Category: reading

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New media, old media, and the public interest

Just as I’ve finished my post about the likely sad demise of the Bay State Banner here in Boston, something has erupted that’s essentially a food fight between old and new media. Long story short, Ted Diadiun, of the Cleveland Plain Dealer, reacted to a blogger reacting to a Plain Dealer column by calling bloggers, “a bunch of pipsqueaks out there talking about what the real journalists do.” Predictably, the comment ignited blazing online reaction and won another embattled newspaper no new friends.

Here’s my take, for what it’s worth. Yes, there are plenty of self-serving bloggers with no idea what journalistic ethics are. Or rules of grammar, for that matter. Hacks exist in every field. If you count on the wisdom of the marketplace, you figure–some evidence to the contrary–that the cream will rise to the top and the sludge will eventually sink without a trace.

Meanwhile there are bloggers who are, like me, former print journalists who did not suddenly lose their professional standards when their newspapers downsized out from under them. And there are bloggers (maybe we should dignify them with the name online journalists) who are serious about finding and reporting news in this new forum.

Bottom line is a sense of responsibility to the public. A hissy fit, whether thrown by a blogger or a print journalist may make for fun reading, but it is of no use to readers of anything. Just looks like a bunch of pipsqueaks saying, “the public be damned.”

Meanwhile, consider switching from reading news to reading poetry:

It is difficult
to get the news from poems,
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.
William Carlos Williams

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Another one bites the dust?

Here in Boston another newspaper voice seems about to go silent. Right now the Bay State Banner has just “suspended” publication, but unless a savior is found soon, that suspension will be permanent. The Banner has, since 1965, been a voice for Boston’s black community, which has often been city marginalized in the city’s newspapers and broadcast media.

The Banner spoke to a community and community is one more thing lost, or at least irreparably altered, with the death of a paper. Picture the morning commute with a train full of newspaper readers, as opposed to a train filled with people glued to their Blackberrys (Blackberries? Sure wish my blog had a copy editor.) One is a communal experience, while the other is solitary. The internet’s paradox is that while we’re connected, we’re also detached. What’s the answer? If we’re linked to a thousand different news sources, isn’t that a good and healthy thing? But then we’re missing what we have in common when we’re all reading and listening to just a few outlets.

The internet gives us immediacy. On Friday night when Sarah Palin gave her less-than-articulate resignation speech, who would have thought for an instant of waiting for the next day’s paper to find out about it? And the protests around the Iranian election results, beamed around the world by bloggers and anyone with a cell phone camera make an indisputable case for the online news. Who would want to be without that?

But newspapers give us depth. I recently saw an HBO documentary called, “Shouting Fire: Stories from the Edge of Free Speech.” One segment concerned the publication of the so-called Pentagon Papers, the documentation of the U.S.’s deeply flawed and manipulated conduct of the Vietnam War. I was reminded again of that with yesterday’s astoundingly worded New York Times headline about the death of Robert McNamara, “Architect of a Futile War.” The credentialed reporting, the extended following of a story, the publication of lengthy documents, even the publication of important stories on non-sexy topics–all things newspapers have done year after year, all things that online news sources have yet to prove themselves in, all vital to keeping us informed. No one imagines that newspapers will–or even should–continue unchanged and new media has a long way to go before it’s an adequate replacement.

I’m thinking that each of us has a role to play in how this story unfolds. Every time we choose to read a paper or not and every time we choose which online news sources we read, we are affecting it. And, in case we’re tempted to avoid the whole question, we need to remember that nothing of consequence rides on the answer but democracy, which requires a well-informed citizenry to function.

We live in interesting times. Stay tuned for breaking news.

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In praise of slow

I am reading “The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.” It’s a big, fat, wonderful book, but it’s not a page turner. That is, I don’t feel I want to hurry through it. It feels more like a leisurely read that unfolds in an unhurried way. And it’s making me realize how satisfying slow can be.

We get so used to thinking that fast is good and faster is better, to multitasking, to doing it all. But I’d like to make a case for doing one thing at a time. Just one. Just one simple thing without distraction. Without the hum at the edge, without the static telling you to move on, hurry, don’t miss anything–not the news that never stops coming, not the music that is constant background, not the everything that is pulling at us. Without the shallow breathing and the tongue tight on the roof of your mouth.

Here’s a radical thought–uni-tasking. Doing just one thing, like taking a big, fat, wonderful book and just reading.

So now…in this moment…take a breath…and know that of all the booksandpapersandblogsandmagazines…only a few will be read…know that you will miss much…and that all the time you have…is simply that…and you…can stop…the rush.

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New on the bookshelf: “The Other Half of Life “

Here’s a new book by Kim Ablon Whitney, “The Other Half of Life” a novel based on the tragic story of the ship the St. Louis, which left Germany in 1939 carrying Jewish refugees escaping to Cuba. It’s historical fiction, but, as always, the reality of history remains with us. When I first asked Kim to write for my blog about how this book came to be written, the Holocaust Museum had not yet been catapulted into the news and Stephen Tyrone Johns, the 39-year-old security guard who worked the museum’s front door, was still alive.

This book, like Kim’s others, is a young adult novel, but if you don’t have any young adults in your house, you can buy it for yourself. I asked Kim to talk a little about the book and this is what she said:

“Writing “The Other Half of Life” was a bit of a journey. I was conducting research for another novel set in Europe before World War II when I came upon the story of the motor ship, the St. Louis. The St. Louis left Hamburg, Germany in 1939 carrying 937 Jewish refugees escaping Hitler and bound for Cuba. Most of the passengers had immigration numbers to the U.S. and planned to wait in Cuba until they were allowed in to the U.S. Tragically, at the last moment Cuba rescinded the passengers’ landing permits and the ship was forced to return to Europe. 254 of the passengers ended up perishing in the Holocaust.

“I was immediately captivated by this heartbreaking story and also amazed I had never heard of it. I began asking family and friends whether they knew of the St. Louis and I was surprised that many hadn’t either. Only a few remembered something about a 1970’s film, “The Voyage of the Damned.” I knew that I wanted to try to bring to life this lesser known, yet important chapter of the Holocaust for younger generations.

“One of the many fascinating things about the ship was that it was a luxury liner with comfortable cabins, a cinema, and even a swimming pool. All of a sudden passengers who had been through horrible suffering were living like kings.

“My main character is a boy—the first male protagonist in my books (which probably has something to do with having two young boys). But Thomas’s voice came to me and I knew the story would be through his point-of-view. Thomas is 15 years-old and his father has been sent away to Dachau. His mother could only afford one ticket aboard the St. Louis, so Thomas is traveling alone. He is planning to meet his older half-brother in Cuba and there they will wait, hoping Thomas’s mother, and maybe his father too, will be able to join them. Thomas is heartbroken to leave his mother behind, and to leave without knowing his father’s fate.

“Aboard the ship, Thomas soon meets 14 year-old Priska, a seemingly carefree and bubbly beauty. She’s traveling with her parents and younger sister and is excited about the luxurious voyage, and starting a new life free from persecution.

“Over the course of the voyage, Thomas and Priska forge a close friendship, encounter a spy mystery, and together face the devastating news that Cuba, and ultimately the U.S. too, will not admit the passengers.

“I hope I’ve made the book accessible to both young adult and adult readers. With the number of Holocaust survivors and World War II veterans dwindling—the people who lived through these times firsthand—it’s more important than ever for the older generations to share their stories with younger generations. My biggest wish for this book is that grandparents read it along with their grandchildren and discuss it with them, and that parents read it with their children. Perhaps it will spark a conversation where the older generations can find a way to share things with the younger generations that they otherwise wouldn’t have thought to share.

“In addition to helping the generations talk about the Holocaust, I also hope my book might encourage a dialogue about immigration. The St. Louis left an indelible legacy in helping to shape our country’s humanitarian treatment of refugees, and influenced legislation such as the 1948 Displaced Persons Act and the 1980 Refugee Act. Because of the United States’ history as a safe haven for people seeking freedom from persecution, we (especially the teenagers who are the future leaders of our country) need to continue to explore the complex and controversial issue of immigration.”

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The words we choose to use

I’ve written frequently about the power of words. It’s something I feel strongly about. I’ve talked about how we teach little children to “use your words” to make themselves understood instead of fighting or biting or throwing tantrums. I’ve written about being vigilant not to let our words lose their meaning. The most mundane and silly example of that is when we ask for a “tall” coffee at Starbucks when what we really want is their smallest size. And, of course, more insidious recent examples include legislative naming rights like “Defense of Marriage Act” and “Patriot Act.”

I thought about words and their power again the other day when I read Ellen Goodman’s outstanding op-ed piece, The Myth of the Lone Shooter, about the murder of Dr. George Tiller. She makes the point that, again and again, the person supposedly acting alone to commit a appalling act like Scott Roeder’s has been aided and abetted by a universe of people shooting hateful words from the hip.

The pen, as we’ve all been taught, is mightier than the sword and the two together are an unbeatable combination, for good or ill. In the case of Roeder, the word, written and spoken, sharpened the sword, morphed its use into a righteous act, and whispered self-deception into his ear. The words came from Bill O’Reilly et al. ranting onscreen, from the Operation Rescue people shouting at women entering abortion clinics, from opportunistic public figures glomming onto an issue, and from private citizens who are kind to their dogs and buy Girl Scout cookies and generally think of themselves as good people. And from any one of us who plays fast and loose with the power of what we say.

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Blogs 101, part 2

In my last post I made a case for venturing into the world of blogs. Here, for your reading pleasure, are some of my favorites. No official list of anything, just a personal group.

First of all, two basics Slate and Huffington Post. Slate is a daily magazine and HuffPo–and, yes, that is Arianna Huffington in one more incarnation–is a collection of blogs that changes day to day depending on who’s saying what of interest.

A new favorite of mine for news is Talking Points Memo. I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t know about it until Maureen Dowd’s recent did-she-or-didn’t-she plagiarize moment. Dowd’s May 17 New York Times column included a 42-word paragraph that, except for two words, was exactly the same as a paragraph posted on May 14 on TPM. Hmmm. Anyhow, TPM has way too many updates during the day for me to keep track of, but I take a quick look and always find something to make me glad I did.

Here in Boston I like Media Nation by Dan Kennedy, who is good at covering what goes on here in the media, especially the ongoing cliff-hanger that is The Boston Globe. And Running a Hospital is a fascinating blog in which Paul Levy, the CEO of Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center talks about everything from choreography to the prevention of central line infections and includes much more of non-medical interest than you would expect.

And there are blogs about books. The Picnic Basket, written by my friend Deborah Sloan, focuses on children’s literature. The Boston Bibliophile is a lively conversation about books, favorite and non and Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast usually discusses children’s lit, but often looks at other books as well, including poetry (including Container Gardening!). And I Was Born Doing Reference Work in Sin is a wide-ranging blog in which Dustin Brookshire, a poet who lives in Atlanta, focuses on poetry and politics. This is the blog for which I wrote that “Why do I write” essay.

All good reading. And you might even be tempted to leave a comment from time to time–who knows?

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“I don’t like blogs….”

I heard someone say that recently. And since it was someone who is unfailingly current on the news, it seemed odd. It was as if he had said, “I don’t like newspapers” when what he might have meant was “I don’t like the Herald.” And, since he added that he would never want to leave a comment on a blog post, it was like saying he’d never write a letter to the editor. Okay.

I never expected to be a poster child for blogs. I am not naturally part of the blog demographic, if there is such a thing, and I can’t imagine my morning coffee without a newspaper spread out on the table in front of me. But when my Boston Globe section closed and I wasn’t ready to stop the conversations I had been having in my column, I became a blogger. And somehow in the process I also became a blog advocate.

Not that I don’t see shortcomings in blogospace: there is no end to the online equivalents of the shoddiest of print journalism. And not that I think blogs should replace newspapers: I hope with all my heart that that won’t happen. I believe that each has important strengths along with significant weaknesses and that the ideal information system for a democracy would be an energetic combination of the two.

But for us newspaper readers, getting at least some the news from blogs will take some getting used to for three reasons.

1. It doesn’t come neatly packaged. When you bring The New York Times or The Boston Globe in from the doorstep (or the flower bed) you can feel you’ve got the news in hand. It’s there–international to local, arts to science, insightful commentary to celeb gossip. Add the snatches of NPR you get in the car and you’re at least marginally current.

Blogs are a sprawling mass, sometimes herded by a few sites like The Huffington Post or Slate or The Daily Beast, but for the most part staking out their own territory. To read them, you first have to find them. And their numbers are so huge that,even as you read, you’re out of breath from the feeling that there’s no possible catching up.

2. It doesn’t come vetted. The Washington Post or the Los Angeles Times doesn’t stand behind most blogs. Not even a copy editor does. Which doesn’t mean there aren’t well-researched and well-written blogs. It just means that you, as a reader, have to be an active participant, an assesser of information as well as a consumer.

3. Blogs invite comment, just as newspapers invite letters to the editor. They can carry the sender’s name or, unlike in most papers, be published anonymously. But the comments on blogs, for better or worse, are generally unedited. Commenters can cover themselves with glory or set themselves up for ridicule with the touch of a “send” icon. Of course you can just be a reader, not a responder. But it’s precisely the possibility of communal conversation that is the medium’s unique feature.

So I understand the feeling of my friend who doesn’t like blogs and all those like him. Taking the first small step into this rowdy world can feel like throwing yourself into an ocean wave. But face it, you’re going to do this sooner or later. You know that no matter how much you protest. After all, you probably already have a tv, right? An e-mail account?

The fact is it’s not a question of one or the other. Newspapers and blogs each are better at some things. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to have both.

Watch for my next post in which I’ll offer an intro to some of the blogs I’ve come to count on for the news that, in addition to newspapers, keeps me connected to the world.

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New on the bookshelf: “Lady of the Snakes” now in paperback

Is there more time to read in the summer? A lot of things lure us outside to garden, to play tennis, to go walking, canoeing, whatever. But there are those lazy beach days, back yard days, rainy days that seem made for curling up with a good book. As if there is ever a day that wouldn’t be improved by doing that. Well, here is a book to put on your list. I loved reading it last year when it was first out. Now “Lady of the Snakes,” by Rachel Pastan, has just been reissued in paperback. It’s a terrific read, with engaging characters and the interweavings of fascinating story lines.

I asked Rachel to talk a little about the book. And, yes, the name Pastan has appeared here before. A few posts back I wrote about Rachel’s mother, Linda, who is a lovely poet and friend. You might be interested in seeing what Rachel has written about being a writer who is the daughter of a writer.

Here is what Rachel said about “Lady of the Snakes.”

“When I was expecting my first child I knew life was going to change, but after she was born I was astonished by how hard it could be to get through a day, even though I adored her. How could I make dinner, or take a shower, let alone get any writing done? When would I use my mind again, or do the work I loved?

“So I did what I always do when life surprises me: I looked around for novels that would reflect my experience back to me, to help me comprehend my life and feel less alone. To my dismay, I couldn’t find any. I decided that, when I could find some time, I would write the novel I had so much wanted to read.

“’Lady of the Snakes’ is the story of a young Russian literature professor, Jane Levitsky, with a young child. Jane is trying to find out the truth about the life and death of the wife of a famous 19th-century Russian novelist, while at the same time negotiating child care, outwitting a sly competitor, caring for a sick kid, and dealing with a Python-wearing graduate student. There’s a mystery here, and academic sleuthing, but at heart the book is about how you live when you’re torn between your passion for your work and your love for your family. Jane’s story isn’t my story, but her sense of being racked is mine.

“Many things have changed in the years since I began to write this book, and more novels featuring mothers of young children have appeared, but I’m amazed by how fraught the conversation about work and family can still be. I hope that, by telling one woman’s story, ‘Lady of the Snakes’ will offer both entertainment and solace.”

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The human voice–the Little Mermaid, Russalka, and Susan Boyle

Since it’s almost the end of National Poetry Month, I’ve heard a lot of poetry lately. I’ve been reading it, too, but it’s the hearing I’m thinking about. I’m struck by how delightful it is to listen to someone read poetry aloud. To hear the sound–the voice, the way the words work together, the breath, the rhythm.

A few weeks ago I was thinking about voice in a different context. I saw the opera “Russalka.” It’s based on a folk legend that appears in one incarnation or another across cultures. It may be best known in the version translated into the Disney movie, “The Little Mermaid.” Basic story: mermaid falls in love with human man, trades away part of herself–usually her voice–to be with him. In most versions–except Disney’s of course–things end badly. And even in the Disney version, charming as the music is, it’s pretty horrifying if you think about it. Especially if you picture theaters full of little girls getting the idea that it’s reasonable to chose silence when a handsome prince might be involved. The message is just be quiet.

So this month I was glad to listen to the enormous variety of voices raised in poetry. As a poet, I am grateful for each one of those voices and all the ones that came before, for those who laid down a long tradition and for those who add their voices in the hope of creating something of meaning and beauty.

And I was thinking about how we use our voices when someone sent me the now-famous Susan Boyle YouTube link. Amazing, yes, but one of the most amazing aspects was the reaction, from the cynical Simon and his skeptical audience to the thousands of posted comments elicited by this one woman simply standing up and using her voice.

One little note to anyone reading this who’s in Texas. Jim Photoglo, a terrific singer and songwriter whom I met at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, will be on a concert tour to Austin, Chappell Hill, and Fredericksburg. Go hear him if you can.

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Introducing the book: “Singular Intimacies: Becoming a Doctor at Bellevue”

Authors want to find readers and readers want a good book. It’s a two-way street, but there are often roadblocks, most notably right now the precarious position of newspaper book sections. One bright spot is the presence of so many excellent book review and discussion blogs. (You can see some of my favorites on my links page.) One of the things I wanted to do in my blog, which I also did in my Boston Globe column, was to help writers and readers find each other by occasionally turning this space over to an author to talk about his or her new book. It’s not an interview or a review, just an author introducing the book.

This time it’s a re-issue by Beacon Press of a book originally published by Penguin Books, “Singular Intimacies: Becoming a Doctor at Bellevue.” The author, Danielle Ofri, is a physician, writer, and editor in New York. She is editor-in-chief of the Bellevue Literary Review and author of two collections of essays about life in medicine. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, LA Times, Best American Essays, Best American Science Writing, New England Journal of Medicine, Lancet, and on National Public Radio.

In describing her book, Danielle says:

“’Singular Intimacies: Becoming a Doctor at Bellevue’ grew out of my ten years of medical school and residency. All during my medical training, these stories were percolating in my mind and soul. It was only after I took an 18-month hiatus from medicine, however, that I could finally start to write them down. More than just describing the chaos of internship, I wanted to trace the emotional development of a doctor, how the inner being grows into the white coat. The book is about the “singular intimacy” of the doctor-patient relationship, one that has little parallel in other walks of life.

Bellevue Hospital is a crazy and wonderful place to practice medicine. It’s been my medical (and literary) home for 20 years now, and I suspect they’ll be carrying me out on a stretcher. People tend to think of Bellevue as a psychiatric hospital, but it’s just a regular city hospital. I’m an internist in the medical clinic and I see patients from every country in the world, with every sort of medical condition. There is a never a dull day at Bellevue Hospital.

Medicine is so fast-paced that there’s rarely time for contemplation. Writing, by contrast is slow and deliberative; it’s often only when I write about something that I have a chance to truly consider its impact. It is the special honor of medicine to be plunged into so many people’s lives. Writing offers the gift of being able to step back and contemplate these stories and their meanings.”