What does one read in times such as these?
When the inevitable climate-change-trump-brexit-Kashmir-Amazon-fires-Hong-Kong-protests-refugee-crisis-Ebola-Yemen-war-end-of-the-world scenario resolves itself I won't have to concern myself with such silly questions on the account of being dead. Meanwhile however, I am facing a dilemma. My friend N--- is creating an app to help people discover and keep track of their reading and I was recruited to test the product. But before I can begin, the app demands a list of 15 books I'm interested in as a tribute to feed the recommendations engine. This brings me to the question up top: what does one read in times such as these?
The universal pick-me up in P.G.Wodehouse comes to mind, but his books always struck me as a reading equivalent of an aperitif - the thing you read before getting stuck into the main course. Moreover, reading about humorous follies of idle aristocrats is not quite what these turbulent times call for. Escapism is good and welcomed but to give into it so completely is to step on the heels of cowardice.
Steven Pinker's The Language Instinct has been languishing in the 'to be read' pile for a better half of the past year and it just may be time to tackle it. Do not take it the wrong way, I like Pinker and I love language. What puts me off is the size of the damn thing. Its 500 pages prove that Pinker can teach me a lot about language. They also prove that he can't teach me how to use it succinctly. Not to mention that the hefty volume props up the neighbouring 'read' stack and preserves it's structural integrity. Best to leave it where it is then.
There's Shakespeare of course. But I can't help but feel that in reading Shakespeare I'm consistently at odds with the language. Instead of being the thing that lets me in, it is the very thing that keeps me out. And I'm not in a mood for tandem dictionary reading anyways. History won't do either. From Mytilenean debate, to the fall of Rome, and end of the Enlightenment, the parallels are all too obvious and writ too large. You can't hide from the present in history books.
And so it goes down the stack. In the end, I settle on Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was recommended by H--- and a tender inscription inside reads 'This book breaks my heart and pieces it back together. I hope it does the same to yours'. And maybe that's all we need in the end. To break things down and put them back together.