sameness.

The New York Times Bestseller List, a somewhat vague article that often seems more adjective than noun, has become a flashing sign for readers. READ THIS BOOK, THE MIGHTY CITY OF NEW YORK AND ITS FINEST MINDS STAND BY THE PROMISE IT WILL WOW YOU. The imprint of the distinguishing label is given as a reward for excellence, but it is at the same time an impetus for excellence. Novels stamped with the seal very quickly rise from the “middle class” of published work, the tier above the unpublished, agent-searchers, to the upper echelon of books that sell millions of copies, become movies and leave their author somewhat stunned at his or her unexpected and unimagined success. Certainly we have all, or most of us have, read a New York Times Bestseller and been left wanting, but isn’t it interesting how most of the time those books really are delicious, enjoyable, wonderful works of art that make your mind swim?

It is fascinating to me that one book, three-hundred pages give or take, a story imagined, words strung together, has the potential to push its way through the front door of thousands upon thousands of minds?—different ages, stages of life, demographics do not hinder a book like this. Steinbeck’s East of Eden, for instance, a novel now nearly sixty years old, is read by perhaps millions of people over time, and each one treasures it for some reason. Universality of pleasure—common preferences. How can so many enjoy so unique, so concrete a thing?

And then take food, for instance. Isn’t it strange that everyone loves Peanut M&Ms? (Noted: I am making a gross generalization, but it is pretty much true, and arguing that many people are allergic to peanuts is irrelevant, because were it not for the allergy they would probably eat peanut M&Ms, and in fact most Peanut-Intolerants spend half of their lives wishing it weren’t so). How can it be that people, being so different in so many ways, can love the same little colored pebbles? A rich woman, during her time of the month, is very likely to pick up a bag of P-M&Ms in the check-out line at the Boutique grocery store, while a poor man may spend the only $.89 he has on one yellow bag. There are some instances, it seems not too outlandish to say that many instances, where things like this, things that seem unique, are in fact almost fully universal. I think it is absolutely fascinating.

I like what this suggests—that each person, though celebrated for his uniqueness in the world, is made up of much the same stuff as his neighbor—that people are unified by an overarching commonness, and are therefore not solitary—individual realization of this is perhaps the anecdote of loneliness.


Mind babble - permissible because it's my blog.