Eating Animals

I love animals. I also love food. For most of my life, these two loves have occupied their own separate spheres in my heart. Occasionally, discord would arise: my love for animals would make me rethink my love for certain foods, and I'd resume my on-again, off-again pescatarian eating habits. But my appetite and my conscience didn't really have any serious conflicts until a couple of months ago. It was high time to get Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals off its stagnant spot on my Goodreads "currently reading" list, so I prepared myself for some somber bedtime reading and dove in.

The animal rights world has a reputation for being militant and, occasionally, outrageous. This book is not. Foer starts off as a skeptical omnivore, and his agenda is simply to sort out his own lingering qualms about eating animals. He questions customs that humankind has upheld for millennia, such as loving certain animals (dogs) while eating other, likely more intelligent ones (pigs). He also discusses how, throughout human history, our "eat with care" mentality has devolved into the horrors of factory farming. Foer's graphic descriptions of the cruelty that occurs in factory farm slaughterhouses are difficult to read. But he is genuinely interested in exploring all sides of the issue, and so he interviews a variety of individuals: a factory farmer, an independent heritage turkey farmer, a vegetarian rancher, a PETA activist, a vegan who builds "humane" slaughterhouses.

No matter what your moral philosophy is on eating animals, it's hard to argue with the environmental repercussions of our increasing demands for cheap meat. There's a reason why many environmentalists are vegan, and many vegans are environmentalists. Animal excrement from factory farming is one of the world's largest sources of greenhouse gas emissions and water pollution. Foer describes a series of "fish kills" (defined as "incidents where the entire fish population in a given area is killed at once") over a recent three-year period. He writes: "In these documented kills alone, thirteen million fish were literally poisoned by shit -- if set head to tail fin, these victims would stretch the length of the entire Pacific coast from Seattle to the Mexican border." Holy crap. Given that the health of our oceans is a barometer of the health of our planet, the impact of factory farming on aquatic ecosystems is alarming. Foer reflects, "Just how destructive does a culinary preference have to be before we decide to eat something else?"

Sometimes, breaking down how we talk about something breaks down how we think about something. Using this postmodern idea, Foer challenges one common response to going veggie: you're being overly sentimental. 

Two friends are ordering lunch. One says, “I’m in the mood for a burger,” and orders it. The other says, “I’m in the mood for a burger,” but remembers that there are things more important to him than what he is in the mood for at any given moment, and orders something else. Who is the sentimentalist?

In the end, Foer concludes he cannot consume animals in good conscience. He advocates for a vegetarian diet, though part of him still seems to entertain the idea that animals can be raised and killed humanely on family farms. My own conclusions led me to adopt a vegan diet about two months ago. The reasoned arguments for abstaining from meat, such as those presented in Eating Animals and the documentary Cowspiracy, were at least as important in my decision as my emotional response to animal suffering. It feels good when reason and emotion are aligned. Changing my eating habits seems like a tiny act of resistance against a pervasive and powerful system, but also a choice that reaffirms my values three times a day. And in the current political climate, we can't give up on the idea that small, individual actions can add up to big changes.

My learning process is still ongoing. I'd love to know your thoughts on these issues, even if they're different from my own. Have you read Eating Animals, or any other books on food ethics? Should we eat animals?

Book Review: The Book Thief

There's a good chance you've read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. And if so, there's a good chance you have some strong opinions on it. If I had to lead a book club discussion on this novel, I'd ask two questions. First, is this book on your "best books ever" list, as it is for so many people? And second, should it be classified as young adult fiction?

In The Book Thief, Zusak approaches the Holocaust era from a unique angle, focusing on a civilian population in Nazi Germany. The novel's heroine is a young girl named Liesel Meminger, who is adopted and raised by a poor foster family in a fictional town outside of Munich. With the encouragement of her foster father Hans Hubermann, Liesel discovers a passion for reading and with that, a knack for stealing books from Nazi book burnings and the mayor's library. Liesel soon participates in a much bigger act of resistance when the Hubermanns agree to shelter Max Vanderburg, a young Jewish man, in their basement.

The episodic narrative contains many scenes that are beautifully imagined and told. From the beginning, Zusak fleshes out an entire village of interesting characters that drew me into the story. Also, it's hard for a book-lover not to appreciate the novel's emphasis on the power of words and stories in times of hardship. In one memorable scene, Max uses white paint to erase the pages of Mein Kampf, creating a blank book to write his own stories from his basement sanctuary. Fighting back against words of hate, Max constructs a narrative that reframes his story of persecution as one of love and friendship. 

The major element of The Book Thief that didn't work for me was its narrative style. The novel's narrator is Death, who is personified not as a scythe-wielding Grim Reaper but as a deadpan yet sympathetic observer who carries away the souls of the deceased. Death's commentary felt like a constant intrusion upon an otherwise good story. Death frequently interrupts the narrative with newsflash-style interjections (see above). I assume these were intended for dramatic effect, or sometimes comic relief, but I didn't find they contributed anything to the story. Death's use of foreshadowing was also heavy-handed; he's constantly hinting about what's going to happen and who's going to die. Even when he's just telling the story without gimmicky devices, his descriptions were sometimes contrived or awkward. For example: "Pinecones were scattered like cookies"... why cookies? 

In the US, The Book Thief is marketed as a young adult book, though I've heard that Zusak didn't write it with this genre label in mind. Most of the awards it has received are specific to the genres of young adult and children's literature. It's hard to say this without implying that young adult fiction is less well-written than adult fiction (which I don't necessarily think is true), but to me, the narrative style seems more suited to a younger audience. Although I wouldn't include The Book Thief on my "best books ever" list, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to younger readers who are just beginning to grapple with the extreme cruelty and courage that took place during this period in history.

If you've read The Book Thief, what did you think about it? Would you consider it a young adult book?

Hello 2017

Happy New Year! Here's to the start of the next chapter and whatever it may bring. This new year more than ever, I'm appreciating the "fresh start" feeling that we associate with January, and embracing the symbolic moment to reset, reflect, and figure out how to carry on from here. I've even made formal new year's resolutions, which I haven't done in a very long time!

One goal I worked on last year, but didn't fully accomplish, was to start blogging again. I made a lot of changes to this space, but then 2016 took some unexpected twists and turns, and I dropped the ball... again. For 2017, I've set three blog-related goals. Firstly, I want to read 50 books this year and share my thoughts on each one. Secondly, I want to prioritize consistency over perfection in this creative outlet. My perfectionist tendencies too often lead to a nothing-is-good-enough mentality that leaves me frustrated and defeats the purpose of writing what's genuinely on my mind, even if some ideas are still half-baked. Thirdly, I want to use this space to connect: with other people, perspectives, experiences, and ideas, and with my own interests and passions.

Let's make good things happen in 2017! Also, the photo above is Eva loving life after a recent snowfall in the Pacific Northwest. I hope you find something that brings you that level of joy this year.

Scary Books for October

The month of Halloween is a perfect time to indulge in some literary chills and thrills. The best scary stories do more than just shock and disgust; they inspire fear through the atmosphere they create, the what-ifs they pose, or the twisted psychological dynamics at play. With these criteria in mind, I've compiled a short list of scary books on my radar. The first three are ones I've read and highly recommend, and the others I've added to my ever-expanding reading list. 

The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco

This murder mystery is set during Medieval times in an Italian monastery, where two visiting monks are investigating a strange series of gruesome deaths. As part of their search, they sneak into the labyrinthine secret passageways of an old library and must crack a series of textual puzzles to solve the crime. The book is heavy on theology and philosophy, which is at times dense (I resorted to Wikipedia), but if you're willing to take on the challenge, you'll find yourself immersed in the world of the monastery and the investigations that unfold. 

The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson

Truth is sometimes stranger, and scarier, than fiction. Ronson proves this point in his journalistic investigation into the world of psychopaths. As he profiles psychopaths and the researchers who study them, the true stories he tells are terrifying (and occasionally, hilarious). I reviewed this book here. 

In the Woods by Tana French

A duo of Irish detectives, Rob Ryan and Cassie Maddox, investigate the death of a young girl found in the woods near an archaeological site. As details emerge, Ryan notices striking parallels between this case and a traumatic incident from his childhood. You may find the end emotionally distressing, but not because of the crime itself. This is the first book in the Dublin Squad series, so if you like it, there's more where it came from.

The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer

Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, this book is actually a work of creative nonfiction about the crimes, trial, and eventual execution of murderer Gary Gilmore. The 1,000-page magnum opus explores many of the people closest to Gilmore, including his ex-girlfriend and "true love" Nicole Baker. Gilmore is famous for refusing to appeal his death sentence and vocalizing his desire to be executed. Check out Joan Didion's review here. 

House of Leaves by Mark Danielewski

This tome is a cult favorite, and I'm so excited to read it that I already went out and bought a copy. Some readers say this is one of the most unsettling books they've ever read. The plot is apparently difficult to summarize, but I've gleaned that it's about a house that's bigger on the inside than it appears to be from the outside. It's considered both a work of horror and a love story. It is also an "ergodic" work, meaning that the reader has to work to construct meaning by putting together various fragments and storylines. 

Broken Monsters by Lauren Beukes

The novel begins when the Detroit police discover a gruesome body hidden in a tunnel. As lead detective Gabriella Versado becomes entrenched in the case, she fails to notice that her daughter, high school student Layla, has engaged in a risky online flirtation with a pedophile. The glowing NPR review of this book is what makes me want to read it. 

Voices in the Night by Steven Millhauser

Millhauser is a Pulitzer and Story Prize winner, and in this collection of short stories, he weaves together myths and fairy tales with small town characters caught in unsettling situations. For instance, the premise of one story, based on the myth of Narcissus, is that a man becomes obsessed with a special mirror polish that reveals a superior reflection of himself when applied to any mirror. 

Geek Love by Katherine Dunn

Again, I try to avoid books that derive their horror from shock and disgust. Reviews assure me that Geek Love doesn't just do that, but out of all the books on the list, it sounds like possibly the most shocking and disgusting of them all. It's about a family-run traveling carnival that is struggling to make a living when the parents devise a terrible idea: they will turn their family into a freak show by altering their children's genes. What ensues is sibling rivalry and the creation of a particularly disturbing cult. 

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

The Blackwood sisters and their uncle are the sole survivors of a mysterious poisoning that left the rest of their family dead. The village suspects Constance, the older sister who cooked for the family on the night they died. The novel begins:

“My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all, I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in our family is dead.”

A film adaptation of this novel is coming to theaters next year, so now's the time to read it!

Please share your scary book recommendations! Recommendations for scary movies, podcasts, etc. are also very welcome.

Book Review: Missing, Presumed

The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting longer, and the time is nigh for page-turners that will keep us from going into premature hibernation. Missing, Presumed by Sadie Steiner is one I recommend for those of you who like a dose of literary character development with your fictional tales of mystery, murder, and mayhem. 

At the start of the novel, Detective Manon Bradshaw of the Cambridgeshire police is lamenting her latest disastrous date when she receives an alert about a missing female. Edith Hind, a beautiful postgraduate student and the beloved daughter of the Royal Family's surgeon, has disappeared from her home, leaving behind her phone, keys, shoes, and coat. A broken wineglass and a trail of blood suggest that Edith was taken against her will, and that the crucial window of time to save her is closing. As the police interview Edith's family, boyfriend, and closest cohorts, secrets emerge about her complicated love life, which the tabloids quickly proliferate with little respect for anyone's privacy. When the body of a young man is found in a nearby river, connections to Edith's disappearance seem tentative but impossible to ignore.

The dogged single female detective, or dogged single female protagonist who becomes deeply invested in solving a crime, has become a popular character type in fictional mysteries (see TV series like Prime Suspect, The Fall, or Marcella). Manon occupies this role somewhat unwillingly. While she presents herself as brazenly independent, she at times feels painfully lonely; she is cynical but persistent in her attempts to find companionship. As Manon navigates two unpredictable worlds, one of crime and the other of online dating, she exposes the gulf between how we present ourselves and how we actually feel. This split between interior and exterior distresses Edith's best friend, who faces the scrutiny of the public eye into her personal affairs. It is also the reality of Miriam, Edith's mother, as her experience of grief and hopelessness isolates her from her husband and friends. When certain characters fail to reveal their interior motivations, we feel Manon's frustration.

We are not how we appear. Mysteries play upon this truth to a somewhat extreme degree. All of us are selective in how we present ourselves to others; our lives are messier than the facades we construct. In Missing, Presumed, and especially for the novel's female characters, this public/private division is both a burden and, at times, a necessity that should be honored. In a genre in which the ultimate goal is to know everything, the interior lives of others will always be, to some extent, unknowable.