What's Buried in Novels

Lately I've been on a tear for truth. I've been reading a lot of novels. I've been thinking about the economy, about thankfulness, about the fragility and magnificence of all I hold dear.

The books I love most are the ones that reveal truths about us as a people. Gulliver's Travels, a political satire that -- to me -- identifies so completely the difference between humans and completely rational creatures. Completely rational creatures wouldn't fight for truth; they'd only fight for resources. Completely rational creatures, actually, would probably never fight at all. It's such a waste of energy. They probably wouldn't love, either, because love is a risk for which there is no algorithm and no bonded guarantee. 

At night, I've been reading novel after novel trying to identify exactly what it is I want to write about next. With every passing day, I grow more frustrated with our leaders' inability to agree. Our collective inability to do the things that serve the greater good. The struggle between protecting ourselves from each other and protecting each other from ourselves. 

We read history to avoid repeating it, but inevitably history is only one side of the story. The maddening thing about humanity is that our egos make it so difficult to be compassionate, to see the other person's side. It is deeply painful to truly hear another's negative perception of yourself. It takes an act of faith to open yourself up to the criticism of your actions without defensiveness -- but if you can, it's a gift. How then, do we balance that insight with the belief we can succeed despite our many and obvious flaws? How do we pick ourselves up and change and make the world a better place?

It gets dark early these days, and so, after my daughter goes to bed, I turn to more and more novels, searching for the veracity buried there. And I think about what I want to write. And how in order to do so, I have to be willing to accept that not everyone will see what I see, and that's okay because we are not -- will never be -- completely rational creatures with one collective definition of truth.

And there is so much value in that. 

We see our own truth in glimpses on days that are truly horrible or truly fantastic, and the rest of the time we we seek that understanding of the world. Maybe understanding, even if the world is not what we wanted it to be, is happiness. 

I go into this winter seeking that feeling and trying to write a little faster to capture it before I walk into a crowd and forget all about it.