the daughters went crazy as a result, but not even that helped Russo wake up to what was happening. 

The memoir was written years after the abusive stinkbomb of a mother had kicked the shitbucket, but Russo was still writing from the place of guilt for not having been a more convenient, accommodating victim. The saddest part of the book is when he demeans his work as a writer in order to exalt a long-dead freak of a momma. 

Folks, I’m from the USSR, right? I’ve seen so many stories of parents cannibalizing their children’s lives but even I have never encountered anything quite as bad as Russo’s case. By the end of the book, it was literally painful to read, especially in the part where Russo describes his daughter going from a luminously happy, confident woman to an anxiety-ridden mental case. (She’s been diagnosed, so please don’t think it’s my characterization of her state.) 

It’s like, gosh, if you want to be eaten alive by mommy, good for you, but then try not to procreate, at least. 

Still love Russo as a writer, though. 

You can no more gain insight into your own psyche than you can perform a root canal or a surgery on yourself. It sucks but it’s true. 

Smart, highly educated people with rich vocabularies, however, are very good at constructing narratives that, to them, sound like insight into the recesses of their subconscious. These narratives are a mechanism the psyche uses to protect itself from insight and from the subsequent need to change familiar patterns of self-destruction.

“I know all about my problems,” they exclaim. “But knowing and understanding why I’m this way isn’t helping!”

It’s clear to everybody who observes them that they know dick but you can’t force people to get better if they are so invested into getting worse. 

This is a prequel to a review of a book by Richard Russo that I just read, just in case anybody thinks I’m referring to them. 

Very few people can be effective popularizers of academic research. You need to have a particular personality type plus the interest to be able to do it. Who’s there in my field, for instance, who’s managing to do it? Me, Jonathan, and I can’t even think of anybody else. Z is more of a personal growth type of blogger than academic popularizer. 

Most of academics are aware that only a narrow circle of colleagues will even know about their work. And it’s tough because so much effort and study goes into it, yet the audience is minuscule. One would think they’d be glad that somebody is bringing their stuff to the attention of readers who’d never have heard their name otherwise. I’ll literally weep with joy if somebody ridicules or tears apart my academic books on a popular blog read by normal people who are not in my discipline. 

Instead of feeling glad, though, people get huffy because the way I write for regular, non-academic readers is different from the manner in which academic reviews are written. Bugs me as much as the darn medievalists who always moan that I simplify their field too much.