Though the book is categorised as “self help”, and has the kind of material that would qualify it for that label (if you’re so inclined), I read it more as a bunch of perspective on living and being. Or rather, Being, as the author prefers. And perspectives there are – the psychology professor and practitioner refers to the thoughts of everyone from Nietzsche, Solzhenitsyn and Dostoevsky to Milton and Jung. Not to mention theology – Tao, Buddha and especially the Bible play a part too. To the extent that even the Pareto principle gets connected to a Bible reference.
Remember the early days of the pandemic, when we played alphabet soup with economic recovery? One has to be extremely optimistic to consider the much-touted “V” now, and there’s increasing consensus around “K”. There’s something subliminal about the former sounding like “we”, and the latter sounding like, well, K, signalling that we don’t care. And that’s why I began thinking of how those in the upper part of “K” are utilising their wealth. In addition to using it to create more wealth, that is.
I think there are at least two expansion narratives at play. One is seeking new “real” frontiers. This is a centuries-old pattern – the Americas, Silicon Valley – until geography has been tamed. We’re now on to “colonising” Mars. The metaphor is clear. The other is digital frontiers, where our time and mind space is being increasingly spent. Both are about escaping the confines of reality as we know it now.
Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs & Steel ranks among my favourites. Insightful and full of perspectives. While that book was about how and why civilisations unfolded differently around the globe, this one is on why many of them collapsed. The author defines collapse as a”a drastic decrease in human population size and/or political/economic/social complexity, over a considerable area, for an extended time.” He then uses a five point framework to analyse multiple examples, spanning time and geography. The five points are environmental changes, climate changes, hostile neighbours, decrease in trading partners, and finally, society’s response to the above.
The author starts with contemporary farms in Montana and then moves on to the Mayans in South America, the Easter Islands natives, the various Viking communities across continents, and the Native American Anasazi to apply the five point framework and understand the causes of their downfall, and sometimes survival. He then examines modern societies and their challenges – Rwanda, China, Australia, and the interesting case of neighbouring countries that went in opposite directions – The Dominican Republic and Haiti. Strangely, this is despite both countries having a history of dictators.
The last portion of the book delves into what caused societies to make disastrous decisions, and the impact of big businesses on the environment. The latter is not always a negative, and there are some excellent examples of large corporations realising that doing good can actually help the bottomline. There is also a very interesting section on the responsibility of individual consumers.
While we still may not know exactly what happened, there is a fair amount of convincing logic in the author’s hypotheses on how and why civilisations collapsed. And it gets more interesting when we look at the problems we are facing now. On one hand, the scale of the problems are indeed much higher. But on the other, there have been technological advances that can aid us. How much of a counterbalance is one for the other? And as one of his students asks, what was the islander who cut down the last tree on Easter Island thinking as he was doing it? Are we too, frogs in boiling water? Do we have landscape amnesia which prevents us from seeing the changes around us?
The book is not easy though, and sometimes one wonders whether the depth of research shared in the book takes away from the narrative flow. However, if the subject is interesting to you, it’s a read that will enlighten.
Let me begin from the unlikely context that sparked this thought. Mohanlal’s Drishyam 2. I thought the film was a poorly-written, with the character becoming inseparable from the pandering that’s required for the star’s fanbase. Most of the world thought otherwise. While I agreed that I too wouldn’t have liked to see the character lose a cat-and-mouse with the police, there are ways to script a win-win – Ayyappanum Koshiyum being a case in point. But it made me wonder about the kind of cinema that is unlikely to get made based on the will of the majority.
The will of the majority impacts other things too – for instance, politics. My Twitter feed is abuzz with people who call out the current government. It has perfectly executed the Fascism playbook of dismantling not just opponents but the architecture of institutions and culture that creates a free society. But in the larger world, one has to acknowledge that it got democratically elected, and that the people who do not like the Modisatva are still a minority.
“We are all wearing masks. That is what makes us interesting. These are stories about those masks, and the people we are underneath them.” Thus reads the blurb on the back cover. It’s quite meta, because the book does have a dark theme – “Many of these stories end badly for at least one of the people in them. Consider yourself warned”- and I am reading this after Covid struck! The setting couldn’t have been worse, or better!
The book has 24 stories (including the poems) and they are of different hues. Made richer because of the long introduction, which provides the context to a lot of these stories. There’s magic, science fiction, twisty fairy tales whose characters you almost know, and yes, ghost stories too! Gaiman also gives in to self-confessed trips of silliness – “And weep, like Alexander” is one such. His own fandom can be seen in a fantastic Sherlock Holmes story, a neat tribute to Ray Bradbury, a Doctor Who tale, and a surreal and profound one for David Bowie as well. There might be more that I might have missed because of a lack of context. Gaiman ends with a story with characters from American Gods. I probably wouldn’t have gotten that if I hadn’t watched the show, I need to buy that book! In addition, there are some clever formats too – A Calendar of Tales has a story for every month, each almost a different genre. Orange is another, a subject’s responses (no questions) to an investigator’s questionnaire.
What’s common in all of these is the power of imagination, and Gaiman’s way with words. The class of a storyteller is his/her ability to transport the reader to a place and time far away, and Gaiman did that for me more than a dozen times in this book. Pick it up, I am sure you will find your own treasures.
