The late Simon
Leys led me to this encouraging insight from Schopenhauer (Essays and Aphorisms, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, 1970):
“The art of
not reading is a very important one. It consists in not taking an interest in
whatever may be engaging the attention of the general public at any particular
time. When some political or ecclesiastical pamphlet, or novel, or poem is
making a great commotion, you should remember that he who writes for fools
always finds a large public. A precondition for reading good books is not
reading bad ones: for life is short.”
No reader
starts out knowing this. My own early reading was omnivorous and indiscriminate.
I had no standards and followed a self-generated curriculum. My stomach was strong,
and I could swallow almost anything, even science fiction. Fortunately, that
changed. Unfortunately, so has the world.
In a few
weeks, my youngest son returns to his boarding school in Ontario. He’s a
tenth-grader and has tested into senior A.P. English. That sounded good until
an email arrived on Sunday informing him that before school begin he has a book
to read. Previously, that book was an obvious choice, King Lear. Senior year is a little late to encounter that play for first
time, but I understand the drift of things. The Canadian brain trust, however,
has other ideas. David must read American
War (2017), dystopian crap by Omar El Akkad. A précis suggests the novel is
a string of trendy clichés – drones, state secession, a ban on fossil fuels,
assassination. Patronizing young people, spoon-feeding them fashionable ideas,
is never a good idea. At David’s age – fifteen – I would already have outgrown such
condescending pap.
“The art of
our necessities is strange,
That can
make vile things precious.”
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