“Reading isn’t only a matter of our brains; it’s something that we do with our bodies” — Andrew Piper

Amid the seemingly endless debates today about the future of reading, there remains one salient, yet often overlooked fact: Reading isn’t only a matter of our brains; it’s something that we do with our bodies. Reading is an integral part of our lived experience, our sense of being in the world, even if at times this can mean feeling intensely apart from it. How we hold our reading materials, how we look at them, navigate them, take notes on them, share them, play with them, even where we read them—these are the categories that have mattered most to us as readers throughout the long and varied history of reading. They will no doubt continue to do so into the future.

— Andrew Piper, Out of Touch: E-reading isn’t reading

Face to Face, that is Knowledge

Sit around a dinner table and share a meal. Draw chairs near the fire to speak slow and long into the night. Gaze into each other’s eyes cuddled under blankets. Face to face, that’s knowledge.

◊◊◊

Prima facie is Latin for at first face or at first appearance. In law and philosophy, prima facie means that a statement or position has merit at first examination, and deserves deeper investigation.

Face validity is the extent to which a test appears to measure a concept. A personality test should ask questions about our personality traits, though a psychologist knows to look beyond a Facebook quiz.

Face to face is the foundation of ethics. In the face of another we see our self. Please, it’s me, it’s you, do not hurt me.

◊◊◊

What is the face of knowledge? Is it shaped like a book? What can you tell about a book from its cover? A picture says a thousand words. A picture also denies answers to a thousand questions.

What can you tell about an e-book from its jpeg? You cannot feel the weight or tell the thickness of its body. Break the back of a book, break its binding, and splay it across the earth. The sixteen page book is networked to a million more.

What can you tell about a cover from its book? Your book is reading you: your title, your name, your place. Where do you skip? Where do you linger? Will it sell? Eyes watching yours, face to face.

Reading Belongs to the Eyes

Reading is a lamp of knowledge, illuminating the darkness of ignorance. Reading belongs to the eyes. Visual processing takes up about a third of our cortex. Reading braille also requires activating the visual area.

It begins with the book cover in the bookshop or online. I browse the table of contents and the illustrations. Is this book worth my purchase or time?

I read the black and white text, the ink on a page, or the pixels on a screen. I imagine pictures, sounds and feels too. I think I read left to right, but my eyes bounce all over the text. Eye movement is the true factor in reading speed. I read about 400 words per minute, but flash me text a word at a time and my speed is tripled. Speed reading and skimming use visual cues to accelerate reading, but as long as we use sentences and pages we can only read so fast. Not to worry, thinking needs time.

The codex was built for human reflection. I hold my book at a distance. I judge the thickness of the remaining content. I scan what comes next. Is it making sense? Shall I continue? I cross-reference by peering into the index. I build my own table of contents in my mind’s eye. I remember a passage by its place halfway down a page on the left, midway through the book. Reading belongs to the eyes.

What Would Your Book’s Cover Look Like?

What would your book’s cover look like? Set aside that you have not written a book, there is a book in everyone. You must choose a cover. What does it look like? I suppose this question is like asking what your face would look like if you could pick it.

The book cover, like the face, serves so many purposes: recognition, attraction, communication, all in an instant. A cover is also part of the binding that holds a book together, to give it form, just like a face. A book’s cover is its identity or soul. We see it at a glance.

Cover images took off in the twentieth century with mass publication. The primary purpose of cover images is to sell books, though readers continue to linger on the cover long after a purchase. To publish again with a different cover is a face-lift at best, but more often feels like a betrayal, a weird clone. Dust jackets are worse, a lesser sibling, serving similar purposes but eerily removable. To remove a cover is to remove a book’s face, to leave it vulnerable to some other title’s face. If you buy a book without a cover it was stolen, stripped for destruction but trafficked back into sale, book slavery.

Then came digital books. At first digital cover images served to sell print books at online bookstores. The cover blurred into images of content in lieu of physical browsing. With e-books the physicality disappeared altogether. Slap on a template cover from an online artist. If sales are bad this month replace it with another cover. A book can have a dozen covers, distributed to differences market niches. As many covers as we have profile pics on Facebook and online I suppose.

Face of Knowledge

I look into the eyes of my lover. At nineteen I am shy. A Dutch child is a candle burning twice as bright, fair-haired and blushing skin. For the glow I paid a painful adolescence, blemishing my complexion, twisting my body’s frame into tallness and structure, finally a man. Kristine is a dark-haired beauty. We ask the same questions. We love the same books. Smarter, bolder, she made the first move, rubbing my leg beneath the desk. Our on first date, wrapped in each other’s bodies, I look deep and long into Kristine’s eyes. She looks back. I can brave the world.

A deep gaze in the eyes of a stranger is rare, troubling, and precious.

A few seconds of eye contact anyone will give. A smile, nice to meet you. We craft a mask. It is a remarkable device, engineered from decades of tears and betrayal, an interface to an uncertain world. The mask affords a minute to read the other. What do you want? What do you have? We risk long looks with strangers only from a distance. A fellow studies me in his boss chair. A store clerk greets me eagerly for a sale. A young woman smiles easily because I am fifty and gray like her sweet father.

If the eyes are the mirror of the soul is there a deeper body of knowledge? Beneath the skin is just another surface, fascia, a network of tissue, fibrous and pliant, connecting and separating muscles and organs. Beneath the surface fascia there is just more tissue, ligaments and tendons and joints, connecting the muscles and bones. Surface plied upon surface. Beauty is skin deep, they say; a mountain face is only another skin, another layer of rock, and it is sublime.

Look into the eyes of a dog, a monkey, or a dolphin. Soul does not insist on language. Machines have faces. Look into a digital eye. In aesthetics there is a term, uncanny valley. The more human a thing looks the more endearing it is. But when we see a replica that appears almost, but not exactly like a human, we shudder with revulsion. Worse, look into a mirror. In a minute you will see a stranger. You, old and deformed. A lion or a monster. Is there nothing special to be found? Are we all but animals or machines?

The face is in the light, nude to the world. I am like you; do not hurt me. Some can hold a poker face, others will flicker with doubt. It is the by the flicker that we know them. The eyes cannot hide a child’s laugh, a lover’s desire, or a widow’s grief. We know our lover by the face, the blemishes and pockets, the retreats and reveals from the mask, the rings beneath the eyes, the turns of light and shadow. The eyes are the soul, cradled in the face of knowledge.

2018-01-03. Face to face is eros, erotic. There is an other in those eyes, a mystery I do not understand. What is looking back at me? Another human? I am like you, do not hurt me. Or is it something else looking back, something vaster? Or is just me looking back? We are all connected, a common identity. Face to face, eye to eye is the first step in tantric massage. It is the test too for a potential AI, even a chatbot with no face: is there mystery? can I know it? A ping for humanity.

2018-01-13. What I seek in Face to Face is in that middle zone between the persona and mystery. Persona is fun, the clever act the individual has prepared from his or life experience so far; it is a performance we keep working on and testing on others. The middle zone is the wild space, when I slip behind the persona, when I am skilled or trusted enough to see the uncertainty, the wild space that the person knows personally but does not share easily, the known unknown. This is an exciting erotic place that we can share, and if I am granted access there, then perhaps we may glimpse together at mystery, the unknown unknown that is too big for any one of us.

2018-02-22. The Naked Truth: The Face and Body Sensitive N170 Response Is Enhanced for Nude Bodies
Jari K. Hietanen, Lauri Nummenmaa
Published: November 16, 2011
https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0024408

“Without any doubt, other human beings are the most important visual objects in our environment. Compatible with this, cognitive neuroscience has revealed that the perception of other human beings is based on brain mechanisms specifically devoted to processing visual information from this socially and biologically relevant class of stimuli [1]. Much research has focused on neurocognitive mechanisms subserving perception of human faces and bodies as they both provide information necessary for social interaction and interpersonal relationships.

“Electroencephalography (EEG) and magnetoencephalography (MEG) studies have investigated the early stages of visual processing of human faces and bodies. These studies have identified an event-related potential (ERP) and its magnetic counterpart recorded over occipito-temporal regions peaking between 140–200 ms after stimulus onset and being more sensitive to faces than to other objects [12]–[15]. Because of the typical peak latency (170 ms) of this negative potential, it is often referred to as N170 response.

“Recent event-related potential studies have shown that the occipitotemporal N170 component – best known for its sensitivity to faces – is also sensitive to perception of human bodies. Considering that in the timescale of evolution clothing is a relatively new invention that hides the bodily features relevant for sexual selection and arousal, we investigated whether the early N170 brain response would be enhanced to nude over clothed bodies. In two experiments, we measured N170 responses to nude bodies, bodies wearing swimsuits, clothed bodies, faces, and control stimuli (cars). We found that the N170 amplitude was larger to opposite and same-sex nude vs. clothed bodies. Moreover, the N170 amplitude increased linearly as the amount of clothing decreased from full clothing via swimsuits to nude bodies. Strikingly, the N170 response to nude bodies was even greater than that to faces, and the N170 amplitude to bodies was independent of whether the face of the bodies was visible or not.”

 

Of What Use is the Nose to Reading?

Of what use is the nose to reading? The nose is a place to perch one’s spectacles, to be sure. People trying e-books for the first time complain about the missing smell of leather and ink and pages. Print books today are mostly covered in cardboard, not leather. Get a leather cover for your Kindle and every read will smell bookish. The scent of fresh ink is just chemicals: oil and dye, solvent and finisher. Old pages are dust and mold. E-books are an improvement. Still, the nose always knows. The olfactory bulb is part of the brain’s limbic system, associated with memory and feeling. Read about an orchid. The elusive smell is activated. Is it raspberry or coconut? It is delicate and exotic, reminiscent of a past love. Encounter the smell elsewhere, the book comes back. The nose will continue to play a role in reading, print and digital.

Speech has Presence. A Speaker Stands Before You, Insisting on Your Attention.

“All sound is inherently powerful. If a hunter kills a lion he can see it, touch it, feel it and smell it. But if he hears a lion he must act, fast, because the sound of the lion signals its presence and its power” (Ong, Orality and Literacy).

Books were built for the hand and the eye. Books are boxes of knowledge that can be shared by hand across a distance. Books are read with the eyes, silently.

The scroll was built for the mouth and ear. Scrolls did not have spacing or punctuation; the ear would disentangle what the eye read and the mouth spoke aloud (Manguel, A History of Reading).

Culture was mostly shaped by sound, by the mouth and the ear, by speech. One might think that oral culture could not engineer complex works, yet the Iliad and the Odyssey were oral creations.

“We all learn to read by listening word-by-word, phrase-by-phrase to those reading to us” (Prose, Reading Like a Writer). We mouth words when we learn them. We imagine the voice of the author or a character in a book. Adults still sound out difficult words. All reading and writing is transformed in the brain back to the original sounds. Reading and listening are the same process (Carver, Reading Rate; Dehaene, Reading in the Brain).

Speech has presence. A speaker stands before you, insisting on your attention, projecting emotion, demanding your response. Today’s voice technologies are conversational like speech but they are still disconnected, separated by computer technology based on text. I can ignore a computer’s voice prompt. It can ignore me.

Five Reasons why Readers have Stopped Writing their Names in Books

Have you written your name in a book? My first books have my name written in a child’s print, later in cursive. Working in the family print shop, I created a rubber stamp with my name and address. I stopped when I left home; my address changed too often. Bookplates — or ex libris, Latin, “from the books of …” — are decorative labels pasted in the front cover of a book, filled in with the name of the owner. I printed bookplates with a letterpress. Writing one’s name in a book is a practice dating back to the twelfth century. People would write their name, profession, residence, the book’s price, the giver if it was a gift, the date it was obtained, and even how long it took to read. Some readers will underline passages or add marginalia, comments or pictures in the margins. Others think it sacrilegious to write in books or will only write in pencil.

Why do readers write in books? And why have they stopped? I can think of five reasons:

Abundance. Books used to be scarce. They were an asset in a collection. If you loaned a book out you expected to get it back. Books are abundant today. They still have a price, and can be expensive, but most everyone has access to books. When I lend a book, I do not expect to see it again. Even so, I lend books. There are plenty more.

Fashion. Bookplates are beautiful, emblazoned with a coat of arms, but heraldry was a medieval military fashion and passed with it. People still find heraldry and bookplates fascinating, collecting them in the way people collect stamps or coins. It is now just a specialist hobby.

E-book Ownership. The concept of book ownership has changed. If you purchase a print book, it is yours for as long as you like and you can do what you like with it. Today, when you buy an e-book you are only purchasing a license to access the book’s contents. You do not own the book. You may not copy it. You may not sell or give it to anyone. If you do not own it, why write your name in it?

E-books are Read-Only. Even if you owned an e-book you could not write in it. Better e-readers allow you to highlight passages and export quotes and notes, but you cannot write notes in the text or make copies. It comes down to digital abundance and licensing. Digital content can be copied and modified so easily, publishers artificially limit the native digital capabilities of e-books to ensure sales.

Reading is Continuous. Reading has traditionally been a private event, something done quietly and alone. We would set aside time dedicated to reading, and when we were finished a book it felt like a personal accomplishment. It seemed natural to complete the event by writing our name in the book. Reading has changed with technology — it is now both open and continuous. We read more books than ever. We talk about books more than ever on social reading websites. We read e-books and they read us back, tracking the titles we purchase, our reading pace, and even the passages we like best. Publishers know just what we want. The line between writers and readers is blurred. We chat with authors as we the read their books. We give feedback for their next book, and publish alternate “fan” versions. Reading is no longer limited to books. We read constantly on computer screens and mobile devices. The notion of distinct reading events is gone. Reading is continuous.

How Silent Reading Invented the Soul

Most people read silently. Many schools have Sustained Silent Reading programs which encourage students to read freely, frequently, and silently. Silent reading is common, and highly valued for its cultivation of our inner lives.

Most of history followed an oral tradition. Knowledge, law and stories were communicated out loud, with speech and song. Chatting with my brother-in-law and Bible scholar, AJ DeGelder (BA MDiv) I was reminded of the oral tradition of the Old Testament. The Bible’s creation myth begins with sound, “And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” AJ continued:

You can see the oral tradition in the Old Testament by the way the stories are shared For example you can see a Jewish family, in your mind, sitting around a campfire in the middle of a desert. The father has the children clinging to the edge of their seats as the father tells them how this skinny little runt of a boy, called David, goes out to fight the giant Goliath. David brings the giant down with a slingshot. Takes the giant’s sword and cuts off his head and then runs and buries it in his tent. You can almost hear the children asking, “Why did he bury the sword in his tent, Dad?” “Tomorrow night I will tell you why,” says the father. This was the oral tradition passed on from father to children.”

The modern religious Jew is a person of the book. Daniel Saunders is a young Jewish man in the novel, The Chosen, by Chaim Potok, set in Brooklyn New York in the 1940s. Danny’s father, a respected Rebbe, only speaks to him during their regular religious readings. Danny is being brought up in silence. The reader learns how Reb Saunders worried that his son’s intelligence was outstripping his compassion for others. To teach Danny the meaning of pain, he shut him out emotionally by silence. It seems a cruel method, but the story illustrates how silence can be used deliberately to cultivate inner qualities, such as compassion.

The New Testament is bookish. Set aside that Jesus never wrote a word, Christianity was developed by Christ’s disciples and followers. The codex was on the rise at the time. The codex is a collection of pages, bound and covered, a book. The book was adopted by Christians for the Bible (Manguel, A History of Reading). Compared to scrolls, the book was easier to carry and hide in a time of religious persecution, and easier to read alone in silence.

Aurelius Ambrosius is the first silent reader on record. Ambrosius, aka Saint Ambrose (c. 340-347) was an archbishop of Milan. In his Confessions, Augustine observed that Ambrose read in silence. The practice was relatively rare. Alexander Lucie-Smith is a Catholic priest, doctor of moral theology and consulting editor of The Catholic Herald. Lucie-Smith says that Ambrose was the first of a great tradition, using silent reading and looking within for salvation.

It took centuries for silent reading to be adopted widely. Ferenstein explains how the Catholic church encouraged it. The Christian Bible popularized the idea that morality was not just about evil deeds, but also included the intent to cause harm. Monks segregated themselves from society to battle inner demons free from the distractions of civilization. In 1215 the church mandated confessions for the masses, extending the concept of internal morality to much of Europe. The Gutenberg press was invented in the fifteenth century, and by the eighteenth century, personal reading was common.

The book is central to the rise of Christianity, to the practice of silent reading, and to the idea of an inner life. Silent reading can be credited with the very invention of soul. It facilitated private religion, the creation of an inner truth. The New Testament says it outright. “You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all; and you show that you are a letter of Christ, prepared by us, written not with ink but with the spirit of the living God, not on tables of stone but on tables of human hearts” (2 Corinthians 3:2-3, NRSV).

In religion the soul is special, the immortal essence of a person. The soul is universal, transcending time and space. It survives death. If silent reading invented the soul, its universality is called into question. Was there a time when people did not have souls? Also, if the soul transcends earthly life its truth should be singular. In practice, silent reading created trouble for Christians, generating multiple interpretations of the Bible and stoking a fight against heresy. Martin Luther, the original Protestant, observed how silent reading caused anxiety for Christians and preferred the old practice of reading the Bible aloud in groups. In the 21st century, the codex is declining in favor of digital technology. People still read silently but not so privately. Reading online is a a social experience, tearing down traditions of privacy. One has to wonder how notions of inner life and soul will change with it.

Digital or Print, Fast or Slow, Reading is Fingery

The word, digital, comes from Latin, digitalis, referring to fingers and toes. Today, digital refers to technology that uses numerical digits to store or display data. Digital computers still depend on fingers for input and interaction; toes not so much. How the fingers get used depends on the type of reading. Borrowing from Heidegger, reading can be “ready-to-hand” or “present-at-hand.”

Ready-to-hand is the more common type of reading, assimilating information as quickly as possible. We scan online in high mental gear, whizzing from one link to the next, slowly down only briefly when we find something interesting. Ready-to-hand reading uses fingers to click and scroll. We want information at the speed of thought but it only goes as fast our fingers. We invent touch screens to move faster. We imagine even better technologies, screens generated on the fly with our fingers, like in the movie, Minority Report. Voice technologies only help so much. Until computers can read our minds they will continue to be “fingery” machines, managing digital data with the digits of our hands.

A laptop just does not work for holiday novels. Many still read print books for pleasure, while many others prefer e-readers. The manufacturers are learning the haptics of reading, the study of communication through touch. An e-reader is more fingery than a laptop. It is tapered to feel like a paperback. The hand begins a reading by opening a cover and finishes by closing it again. The pages turn with a touch. This kind of reading is still “ready-to-hand,” fast summer reading, not demanding slow or labored thought.

Present-at-hand reading is not so common, the slow analytical read of a complex text, or the rich processing of a beautiful book of art. If ready-to-hand is the routine use of a hammer for nailing, then present-at-hand is what happens when the hammer breaks. It is the boundary at which print books begin to fail as vessels of knowledge, e-books and laptops all the more so. Mental presence is required. Deep reading demands our fingers too. Humans evolved the thumb, the opposable digit that allows us to grasp and behold a book. We judge its weight with our hand. We flip pages constantly, back to the tables and forward to the index. The print book gives instant parallel access to any point in the text, our finger serving as a bookmark. We brush the pages with a finger, estimating how much work remains, book or chapter.

Present-at-hand reading is physical work, enlisting the brain and the body. To this day, students prefer a print book for reading academic texts. The reader who attempts a complex text on an e-reader feels phantom pain. The fingers long for the absent pages. Digital or print, fast or slow, reading is fingery.

Analog and Digital are Not Opposites

The word, analog, is commonly used to describe a system that predates digital computers. I blink each time I hear it because I know it is not right. Formal definitions in computer science are better. They contrast analog and digital by how they store data, continuously or discretely. The terms are treated as opposites. I still blink. If the formal definition is correct, the dyad should be digital and continuous. I will explain how analog and digital are not exactly opposites.

In analog telephone lines, the fluctuations of the voice correspond to the electric vibrations in the wires. The essential waveform is preserved. In a digital voice system, the voice transmission is encoded into bytes for transmission, and later decoded back into sound. All digital computers do the same. Electricity flows through switches, representing data in binary digits, one or zero, called bits. So far so good, but as above, the dyad should be digital and continuous.

An analog clock measures time by the continuous motion of one or more hands. In a digital clock, an electric charge is passed through a crystal, causing a sound whose frequency is converted into counts of seconds and minutes and so. The digital aspect is seen in the display of number of hours, 1-12 or 24. The base 12 or 24 system is as digital as binary. But then, then hands of an analog clock also point to the same digits. The clock is both analog and digital.

Today, analog is used as adjective, but originally it was a noun, a comparison of one thing to another. For example, a pump is an analog of the heart. An analog is a literary device with properties. One property is proportion, a correspondence in size or quality between one thing and another. An analog can be exactly proportional to the original. If I mark the length of my finger on a ruler, the marked ruler is a one-to-one analog for the length of my finger. I can use the ruler as a record of my finger length at a particular age and compare the size again in the future.

More often, the proportionality is at a scale. A map is an analog for a real world geography, reduced in scale for analysis and portability. This bring out a second property of analogy, incompleteness. Analogy is a comparison such as a metaphor or simile, which are substitutes. My love is not literally a red red rose. A map is not literally the land. Even if I map the world with a high resolution satellite camera I cannot record every detail. This fact is what makes the map useful. By omitting detail the map becomes something I can see at a glance, measure with a compass, and carry in my pocket. But what happens when I zoom in with a magnifying glass? It depends on how the map was printed. I may see dots. A color map has a range of dots. A black and white map has two types, black or not — binary digits, bits, digital. Even a hand-drawn and painted map is not continuous like the real world. The resolution of analog is always digital.

The third property of the analog is its purpose, to explain a new or complex idea with a familiar one. We use analogy to help explain and understand. It is the same purpose for a digital representation. The bits must ultimately correspond to something meaningful in the world. Bits mean nothing without a mapping to numbers and characters and real world phenomena. A ruler represents my finger. A clock represents time. Ones and zeros decode back into voice, and images, and music.

Decoding depends partly on the continuous physical form in which the data was stored. Take language. In some ideal language we could map all the forms of a word to a single lemma. We could also strip out all punctuation and spacing. In real language each form carries unique differences in meaning that must be preserved in digital storage. Punctuation and spacing also meaning. All digital systems that store text also store these real world features. Digital systems require analog data.

Analog and digital are not precise opposites. Analog has an older literary meaning that still applies, comparison. My discussion of the properties of proportion and completeness showed that the analog always resolves to the digital. Also, the purpose of analog is just as applicable to the digital. None of this analysis will make a whit of difference to the operation of analog or digital systems. The analysis cannot be used to claim that analog technology is superior to digital. The main benefit is that I might stop blinking the next time someone misuses the terms analog and digital.

Body of Knowledge

A book is a binding of truth. Truth is out there, first in the world, long before anyone commits it to paper. The written form is subject to the errors of brain and body and language, a lesser truth.

A book is a stack of papers bound on edge, pasted with glue or stitched with thread. Websites are also bound, a collection of web pages linked to a single domain name. A book is covered, stamped with a title and name, a face to attract and sell. A book’s binding is covered with a spine for finding on a shelf. A spine, as if a book can stand up and speak its name. Websites too are covered with a banner on a home page, and announced by title and snippet in a search result. The coverings gives identity and soul at a glance, as if truth could ever be bound and tidy.

Every reading is another binding, an embodiment of truth, enlisting the brain and the whole body. From the beginning knowledge has been a whole body experience. When Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived, they were reading the first book.

Reading belongs to the eyes. Reading is a lamp of knowledge, a light illuminating the darkness of ignorance. I read the text, my eyes bouncing all over the page. My knowledge can only be acquired as fast as my eyes can read it.

The nose is a perch for my spectacles while reading. The smell of books is not in leather, ink or moldy pages. No, the smell of books is in feelings. I read about an orchid. The elusive smell is activated. Is it raspberry or coconut? It is delicate and exotic, reminiscent of a past love.

I learned to read with my ears, listening to my mother’s voice. I imagine the voice of an author or a character in a book. Adults still sound out difficult words, trying to recreate the original speech sounds. For centuries, most everyone read aloud, mouth and lips in motion.

Reading is fingery. My thumb lets me grasp and behold a book. I flip pages. I bookmark a page with a finger. I brush the pages, guessing how much reading remains. Reading online I click and scroll and swipe. I turn the pages of my e-reader with a touch. Print or digital, reading is fingery.

Of course the brain features in reading. Learning to read takes years of training, recognizing the shapes of letters, detecting subtle differences in words, encoding units of meaning. Reading is physical work in the brain.

Even the feet are enlisted in reading. Too much reading blurs the questions and dulls the mind. Walking refreshes my spirit and reconnects me to the world where the questions were first asked. True understanding is a dance, a two step between the bindings of books and bodies and first hand experience in the world.

“The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink” — T.S. Eliot. Four Quotes about Writing and Bleeding

I write with the blood that goes to the ends of my fingers, and it is a very sensuous act.

— A. S. Byatt, Paris Review

 

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

— T.S. Eliot

 

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

— Ernest Hemingway

 

I write so slowly that I could write in my own blood without hurting myself.

— Fran Lebowitz, Paris Review

“Would I start to resemble a book myself?” — Keith Miller

And slowly I arrived at a realization so startling I was almost afraid to believe it. I found, as I moved through this subterranean forest, that I could imagine a book, known or unknown, read or unread, and be certain of the path I would have to take to find it. … We all have titles, questions swept like sodden leaves into the corners of our minds, that we have little hope will ever be answered or solved, but that we cannot get rid of. Suddenly, I found myself in the orchard of answers. …

For a time, I wondered if I would simply stay here forever, reading, sampling the delicacies, hiding from the librarians — the ghost of the Library of Alexandria, a reformed thief in paradise. And I wondered what would become of my soul if I chose that path. … Would I start to resemble a book myself?

— Keith Miller, The Book of Flying

Eye to Eye with Trump

Early on, I used comic art as therapy to deal with the win of Trump. I’m not laughing anymore. This man has done so much political and cultural damage, he does not need to push the button. A higher level of resistance is needed. I need to understand Trump, to look in his face, eye to eye, to understand. It’s hard …

“Metta, you may know, is the Pali word for ‘loving-kindness’ or, more accurately, ‘benevolence.’ It’s a practice that dates back to the Buddha himself. The old fellow had a lot on the ball. When the mind is happy, he discovered, we naturally wish for the happiness of all beings. Your friend Spinoza expressed the same thing in God-language: ‘The good which everyone who loves God wishes for himself, he also wishes for all others; and the greater his knowledge of God is, the greater this wish is.”

“I knew I would have to move on to Hitler. But when I tried to concentrate on him, my will power shut down. Complete distraction. Random thoughts tore through my mind. An iron resistance set in. There was no way I could continue with my phrases. Even a tentative motion of my will toward say, ‘May you be …’ nauseated me. If I could have let myself express a wish, it would have been ‘May you suffer as much as you made each of the six million suffer.’ I didn’t go so far as to think the truly horrible ‘May you burn in hell.’ But I came close.

“‘Let’s be more gradual,’ David said. ‘Can you say to Hitler, ‘May you be free of hatred’? ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That sounds doable.'”

Stephen Mitchell
Meetings with the Archangel: A Comedy of the Spirit