Book Review: The Hidden Reality

The Hidden Reality, by Brian Greene

I finished this book after about six years of on-and-off reading. Its difficult subject matter and the level of concentration required meant I could take it in only small doses. And that, of course, meant I often had to look back at previous explanations to understand the additional subject matter.

Oh yes, when I use the word "understand," I use it in the widest definition possible. Let's just say I have a nodding acquaintance with the topics. 

But Greene is an excellent writer and teacher. He uses strong yet simple metaphors to explain difficult concepts. He has helped me understand string theory -- to the point that I think I know what it is and how it works, although not enough to explain it to anyone else.

In this book, Greene reaches into whether multiple universes exist. Which, of course, gives lie to the term universe, but allows for some mind-boggling thoughts, ideas, and suppositions.

He dedicates chapters to how and why other universes might exist, sometimes right alongside ours, but in another dimension. There's the inflationary universe, which posits an eternity of Big Bangs --universes coming into being via a massive explosion of a tiny particle, expanding, then some of it shrinking back into another single particle before the entire exercise recurs.

He explains several others, deftly noting how some would prove string theory or black holes, or how some would mimic our universe, with only slight changes. He discusses whether  such universes would follow the same mathematical and physical rules as ours, and even goes so far to debate whether computers could form universes that would then create sentient beings. (Maybe ours is one?)

Greene says it is possible that quantum theory could explain multiple universes -- perhaps in the notion that every possible outcome has occurred somewhere in the infinite number of universes.   

These are universes we may never see because they are in different dimensions, or in a different fabric of time. It's unlikely we could ever prove their existence. This is a dilemma Greene acknowledges. 

"By invoking realms that may be forever beyond our ability to examine -- either with any degree of precision, or, in some cases , even at all -- multiverses seemingly erect substantial barriers to scientific knowledge. ... More distressing is that by invoking a multiverse, we enter the domain of theories that can't be tested."

With this, sometimes the theories in the book seem to swing away from science and more into theology and speculation. Sometimes, the ideas become so complicated that only a select few could  understand -- after all, few of us are Einstein.

But Greene says the answer is to follow the math. Take it as far as it can go, then keep going. He said past scientists who doubted their math -- even Einstein -- committed errors because of it. Those who trusted their math -- again, Einstein and others -- reached great heights because of it.

Believe in math's properties, and believe where it takes you, Greene says, even if those places are remote and temporarily inaccessible. Then let it take you beyond that realm, with the underlying goal to expand the knowledge of who we are and where we live.

Book Review: Girl in the Picture

The Girl in the Picture, by Denise Chong

For many of us of a certain age, it is the defining picture of the Vietnam War: several children, followed by soldiers, fleeing down a road. In the middle, a young girl, naked, her arms held out from her body, crying, with a look of absolute fear and pain on her face, running with them.

Her name was Kim Phuc, and we now know that she and her family were running from a napalm attack on her village in South Vietnam. Soldiers from South Vietnam, at the behest of the United States, had dropped napalm during an attack meant to clear out Viet Cong guerrillas. But the napalm missed its target in the nearby woods, and instead landed directly on the village full of women and children.

This is the story of the aftermath: How the war affected people in Kim's village, and in greater Vietnam. How the war -- and specifically the attack on Kim's body -- affected her life.

Kim and her family suffered. She suffered from the injuries of the burning, from the literal and metaphorical scars it left. (As described in the book, napalm is a horrible tool of war. It's a burning gel that sticks to the body, and attempts to pull it off just spread it around.) Meanwhile, her family's successful eating establishment was destroyed by taxes and fees the new communist regime in Hanoi enacted, and by the incompetence and greed of corrupt local officials who demand more and more.

Meanwhile, the government began to use Kim's story as propaganda. It forced her to interrupt her studies -- she at one point dreamed of becoming a doctor to help people -- and otherwise exerted control over her life and her decisions. And while the government sent Kim abroad -- to Russia, to East Germany, to Cuba -- it always kept a close eye on her.

Written 10 years ago, this remains is a wonderful, insightful book. It introduces us to another culture, and explains the differences between people from the north and those from the south. It's a great help to Americans, who, says author Chong, all-too-often see Vietnam not as a country, but as a war.

This Week in Books, 9th Ed.

When I first saw Parnassus Books -- the independent Nashville bookstore co-owned by writer Ann Patchett and named after a Greek mountain that was home to the Muses -- I was a tad disappointed. It looked like your basic suburban bookstore, located next to a paint store in a strip shopping mall that also is home to a Chipotle and a Vitamin Shoppe.

But once inside during my visit this weekend, I re-discovered how wrong first impressions could be. It's a wonderful place -- comfortable, well designed, and full of interesting people and helpful workers. I saw several books being promoted as outstanding works that I already have read and enjoyed, both confirming my taste and that of the staff.

And the books! I planned to buy one or two, and would up working out with a half-dozen. Of course, I had to pick up the owner's latest, The Dutch House, which will rise high on my TBR stack. Then I grabbed another book on my planned reading list -- Red at the Boone, by Jacqueline Woodson. Bonus! It's signed by the author.

The additions to the stack

So already I was winning.

The bookstore is subtlety subversive and feminist. It contains more than the average number of books by and about women. Numerous books in the children's section are about empowering girls. Many of the featured books are by female authors.

And it works. As I strolled over to the new and interesting books pile, I discovered The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, by Abbi Waxman. I had never heard of this novel before, but when you chuckle and recognize yourself in the book's description, it's a clear sign from Apollo to put it in your bag.

The only child of a single mother, Nina has her life just as she wants it: a job in a bookstore, a kick-butt trivia team, and a cat named Phil. If she sometimes suspects there might be more to life than reading, she just shrugs and picks up a new book. When the father Nina never knew existed dies, leaving behind innumerable sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews, Nina is horrified. They all live close by. They are all -- or mostly all -- excited to meet her. She will have to ... Speak. To. Strangers.

So you can see why that one will be good.

Two more books somehow found their way into my bag: Night Boat to Tangiers, by Irish author Kevin Barry; and Going the Distance, by William Steele, a biography of the late Canadian writer, W.P. Kinsella, who is one of my favorite authors.

And by the way guys who checked me out. Your recommendation for the Sunflower Cafe in South Nashville was spot on. I thoroughly enjoyed my vegetarian meal there.

Book Review: Brave New World

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley

I first read this book some 50 years ago, in the seventh grade, when I was about 12 years old. I kind liked it, and thought of the world it created as a nice place full of happy people. And when they weren't happy, authorities spread Soma into the air, making them happy.

More recently, I expressed the opinion, based on that reading in the long, long ago, that I did not understand why the novel was listed with other dystopias, such as 1984. Twitter raged at my stupidity.

So I gave it a re-read. I still have my copy (paperback, published in 1969, costing $3.50) so I didn't have to buy it again. That second reading showed how wrong I was.

Yes, Huxley's world is still a place full of happy people. Well, seemingly happy. Indeed, they are bred to be happy, then slotted into society where they will be happy.

But here's what I know now. They are happy on the surface, because they have everything they could possibly need or want. They are conditioned to think in certain ways. Their standing in society is based on on how they were bred. No mothers and fathers exist in this world, just a sperm and an egg put in a test tube, manipulated for certain conditions, and then turned into a baby. A baby who will grow into an adult who will fit perfectly into whatever role was predetermined -- whether that be a moronic, low-level Epsilon worker; a smart Alpha leader, or anything in between. And society will give proper respect to all those people, knowing that they are conditioned to accept their roles, which all carry value. No more discrimination and no more bigotry. Just acceptance.

All sexual fantasies are fulfilled -- and because love, or life partners, or family, are unknown, then guilt, deception, or rejection are not issues. For entertainment, sports and games and "feelies" -- a kind of interactive porn -- are constantly available.

And if none of those does the trick, there is Soma. Just a half-gram, and off you go to your own happy place, with no consequences -- no hangover, no sadness, no feelings of regret -- upon return.

But here's the thing: With all this happiness, based on constant entertainment and diversion, the loss is of self and identity. There is no need for contemplation, for self-reflection, or quiet time. There's no reading, or writing, or art, or creativity.

It's not that this world burns books; it just takes away the need for them. It's not that it bans theater, it just makes the arts unnecessary. It doesn't prohibit drawings or sculptures, or music, or history, it just replaces them with constant, public entertainment.

And as such, there is no individuality or privacy, only group-think and public behavior. There is no downtime, just consumption and control. But unlike Orwell's 1984, that control is not achieved through pain and fear, but with pleasure and distraction. Control is established through fulfilling people's childish and adolescent desires -- keeping them childish and adolescent.

Without unmet needs, without goals to strive for, without conflict, without the ugliness of life, there is no beauty, no art, no humanity.

It may be a happy place, but it's still a dystopia. 

Book Review: After the Miracle

After the Miracle: The Lasting Brotherhood of the '69 Mets, by Art Shamsky

These were the good Mets. Unlike the bad boys of the 1986 Championship team, the '69 Mets were beloved across the country. 

They were young. They were happy. They played with joy and excitement and persistence. They were noble in defeat and celebrated in victory. At a time of political division -- over a war, over the direction of the country's youth -- a team from New York City was the epitome of togetherness.

That's because, says author and team member Art Shamsky, they were teammates who loved and respected each other. Each player accepted his role, and no matter how big or how small that part may have been, was appreciated for carrying it out with aplomb. Shamsky, for instance, may not have liked the fact that he platooned in right field with Ron Swoboda, but both reveled in each other's play.

Shamsky credits several people for this, including manager Gil Hodges, who believed in the team before it believed in itself, and then led them to the top with love and discipline; and pitcher Tom Seaver, who despite his superstar status, performed his role with humility and dignity.

Harrelson, Koosman, Sherman, Shamsky,
 Swoboda, and Seaver at a restaurant during the visit.
(Photo, from the book)

The book, while a celebration of the team and its youthful exuberance, carries notes of sadness 50 years later. Several team members have died, and two of its stalwarts --  Seaver and shortstop Bud Harrelson -- have signs of degenerative brain function -- Seaver from Lyme disease, and Harrelson from Alzheimer's.

Shamsky begins the book with his plan to bring a small group of former players out to celebrate with Seaver in his Napa Valley home in Calistoga, Calif., where Seaver owns a winery. He invites Harrelson, Seaver's former roommate; Jerry Koosman, the lefty counterpart to Seaver; and Swoboda, whose legendary catch saved Seaver's victory in Game 4. Shamsky's co-author, journalist Erik Sherman, went along.

Once the planning of the trip is set -- although Seaver's wife, Nancy, cautions that Seaver's health might force a last-minute cancellation -- Shamsky reverts to the 1969 season, going over games and memories from spring training to the last out of the season, and the ensuing on- and off-field celebrations. The remembrances are highlighted with interviews, stories, and quotes from former players and fans, adding color and grit to the memories.

After that pleasant reflection, Shamsky returns to the trip to Seaver's house. It's another happy occasion, with the conservative Koosman and the liberal Swoboda indulging in some banter about politics, and the group of five recalling their glory days. But it's a sad meeting as well, with the former teammates knowing their days are ending. The melancholy continues as Shamsky explores  how diseases have ravaged the minds of Harrelson and Seaver, causing the former ace to show a flaw in remembering the day's events while eating at a local restaurant.

Without a hint of frustration, the ever-courageous and self-assured Seaver shrugged and told (us) once more, "You know, I've got a little bit of the Lyme disease going on." He then graciously picked up the check, gave his regard to all of the people he knew at the cafe like he was the mayor of Calistoga, and walked us back out to the parking lot -- where the conversations continued on and on. We knew we would never all be together like this again. We were in our seventies, scattered around the country, and Tom could no longer travel.

It was the lengthiest of good-byes. Nobody wanted to leave.

You may shed a tear at the end. But overall, it's a book about days of happiness and youth, and the brotherhood of teammates.

Book Review: Say Nothing

Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland, 

by Patrick Radden Keefe

    The Irish keep a reputation for having a touch of the Blarney, but those from the North tend to be a wee bit more reticent. This is where "the tight gag of place" takes over, as the poet Seamus Heaney puts it.

Patrick Radden Keefe

Where to be saved you only must save face

And whatever you say, you say nothing

    Patrick Radden Keefe explores this phenomenon, along with the North's reputation for minimizing what they euphemistically call "The Troubles." This description held for more than 30 years, despite people being dragged from their homes and beaten or shot to death, and despite more than 3,000 casualties from the late 1960s into the 1990s.

    His book begins with a tale epitomizing this duality: The abduction of Jean McConville, a widowed mother of 10. As her children look on, she is taken from her Belfast flat in 1973, kidnapped and shot. Her body is buried, and is not found until 2003.

    We don't immediately know what happened to her.

    Keefe delves into the murder, its background, and the history and social order of the communities in which it took place. What comes out is a descriptive narrative of The Troubles, especially from the Catholic/Nationalist/Republican perspective.

    Keefe acknowledges his book is not a comprehensive account, because it omits the Protestant/Loyalist viewpoint, and focuses on IRA activity, violence, and politics. But this is OK, because Irish Republicanism and its fight for independence has always been the driving force behind the Irish civil rights movements, and the resulting violence from both sides.

    I know the history of The Troubles and have family and friends from Northern Ireland on both sides of the dispute. But this book hit home in presenting just how pervasive the violence was, and how instinctive the battle for Irish freedom is. Indeed, that is the heart of the book.

    Keefe investigates McConville's disappearance and murder by interviewing dozens of people involved in The Troubles, and reading about and piercing together their stories. He gets a jump start after learning of an oral history project, whose records were kept at Boston College. Originally, the project planners pledged to ensure those who participated  -- both IRA men and women and those from the Loyalist paramilitary organizations -- secrecy and anonymity until they were dead. But that idea fell apart when the Police Service of Northern Ireland got wind of the project and served warrants seeking information on the murders of McConville and similar people known as "the disappeared."

    I originally thought Keefe had used the oral interviews for his book. But no; most of them were subsequently destroyed. Keefe actually did the legwork and interviews himself, tracking down family members of the victims, including McConville's children, and those who volunteered for the IRA and loyalist paramilitaries.

    But one key figure refused to speak with Keefe: Gerry Adams, the longtime president of Sinn Fein, often described as the political wing of the IRA. For various reasons, Adams long has denied being a member of the IRA, a statement few actually believe.

    Keefe is harshly critical of Adams, blaming him for ordering the murder of McConville, claiming she was a British informant. Adams has denied having anything to do with her death.

    Keefe's also criticizes Adams for adamantly denying that he ever was a member of the IRA, whose volunteers were committed soldiers in a war, killing or sending men to die for love of country. Adams then turned around and negotiated a peace agreement that maintained the status quo, Keefe writes. Thus, he left those soldiers with neither the peace of mind of having their efforts validated, nor the comfort of acknowledging their commitment. In essence, Keefe suggests, Adams absolved his own behavior while betraying those who had volunteered to be soldiers for Ireland.

    As one former IRA volunteer said of the predicament of those who followed in their forefathers' footsteps and fought what they considered to be the good fight for a just and rightful cause:

Think of the armed struggle as the launch of a boat ... getting a hundred people to push the boat out. This boat is stuck in the sand, right, and get them to push the boat out and then the boat sailing off and leaving the hundred people behind, right. The boat is away, sailing on the high seas, with all the luxuries that it brings, and the poor people that launched the boat are left sitting in the muck and the dirt and the shit and the sand.

    But here, Keefe, ultimately if cautiously, defends Adams: "Whatever callous motivations Adams might have possessed, and whatever deceptive machinations he might have employed, he steered the IRA out of a bloody and intractable conflict and into a brittle but enduring peace."