Finally, an Update from, Whatsitsname, Brandon

I’ve recently come to the realization that I am much more enamored with ideas than their implementation. I really enjoy the challenge of trying to figure things out or make them work (maybe why I always enjoyed math so much), but when it comes time to put what I’ve figured out into practice . . . well . . . I’d rather work on a new idea. Hence, we arrive at the situation where the person who works to organize a book club doesn’t contribute anything until, what, four months after the organizing began? Well, I repent, and here is my response to the first three chapters of Midnight’s Children. I must confess that it's been a bit of time since I have read this material, and when I was reading, the foremost thought in my head was, "You have 10,000 pages of assigned reading that you haven't touched, and you're reading for pleasure?" I ended up reading in fragments. Nevertheless, I stayed the course.

I'll pick up the conversation where John, Ashley, and Blake have left off. All three picked up the idea of “loving in fragments.” (39) I also found this image to be fascinating, and our Augustinian friend Blake really captured the mystery of the other and the self in his response. His description was evocative of Paul’s statement: “For now we see in a mirror, dimly,^* but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known." (1 Cor 13:12, NRSV) The image of loving in fragments makes me think of the desire for more—particularly in a new relationship, but in other situations as well. When you meet someone who captures your imagination, every meeting is like a fragment revealed, and the revelation of another fragment only creates the desire for more. It’s the similar with books for me. I’m not much for savoring books—I’m a consumer. I read for completion and then I’m on to whatever is next. And, if I happened to retain something, it’s a bonus. I agree with Blake about the impossibility of ever exhaustively knowing an( )other, but I think the desire for novelty can be extremely destructive to relationships. It is easy to think that we have seen everything behind the sheet and to become bored. The addiction to novelty can be a significant obstacle to the experience of joy.

The comments on living “within an invisible fortress of her own making, an ironclad citadel of tradition and certainties” (40) were also enjoyable. I notice that as I think I escape from some certainties, I unwittingly secure myself in other fortresses. And no matter what, I can always find refuge in the indomitable fortress of consumerism. It’s pretty unbelievable when it’s easier to buy a book than it is to use inter-library loan. Thanks, Amazon. And as often as I am disgusted by it, I’m certainly not beyond it. As much as I’ll complain that the one unthinkable thing at Christmas would be not to buy presents, I’m most likely going to demonstrate my love for my family monetarily.

Because the journey through Midnight’s Children has been continually postponed for the last few months, I’ve decided that it would be better to buy a copy rather than to continue to monopolize the Vanderbilt library’s copy, (thanks again, Amazon) and there is an introduction in the 25^th Anniversary Edition (thanks again, consumerism, for such novelties) that was not in the original. As a result, I only read the introduction after I had read the first three chapters, but it would have served to frame the novel historically very nicely.

“As I placed Saleem at the center of my new scheme I understood that his time of birth would oblige me immensely to increase the size of my canvas. If he and India were to be paired, I would need to tell the story of both twins. Then Saleem, ever a striver for meaning, suggested to me that the whole of modern Indian history happened as it did because of him; that history, the life of his nation twin, was somehow all his fault.” (x)

Rushdie conveys fairly clearly on the first page that Saleem and the modern state of India are connected by the time of their birth, but I did not grasp the importance of the connection until I read the introduction. This realization makes me read the opening scene in a different light. Aadam Aziz bows down to prey, hits his nose, bleeds, and resolves never again to kiss earth for any god or man. I wonder whether this corresponds to any specific event or a general sentiment leading up to Indian independence. I have no idea. But I wonder.

And finally, “bowing to the ineluctable [Courtney]-powers of what-happened-nextism,” (38—I kid, I kid) the assassination of the Hummingbird. How lamentable the demise of the source of Aadam’s optimism! Maybe it’s a consequence of my reading in fragments, but I haven’t yet grasped the connection to the greater narrative. I can imagine, however, that there were quite a few optimism-inspiring figures arising in the decades before independence.

Now, a personal update. I’m almost halfway through an M.Div. from Vanderbilt, and I’m serving as an intern at a UMC in Nashville, doing a little bit of everything. In my spare time I do wedding planning with Courtney. Following the leads of Bonnie and Blake, Mike and Renee, and Angie and Masa, we are tying the knot next July in Norman. I miss you all and look forward to reading more from you all! And from Rushdie as well.

Peace,

Brandon