I don’t think I’ve written about my love for Pachinko. So, let’s start there? I watched the first season when it came out and loved it so much. Then, I read the book. Now, the second season is out and so far, it’s just as good as the first season.
I bring all this up because I feel strongly compelled to show you the second season’s title sequence (which is very similar to but also totally different from the first season’s title sequence). It gives me goosebumps every time.
If forced to describe what Pachinko is about in as few words as possible, I think you’d have to include the word suffering in there. And so, to see these characters who are so often victimized, who are trying so hard just to survive, to see them joyfully dance around, some of them anachronistically so, in this title sequence, I don’t know, it’s just so incredibly beautiful.
What else? I just finished this book:
It came out in 2015. But I’d been thinking of David Shields because forever ago, probably in 2015, my friend Kara had mentioned his book, War is Beautiful. Back then, I’d tried to get it from the library, but they didn’t have it listed. Fast forward to 2024 and the Los Angeles library still doesn’t have any copies. They did have, however, the above, the title of which felt pulled from my soul.
The book is just okay, though. I’m surprised I finished it to be honest. I think I did because I kept waiting for the high drama, for these two guys to really go at each other. To get flustered, feel misunderstood, and say things just to hurt the other one. But ultimately, it is like the subtitle describes it: “a quarrel.” Sigh. It would be nice to “quarrel” with someone. To be able to express yourself, feel heard, and then not take it personally when the other person posts the opposite opinion on social media.
It dawns on me right now as I’m writing that there are two reasons why the quarrel never got out of hand.
The argument they’re supposed to be having is: Which is the better way to live? Prioritizing one’s life or one’s art? And I think since the whole dialogue is being recorded (Their stated goal is to turn the conversation into a published book.), they keep the tone fairly academic, i.e. “rational.” (Putting this word in quotes because: see below!)
Powell and Shields are not good friends. And if you’re not good friends with someone, I think it’s much easier to stay calm, i.e. academic, i.e. snoozeville.
All that said, there are some interesting bits worth noting. Firstly, that so much of this book felt “pre-2016”—in the specific sense that I discussed in my last post. Both of these men, David Shields and Caleb Powell, make their lefty politics quite clear and yet, both use the word “transvestite” a lot. I assume this is what people said back in 2015, but it did feel jarring to see it.
At another point, Shields pops off re: the intentional diversifying of his daughter’s public elementary school. The way he describes what he saw happening at the school is so pre-2016 (euphemism) that I can’t even include it here without getting totally waylaid. He concludes his diatribe by saying:
I yanked [my daughter] out of the school and sent her to a private middle school Laurie and I couldn’t afford. I’m embarrassed, because I’m privileged and white, but when the rubber hit the road, I wanted what was best for my daughter.
I did appreciate the honesty, though. I think. Ha.
But in the end, I don’t think either Powell or Shields convinced me of their points. Powell, who is a writer but whose main job is that of a stay-at-home dad to his three daughters, is clearly meant to be arguing for “life” and Shields, with his many published books, his university job, and his one child (this comes into the argument because Shields didn’t want to have another child for fear of being further pulled away from his work) is meant to be arguing for “art.”
The problem is that Powell reads as insecure to me, and Shields comes across as in not quite getting it either. It being the beauty of life. (Lol)
Which brings me back to Leslie Jamison’s Splinters. Jamison, a mother/writer gets it and she wrote about it!
Powell has traveled the world extensively and he holds this fact up as a kind of testament to his life lived. (Much more so than his experience being a stay at home dad. #boo)
Shields comes across as mildly swayed by this argument—that traveling = life. But not quite. Powell says this at one point:
[W. Somerset] Maugham said [Henry] James wrote as if there were a lively cocktail party next door, but the voices were too far away to hear, and the fence was too tall to peer over.
To which Shields responds:
To Maugham, that was probably a criticism, but to me that’s what makes James great. Life feels like that to anyone who’s a serious artist.
Powell disagrees. And so do I, even as I relate to that feeling: of being on the outside of a lively cocktail party. Of keeping my life uber simple in order to hole myself up in a quiet room so that I can write everything down.
One of the reasons I haven’t written here for a month is because I got notes back from my agent re: this current novel I’m writing. I’m so plainly motivated to not only finish this book but to get it right. I feel a total dedication to the project.
And yet, when this (really great) song, “Life Worth Missing” by Car Seat Headrest, comes on while I’m at the gym and the singer sings, “If you could be proud of anything you’ve done, what would it be?” the answer that comes to me is a feeling. And that feeling is the overwhelming, insane love/connection/devotion I feel for my kids. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, academically. Like, loving one’s children isn’t exactly an “accomplishment.” Right? And yet, I know that on my deathbed, I won’t be like: I should’ve written more! No. I’ll be like: I should’ve rushed outside to see the baby lizard habitat my kids created instead of telling them I’d be out later and then never, ever going out there.
Speaking of motherhood/writing/art, I wanna talk about a tiny lil’ moment from Miranda July’s All Fours—a book I mostly loved and highly recommend—that irked me. Ready, my paid people? Okay, here goes! (Also, the title of this post will make more sense once you’ve read this next part.)
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