I Am (Not That Smart) Therefore I Read (+ Reading Schedules
Notes on "A Place of My Own", an anecdote from the shop, reading schedules, and links from around the bookish web
Hey y’all,
Before I get into this week’s post, I want to tell you about a new project my wife, Bethany, has been working on. She just launched a newsletter called Goldberry Arts, and the first few editions are up. We are very excited to share all kinds of art-related content with you moving forward. I’m really proud of what Bethany is preparing! The newsletter is totally free and you can see the first post, on illustrator Kay Nielsen, now.
I Am (Not That Smart) Therefore I Read
I have noticed an interesting trend in my reading habits of late, going back a few years now. In short: I am reading a lot of books that are about things with which I am not terribly familiar but which include some idea at their core that transforms how I see the world.
Last year, for example, I read Bryan Appleyard’s The Car, a cultural history about the evolution not just of the titular object, but of transportation writ-large and the places humans transport between and why. I am not at all a car guy. I can take care of basic tasks like changing a head light (and I can google to figure out other things), but I’m not interested in working on cars, I’ve never dreamed of collecting classic cars, and I couldn’t describe the mechanism of the internal combustion engine. But I am an enthusiast for aesthetics; for history; and for the people, places, and objects in which the two converge. So Appleyard’s book was one of my favorite reading experiences of 2022. I learned to appreciate the artistry, cultural impact, and story of an artifact so commonplace we take for granted its wonder.
I’ve also taken to reading books about music—biographies, novels, genre/era-based histories, etc.—despite having no musical skill whatsoever. In fact, I have less musical aptitude than I do car guy knowledge. But in reading about the world’s greatest musicians I find myself entering an inspiring world of creativity that is compelling precisely because of how foreign it is to me, because it is mysterious and ineffable. (I will probably write a bit about some of these books soon.)
Well, I just finished a book that covers another thing about which I am ignorant but that is also about the notion of not knowing about something. Sorry, I know that’s confusing. Let me try it this way: I just read Michael Pollan’s wonderful book, A Place of My Own: The Architecture of Daydreams, which is the story of how he built a writing shed, from the ground up, with the help of a few friends, despite not being handy at all. In other words, it’s the story of building the shed, but it’s also the story of learning how to build the shed. It’s a book about building something, but it’s also a book about discovering something.
Like Pollan, I am no carpenter. Like Pollan, I am more fascinated by the history and philosophy of architecture than the actual doing of it. Like Pollan, I have been working on cultivating a work space that is both inspiring and practical—a place that can be a “decent habitation for my thoughts.” And like Pollan, I have good friends who can make things happen. Unlike Pollan, however, I do not have to build mine from scratch. Whereas he had to draw plans, dig a foundation, secure permits, etc., I just have to adapt a woodworker’s lair to the purposes of a studio and writing space.
Pollan is one of our country’s most prodigiously curious writers, a characteristic which in-and-of-itself makes him eminently readable. His books are never just about something; they’re about the why behind something. They’re about digging deeper. So its no surprise, then, that A Place of My Own is not just about the process for choosing the window design they did—it’s also about what windows mean. (Did you know that the enlightenment is responsible for the popularity of windows in homes and that the proliferation of glass in the twentieth century “was invested with the sort of mystical significance and magical possibility that for most of history has swirled around gold”?) And when he explains why they built the roof the way they did, he also contemplates the differences between modernist, post-modernist, and contemporary architecture.
Because it’s a book that is obsessed with both practical matters and philosophy, this is a book for the craftsman and the layman handyman, too. In fact, I might argue that it’s a book that reveals just how practical philosophy actually is.
It’s a book about being inside that cares about being outside. It’s a book about creating something that is aware that nothing comes from nothing. It’s a book about never settling, always learning, and pursuing the mystery at the heart of things.
It’s worth your time. (Click here to grab a copy)
An Anecdote from the Shop
Recently, an elderly couple came in to the shop, a little unsure of what they were looking at. It was the classic scenario: she was a bit chatty and sweet; he was a touch gruff and incredulous about our existence.
"How do I know what the books cost?,” he asked me. I explained that the new books are list price for the most part, with the publisher’s price printed on them, and that the used books have a hand-written sticker, to differentiate them.
Then he said, “Yeah, but how much do they cost?”
A bit confused I said, “well, it varies, depending on the book.”
“Okay, so give me a range.”
“Well . . . I suppose it goes from $1 to, say, $250 right now.”
“Son,” he said, his mind a little boggled, “you won’t get no $200 for a book.” Then he walked away, searching for his wife who was browsing the dollar shelf. I heard him say to her, “that man can do what he wants, it’s his shop, but he ain’t getting no $200 for a dang book.”
She passed him in the hall, her arms loaded with a tall stack of $1 hardbacks, and said, “well sweetie you ain’t never been to college.”
He huffed and that was that.
Reading Schedules
Our next two books on the flagship show are The Netanyahus by Joshua Cohen and Pygmalion, a play by George Bernard Shaw. Tim will be back for both. Here’s the corresponding reading schedule (dates are the days the episodes will drop):
February 6: The Netanyahus: Chapters 1-4
February 13: The Netanyahus: Chapters 5-8
February 20: The Netanyahus: Chapters 9-12
February 27: The Netanyahus Q&A
March 6: Pygmalion (entire play)
March 13: Pygmalion Q&A
Our next subscriber-exclusive book is the first book in C.S. Lewis’ Ransom Trilogy, Out of the Silent Planet. Here’s the schedule for this one:
February 3: Chapters 1-7
February 17: Chapters 8-17
March 3: To the end
March 17: Q&A episode
Around the Bookish Web
The Middle Ages Were Cleaner Than We Think claims historian Eleanor Janega in the Wall Street Journal. “A longstanding myth holds that people in medieval Christian Europe didn’t bathe,” she writes. But “In fact, the Middle Ages subscribed heartily to the adage “cleanliness is next to godliness.”
In The New Yorker, Jennifer Wilson wrote about the recently published book of John LeCarre’s letters and his obsession with the notion of vocation. She writes, “The source of le Carré’s popularity might be that he understood keenly the yearning to do work that is good, in every sense, and our collective sadness that so few options exist for it.”
This essay by Jonathan McGregor on “Willa Cather’s Romanesque Modernism” is absolutely worth a look. Death Comes for the Archbishop, he writes, “testifies to the power of architecture to orient us on our human journey: buildings aren’t just physical landmarks—they’re spiritual ones as well.”
Jessica Hooten Wilson (check out her Substack here) wrote about Alessandro Manzoni’s recently translated novel, The Betrothed, a semi-forgotten medieval classic with echoes of Undset’s work. She writes: “to read a nearly 700-page novel is a commitment. Imagine the dedication needed to translate such an epic. Only a masterpiece deserves such perseverance, and Alessandro Manzoni’s 1827 Italian novel The Betrothed ranks among the greatest classics, to be shelved alongside Les Miserables, War and Peace, and Moby Dick.”
In the Atlantic, Gal Beckerman wrote an essay called “A Civil War Over Semicolons,” which is all I needed to see to want to read it. It’s about the relationship between biographer Robert Caro and his editor, Robert Gottlieb. Check it out for a fascinating look inside a very literary (and long) relationship.
That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.
So many good things in here, thank you! This reminds me that I'm really looking forward to Jessica Hooten Wilson's new book "Reading for the Love of God".
The bookshop anecdote is golden 😂