Showing posts with label 2013 countdown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2013 countdown. Show all posts

Friday, February 8, 2013

2013 Countdown #3: Man's Search for Meaning, ****


Man's Search for Meaning


I had heard of Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning previously, but until earlier this year, I had misunderstood what it's about. I had assumed that it was a work of philosophy, which I suppose is true in a way. But it's more accurate to describe the book partly as the author's memoir of surviving the Holocaust and partly as a description of the psychotherapeutic technique that the author, a psychiatrist, developed to help people who have experienced terrible traumas.

The book is an insightful and thought-provoking examination of how we find meaning in life and how we bear suffering. In the first half of the book, Frankl describes--with almost heartbreaking understatement--his life in a German concentration camp during World War II. There are no heroes in his memoir: he is chillingly matter-of-fact about everyone in the camp, both guards and guarded. He frequently downplays his own suffering by offering disclaimers that others endured conditions much worse than his, that their hardships eclipsed his somehow. Several times, he mentions almost apologetically that others have already described the living conditions, the medical trials, the senseless brutality, and the casual killings that filled the days there.

When the war finally ended, Frankl dedicated much of his time to providing psychotherapy to other survivors. Many traditional therapeutic methods required patients to dwell on past traumatic experiences, which kept the wounds open. Frankl chose a different approach, which he called logotherapy. Logotherapy asked the patients to focus on the future instead of the past, helping them to define some specific life objective that could help bring meaning to the individual's future life. Frankl quotes Nietzsche: "He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how."

Frankl's theory was that suffering becomes more bearable if one can make some sense of it. This passage of the book moved me: "Once, an elderly general practitioner consulted me because of his severe depression. He could not overcome the loss of his wife who had died two years before and whom he had loved above all else. Now, how could I help him? What should I tell him? Well, I refrained from telling him anything but instead confronted him with the question, 'What would have happened, Doctor, if you had died first, and your wife would have had to survive you?' 'Oh,' he said, "for her this would have been terrible; how she would have suffered!' Whereupon I replied, 'You see, Doctor, such a suffering has been spared her, and it was you who have spared her this suffering--to be sure, at the price that now you have to survive and mourn her.' He said no word but shook my hand and calmly left my office. In some way, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice."

For a layperson like me, the technical aspects of the psychotherapy presented in the second half of the book overwhelmed the book's basic message a bit, which is why I rated the book 4-stars instead of 5. But it is still a memorable, tremendously worthwhile read.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

2013 Countdown: Book #2, The Liberator, ****




For my second book of the year, I recently finished Alex Kershaw's The Liberator: One World War II Soldier's 500-Day Odyssey from the Beaches of Sicily to the Gates of Dachau. Although I'm very interested in 20th century European history, I hadn't specifically planned to read the book--it just happened to be sitting on the shelf of new arrivals at my local library, and the first few pages pulled me in immediately. I love it when that happens--it's an unexpected gift.

With all the books, movies, and television shows about World War II, it's becoming increasingly difficult for new material about that period to present something fresh and original. That's one of the reasons why Kershaw's book appealed to me: I've read much less about the Allied campaign in Italy than about the D-Day landings or the war in the Pacific, for example. Also, Kershaw explains events by following the experience of a single soldier, Felix Sparks, an American infantryman whose unit landed on Sicily in 1943 and who fought through Italy, France and Germany, ultimately being among the handful of men who liberated the Dachau concentration camp in 1945. Even though Kershaw tells the story through the lens of one person, he balances the micro-level narrative with all the macro-level context necessary to understand why the battles are significant and how the overall war effort is proceeding at each stage.

The story is gripping, and Kershaw's writing is smooth and well-paced. He introduces Felix Sparks as such a likable and heroic figure that I wasn't just reading about Sparks, I was worrying about him as he fought through Europe. And I was imagining how awful it must have been for his wife and parents, knowing that he was in constant danger.

More than once, The Liberator reminded me of John Steinbeck's outstanding book Once There Was a War, which was a collection of the articles he wrote as a journalist covering the WWII. Steinbeck's journalism has a lot in common with Kershaw's narrative nonfiction: both are at their best telling stories of individuals who didn't choose to go to war but who act with integrity and courage, doing their best as small parts of a mammoth war effort. Done well, as it is in these two cases, that is a worthy read.

Monday, January 14, 2013

2013 Countdown: Book #1, Slaughterhouse Five, ***

Slaughterhouse-Five

Last week I kicked off the 2013 literary challenge reading Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Somehow it was my very first Vonnegut--I can't figure out why it took me so long to give him a try--and even though it wasn't the best novel I've read recently, I liked it enough that I'll probably check out some of his other books in the future. Slaughterhouse Five was inventive, thought-provoking, and often entertaining. On the other hand, Vonnegut delivered his message with a sledgehammer, and he dressed it up in a story so outlandish that I was tempted several times to put the book down.

For those of you unfamiliar with Slaughterhouse Five, it's about Billy Pilgrim, a young American GI in Germany during World War II who, owing to an alien abduction, experiences his life non-sequentially, bouncing randomly from the war to his childhood, his later years, and his time with the aliens of Tralfamadore, and back again. One of his core experiences was surviving the American firebombing of Dresden, sheltered in a slaughterhouse that had been repurposed into a POW camp.

Some books tell great stories, some books deliver powerful messages, and some books do both. For me, this was a message book: its plot was so farfetched and farcical that it felt grasping and awkward. Vonnegut dreamed up the whole alien abduction storyline to give himself a platform on which to opine about free will, but I caught myself rolling my eyes more than once. No question, this is purely a matter of taste: some people clearly love that kind of thing, chief among them book critics. Modern Library ranked Slaughterhouse Five as the 18th greatest English language novel of the 20th century. And I can see why they did it; I'm totally willing to concede to them on all matters related to literary merit. But enjoyment of a book is subjective and personal, and I enjoyed this book moderately. Just moderately.

Setting aside the absurdity of the plot, however, Vonnegut has an undeniable knack for sentences and phrases that stick in the mind. I appreciated two quotes in particular. The first passage comes in the first chapter, when the narrator is describing what he did before traveling to Europe to begin work on his book about Dresden:
The two little girls and I crossed the Delaware River where George Washington had crossed it, the next morning. We went to the New York World's Fair, saw what the past had been like, according to the Ford Motor Company and Walt Disney, saw what the future would be like, according to General Motors. And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.
The second quote was about an ancillary character, a fellow prisoner of war who had been a hobo prior to the war:
Those boots were almost all he owned in this world. They were his home.
I'm glad I read it and I did enjoy it well enough, but I won't be in a hurry to pick it up again soon. Three stars. So it goes.