Review 104: The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

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The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams

This is the second of the Dirk Gently books - and the final one - and is no easier to explain than the first. But I'll try.

In this story, Dirk is contracted to meet a client one morning at 6 AM, and play bodyguard. The time is vital. The client has made it a point that Dirk absolutely, positively has to be there by six, and he's willing to pay handsomely for it. So when Dirk wakes up at 11 AM, he suspects that he's screwed up royally.

His suspicions are confirmed when he arrives at the home of his client, who is sitting quite comfortably in an armchair while his head is rotating slowly on a nearby turntable. The only clues to his grisly demise are his ravings about a green, scythe-wielding monster and a mysterious packet of papers, written in a language that Dirk cannot begin to understand. But he does know their shape - they're a bill. But for what services, and rendered by whom? So now Dirk has to figure out who, or what, did this to his client and why.

But there's more to this story (isn't there always?) An American woman, Kate Schechter, is one of the survivors of the explosion of an airline ticket counter, something that everyone who knows about explosions is calling an "act of god." But which god would do such a thing, and why? Lucky for her, Kate is about to find out, and she's also about to find out why gods aren't quite all they're cracked up to be.

There aren't a lot of greater themes in this book - it's an adventure, of sorts, but as far as overarching messages go, it's pretty thin other than watch out for eagles and be nice to homeless people. It's entertainment as only Douglas Adams can deliver it. There is some thought given to gods, however, which is a topic I always enjoy. In Small Gods, Terry Pratchett asks where gods come from, and what sustains them. In American Gods, Neil Gaiman asked the question of what happened to gods who were brought to America by their believers. Adams asks what happens to gods once we don't actually need them anymore.

We made them, after all, and most of the time we made them immortal. We needed gods to be bigger than we, stronger than we, and generally everything we weren't. And then we went around infusing them with humanity - with jealousy, courage, rage and fear. When we were done with them, we let them go. But that didn't mean they went away. An immortal is an immortal, and without work to do or followers to deal with, what is a god to do? In the case of Odin, the father of gods and the ruler of the Norse pantheon, the solution is very simple. What's more, it keeps him pampered and cared for, which is all he ever really wanted.

While I love Hitchhiker's Guide first and foremost among Adams' works, I really wish he could have lived to write more Dirk Gently books. The character is a person of reprehensible ethics and somewhat tarnished morals, but you can't help but love him. Lurking refrigerators, coffee-thievery and all, you find yourself wishing that you could hang out with Dirk, while at the same time knowing that he'd probably invite you out for lunch and somehow make you pay for the meal. He's a bad person, but an excellent detective - and a great character.

So pick this one up and give it a read. It's fast, it's fun - you won't regret it.

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"Nobleness was one word for making a fuss about the trivial inevitabilities of life, but there were others."
Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

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Review 66: Life of Pi

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Every time I go back to the US to visit friends and family, I always make a visit to a bookstore or two. I can buy books here in Japan, but the prices are high and the selection isn't nearly as good, so a trip to our local mega-bookstore is like a visit to Mecca for me.

The last time I was home, my father let me wander for a while, and then he came up and handed me this book. He was picking up copies for a few other people as well, but he gave me this and said, "I think you'd really like it."

He was right.

It's one of those books that you feel compelled to share with others once you've finished. It's one of those books where people see you reading it and say, "I read that - it's really good, isn't it?" It's one of those books which, the author promises, will make you believe in God. A pretty tall order, but there you go. And in a roundabout way, it makes good on its promise. But we'll get to that....

It's a story of layers, as the best stories often are. On one layer, it's the tale of young Piscine Molitor Patel, an Indian boy with an insatiable curiosity about everything. The son of a zookeeper, Piscine - who re-christens himself Pi in order to clear up misunderstandings of his given name - develops a great interest in the world around him, especially religion. His part of India is home to people of all faiths, and he finds himself moving between Hinduism, Christianity and Islam, despite the protests of holy men of all three faiths.

He grows up in this world, between animals and gods, until his family decides to escape India's political turmoil by moving to Canada. They sell what animals they can, keep the ones they must, board everything onto a freighter and head off for a trip around the world, destined for a new life.

Until the ship sinks.

Pi finds himself the only human survivor of the ship's sinking, alone on a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Alone except for the zebra. And the hyena. And the orangutan. And, of course, the tiger. Can't forget the tiger.

Pi's mini-zoo diminishes quickly, of course. There's only so long such a diverse group of creatures can abide each other's company in such terrible circumstances, so in time it comes down to two: Pi and the tiger, who had the unusual name of Richard Parker. You would think that there would be no winner in this contest - a diminished teenage boy against a full-grown tiger, with limited resources and a very stressful environment. But Pi is the son of a zookeeper, one whose job is to know how to control animals that don't want to be controlled. Pi's ability to survive in these circumstances would, by itself, be a fascinating story.

But the story is not just about Pi and the tiger. Not really. It's also about our relationship with the world, with the universe, with God. It's about who we are when everything we ever loved is stripped away from us. And it's about how we can survive in even the most extraordinary circumstances. Pi does survive, and his survival makes sense, within the world of the story. Would he be able to do it out here in Real Life (TM)? I have no idea. But as you read, there is no point where you think, "The author is cheating," and allowing his main character to survive when he really shouldn't have.

The overriding theme of the book, however, is stories. The book itself is set up as a memoir, told by Patel to the author. It's the story of a story, and it is a story which the author says will make you believe in God. And in a way, it does. But not in the way you think.

It's kind of a modified version of Pascal's Wager - the idea that it is better to believe in God than not to believe. Pascal's idea is simple. If you disbelieve in God, and you're right, then you'll just wink out of existence when you die. No harm, no foul. But if you disbelieve and you're wrong, then you end up suffering eternal damnation. Whereas if you believe in God and you're wrong, again, no harm, no foul.

There are criticisms, and fair ones, of this philosophy, but I think this book offers a more reasonable alternative. You should believe in God because believing in God is the better story. Martel suggests (through Pi) that there is no mystery in facts and reason, no magic and no wonder. That the unrepentant atheist whose last thoughts are, "I believe I am losing brain function" lacks the imagination of the unrepentant atheist who has a deathbed conversion. In other words, by sticking only to what can be known and proven, one misses the better story.

I don't necessarily agree with this. I think it's an interesting point of view, and as long as one can remain aware that belief is not truth, I think I can let it go, but I don't believe that the world of fact and reason is without brilliant stories. Look at the story of life on earth - a three and a half billion year epic of survival, death and rebirth. Look at the story of a lowly paperclip - born in the heart of an exploding star, and representing five thousand years of human progress towards extelligence. There are great stories, astounding stories out there in the world that don't need to be believed because they are true. There is evidence for them, and their veracity can be proven.

But Martel's isn't about what is provably true.

Pi offers a choice: given two possible explanations for something, with no evidence to support either one, which explanation would you choose? The answer is, whichever explanation makes for the better story. Pi's adventure is an example of that. As readers, we choose to believe Pi's story, because it's fascinating. We don't sit there and think, "This is bull. A teenage boy taming a tiger? Puh-leeze." We believe the story, while at the same time knowing that it is not, technically, "true."

So it is with God. We believe in God, regardless of whether God is "true," because it's a more interesting story. And Pi's adherence to three mutually exclusive religions suggests that the God of Pi isn't to be found in a book or a church, in the words of a priest or a holy man. The God of Pi is everywhere, and doesn't care if we believe or not. But we should believe, Pi suggests. Because that's the better story.

The best books leave us thinking, and burrow into our brains to give us something to chew on for a while. So it is with this book. My rational part and my romantic part argue over the meaning of this story, and whether or not Pi's conclusion is valid. Sometimes I agree, and sometimes I don't. That's just how it is. But one thing I can say with certainty is that this is a very good book. And you should read it.

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"To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation."
-Pi Patel, Life of Pi
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Yann Martel on Wikipedia
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Review 23: American Gods

American Gods by Neil Gaiman

I remember waiting a long time for this book. Neil documented the process of writing it on his blog, so every few days I would get a little glimpse at what he was doing - and it drove me nuts. Living in Japan, I can never be sure when my favorite entertainment will make it over here. Movies and books can take months to get from the US to Japan, and while I'm waiting not-so-patiently, all my friends at home have just devoured it and are in the process of raving about how awesome it is. Oh, sure, the hyper-sellers like Harry Potter might have a worldwide release, but Neil wasn't exactly a mainstream superstar when this was written.

So yes, one of my main memories associated with this book is frustration. Fortunately, when I picked up the book during a trip home back in 2001, my frustration was erased and replaced with profound satisfaction.

American Gods was one of Gaiman's first full-length novels, though I may be wrong about that. It was not, of course, his debut - he had made his name a household word in fantasy-reading households by penning the epic comic book series Sandman, in which he proved that he was able to marry huge metaphysical themes to personal narrative. He could make the dissolution of worlds pale beside a broken heart and make you believe that even the simplest of life had vast meaning.

In other words, this man has some serious writing chops.

As the title implies, in this book Gaiman takes on the gods, and asks a very interesting - and important - question: what happened to the gods that came to America? I'm talking about the Old Gods, the gods that had been living in the hearts and minds of people for thousands of years. Leprechauns and dryads, three-in-one forces of fate and representations of the seasons. Easter and Odin, Bast and Anubis, gods of once-great nations and unknown villages. As their people came to America over the millennia, they brought their gods with them.

But as the people stayed in America, they changed. They grew. And the gods discovered that America is not a good place for them.

Now the old gods are small and unworshipped, save by a few tiny, dwindling pockets of their old culture. What's more, new gods are rising, gods of media and internet, highway and television and government. And, as has been said in countless westerns and cowboy movies, there isn't room for all of them. There will be a reckoning, and a man named Shadow is in the middle of it.

Shadow is a convict, nearly at the end of his time in prison. He wants nothing more than to get out of prison and rejoin his wife. He gets one of those wishes when he is released early. Unfortunately, he is released early to attend his wife's funeral.

Without friends or family, Shadow is aimless and alone. It is in this condition that he meets the enigmatic Wednesday, a man who seems to know Shadow and his situation, far better than any stranger should. He offers Shadow a job - to assist Wednesday when he needs it, protect him if he has to, and sit a vigil for him if he dies. With nothing to lose, Shadow accepts the deal. In so doing, he finds himself facing a war of gods that he never knew existed.

It's a great story, on many levels. In one sense, it's a love letter to America. Shadow's journey takes him through small towns that have yet to be subsumed into the ever-devouring maw of the modern American monoculture - from roadside attractions to tiny motels to strange lakeside communities, the unacknowledged weirdness of America is put on display here for all to see. As is its history, in the form of flashbacks to the journeys that people made from their homelands to this land, voluntary or not. The book reminds us that there is a complexity to not only American history, but also to American culture, which gets lost in the ubiquity of McDonald's and Starbucks.

The metaphysical angle of this book is also something to give you pause. It asks the questions about what gods are, how they're born and how they die. Most importantly - how they flourish or wither, and why. It is said over and over again that America is a bad place for gods, although it's not clearly explained why. Perhaps something to do with its geography - a vast, variable landscape that's too big for small tribal gods to get a hold of. Perhaps it's the people, brought from all over the world, who can't help but wonder what other cultures can offer them. Perhaps it's just the nature of its people - always moving, independently-minded. The old gods, who were gods of small nations and regions, simply didn't have the power or flexibility to stay on.

Which really makes us wonder, how did capital-g God manage to get a foothold? As one of the characters notes, Jesus has done really well over here. Perhaps because the God of Abraham can be all things to all people - a god of vengeance and justice, a god of mercy and love, a creator, a destroyer, a personal friend or a distant observer. There is something to be said for non-specialization, I suppose....

This book is a journey, and it's a long and complicated one at that. But it's enjoyable and personal. Gaiman writes with great empathy, so that the reader may even understand the gods themselves, as reduced and attenuated as they may have become. Though Shadow is not exactly the protagonist of the story - he spends most of the book doing what he is told to do, only taking initiative on his own towards the end, he is observant. Through his eyes, we learn more about America. Its triumphs, its flaws and its potential all become a little bit clearer, and upon finishing the book, those of us from that strange, turbulent land can perhaps appreciate it a bit more.

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"This is the only country in the world that worries about what it is."
- Wednesday, American Gods
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