[complete list] First, for the quick and dirty reviews. I end the year on a strong note with The correspondence of Paul Celan & Ilana Shmueli. The correspondence spans the last year and a half of Celan’s life, before he took his own life at 50. Shmueli is a childhood friend to Celan, they reunited many years later, when she lived in Israel and he in Paris. They became lovers and confidants. During this year and a half, they met on three occasions, once in Jerusalem and twice in Paris. They corresponded daily, and one can not help but notice how efficient airmail is, a 3-4 day turnaround time in 1969-70). The letters are beautiful and painful and raw. She is both needy and strong and all there for him at the same time. He in sinking into depression and manages to emerge and embrace her here and there. He sends her poems and they write about poetry and his depression and together provide great insight into love, art and depression.
Best fiction books of the year are Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver, The Son by Philip Meyer, and Pow! By Ma Yan (2012 Nobel laureate in literature). All three books do a wonderful job in transporting the reader to another world, another existence, and justify a totally different moral framework. All three books made me more understanding towards the “other”. Adam Johnson’s The orphan master’s son, belongs here are well.
Notable mention, also in the fiction category, goes to Claire Messud for The Woman Upstairs.
Best non-fiction go to David McCullough’s The greater journey, Stephen Greenblatt’s The Swerve and The immortal life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. McCullough’s book on Americans in Paris between 1830-1900 was a great book to read as a backdrop for my visit in Paris. I learned so much about the state a medical training, or art and art trade, of sea voyages, of much much more. America was very backwards in many ways. Greenblatt’s The Swerve is another magic book. Concisely packed into 368 pages is the story of the recovery in the early fifteenth century of a Roman manuscript by Lucretius. And with that a history of literacy and the power of the written word, popes and anti-popes and the bloody wars between them (the Middle Ages certainly make you feel better about the 21th century), and Epicurean philosophy and More’s concept of Utopia (which was a bit lost on me).
The third book in the category is The immortal life of Henrietta Lacks, a book that was so well covered in reviews, it needs no introductions. Of course, of special interest (let’s face it, I’m not into biology) were the privacy and research practices that were taken at the time, or lack thereof, and to what extent this became a game changer. And if I were to predict, this game is about to change again.
What disappointed? First on the list is Just Kids by Patti Smith. I will not deny I read it through, but I found the writing to be rather plain. It has plenty of pace but little emotion or insight, and very little beauty. Another disappointment was Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl. This time last year is was hailed on all the book shows as one of the best of 2012. I made it to about two-thirds of the book with a growing sense of discomfort, before deciding that these are all very twisted people and that I want no part in it.
And now, for the numbers:
I read a total of 22 books this year (down from 31 last year). Of these 12 (58%) were from the library and 10 were bought. I read more print (14) than kindle (8) books. Half of the books I borrowed from NYPL (6 of 12), were kindle books. Six of the books were in translation (from German, Swedish, Chinese, Portuguese) and three were in Hebrew.
I learned of 12 of the book from book or radio reviews, six were recommended by friends, and four were picked up while browsing in bookstores.
NYPL continues to be my first choice, although I can’t control the flow, and often end up returning books unread, or not even picking them up (The Goldfinch awaited me twice). My favorite bookstore continues to be Book Culture and Amazon plays an important role as well. I also buy quite a few children’s books as gifts, and for that Bank Street Bookstore is the only place to go (and they both need website makeovers).
Next year I’ll have 3-year cumulative data and will post aggregated stats with tables, and until than, I wish us all a great year in reading.
@UWS café, one Wed. in Dec., 9am
The early hours are the hours of the regulars. The woman in the back grading papers, the other woman with a book, and the man with the newspaper. This week the mommy table is empty, school’s probably out.
The local daily parliament is in session: Four-five men in their 70’s sit and discuss politics and poetry and foreign-relations. Without a doubt retired professors. Today they are in the company of a 40th-ish looking man, a younger version of themselves. He must be a therapist or coach or social worker or wise man. Or perhaps, as my colleague C. later suggested, he was running a focus group. He was talking to them about aging. I am too far to be able to hear every word, but I hear some. The young man says: aging is about having to learn to do new things. There is a brief silence as people gather their thoughts. One of the professors, possibly the philosopher, says “Well, that depends on how you contextualize learning” and a conversation begins.
They are giving examples from their lives and attaching it to some philosophy or world view. It sounds like they are experiencing something very meaningful. They are relaxed and laughing and speak in turn.
My café-au-lait and cinnamon swirl are made to perfection. I am reading Paul Celan. This is here, the time is now.
@Downtown Chelsea-Union Square café, mid-Nov., shortly after the NYC primary elections
This place is power central. Not the cut throat Wall Street ends justify the means way, and not the power hungry of DC politics, but there is certainly a vibe here, an energy all its own. The power in fueled into positive energy by some measure of thoughtfulness or awareness or sensitivity. Or not. Sometimes it is just power.
Shortly after the NYC primary election I was sitting @ tarallucci e vino, absorbed in my book and not paying much attention to the conversations around me. Some twenty minutes later, and shift in tables. The two guys at the table to my right get up and leave, and a young man takes their table. I look up and move my stuff to make room. The young man to the right of the table that just left, is all excited and starts a conversation.
Did you hear what they were saying? He asks me, and proceeds to tell the newcomer and me, that the two both worked for the primary candidates, Quinn and de Blasio. They were both telling insider stories of their candidates, calling them drunk and abusive and rash and so on. And the whole time they are talking, I am tweeting live what they are saying, says our local host.
I am speechless on so many levels, but my first though is not, how could you, but, those two guys must have known this would happen.
So much for trust.
But most days it is not like this at all. People are civilized and are having pleasant conversations. My least favorite are the interviews. Interviews don’t seem to take place at offices anymore, just in cafés. Most of the time it becomes obvious very early on that this is going nowhere, but the interviewee is still trying to give it all she’s got. My favorite are two people with some work connection catching up. There are artist and designer, nutritionist and web designer. People working in the same office, people who went to school together. They are for the most part doing interesting things and often sound very invested, although almost as often they are trying to sell themselves. Yet, they are not robotic and not uniform. Each one has a unique personality and is candid about their strengths and weaknesses.
@upstate café, Winter Solstice
Sitting here at the crossroads of route 23 and 22, the people around me are a mix of weekenders as myself, the local antique shop owner, a few people who may be local or weekenders. The weekenders of Columbia County are unlike those of the Hamptons (designer cloths) or the Berkshires (tweed). This is the land of sensible wool, solid leather shoes, a bit of country plaid or a cashmere sweater. At the table across from me are two couples. They could be us, including the prerequisite European accent. They are discussing the upcoming winter solstice, and each one offers something related. One of the men says the word Bravado. Actually, what he says is the efficacy of false bravado. Hands down a winner for the power of self-assurance.
@nyc subway #2train. Dec. 17, 9am
They were already on the train when I got on at 96th st. Not my first choice, being stuck in a crowded rush hour morning train with an entire third grade, but here I am. And it soon becomes evident that it’s not really so bad. A group of kids around nine years old are seated along one side of the car, and an equal size group is standing. In all about 15 students, one teacher and one assistant. The kids are quiet and well behaved. The teacher is engaging them in an activity. She is calling out a letter of the alphabet, and the students call our professions that begin with that latter. It’s going pretty well until Q is called and no one comes up with a profession. The teacher, unfortunately, does not have a backup plans. I say to myself quarterback in hope that one of the kids will use it, but they are either too decent or don’t hear me. Now the teacher moves on to singing Christmas songs, and she does so in a delightful way. The kids know all the words are in singing in rounds and with a sweetness of children. I am humming along and smiling approvingly and exchange a smile with the woman standing next to me. She is half of age, of a different race, and she too does not look like she grew up caroling. It is in the subway where the best of the city comes together and I have my E.B. White moment.
August is upon us, and for people like me, who live by the academic calendar, it always comes with a sense of panic: “I can’t believe it’s already August—I didn’t do half of what I wanted to.” I am way behind on all my projects, and deadlines are looming near. As always, it will be a race to the end.
This year, I put aside the first week of August for a week of Contemplative Pedagogy. The summer session was offered by the Center for Contemplative Mind in Society, a nonprofit at Amherst College with a vision of introducing “contemplative … practices and perspectives to create active learning and research environments that look deeply into experience and meaning for all in service of a more just and compassionate society.” In the words of Executive Director Daniel Barbezat, contemplative practices help students arrive and be present in class, and provide a supportive environment for inquiry. Education, continues Dan, is an opportunity to cultivate a deep personal and social awareness, stimulating exploration of what is most meaningful to us as interconnected human beings.
I first heard about the Center from an interview on NPR’s On Being with Arthur Zajonc, who was at the time executive director of the center. I was intrigued by much of what Arthur said about using contemplative practices to cultivate attention and as a mode to inquiry. Following the interview, I read Zajonc’s book Meditation as Contemplative Inquiry and the book he co-authored with Parker Palmer, The Heart of Higher Education.
Of the many meditation books I have read over the years, this is the one I can relate to most. Zajonc contextualizes contemplative practices in both Eastern and Western traditions. There is as much Goethe and Rilke as there is Zen and Buddhism. There are taxonomies and epistemologies and jargon I can connect with to clarify experiences and actions. The book moved forward my personal yoga and meditation practices, and changed the way I think about my teaching. While I don’t walk into class and open with a five-minute meditation (as some of the summer session participants do), I realized that much of what I teach tries to instill mindfulness in how students think about problems. Examples of this would include ethical approaches to crafting information policies, empathy and reflective exercises with regard to the reference interview, or discussion of social responsibility in collection development. So the next natural step was to attend the Summer Session at Smith College.
Smith College, for those who are not familiar with it, is one of those storybook New England colleges clad in green lawns, mature trees, old buildings, and proud tradition. Founded in 1891, Smith is one of the Seven Sisters, and sits in a lovely college town with welcoming cafés, bookstores, and boutiques.
One day I was on line at the cafeteria for lunch when a young student started up a conversation. She looked at my name badge and asked what “contemplative pedagogy” was. I gave her the 40-second elevator speech, and then asked what she was doing on campus during summer. It turned out she was a junior, on campus as an instructor in some summer program for high-school students from Japan. She asked me where we where staying, and when I answered Chapin House, she said, “Isn’t that a beautiful staircase? Did you know it was the inspiration for the staircase in the movie Gone with the Wind?” I didn’t know, and I thanked her for that information. The student went on to mention some of the notable woman who had lived in Chapin House: Barbara Bush, Julia Child, Betty Friedan, Madeleine L’Engle, and a few more. I was awe-struck; my jaw just dropped in amazement. She looked at me in disappointment and said, “Oh, you never heard of any of them?”
Eighty people attended the summer session. With few exceptions (one high-school teacher, a couple of administrators, a couple of Ph.D. students), all were faculty members at universities in the U.S. and Canada. Every type of higher ed institution was represented, from Ivy Leagues to a new small online for-profit university. Participants came from public universities (CUNY, Arizona State, Kansas State), private universities (Pratt, Syracuse, Kenyon), Christian universities (University of San Diego, Baylor), community colleges (Baltimore County, LaGuardia), and some uniquely focused schools such as Naropa, a Tibetan Buddhist university in Colorado. In terms of disciplines, most were from the arts, humanities, and social sciences, with backgrounds in psychology, counseling, English literature, music, arts, economics, sociology, global studies, and more. Several had attended summer sessions and other Center events in the past, but many were first-timers.
People explained that their situations vary greatly, and there are many ways they introduce mindful practices in their teaching. Some do so directly; they may incorporate a five-minute meditation or a walking meditation in the class. Other include such practices in their assignments. Some still don’t do anything and have come there to learn, and others, such as myself, introduce mindfulness indirectly as a subtheme of the course.
I was saddened to hear that many people referred to themselves as being “in the closet” at their universities. They are discouraged from exploring contemplative pedagogy, and are unable to discuss this with their colleagues. I have to say that I really just don’t get it. Shouldn’t contemplation and mindfulness be the underlying foundation of all education? One participant told me that in her first career she worked in a policy think-tank, and ten years later became a university faculty member—she described it as moving from a think-tank to an unthink-tank. I was dismayed by the level of closed-mindedness at too many universities, and grateful to be at Pratt SILS.
I was thrilled to learn that Arthur Zajonc was on this year’s summer session faculty, and was not disappointed. Arthur led a total of five sessions: a contemplative practice, a two-part presentation, and a two-part workshop. All sessions examined aspects of moving between focused attention and open awareness, holding both an open mind and an open heart. Arthur’s presentations are rich in substance and culture, anchored in a deep intellectual history of philosophy and literature. They examine contemplative pedagogy in terms of epistemologies, quoting Parker Palmer, who said that every way of knowing is a way of living and every epistemology becomes an ethic.
There were two movement classes a day, the morning session with Yin Mei and the afternoon class with Paula Sager. Both focused on authentic movement, a practice that helps explore the authentic force that moves us. Yin Mei teaches choreography at Queens College, and is a dancer and choreographer. Her movement class had some vocabulary in common with Tai Chi, but was more expressive. It was also very energizing as a morning workout before the more academic classes. Paula is a dance teacher and researcher, and has conducted research on the phenomenon of witness consciousness in the development of the individual. Much of the work in her class is done in groups or with a partner, and consists of alternating roles. For me personally, the experiential sessions, which included the movement session and the contemplative practices, were where I gained the most insight into what contemplative pedagogy is and can be. Mirabai’s compassion meditation was the perfect example of how meaningful witnessing and holding can be.
Both Raul Quinones, talking about antiracism, and Vaishali Mamgain, an economist specializing in immigrant issues, discussed having to live with complexity and contradiction, and recognizing the importance of action. We often do so little because we think we do not make a difference, but it is our responsibility to demonstrate to students, through the work we do together in class, that every action counts. Vaishali told how her rather traditional data-driven economic research took a turn toward the contemplative. As a freshly minted Ph.D. she found herself at the University of Southern Maine. The area had a large immigrant community, and Vaishali decided to research immigrant employment and labor issues. She gathered all the data, analyzed it, and wrote the article. When the reviewers returned their comments they praised the research questions and methodology, but one reviewer asked, Did you talk to any of the immigrants? Talk? What a reactionary concept! Economists don’t talk to people, they analyze data. Vaishali went back to the immigrant center, began talking to people, and her life has never been the same. Vaishali now teaches about food politics in Southern Maine and helps students, many of whom come from fishing communities, to live with the conflicting pull of food politics, the humane treatment of animals, and their livelihood.
Some people accuse contemplative practitioners of escapism, but the discussion in the summer session surrounding information technology showed that nothing can be further from the truth. All participants recognize that technology is a part of both our own and our students’ lives, and David Levy demonstrated some concrete examples of using technology in mindful ways. David, a professor from the Information School at the University of Washington, and thus the closest to me in terms of discipline, talked about the course he teaches called Information and Contemplation. Thinking, David explains, is a slow process, but we live in a world that is all about accelerated production and consumption. Through exercises and discussion, he shows students ways to think reflectively about their use of technology, and to use it in ways that can better themselves and their surroundings.
Most university faculty are trained in their specific disciplines, and few have an education in pedagogical theory of any kind. We teach hundreds of students over our careers, yet have never learned what is important in teaching and what works best. Contemplative pedagogy is as much about the pedagogy itself as it is about contemplative practices. As Dan cautioned, as educators we must lead gently and be confident in our own practices. For me, the inquiry continues.
The verdict is in, and the verdict on this particular occasion takes the form of student evaluations. Let me tell you, you never stop feeling a bit wary of them. When the envelope comes, or—as in the past two semesters—the PDFs, my heart skips a beat before I begin to read them. But that is a little beside the point. I was just reminded of the downside of the one-size-fits-all evaluation form we get from the Brooklyn campus, namely the question asking students to indicate to what degree the course increased my understanding of environmental sustainability. Sustainability? Why am I asked to teach sustainability? When did that become an overarching societal value? Why should my courses not increase compassion, or reflection, or social responsibility, or understanding of First Amendment rights, given that we are an information school?
And to this list of values I would like to add resilience. Resilience asks “how to support people and create systems that know how to recover, persist, and even to thrive in the face of change.” Andrew Zolli is a “thought leader and curator of a new idea, ‘resilience thinking,’” and was recently interviewed on On Being [all quotes are from the transcript] about his ideas and his book Resilience: Why Things Bounce Back.
Zolli tells us that
the ecological system, the economic system, the geopolitical system, the climate system, the food security system are all connected to each other in ways that cause very complex highly unpredictable nonlinear outcomes. So all of those systems being connected leads us to a place where increasingly instead of trying to find an equilibrium in a planet that’s out of balance, we also have to try and manage with the unbalances, the imbalances.
We have to manage in a world that’s intrinsically out of order.
He goes on to describe the decade that began with the events of 9/11 and continued through expensive and deadly wars, economic crisis, international terrorism, and unprecedented natural disasters. Zolli asks how can we weather such system failures, and answers that in a world where systems are so interdependent, we need to have redundancy in our systems. He says:
… a big part of that story is about emboldening the local. Because we’ve so tightly connected all of these systems, it’s important that we have redundancy. It’s important that we have spare capacity. It’s important that we have the right kinds of social networks, so that we can share with each other. It’s important that we have a shared wisdom, a body of knowledge that helps us be more locally self-reliant.
While this is my first introduction to Zolli (copies of his book are on order at PMC), creating redundancy in systems so that they are more resilient against vulnerabilities is a familiar notion in collection preservation. In fact, it is the principle at the heart of LOCKSS (Lots of Copies Keep Stuff Safe), a dispersed digital preservation system from Stanford University. Instead of preserving materials in a centralized way, exposing content to system failure, LOCKSS allows each participating library to preserve its own digital collection through a distributed network, cooperating with one another to assure that the content remain accessible and intact.
This is just one of several examples that ran through my mind as I was applying resilience thinking to libraries and models of scholarly communication. I hope to further explore these themes in my fall course, Academic Libraries and Scholarly Communication. I am excited about introducing students to the concept, and discussing with them its relevancy to academic libraries. Resilience thinking could provide libraries with a roadmap to growth, while sustainability—for all its emphasis on the future—has had very limited positive affect on libraries. Time to write the syllabus.