Modern Romance

            Aziz Ansari: actor, comedian, and…bestselling author? I liked Aziz’s character in Parks and Recreation, but I never though *wow, this Tom Haverford douche bag is really smart and articulate*. Then, I watched Master of None. Game. Changer. Aziz is funny, creative, entertaining, and totally relatable. I had a lot of respect for him after that, so when I took Modern Romance* from my boyfriend’s bookshelf, I expected good things. Also, I wanted to see if my boyfriend had underlined anything, innocuous or otherwise, because this book is obviously about romance, and I’m a nosy bitch. No underlines, but I’m sure if there had been a sentence saying, “I love my girlfriend immensely, and she is perfect and pretty and cool”, he would have.

            Master of None gets the ball rolling when it comes to Aziz-based relationship discussions. Modern Romance is a full-on exploration of what it’s like to date and be single in a technologically fueled society. Aziz teamed with renowned sociologist, Eric Klinenberg to back his assertions with studies and stats. He cites multiple experts in their respective fields, and includes some useful graphs to help readers understand how the relationships landscape has changed in the past decade. He repeatedly references social psychologist Jonathan Haidt, which is cool for me—Haidt was my Introduction to Psychology professor at UVA, and his work/teaching style is one of the reasons why I chose to major in Psych. 

            Overall, I am very impressed with Aziz’s ability to balance his humorous tone with a genuine effort to inform readers. His work is grounded in interesting facts, but he highlights the data in comedic ways and explains things in layman’s terms. He’s also refreshingly honest about his own love life, in a way that effectively steers the narrative of the book. For example, he includes some of his text exchanges and talks about when he’s been rejected. 

            Sometimes, sociology can seem a little *no duh*-y. After all, it’s the study of human society, so some of the more obvious claims might already be palpably felt. That being said, Aziz has some seriously hot takes. For example, he talks about a newly recognized phase of life called “emerging adulthood”. The period spans between 18 and 25 years of age; it involves heady stuff like finding yourself, creating a unique identity, figuring out what the hell you want to do with your life, etc. I just turned 26 and I’m definitely still emerging, so I’d appreciate if they could give a girl a break and extend the age range. Anyway, this period of time is unique to our generation, and it’s led to singles being much more selective about who they want to date. Marriage used to be an economic institution intended to cement social status and keep that bloodline pumping. Today, marriage is more about finding your perfect soul mate, which puts a lot of pressure on the process of dating and searching for the one and only. Now that we have access to so many potential mates via dating apps, our pool of options is pretty massive. Is this a good thing, or does it make the process all the more stressful?

 

            One (of many) things I really like about Aziz is that he’s very sensitive to gender. I don’t get offended easily, and I’m not one to go up in arms about PC-this and PC-that; BUT, Aziz makes it clear that he truly thinks through the complexities of gender and races other than his own. I find it admirable that he seeks to gain perspective, and Modern Romance does a good job of dissecting how contemporary dating problems are different for men and women. The emerging adulthood phase is particularly revolutionary for women, because now they don’t have to immediately go from their father’s arms to dependency on another man, their husband. Obviously, this is not identical across socioeconomic status, and it pains me to think that there are still so many women whose relationship choices are anything but a choice. It doesn’t help when I come across absolute trash agendas, like this Brietbart scumbaggary. HOLD ME BACK.

            In case you totally skimmed past the first paragraph, I have a boyfriend. At first, I thought this book would be pretty useless to me, because it seems to cater itself to a single audience filled with people trying to navigate the dating world. While not everything in Modern Romance was applicable to me, I still found it consistently enlightening, and I think that people in relationships will enjoy this book just as much as all you single heads. For instance, I haven’t had to play the coy texting game for a long time. You know, the one where someone texts you and then you wait a certain amount of time to text them back, because you don’t want to seem overeager, but you also don’t want to seem like you can’t hold a conversation. Aziz relates this game to some studies by behavioral scientists about effort and reward. Turns out, if we can’t predict when or if we’re getting a reward, we’re more interested in that reward when it finally comes. Furthermore, if you’re deprived of that reward for a longer time, you’re thinking about that reward even more (like, why the hell do I not have my reward yet?), which makes it stand out. So, maybe you should wait a little while on the text-back. And when you do, avoid texting anything like this: http://straightwhiteboystexting.org.

Aziz is a smart dude. His book is smartly written. Read his book, if you want to laugh and be smarter. I give Modern Romance 4 out of 5 camel humps, and I trust that readers, regardless of relationship status, will appreciate what this book has to offer.

*Ansari, Aziz. Modern Romance. New York: Penguin Books, 2015. Print.

The Red Pony

            It’s never a great sign when you finish a book and then immediately scan the inside cover to check if you picked up a mistakenly abridged version. Yet there I was, scanning over the last page of Steinbeck’s The Red Pony*, wondering what the hell happened.

            I was comforted by the fact that the book is indeed “abnormal” in the sense that it’s serialized fiction. Back in the day, literature commonly came to fruition via installments published in magazines. Kind of like how you’d experience weekly television programming today. We should bring this back immediately, but that’s beside the point.

            The Red Pony circulated as individual chapters from 1933-1936, and was published in its entirety as a novella in 1937. The first chapter is by far the most compelling. A young boy encounters responsibility for the first time, which is quickly and unexpectedly followed by his first encounter with mortality. The second chapter loses steam, focusing on a mysterious man who, despite his shroud of inexplicability, fails to hold my interest. The third chapter is slightly redeeming; it’s literally and figuratively pregnant with promise. The last chapter is rulllll depressing. It complicatedly condemns nostalgia and reminds us how much it sucks to get old.

            Per usual, Steinbeck reveals his hard on for manifest destiny narratives, speaking of early 20^th century America in a way that’s equally full of potential and disappointment. I love this about him, and I came into this work expecting a certain level of quality. Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling it. I reviewed The Pearl a while back and praised Steinbeck for his lyrical rhythm and mastery of gender complexities. I also reviewed East of Eden and applauded his ability to carefully unravel a storyline and keep me attentive for 500+ pages. I mentally reviewed Of Mice and Men, and remembered how oddly gratifying it was to feel simultaneously sad and utterly complete.

           

            Where does The Red Pony fit in, then? It’s simply not worth reading. When you have these other Steinbeck masterpieces at your fingertips, why bother with a story that’s a bit of a trudge to get through and unfulfilling in the end? Certainly, some characters pique my interest, but nothing is sufficiently developed. Perhaps this would be better as a longer-form novel. Either way, I give it 2 out of 5 camel humps.

*Steinbeck, John. The Red Pony. New York: Bantam Books, 1937, Print.

The Plot Against America

            I’m trying to act more adult-like, so I’ve started organizing the Notes section in my iPhone by consolidating ideas into one header. When I read a book, I jot down things I could use for this blog, and I write the title at the top. I recently read Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America*. You can imagine how it felt to be jammed next to a zillion people on the Subway, casually opening a Note conspicuously labeled “The Plot Against America”. The Middle Eastern guy next to me felt at ease with the knowledge that I was now the most apparently threatening person on the commute.

            As a novel, The Plot Against America rewrites history to explore what would have happened to America/the World if we had remained neutral during World War II. The interventionists argue that as a superpower, we can’t just turn the other way as Hitler spreads fascism and exterminates millions of people. They go further to predict that doing nothing will eventually come back to bite them, because Hitler’s rule will continue to extend until he amasses enough influence to take over America as well. On the other hand, the isolationists maintain that America just came out of World War I, and we shouldn’t needlessly sacrifice our men in “Europe’s war”.

            The logic behind both sides is obviously still alive and well. Ideally, we could find a balance between protecting our own and standing up for human rights. As cheesy as it sounds, I consider myself a citizen of the world rather than an American citizen. It is completely and totally arbitrary that I was born here; to pretend that I’m somehow inherently better or more entitled than citizens of other nations is silly and mean. Some might even say that line of thinking places you in a basket of deplorables. It’s one thing to be proud of your country; it’s another to remain blind to the fact that others don’t necessarily have that privilege, through no fault of their own.

            Roth does an excellent job of illustrating how the us vs. them mentality has very real consequences. His story is steeped in historical accuracy, and it is inspired by his experiences as a Jew growing up in 1940’s New Jersey. In his imagined world, Charles Lindbergh is nominated to office in 1940 in lieu of FDR. Lindbergh was an actual person, propelled to fame as an accomplished aviator, who expressed Anti-Semitic sentiments. In the novel, he is portrayed as an openly bigoted candidate who publicly denounces the Jewish population and gets away with it (these parallels are too easy, really). Once in office, he initiates a series of reforms that so gradually marginalizes the American Jewish population, it’s almost imperceptible to those not paying attention. For example, Homestead 42 is a government-sanctioned program that moves Jewish employees of specific corporations into other parts of the country. On paper, it claims to encourage assimilation and American unity. In reality, the redistribution effectively dismantles their electoral strength and strips them of communal support. Hindsight is 20/20, and at the time, most of America bought into the propaganda that carefully packaged the program as a *good opportunity* for Jewish families. When said families were like um, nay, this is a very bad thing, and I happen to like where I currently live, the rest of America viewed them as ungrateful/whiny, and reverted to any and all available Jewish stereotypes.

            Plot-wise, I am very into this. I’m not a huge historical fiction girl, but this is a great blend of semi-autobiographical elements + horrific historical facts + inventive details that are realistic enough to make you uncomfortable. In terms of writing style, Roth strikes an interesting cord by juxtaposing the narrator’s age with the narrator’s voice. Roth speaks in the past tense, recalling his childhood upbringing (and re-envisioning it). He is eloquent AF, which is a bit jarring considering the events are happening to a young boy. Roth carefully mixes a mature, retrospective intelligence with the youthful innocence of his main character at the time. The story isn’t told in childlike words, like in Room; it’s told complexly—with big words—without feeling overly contrived. 

            All of these things sound good…is there any bad? My biggest complaint is that it ends prematurely. I want more closure, and from a creative standpoint, I feel like he leaves several intriguing narrative threads on the table. The book is relatively long (400 pages), and the fact that I wasn’t ready for it to be over is indicative that he could have teased the story further and ended with more finality. Fortunately, what is there is thought provoking enough to sustain me. What happens when a corrupt/biased media dominates public perception? How can something as evil as genocide take root? What are the dangers of neglecting underrepresented populations? I’m a fan of Roth’s ability to transform history and maintain relevancy, and I’ll dock one-hump for his fizzled-out ending. Thus, The Plot Against America receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Roth, Philip. The Plot Against America. New York: Vintage International, 2004. Print.

A Room with a View

            Girl meets boy. Girl denies feelings for said boy. Girl meets other boy. Girl forces feelings for other boy for the sake of propriety. First boy is up in arms about it all, because romance is not dead. This is the narrative of E.M. Forster’s 1908 novel, A Room with a View*. “Girl” is Lucy Honeychurch (no joke)—a young woman struggling to control her own destiny in early 20^th century England. Talk about finding love in a hopeless place.

            Lucy’s ambiguous, slow-forming desire for “more” is a marvel given her insufferable peers/family members. Her cousin once informed her, “It was not that ladies were inferior to men; it was that they were different. Their mission was to inspire others to achievement rather than to achieve themselves. Indirectly, by means of tact and a spotless name, a lady could accomplish much” (Forster, 31). I can imagine a woman telling her significant other, “It’s not you—it’s me and my failure to inspire you to get off your ass.”

            We’ve heard these kinds of stories before. Edna Pontellier in The Awakening also shows us a woman whose societal expectations restrain her ability to seek passion and joy. She too finds repose in music and nature—because these are the few realms where she can run relatively wild without compromising her honor (this predates Girls Gone Wild). Lucy finds a much happier ending than Edna, which morbidly may be why I prefer Edna’s tale. We see Lucy start to think critically about her situation—the feminist wheels are turning—but she ultimately settles for a life that is the lesser of two inequality evils. Edna blows the whole scam wide open. If you’re looking for a milder take on the subject, definitely opt for A Room with a View. I think it’s worth noting that E.M. Forster was male; he might trend towards optimism in comparison with Kate Chopin’s literal experiences with the harsh reality of oppressed womanhood. Of course, I do appreciate the male perspective on the issue, which is why Tom Robbins is one of my favorites. 

            Forster’s story might have left me wanting, but his words definitely weren’t of the weak variety. Sometimes, I’m in the mood to read some old school English. The pace is soothing, the witty phrases belong to a kind of intellectual rareness that no longer exists in contemporary literature, and the characters react to drama in ways that are refreshingly relatable. I also enjoy unintentionally funny phrases like “we will incommode you no longer” (Forster, 19). His dialogue was especially striking—there were times when he reminded me of Salinger, with his unremitting yet interesting back and forth banter.

            I’m a sucker for a plot where the protagonist breaks out of his/her bubble and undergoes a kind of mind-expanding event. Throw in hot literary devices (some subtle symbolism, a dash of conflict), and I’m sold. But as a coming-of-age novel, it is slightly insufficient. Lucy was on the precipice of some serious self-actualization, and I wish we could have seen more of her dive. Thus, A Room with a View receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Forster, E.M. A Room with a View. New York: Dover Publications, 1908. Print.