Why I don’t watch the news (and why this journalist hates it)

I can’t remember the last time I watched televised news; it was around 2008, I believe. If I hadn’t stopped by the time I read Amusing Ourselves to Death, that would have been its death knell. The video in sum:

  1. The news’ focus on spectacular events — catastrophes, crimes, etc — creates for the regular viewer a distorted view of the world, one that is far more dangerous than it actually is.
  2. News is too “fun”: the drive to keep eyes constantly locked on it leads to sensational programming rather than serious, sober consideration. Because of the entertainment incentive, the news isn’t actually educational: it’s a giant gossip fast.
  3. The news tricks you into feeling informed. The constant barrage of psuedo-information prompts people to mentally check out. Watching people argue is not informative. You don’t leave news debates more informed; you leave it more charged in your own prior convictions.

For my own part, I try to stay informed through reputable print services like The Economist. If this journalist’s perspective resonates with some of your own doubts, check out Postman.

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War Lord


War Lord
© 2020 Bernard Cornwell
352 pages

As a boy, Uhtred saw his father and brother slain by an invading enemy, an enemy who took his home from him. Unwilling to turn and run, the boy Uhtred attacked these ferocious warlords from the sea on his own, and amused by his audacity, they adopted him as their own. A Saxon prince raised by the Norse, Uhtred has always struggled with loyalties, forever balancing them and choosing whatever course took him closer to reclaiming his family home. Now, having retaken his fortress by the sea, Uhtred must defend it one last time. The kings of Britain are circling one another for war, and Bebbanburg is in the middle. War Lord offers a satisfying finale to the Saxon Chronicles series, culminating in one of the most impactful batttles in British history — though one few have ever heard of. (Google “Brunanburh” if you wish, but it may spoil part of the novel’s endgame for you.)

Uhtred of Bebbanburg has served the king of England most of his life, however unwillingly; he was with Alfred when England was only a dream, and that great king was a deposed royal hiding from the Norse in the marshlands. He protected Alfred and helped him forge a kingdom, and Uhtred raised his heir Aethelstan to become a powerful force in his own right. But Aethelstan isn’t satisfied with being king of England: he regards himself as King of All Britain, and is embarrassed to owe so much to an old pagan who has little regard for pompous churchmen and the useless, vain courtiers who surround Aethelstan. Rumors float of a northern alliance between the Scots, the Norse factions, and a potentially rebellious Northumbria, and Uhtred is caught between ambitious predators who want to use and discard him. Uhtred is an old man, valuable to them only as far as his men and castle go. Old and weary he may be, Uhtred still has his wiles — and playing king against king, he will forge his own path to keep Bebbanburg free.

Previous novels in the series have had more plot twists and more pitched battles, but in War Lord the stakes are as high as they get: not only do three kings in Britain want Bebbanburg for themselves, to assist in the inevitable epic battle between the northern alliance and Wessex/England, but even those who Uhtred has trusted previously are willing to betray him to get it — and this being the final novel, there’s really no telling what Uhtred’s fate might be. Will he die in battle, making a heroic sacrifice? Will he fall in the gates of his castle, defiant to the last, wielding his bloody sword Serpent-Breath? Or will he perish alone, betrayed and in enemy hands like Ragnar Lothbrok? I just didn’t know what to expect, either from that or from the other characters in the novel: by all rights Aethelstan should regard Uhtred with fililal affection, but he’s blinded by his own arrogance and fear of the Scots.

This being the thirteenth book in this series, there’s little I can say about Cornwell’s style that I’ve not said already: he is consistent in his strengths. Uhtred is still a lovable old grump with a mean backhand, and while he’s lost his strength he still has his wits — both in conversation and in combat — and those are well on display here. Cornwell’s gift for description that sucks the reader in, and his flair for dramatic oratory, used so well with Vikings as the subject, is present as well. I anticipated how the final battle would go, possibly because I’ve been reading Uhtred for ten years, but that didn’t make it any less engaging to read about.

Fare thee well, Uhtred; it’s been a great ride. I’ll be posting a series index soon after this for anyone who is interested in reading more about the series.

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Suspicious Minds

Suspicious Minds: Why We Believe Conspiracy Theories
304 pages
© 2015 Rob Brotherton

We’re caught in a trap, and we can’t walk out*. Our brains orient us towards belief. No sex, no political leaning, no cultural demographic has a monopoly on conspiracy thinking — and while that can be either comforting or disturbing, depending on what implications we dwell on, it has to make a fella wonder: why? Why do we connect dots with lines that aren’t there, indue other people’s actions with purpose drawn straight from our heads, and crave above all some grand narrative that makes a tidy story out of our messy universe? The answer, Rob Brotherton argues, lies in our brain’s heavy reliance on mental shortcuts and biases. Conspiracism is the lens through which we see the world; the trick is that we all have slightly different prescriptions.

Brotherton opens by analyzing what makes a conspiracy theory different from any other explanation, reviewing pertinent characteristics of conspiratorial thinking. Brotherton holds there are six distinctive aspects of a conspiracy theory, and concludes: “The’prototypical conspiracy theory is an unanswered question; it assumes nothing is at it seems; it portrays the conspirators as preternaturally competent; and as unusually evil; it is founded on anomaly hunting; and it is ultimately irrefutable.” Interestingly, people who believe in one conspiracy theory are more likely to believe in others, and theories often interconnect to create ever-larger schemes, until eventually one’s wall is covered with pictures and documents with red yarn asserting connections between them.

Although Brotherton argues that we’re all born conspirators, conspiratorial thinking is more likely to dominate individuals who are in isolated, stressed conditions. The less materially comfortable and more socially isolated a person, the more likely they are to believe that things are set against them. When our sense of control is threatened, we are more likely to be paranoid. Brotherton suggests that dwelling on conspiracy theories is something of a comfort mechanism, ’empowering’ the theorist by making them believe they’re seeing through the lies, and explaining their disadvantages by blaming them on someone else. Stepping back from the specific subject at hand and thinking more generally — drawing on biology — the connection between comfort and paranoia makes perfect sense. An apex predator with no competition and plenty of food has no reason to be wary, but a stressed mouse at the bottom of the chain does. One is far more skittish than the other, more likely to interpret threats when there are none: it pays to be paranoid when you’re a mouse. While humans regard ourselves as being at the top of the heap these days, our ancestors lived in a far more dangerous world, filled with predators who were only happy to make a meal out of muscly bipeds.

Throughout the book, Brotherton reviews various other aspects of human cognition that make conspiracies easy to invent and latch on to. We’re a story-telling species whose brains are constantly involved in constructing the reality we live in — whose brains have been tailored by the stress of ages to look for and act on patterns immediately. Any connections are meaningful by default, unless we actively have a reason for doubting them, and that means we can interpret mere motive as evidence of wrongdoing. Other biases are at work: when something dramatic happens, like a presidential assassination that changes the world, we expect that drama to have been effected by an elaborate conspiracy with long-term goals, not a lone crank with a rifle. (Nearly 80% of Americans believe the JFK assassination involved more conspirators than Oswald.) We are not systematic, logical thinkers by default: without training, we look for evidence that supports a positive assertion, not evidence that can falsify something we already suspect — and we tend to interpret new information in the light of what we already believe. Brotherton also believes that the overwhelming complexity of the world, and frustrating loss of intellectual autonomy because of that, lures people into conspiracy theories: they offer the satisfaction of comprehensive knowledge with far less work: there’s just enough winnowing-out of the conspiracy’s secrets to satisfy the intellectually curious to make it fun.

Though thinking about thinking has its challenges, the influence of conspiracy theories on contemporary politics across the spectrum makes them important to understand. We’re all complicit in contributing to them, and a book like this is invaluable it not only understanding why sensible people can sometimes believe extraordinarily odd things, but to check ourselves from time to time.

* This book has been on my TBR list for three years, and every time I thought of it, I’d have Elvis in my head for the rest of the day. I sincerely hope my offering of that intro sentence appeases the gods and lets me escape the ear-worm of “Suspicious Minds“.

Related:
The Skeptic’s Guide to the Universe, Steven Novella et. al
The Believing Brain: How we Construct Beliefs and Reinforce Them as Truths, Michael Shermer

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Scaling Mount Doom: November 2020

After three months of ruthlessly driving the enemy before me, my advance on the Pile of Doom has er…not been so advance-y. Here is hoping that I have not met my Marne.

TBR Books Read in November:
Defeat in the West, Milton Shulman
The Afghan Campaign, Steven Pressfield

TBR Scheduled for December
The Ends of the Earth: The Polar Regions of the World, Isaac Asimov
Silent Night: The Story of the World War I Christmas Truce, Stanley Weintraub

Reward Books Purchased:
In Search of Zarathustra: Across Iran and Central Asia to find the World’s First Prophet, Paul Kriawazek, This is one I’ve debated buying for years… I don’t think it has enough content to satisfy me, but I at least want to give it a shot.
The World-Ending Fire: The Essential Wendell Berry, ed. Paul Kingsnorth.

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Monday musings: games, books, and hikes

Reading has slowed down as of late, between Thanksgiving, weekend hikes, and another round of computer upgrades. I’m now running on a SSD, and was able to resolve a power issue that prevented me from playing PC Building Simulator or Civilization 6. I also have a little drawer in my computer to use to hold flash drives now! In book news, regular reading was paused for some new library acquisitions, and I’m almost done planning my Classics Club Strikes Back bookist; I only need 1 more to complete the set of fifty, and I’m trying to decide between a few contenders. This one is less ambitious but more fun, with a lot of American and Southern lit, and a few SF reads. Next year’s science reading is already planned out, with no shortage of possibilities. Coming up this week: the last of the Saxon Chronicles, possibly something Adventy, and who knows?

Cahaba River Wildlife Refuge. I visited here in May to see the Cahaba lilies bloom; it’s rather different today!
You can see where some of the lilie stands were in this shot. They’ll be back in May…and so will I.
The view from atop a waterfall in Shelby County. Accessible from County Rd 22, but you have to know where you’re going as there’s no official trail here, just a known path through former logging roads and then an unmarked path through the woods.
A machine in the garden kind of image. This was on my first trip to the falls, when I’d found the path to the top but hadn’t found how to get to the bottom yet.

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Ready Player Two: Spoiler Free

Ready Player Two
© Ernest Cline
384 pages


Ready Player One remains one of my favorite novels, ever; for me it is the Starburst jellybean of books, a perfect sweet spot between geekery and pop culture. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Ready Player Two, and glad I am that I work in a library, a position that meant I began reading it before it was officially available in stores. I will do my utmost to deliver a review without spoilers; suffice it to say that RPT is a sequel in the same way that The Force Awakens is a sequel; it’s a flashier story with a very similar plot to the original, and one sometimes more interested in proving its authors hipness than offering the reader a good story. I ended up enjoying it, but 2/3rds through when I began considering what kind of review I’d do, I was about to make a comparison to Star Wars and The Star Wars Holiday Special.

Ready Player Two opens a week after the conclusion of RPO, when Wade discovers that James Halliday, creator of the digital world in which most of society lives and works, had hidden away another piece of revolutionary technology. Halliday urges Wade to be cautious and to consider Very Carefully if he wants to share it with the world: Wade, being a teenager advised by other teenagers, immediately starts to play with it and make it public, with dramatic results. Wade thereby unwittingly triggers both a second Epic Fetch Quest and a new enemy. Although Wade/Parzival would seem to have nothing left to gain by pursing another round of trivia memorization and monster battles (He already has complete control of the Oasis and All of the Money), the new enemy ensures that he does: nothing less is at stake than the lives of his friends and the entire world.

Those who read and enjoyed Ready Player One will feel a strong sense of deja vu as characters once again start prowling around various games and simulations inspired by the programmers’ obsessions, arguing with one another over fine details as geeks are wont to do. Ready Player Two draws on far more pop culture than tech geekery, with varying results; I found some of them absolutely tedious to read about, and some far more interesting. (Featuring prominently: the John Hughes cinematic universe, Prince, and Lord of the Rings). Until the end, frankly, I was largely disappointed in the book: the winsome combination of Ready Player One‘s attractions was off, or just not as magic as it was the first time around, and some of the characters did things without reason, or were being used for Cline’s preachiness to obnoxious effect — particularly Aech, who is That Friend at college who won’t shut up about their pet issue. In the end, however, Cline introduced several elements that mostly made the reading worth it. I don’t know that I’d re-read RPT, but it may add to future re-reads of the original.

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Too Much Magic: Same arguments, different cover

Too Much Magic: Wishful Thinking, Technology, and the Fate of the Nation
© 2012 Jim Kunstler
336 pages

Twelve years ago, at the urging of my sociology professor, I attended a lecture on Peak Oil and the Future of Suburbia, by a man I realized I’d been sitting very near to at lunch. Jim Kunstler gave me a lot of food for thought that night, though a friend of mine and I agreed that he sounded a bit like a crank. He’s…particularly wound up in Too Much Magic, which rehashes much of what he’s written about before, and adds on some rants that connect, generally, to this volume’s specific grievance: a tech-religion of wishful thinking, in which all of our problems can be resolved through more innovation and technology.

Re-reading my response to that lecture in 2008 makes me realize how Kunstler has a steady, reliable train of thought; occasionally a new car is added, or some new graffiti appears along the side, but it’s the same engine and basic cargo. In The Geography of Nowhere, Kunstler delivered a full broadside against the distortion of American urbanism from big cities and small towns into an endless homogeneous mass full of cheap, fake houses and box stores with a fifteen year lifecycle. He argued that this promotion of sprawl was not only socially disastrous, but financially unsustainable, relying on cheap oil and an economy driven by expansion. In The Long Emergency, he repeated that argument, and argued that peak oil was imminent and that it would combine with climate instability to destroy global civilization as we know it. In Too Much Magic, written after the housing bubble pop and subsequent recession, Kunstler reviews his previous arguments and adds to them his interpretation of the housing bubble’s boom and bust, connecting the decades of cheap credit to his critique of suburban spawl.

When I purchased this, it was with the thought that Kunstler had examined fracking, nuclear energy, and other technological solutions and was offering his review of them; instead, it’s largely an updated retread of Kunstler’s prior arguments, which this time emphasizes how often we ignore reality for our desires, wasting time and energy chasing distractions like the AI singularity. Fracking is addressed, but not nearly to the degree that it should have given Kunstler’s steady focus on peak oil; it’s a short chapter and adds no more than you might find from reading articles at his website. Other alternative energies are dispatched with the same haste. Considering how dramatically fracking has altered the energy landscape in the last ten years (turning the US to a net energy exporter), fracking bears serious consideration. How long of a window did it create for the petroleum economy, and what kind of consequences does that kind of development have for our geologic stability and water/soil health? I don’t know, but Kunstler’s quick write-off of it here was obviously well off the mark.

In short, though I find Kunstler a stimulating and entertaining author, there’s not enough genuinely new content in Too Much Magic to bother with.

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Top Ten Tuesday: Thanksgiving

This week’s TTT has a Thanksgiving theme, and it’s a freebie so we can play around with it. I’m going full-throttle stream of thought here.

  1. I’m thankful for bookish friends who aid and abet my addiction, but more importantly, who make public their musings about the books they read. In a hurried, distracted age, I value beyond counting the company of people who can pause and reflect.
  2. I’m thankful for book publishers who are craftsman, not just McDonalds for airplane novels — who publish books with thicker, rough-cut pages, and use font printing that’s rich and makes the book a genuine art piece in its own right.
  3. I’m thankful for authors who inspire me; Isaac Asimov’s boundless curiosity and ability to write a book on anything (science, literature, religion, etymology, history, poetry — you name it) makes him a role model for a generalist like myself.
  4. Authors, continued: Wendell Berry’s deep love for the natural world and his appreciation for how we find part of our purpose in its stewardship
  5. Authors, continued: Bill Kauffman. Oh, where to begin with Kauffman? His celebration of obscure novels, obscurer words, and left-behind places; his cheerful “go to hell” attitude aimed at anyone who gets too big for their britches, his ardent love for little places and the crazy, all-too-human people within them….he’s an author I’d dearly love to hang around with in a bar listening to tell stories.
  6. Authors who take me back into time, full of horses and battle-cries and schemes and high towers to take. Bernard Cornwall is the king!
  7. Authors who provoke me thinking thinking about matters otherwise hidden to me, or help me articulate otherwise ineffable feelings; men like Jim Kunstler Neil Postman, and Anthony Esolen. I may not always agree with them (sometimes I read them just to listen, not knowing my own position enough to say aye or nay) — but they’re always interesting and appreciated.
  8. Authors whose wisdom I need, like Will Durant, C.S. Lewis, Wendell Berry (again – I love WB), who redouble my appreciation for history, literature, creation, etc.
  9. Authors who can cure what ails me, like P.G. Wodehouse. He’s never failed to lift my spirits.
  10. And finally, authors like Alain de Botton who make me realize I’m not the only one who feels the way I do sometimes. The following is from A Week at the Airport.

I explained — with the excessive exposition of a man spending a lonely week at the airport — that I was looking for the sort of books in which a genial voice expresses emotions that the reader has long felt but never before really understood; those that convey the secret, everyday things that society at large prefers to leave unsaid; those that make one feel somehow less alone and strange.

Manishankar wondered if I might like a magazine instead.”

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Selections from “A Grief Observed”

A Grief Observed was not written as a book, but was published as such from four reflective notebooks that Lewis kept while reeling from the death of his wife, Joy. The collection is raw, intimate, and personal; we find Lewis a wounded man, at times both heartbroken and angry, and self-conscious about his despair and anguish. This particular Signature edition comes with an tender introduction from David Gresham, Lewis’ stepson.

“On the rebound one passes into tears and pathos. Maudlin tears. I almost prefer the moments of agony. These are at least clean and honest. But the bath of self-pity, the wallow, the loathsome sticky-sweet pleasure of indulging it — that disgusts me. And even while I’m doing it I know it leads me to misrepresent H. herself. Give that mood its head and in a few minutes I shall have substituted for the real woman a mere doll to be blubbered over.”

“One never meets just Cancer, or War, or Unhappiness (or Happiness). One only meets each hour or moment that comes. All manner of ups and downs. Many bad spots in our best times, many good ones in our worst. One never gets the total impact of what we call ‘the thing itself’. But we call it wrongly. The thing itself is simply all these ups and downs: the rest is a name or an idea.”

“The most precious gift that marriage gave me was this constant impact of something very close and intimate yet all the time unmistakably other, resistant — in a world ,real. Is all that work to be undone? Is what I shall still call H. to sink back horribly into being not much more than one of my old bachelor pipe dreams? Oh my dear, my dear, come back for one moment and drive that miserable phantom away. Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back — to be sucked back — into it?”

“Feelings, feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead.”

“All reality is iconoclastic. The earthly beloved, even in this life, incessantly triumphs over your mere idea of her. And you want her to; you want her with all her resistances, all her faults, all her unexpectedness. That is, in her foursquare and independent reality. And this, not any image or memory, is what we are to love still, after she is dead.”

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The Afghan Campaign

The Afghan Campaign: A Novel
© 2006 Steven Pressfield
368 pages

Afghanistan, 330 B.C. Alexander the Great, having toppled the Persian Empire and won eternal glory for himself and his men, now looks with hungry eyes to India. The way to those riches, however, must be forged through the unpredictable expanse of Afghanistan, and even veterans of Alexander’s campaigns will pause at the grim bloodshed waiting for them there. The Afghan Campaign by Steven Pressfield is easily the most visceral account of ancient warfare I’ve ever read, as we witness a young fool who joined the ranks purely to avoid shaming himself in front of his brothers, but who is baptized by blood again and again and becomes a man in full, whose soul is hardened by the violence yet full of love and devotion for his brothers in arms…and his horse. Written only a few years into the interminable American war in Afghanistan, its portayal of that land and the futility of trying to impose outside order on it, brims over with relevance fifteen years later — such is the stupidity (or cupidity) of the DC elite.

I first encountered Steven Pressfield via his excellent Gates of Fire, a story of Thermopylae, and found The Afghan Campaign to be of similar quality. Given its setting in antiquity, I’m not sure how kosher some of the historical facts are — I couldn’t tell you what history books say about the Afghan campaign — but Pressfield provides such a level of fine detail about the little things, like food and clothing, that I was wholly “in” the world he’d created. It’s a harrowing story, with such bloodshed and loss that by its end I felt tempted to read a Vietnam memoir for comparison. Two of the characters can feel themselves being changed by the war; they begin as naifs, hesitant to even strike other men, but once thrown into the the constant hell of Alexander’s campaigns, they change. Not all of their prewar selves is lost, but they become different — bonded to one another instead of dreams of their lost homes and sweethearts, accustomed to nothing but marching and killing, hardened by a hostile landscape filled with implacable enemies whose lust for liberty they cannot help but admire, even is it kills them.

This is stirring, sober reading. The cover speaks volumes. This is twice I’ve tried Pressfield and twice I’ve found his characters and story absolutely enveloping, so I will be continuing to explore his work.

The fact is clear, though no rookie other than Lucas owns the bowels to give it voice, that we have entered a crucible of the soul, of war’s horror, and that it will change us. It has changed us already. Where will it end? Who will we be then? Myself, I feel its weight nightlong inside my skull, as spectacles of slaughter re-present themselves with such ghastliness that I dare not even shut my eyes. “Part of me is dying,” says Lucas. “Something evil grows in its place. I don’t know what it is, but I fear and hate it. I fear and hate myself.”

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