Now that I have gotten disdain for books out of my system, I would like to share some of my favorites. The two things I look for in a book are a) that it be an autobiography and b) that it not be written by a writer. I don’t want to be impressed by someone’s writing ability; I just want to understand what they are saying. The more simple, the more I like it.
I like books by strange people and books by normal people. Books by “great” people and books by ordinary people. Although ordinary people write books about themselves less frequently, when they do it is a treat. I would prefer a book about a day at the office to a book about the conquest of Rome.
A couple more thoughts…
I hate it when autobiographies begin with endless details about a person’s ancestry.
Many autobiographies are spellbinding in the beginning but become vomit inducing once the person achieves worldly success. Pre-success self lives in a fascinating little world of dreams and struggles, while post-success self inhabits a dry, bloated reality in which they have become an object even to themselves.
So anyway, here are a few favorite books…
Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass
I love books about people who must endure circumstances beyond their control. Two other things that make this book amazing to me…
Freddie’s fate is changed by a magic root.
He finds the “keys to his destiny.” What do I mean? Well, I have this theory that everyone has one- or possibly several- keys that unlock destiny for them. But these keys differ from person to person. One person might need to read every book they get their hands on to tap into their latent powers of luck, while another person might need to focus on growing their hair into long, golden locks.
Freddie had two keys- literacy and fighting. He knew he must learn to read at all costs and- and after receiving the magic root- he realized he must always fight back, even against his master, returning each blow with a blow.
As he admits in the book, this course of action would generally have guaranteed a slave’s death. But since it was his destiny, or perhaps because he held the magic root, it worked for him.
Up from Slavery by Booker T. Washington
Once again, a person who endured hardship and found the keys to their destiny. In the case of Booker, his destiny was unlocked through a devotion to practicality and manual labor. At a time when former slaves were being encouraged to learn French and run for office, he realized the value of learning a practical trade- one that would meet the true needs of humanity. He figured that a man who serves a necessary role will have a secure place in any community, while the fortunes of the high-falluting man will wax and wane.
Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs
I don’t know if Harriet ever found the key to her destiny, but anyone who has the will to spend 7 years curled up in a box to escape slavery is cool in my book. This made me feel better about all the years I have spent in near confinement.
The Crystal Horizon by Reinhold Messner
This book- about Reinhold’s first solo climb of Everest- helped me see how the road to glory is paved with drudgery, pain and hallucinations. I appreciated his simplicity and his willingness to risk his own life while not the lives of others. A cold, high & empty feeling pervaded the whole book, which I found very stimulating.
How I Found Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley
Now for a man who was completely willing to let others die in his quest for glory. But keep in mind that Henry was a soldier himself, risking his life for both the Confederates AND the Yankees, constantly putting himself in danger- not for a social cause- but in the name of Manhood and Adventure.
This book is also an interesting glimpse into Africa of the 1800s, though through a traveler’s perspective. People offended by the racism of days gone by should avoid this book, since Henry believes in the superiority of his own race.
Growing up with Draja Mickaharic by Luke Cullen
A simple book in which Luke recounts his childhood training with a magician. It is not fantastical, however. Even his teacher-the magician- explains to him that magic can only alter the odds by 20%. Eventually, the author decides this advantage is not worth the cost and forsakes magic for an ordinary life.
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
Not an autobiography, but probably the best book ever written. Timeless animals doing timeless things. What more could you ask for?
The Story of My Experiments with Truth by Mohandas K. Gandhi
A good book for those wanting to take a more extreme approach to life. Drinking his own urine is just the tip of the iceberg. I may have been better off never having read this book, since it fed some of my own extremist tendencies and sent me down a strange path for years. I never drank urine of course, but did develop self-torture routines of my own for the purpose of… actually, I can’t remember exactly what the purpose was supposed to be. To be stronger, I suppose?
But I have come to the conclusion that self-flagellation only works as a spiritual path if you are a man. Because it is the nature of man to rise above his emotions, whereas it is the nature of woman to glean wisdom from hers. Only men should try to conquer themselves.
Eight books is enough for now, but I may be back with more later…
Me, when I lived in a place that had bookstores. Living in New England brought out my scholarly side for some reason.
Oh, and do you happen to like songs about books? Here are a couple to consider…
The BrownLibrary (a song about the ultimate library contained within the Earth)
I love to Read(a song about a person who loves to read, but of course they read the ultimate books- the ones hidden in nature)
Do you ever feel like everything you say is completely wrong? I do. Not that there is something particularly wrong about it, but just that the whole realm of my thought & feeling is off.
I am hoping I can take some time away from both reading and human civilization for a while, living a life of manual labor, so I can clear my head and try to realign it with something more real. It is hard for me to do manual labor, though, because I have been brainwashed to feel that it is a waste of time. If I spend too much time on it, I feel guilty. That is just social pressure, though. My personal feelings are that manual labor is where its at.
Like, I would think, for example, that being a housekeeper would be much richer than working in an office. All the smells, textures, colors… creating a world that is your own and getting to change it at will! How much more intelligent would you be if your didn’t spend your days eating other people’s ideas and vomiting them back up? Ideas that pass from human to human quickly become toxic. Our real ideas come from nature. And in manual labor, it is nature we are interacting with.
You can’t clean a cast iron pot without taking some of the knowledge of iron into yourself. You can’t bake a loaf of cornbread without absorbing a touch of corn’s power- the ability to be evil when evil is called for.* Cotton, wood, metal, plant, clay and fruit… all of it loaded with wisdom and new worlds… all of this loaded into our minds through contact with our hands, making us feel renewed. Inspired.
And yet, the social pressures I feel are always to do something dumb- such as read the “classics” of literature. Some of which are okay- mostly the ones written for children, I think, and the ones written by those who aren’t writers. But most are just belabored retchings of unoriginal ideas, filled with human waste, created only to impress.**
But I guess I don’t need to pit books & manual labor against each other. There is no reason you can’t do both, if you are the pretentious sort. But still, my ideal will always be the illiterate savage, the man of the earth. This isn’t a rebellion against intelligence, as some like to say, just a different idea of where intelligence comes from.
One scholar and one man of the earth take a walk in the park.
*To learn more about my feelings for corn, see here & here .
**I don’t mean to seem completely anti-scholar. I do think scholars have their place and am 20% scholar myself.
One of my dearest wishes, at the time I wrote this song, was to be illiterate. If only I could have a clean and unconditioned mind, I felt there were so many things I could do and know… the sky would be the limit for me.
Books written by humans seemed like a distraction to me- a way of constraining my mind within a narrow bandwidth of information- when the whole world that surrounded me, with all its colors, shapes, and fragrances, was a page of a book written in the language of the angels (which I called Angelese). Angelese is a language of symbols and the senses, the notion that everything we perceive around us is deeply meaningful and that our hearts are naturally capable of discerning this meaning.
Because people lie all the time, and constantly distort the truth. But in the book of angels, the truth will always be written out, clear as day. As the pedophile walks down the street, there will be a sign, an impression somewhere, that tells you who he is.
