quo.ti.di.an
people, books, and others
I have just finished reading The Book of Other People, which is a collection of short stories written by twenty-three fresh authors and edited by Zadie Smith. This made for entertaining and thought-provoking reading as I made my morning commute, and I can think of nothing more different than Tolstoy’s War and Peace, which tired me. My only complaint with the collection concerns the redundancy of the characters. After reading a couple of stories, each author took one of two approaches. The character was either eccentric, or there was a character so simplistic, so monotonous that it commented more on the general “people” and less on a specific person. Admittedly, there are some authors who chose to blend those two approaches. In all cases, however, there is the obvious theme that a “person” is never free-standing unit, but rather the product of its supporting cast.
The term “people” is used very loosely in this book, as exemplified by the presence of a giant, a puppy, and a monster, and if I were feeling contentious, I’d argue that when taken as a whole, this anthology suggests that technological and entertainment cultures reveal the beastly and monstrous nature of people. All the pieces are there. A menopausal woman who gives in to internet dating only to have her date fake his death. One man avoids discussing his failing marriage with his wife by going to the cinema. Another woman sits next to a celebrity while flying, and even though the celebrity gives her his number. Despite their connection, she is too infatuated with him as a celebrity and never brings herself to call him. The stories about non-human “people” remind us that what makes us human is the presence of emotion, which can be reconciled with our beastly characteristics. In one story, there is a giant who wants someone to love so much that he falls in love with a mountain, hoping that one day the mountain will hatch into a female giant. Another story depicts a puppy, or rather the idea of families owning a puppy, and inks two socio-economically different families and suggests that mothers have the same instinctual qualities. The only difference is that not everyone has the same means by which to raise the family. Despite its representation of the negative qualities of people, the work as a whole adopts a very optimistic view of “people.”
After reading these short stories and feeling that they simultaneously highlight the monotony of life and show the unattractive qualities of people, I have indulged in my narcissism and wondered what a short story about me would be like. I have decided that I fall mostly in the category of a monotonous person, and a story about me would have more to say about people in general than me. My days are monotonous; my weeks are repetitive. I go to work and do whatever—oftentimes trite—task is asked of me. Yesterday, an attorney told me I was a very good redactor. That means I am very good at using a ruler and black marker to cross out unneeded information on telephone records—I still believe that if you’re doing something, you should do it well. I go home, eat, go to sleep. I’d me amiss (and depressed) if I believed that my life was completely monotonous. Cooking brings a world of delicious mystery; reading introduces me to new people; and thinking allows me to find new ideas within myself.
