ColumnConscious life, hear me roar.

When I was 19, living in Italy and then backpacking Europe, I re-entered my life back here in the States with a whole new perspective on what I would want from the future. Oh, I could envision this virgin bucket list and sitting here writing this – at this very moment – I can tell you I remember what I FELT like when I saw the future and it had very little to do with being responsible.

(Bucket List 1990): To remain forever single, forever childless, to explore jungles clad in dirty tank tops and a camera around my neck shooting images of wild eyed women who have no idea why the hell I would want to be there, write a novel alone in a cabin on a mountain, learn how to fly a Cessna, have many affairs, romances, always take coffee with lots of cream, explore existential freedom, sexual freedom, get published in the New York Times, get published in National Geographic.

(Bucket List 2000): To love my husband forever, to take my two children to all the places that inspired me, to inspire at least 10 women to succeed, to buy a cottage on a lake, buy a 1963 Ford Falcon to look cool in, drive in New York City without having an anxiety attack, go on a roller coaster again, get published in the New York Times, get published in National Geographic.

(Bucket List 2010): Breathe more, take yoga weekly, take my two children to all the places that inspired me, inspire another 10 women to succeed, get that damn cottage on a lake, get published in the New York Times, get published in National Geographic (because for shit’s sake I know enough people who work there now).

(Bucket List 2012):

I had this column all mapped out for you. I was going to be clever but truthful and write a few things here about what is REALLY on my current bucket list. But as with life, and all the twists and turns it offers us, I stumbled upon an article in the daily newspaper early this morning.

A former philosophy professor who is forever my mentor and friend had written his own column with the title “A New Kind of Clock Tells the Truth.”

“Here are three things that we all know to be true,” he writes.

“1. The past does not exist.

2. The future does not exist.

3. All that does exist is the present.”

I often tell my 92 year old neighbor when she laughs and tells me I’ll “probably outlive her,” that in this life, we cannot always be so certain. I told her just last night on her back porch that at that very moment a satellite from space could suddenly plunge from on high and crush me right in front of her. She didn’t think that was so funny and went inside.

Bucket lists? To what purpose do they serve? To add to longings and make us feel inadequate with what we do have? I have everything I need at this very moment: a comfortable chair, a cold glass of lemon water, a light breeze on my shoulders and an audience who will read this article.

My family is safe and healthy and we have traveled. I have taken flying lessons, listened to countless women’s dreams, driven in New York City, rode roller coasters, taken yoga classes and sat quietly taking deep breaths.

I disagree a bit with my professor. I say the past does exist and that it has a big part of the present. That in the grand scheme of things, these experiences are all things that have made us who we are sitting here together. We have not only checked things off the list but we are the total of them. Regardless of whether they’ve been right or wrong, we are them.

How full we should be now and ready for the falling satellites.

Image: Naomi Lbuki

Between the Lines is a weekly column by EcoSalon’s Editor-in-Chief on navigating the sometimes-sharp, sometimes-blurred lines of conscious life and culture between city and country, between inner worlds and outer.

The post Between the Lines: Rethinking the Bucket List appeared first on EcoSalon.

ColumnRead a book. Sustain your mind.

I’m torn, often and about many things, including protests in the street. Make no mistake; I do support the movement(s) and those souls who hit the pavement (hello, Occupy) to make a newer and better world. I understand and have seen the power of dissent and today, with the issue of moving forward or backward once again looming large, I know I should be out there.

Yet it’s not unreasonable to ask, “Does it matter?” The world is an absurd place of cruel whims and monstrous scope, and finally, as the great humorist George Carlin once observed, “the planet will shake us off like a bad case of fleas.” Given that the deck is by definition stacked against us (a delightful afterlife aside, if you wish), what can one really do and why, in fact, should we do anything at all? Go ahead and cue the snarky guffaws, but here’s the question: To be or not to be? It’s a good one, right?

Among other notables, Albert Camus (1913-1960) gave the query quite a go. In his Nobel Prize winning novels (along with his numerous short stories, plays and essays), the great (and oh so cool) French writer-philosopher examined authenticity and rebellion in the face of the power, the potential of the individual in an absurd and painful world, and the choices we all face about how (and if) to play the hands we’re so arbitrarily dealt. Good stuff. Serious stuff. Stuff that we would do well to revisit every once in a while as we watch the news and try to decide, “What is to be done.”

What’s special about Camus’ timeless stories is that they’re unafraid. Unafraid not only to present and confess our flaws in the context of life’s Sisyphean nature (his characters tend to be human, as opposed to traditionally heroic; some kind, some indifferent, some truly awful), but also unafraid to have us somehow march bravely on, albeit into a relentless wind of frigid and life-numbing “abstractions” (to Camus, generalizations rob the world of its humanity and nuance, and distort reality on the ground).

The three novels published during his lifetime (tragically cut short by a car accident) were The Stranger, The Plague and The Fall. Staples today in both literature and philosophy departments around the world, each has its own angle, coming at the Big Question(s) as different thought experiments staffed by particular personality types. The Stranger is the story of Meursault, an honest yet indifferent and unemotional man who finds himself accused of murder. The Plague tells us of Doctor Bernard Rieux’s work and life in Oran, a city decimated by death and cut off from the outside world. Finally, The Fall is the confession of Jean-Baptiste Clamence, a well-respected citizen whose unflinching self-reflection leads to his own demise. (More on these titles below.)

The novels could hardly be called a triptych (though on a recent read I did notice a reference in The Plague to events in The Stranger), but together they circle around a single maypole of life’s hardest facts – events are often beyond our control, and absurdity, pain and even horror are part of the human experience – and beg the question of how to behave in light of such truths. The challenges of empathy, compassion and, ultimately, action are not easily met, of course, and it is in the stutter step between thought and deed that Camus finds his – indeed, our – drama. It’s a drama I recalled when I watched Iraq War veteran Scott Olsen on television as he lay bleeding in Oakland last October, a victim of rubber bullets unleashed by police during an Occupy rally.

Today, the Left and the Right do battle to the degree where progress (or even ideology) no longer matters as much as winning. Science deniers are at war with environmentalists as the ice caps continue to melt. Totalitarianism, racism, sexism, class warfare—all continue to draw our blood just as they did in Camus’ day and throughout history before him. And worse still, all of these events are simply absorbed (if not partly orchestrated) by a corporate class so dominant that we don’t even know what the light of day might look like anymore. I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but just as Camus’ characters were challenged, the question continues to be begged: Beyond even what to do—why do anything at all?

Camus’ fiction offers us two essential lenses through which to view the problem. First, the stories somehow stir up a compassion for ourselves and our existential dilemma that has us so torn about taking action given Carlin’s irritated dog observation. (Sorry, but you knew the “ism” was coming. For the record, Camus denied being that particular “ist.”) It’s not easy to jump into action every time your head tells you to, as life is not, it turns out, abstract. (Indeed, Camus himself entered a self-imposed intellectual exile during the last years of his life when he could not bring himself to side with the anti-colonialists in his native Algeria. His mother still lived there, he explained.)

Second, and most important, Camus refused to accept the question in terms of party or politics (Camus famously broke from his friend Jean-Paul Sartre when he took issue with the Communist Party’s approach to world changing), or “winning” (a fool’s quest) or even some objective good versus evil (Camus was an atheist). Rather, he dares you to act from your best lights, for no reason that can be known aside from what’s between you and you. The answer, he wants us to consider, is to be. For its own sake.

(Re)read Camus when you can. His novels are accessible and eloquent masterpieces, presenting big ideas and brimming with allegory. And here’s the good part – they’re totally entertaining. Riveting, even. And they’re guaranteed to get you asking the Big Question.

The Stranger (1942)

The story of Meursault, a French Algerian who tells of the events in his life with an emotionless indifference to, among other notable happenings, the death of his mother, The Stranger was Camus’ first novel. The main character’s mater-of-fact narration and tone present a man functioning only with the most coldly perceived understanding of what’s going on around him. Almost completely void of feeling, his detachment leaves him an outsider, or stranger, in his community, at once free from societal rules and yet helpless as a bobbing cork, as the storyline washes him this way and that. The novel pivots around his seemingly inexcusable murder of a local man and his inability to process responsibility or defend himself against those seeking to punish him for his actions. An exploration of free will and responsibility, The Stranger is spare and quiet, allowing fundamental philosophical ideas to appear in high relief while at the same time revealing Camus’ great storytelling capabilities.

The Plague (1947)

The Algerian coastal city of Oran is occupied (as wartime France is by Nazi Germany) by bubonic plague in this tale of human resilience in the face of an obscene and powerful enemy. Under this basic yet wildly intense premise, the city becomes Camus’ laboratory for an exploration of human behavior in the framework of life as possessed by random and cruel forces, requiring resistance in any possible form. The story revolves around Dr. Bernard Rieux, who helps lead the fight against the plague for no reason other than it’s his job to reduce human suffering. As abstract forces ranging from bureaucracy to religion saddle others around him, Rieux surfaces as driven by his own personal compact, unencumbered in his efforts to do the next right thing. A rich and gripping read, many consider The Plague to be Camus’ greatest masterwork.

The Fall (1956)

Camus’ last novel to be published during his lifetime (two others were published after his death), The Fall is the confession of self-appointed “judge-penitent” Jean-Baptiste Clamence. He tells his story to a stranger in a bar in post-war Amsterdam, beginning with his background as a successful and honorable defense lawyer (working on behalf of widows and orphans) in Paris. Through a series of random events, Clamence is exposed to his own hypocrisy and thus initiates what becomes a purposeful self-undoing as he attempts to bring his world into alignment with his own deep and human flaws. The once-great man pulls at the string of his inner failings to surely unravel his world and take charge of his own expulsion from his false Eden. As we listen in astonishment, we are confronted with the price of hubris and challenged by the weight of personal responsibility in a dark world where innocence is lost and rules are nonexistent.

Editor’s note: News & Culture contributor Scott Adelson’s biweekly column, InPRINT, reviews and discusses books new and old, as well as examines issues in publishing.

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Top image: Mitmensch0812

The post InPRINT: Albert Camus and the Biggest Question of All appeared first on EcoSalon.

ColumnRead a book. Sustain your mind.

From a book lover’s perspective, Paris is a gift that keeps on giving. The city has played host to countless writers and their stories, from the Lost Generation of the 1920s, to post-War Existentialists, all the way through to the present day, as new work set on this classic stage emerges as a matter of annual routine. Indeed, the City of Lights does more than provide a backdrop for many of these efforts, great and otherwise; when treated properly, Paris functions as a character in itself, interacting with plot and people to drive storylines and affect outcomes. In literary terms, both historically and aesthetically, Paris lives.

Last year, like any other, saw its own batch of new titles set in the great city. Of note are Paula McClain’s The Paris Wife (historical fiction answering Ernest Hemingway’s great Paris homage, A Movable Feast) and Lynn Sheene’s The Last Time I Saw Paris, both of which saw critical success. Two other recent novels – Ellis Avery’s The Last Nude and Alexander Maksik’s You Deserve Nothing – provide excellent examples of how the city’s presence can inform and bring power to a story’s moral, philosophical and political framework, as well as how the Paris “character” presents itself in two very different eras.

The Last Nude, by Ellis Avery

Arriving in Paris toward the end of the 1920s, 17-year-old Rafaela Fano is wide-eyed and willing to sacrifice her innocence to engage and survive a new life abroad. An escapee from her family’s plans, she has penchant for fashion and genius for getting by any way she can. Her practical efforts soon find her modeling for the great Art Deco painter Tamara de Lempika. They quickly become lovers and their relationship takes its place in local bohemian society, a world fast becoming jaded as its characters begin to achieve notoriety on a European stage nestled and antsy between two cataclysmic wars. From their union emerges some of the artist’s most influential work – a series of nudes that rockets de Lempika to prominence and fortune.

The Last Nude (Riverhead Books, 2012) brings us inside a forge of art and relationships, exploring the trajectories of creativity toward commoditization, and love and lust toward betrayal. The arc of survival and hope, born of the savage events of the earlier part of the century and moving in the inevitable direction of yet another grand pulse of despair, is perfectly set in the waning years of this golden age in Paris. At-once strong and fanciful, Rafaela is caught in an emotional crossfire, trying to negotiate a whirlpool of human instincts and traps as the story foreshadows a cynicism emerging alongside the brutal century. These themes aside, the story progresses firmly throughout – yes, The Last Nude is a page-turner.

You Deserve Nothing, by Alexander Maksik

Alexander Maksik’s 21st century Paris is a flurry of multiculturalism, parties and protest. Politically reactive and morally ambiguous, certitude about anything – from relationships to cultural classes – is at best difficult to grasp. It is in this world that American William Silver teaches his small cadre of sheltered, private-high-school students. Cynical children of diplomats and international jet-setters, they are enamored by every word professed by the Great Man. Struggling with his own difficult past, Silver finds refuge in the classroom, offering his young tribe everything from Romanticism to Existentialism, from Keats to Camus, as a foundation for becoming brave and effectual in a challenging modern landscape.

You Deserve Nothing (Europa Editions/Tonga Books, 2011) looks at the struggle between courage and human failings, between dreams and life’s reality on the ground. As a teacher, Silver effortlessly and arrestingly presents ideal forms and noble questions – notably the great (and some say only) choice of “to be or not be.” As a damaged person, can Silver himself face that question and emerge to lead the struggling youth around him to honor and greatness, or are his own imperfections too deep to stand up to life’s desires and ambiguities (so well-embodied by his adopted city and its moral and political flux)? In You Deserve Nothing, Maksik presents a true and deep sense of dilemma in a way that will have you looking inward, posing fundamental questions of yourself and your value systems.

Editor’s note: News & Culture contributor Scott Adelson‘s biweekly feature, InPRINT, reviews and discusses books new and old, as well as examine issues in publishing.

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Between the Lines: The Power of the Written Word

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Main image: MoonSoleil

The post InPRINT: Les Histoires de Paris & Two Novel Additions appeared first on EcoSalon.