An Unfinished Season

After a whirlwind weekend in Vermont, and the completion of two short books ("The Old Man and the Sea" and "A Raisin in the Sun") I began to read a book on the recommendation of a close friend: "An Unfinished Season" by Ward Just. On the cover, in small font, it said "Pulitzer Prize nominated". My initial assessment was less than favorable. Really? This book? Pulitzer prize nominated? The book seemed stuffy and overbearing. Stuffy and overbearing are not exactly fatal descriptors when it comes to my reading preferences, see "The Untouchables" and "The Marriage Plot" as recent examples, however this book seemed especially banal and, moreover, meandering.

But it wasn't meandering at all! And once I picked up the path and direction of the book, my pace quickened and tonight, as I sat on the 8:13PM New Haven Express train out of Harlem, I read the last twenty pages both hungrily and regretfully, knowing with each turn that I was closer to the end of an unforgettable journey. Sounds cliche right? Well put your seat belt on, because here comes another: this book had a profound effect on me. It was beautiful, even if, at times, it felt slightly confused and took unnecessary detours. It was a novel about growth, and essentially distilled the "coming of age" of a young man down to a series of connected moments spread out throughout the course of a pre-collegiate summer. This is always the way that I have suspected that people grow up. Not over the course of several years but over the course of several moments.

Here is a photo I took of some of my students on a field trip to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City in November of 2013:

Firewood

I think that you can tell a lot about a person by the way in which they start a fire. There are many different ways to start a fire, but after lengthy observation and careful consideration, I believe that most everyone can be ascribed to one of two groups.

The first group is characterized by their overzealous usage of kindling as well as their poor long-term fire planning. How will your fire survive when you have used up all of the smaller pieces of firewood? This is an example of a question which seldom crosses the mind of a member of the first group. And, if it does, it is always accompanied by a simultaneous feeling of melancholy and quiet disappointment. Like a child that opens its Christmas presents too quickly, these people are often interested more in the short-term satisfaction of a burgeoning fire. The flare and beauty of the blazing kindling captivates and satisfies, although it is inherently ephemeral.

The second group, of course, is more interested in the long term health of the fire. They will use kindling sparingly, not only because they are more chiefly concerned with the arrangement of larger pieces of firewood, but also because they have a desire to use all resources in moderation. These are types of people who print all of their recipes for the week and then go to the grocery store to only buy the ingredients that they need.

No one belongs exclusively to either group, and it is possible to change camps during one's lifetime and even, perhaps, yes almost certainly, to change multiple times.

This is a metaphor.

Look at this Christmas Tree that we set on fire!