Scratchpad

Rant on Badass Writing

context, history, learning, methodology, writing —

26 Mar 2009

I've just started digging into Inventing Temperature by Hasok Chang. I previously read this after my last visit to U Chicago a couple years ago, but I'm rereading it. What a fucking badass book. I love this book. Did I mention I love this book?

Putting aside the actual arguments presented in the book (which are also badass), I have to jot down some notes on the methodology and presentation. Chang starts out with historical story time about the intellectual battles and scientific difficulties involved in even figuring out how to calculate the temperature of something in the first place. What does 98° mean, and why is it 98° and not 52°? What does 98° mean in comparison to 12°? Once the story's dispatched he moves on to analysis.

And who gives a shit about the story behind it? Ah, now, this is why I love this stuff. It reminds me of Errol Morris' 'Which Came First' article on the photograph of the canonballs. I'll probably never forget this article as long as I live. I don't give a shit about canonballs. I don't give a shit about the Crimean War. I do sort of give a shit on the implications of photographers tarting up their photos for entertainment's sake. And yet, in spite of my overall disinterest about his subject, I will not actually ever forget the article because it was a damn good story. It was exciting. It made sense. And, most of all, it gave everything he was discussing a context that I could latch onto and, thus, remember. It matched with things I know from my own life, created a picture, fell into place. Whistles whistled and wheels turned and parts clicked.

And I'll be damned if I can ever find academic writing that does this. Why, Lord? Why? Civilizations have been sharing stories since the dawn of time. Some civilizations have even thrived and grown while seeing fit to favor storytelling for sense-making over traditional Western logic, and, goddammit, it's served them just fine. People relate to people, to things they recognize from their own lives, things that move them. And behind all of those reactions there are stories. So what possible sense could it make to throw that out the door completely? It works fer cryin' out loud. Chang's book works because he gives a context for his analysis. He describes what happened in a memorable way that readers can latch on to, and then when he moves to his analysis, regardless of whether or not you agree with it, you can appreciate what he's talking about and why. He creates context, in other words, so that all the readers can come in on the same page and, god forbid, draw their own conclusions and make their own evaluation of the subject.

Ach, jesus. I want to say that again, because it is filling my mouth with joy to turn those words over...sabroso. Storytelling—historical context, for the academically minded—lets readers draw their own conclusions. Given that, it has the potential to undermine one's own ability to hammer home a point, but what a fucking fantastic gift to those with whom you are conversing. What honor and respect to give them insight into how you drew your own conclusions and to give them that same opportunity.

Comments (2)

He Said, She Said

criticality, history, misinformation, quotations, sources, truth —

18 Feb 2008

I've been doing a little research project recently on the origin of a particular quotation, and I've found that most sources out there are maddeningly terrible for this particular effort. I mean, truly, truly maddening. In my crankier moments, I ask myself how we as humans can expect to solve any of our problems if we can't even remember our own history. Theoretically easy history. Like who said what when. In my more charitable moments I remind myself that identifying the reality of a situation is actually damn hard, even if it doesn't make it any less frustrating. Sigh.

To take an example, I came across an unrelated quote today and Googled it out of curiosity. I ended up with the following ridiculous hodgepodge of crap attributions:

Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.
- Doris Lessing
- Just Lessing , not Doris (and another, from 1886)
- Louisa May Alcott
- La Bruyère
- Charles Seymour
- Dorris Tessing (yes, I'm serious)
- Jean Toomer

Doris Lessing is the most popular choice, but the quote was attributed to la Bruyère in a publication printed before Doris Lessing was even born. That, of course, doesn't say anything about the accuracy of the la Bruyère attribution - around the same time period, the quote was attributed to a Lessing, just not the Lessing. Basically, in this entire list, the only three possibilities that fit the time frame of the earliest quote I found are "Lessing," Alcott, and la Bruyère. "Lessing" could apply to Gotthold Lessing, Karl Lessing, or Otto Lessing, but I'm putting my money on Gotthold, based on the subject of most of his work. In an irony of ironies, the quote is attributed to Doris in a book right next to other quotes attributed to Gotthold.

And people ask why I question everything. An apt quote, indeed.

Comments (3)

Nostalgia gets the better of me

history, internet, reminiscence, urban exploration —

17 Oct 2007

Perhaps it's because I've just moved back to New York, where I haven't lived since the heady days of college, perhaps it's the miscreants I hang out with or spend time reading online, or perhaps it's the tantalizing sites and tunnels and buildings I've been passing since returning, but something today stirred a long forgotten memory of the time when I got deeply involved in urban exploration.

Perhaps it was the photo essay of the Arroyo Seco Dam that started it, but as I dug through the detritus of this hobby on the Internet, I started unearthing old archaeological memories, some still lingering with the tiniest shreds of neglect that the internet seems to foster. Forgotten websites; still remaining links and references to my own first site which was dedicated to the pursuit (and is now easily 7 years defunct); photos from collaborators whom I corresponded with daily, even as I never met them, but who are still going strong; memorials to others who have since passed away; books written by others still. Names I'd forgotten - Petr, Vlad, Ninj, or Julia - have been swimming back into my consciousness.

I don't know that this nostalgia is necessarily anything but - I don't fancy getting found dirty in a drain in Queens and having to explain myself in a post-terrorist court. And I suspect I get the same thrill of exploration now from books, networks, and ideas that I'd never, until now, considered as subjects that could actually be physically explored as much as they could be intellectually plumbed. But, even so, every day on my way home from work it's everything I can do not to hop off the train at Mount Vernon East and poke my head into the empty holes on the castle-like object under the train bridge.

Comments (0)

The More Things Change: Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of the Intelligentsia

book, cognition, culture wars, history, the more things change —

30 Jul 2007

One of my greatest pet peeves is when people come out with statements like, "Harkening back to a more innocent and happier time" (which I just read about 10 minutes ago as a statement describing the vibrancy of swing, which would have been a favorite during the innocent and happy Great Depression, for fuck's sake). Likewise, "Back in my day, [fill in the blank]" or, my personal favorite, "People were just so different then."

Why should this rub me the wrong way, even the most theoretically educated people ask me? Liberals. Conservatives. The religious. The not-so-religious. Men. Women. Poor people. Rich people. I hear this from all sides, albeit on different topics. Perhaps some grow wistful thinking of the glory days of the Victorian era, or others misty eyed thinking of their days hitchhiking cross country, or perhaps back to when everyone still said "Ma'am" and "Sir."

My complaint, though, is that these anecdotes or observations do not describe differences in people or attitudes, they describe differences only in customs. In other words, they don't describe some fundamental difference about the things we believe or desire - something fundamental about human nature itself - they only describe differences in the particulars of dress, actions, or behaviors. In time, nations might change who they hate or why they hate them, but it doesn't stop them from creating enemies of someone. Failing to see this strikes me as simultaneously failing to understand both history and human nature. And, needless to say, if we are to accept the maxim that understanding history allows us to make an attempt at not repeating it, the above attitude suggests to me that we're pretty much doomed to fail.

I've been especially reminded of this lately reading the fairly intriguing Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. Written originally in 1841 (yes, that's right, note it again - 1841), it details frauds, fads, and fashions that have gripped entire nations. It makes it quite clear that we keep falling for the same tricks over and over (and over and over), both in the text itself and for the reader who troubles him or herself to draw parallels to modern events that bear resemblance.

But what drew my attention even more than that was the way the author condescendingly talks about the buffoons who could possibly, possibly fall for such obvious nonsense. The disdain just drips off the pages. Without having the book in front of me, one example in particular springs to mind, in which he's deriding the common man for the ease with which he picks up and then drops various fads, and just how easily entertained he is by drek. But, the author decides, in a moment of charity, I suppose these poor, stupid souls must find something to make their dreary existence tolerable, so perhaps we should allow them their silly enjoyments (even though we, as educated men, can clearly appreciate how foolish such things are - aren't we grand?).

How many times have I heard this argument from the self-appointed intelligentsia, of which I sometimes hate to admit I am probably a member of, when discussing, say, Hollywood movies or television? Popular music? Bestsellers? Seriously - it kills me that we're still stuck in 1841 (or, realistically, 5000BC) in terms of how we interact with other people.

Perhaps the secret to all of this is that I should stop caring that we're doomed to fail, and just accept the world as it is. Perhaps that, after all, is the only way change will come to pass.

Comments (0)