I don’t read as often as I should. When I do get around to reading, I rather enjoy it. I have such a pile-up list of books I “need” to read, according to everybody. A couple of the last few I’ve read were from Chuck Klosterman, a column editorial writer that has worked for Spin, Esquire, The NY Times, and more. He mostly writes about Music, Culture/Life, and Basketball. (My favorite things!) I read Sex, Drugs, and Cocoapuffs last winter, and most recently I read his latest work IV, whose title is a throwback to the Zeppelin album (both books I read on planes…seems to be only time I read. I should travel more.) He may use the words retrospectively and in and of itself a little too often, but that doesn’t take away from the clever (and witty) commentary he provides on modern culture and rock music. What I like about his insights, though, are the way they borderline on philosophical and political arguments about the state of modern life today (in and of itself).
His new work IV is merely a collection of many of his columns and interviews throughout his career, so he divides the book between things that are true (fact), things that might be true (speculation), and something that isn’t true (which feels more like speculation to me). The most intriguing section to me was things that might be true…this is where his real insight is realized, in his speculation. However, unique to this book are small hypothetical questions he adds before each Chapter. They aren’t really commentaries on culture or music, but they provide some interesting questions to ponder. Some of these hypotheticals are extremely well-posed, and I’d like to share a few of them with you, hopefully without getting in trouble for posting them. Read them all after the break…
Klosterman Hypothetical #1
Think of someone who is your friend (do not select your best friend, but make sure the person is someone you would classify as “considerably more than an acquaintance”).
This friend is going to be attacked by a grizzly bear.
Now, this person will survive this bear attack; that is guaranteed. There is a 100 percent chance that your friend will live. However, the extent of his injuries is unknown; he might receive nothing but a few superficial scratches, but he also might lose a limb (or multiple limbs). He might recover completely in twenty-four hours with nothing but a great story, or he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
Somehow, you have the ability to stop this attack from happening. You can magically save your friend from the bear. But his (or her) salvation will come at a peculiar price: if you choose to stop the bear, it will always rain. For the rest of your life, wherever you go, it will be raining. sometimes it will pour and sometimes it will drizzle - but it will never not be raining. But it won’t rain over the totality of the earth, nor will the hydrological cycle be disrupted; these storm clouds will be isolated, and they will focus entirely on your specific whereabouts. You will never see the sun again.
Do you stop the bear and accept a lifetime of rain?
Klosterman Hypothetical #2
At the age of thirty, you suffer a blow to the skull. The head trauma leaves you with a rare form of partial amnesia - though you are otherwise fine, you’re completely missing five years from your life. You have no memory of anything that happened between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-eight. That period of your life is completely gone; you have no recollection of anything that occurred during that five-year gap.
You are told by friends and family that - when you were twenty-five - you (supposedly) became close friends with someone you met on the street. You possess numerous photos of you and this person, and everyone in your life insists that this individual was your best friend for two years. You were (allegedly) inseparable. In fact, you find several old letters and e-mails from this person that vaguely indicate you may have even shared a brief romantic relationship. But something happened between you and this individual when you were twenty-seven, and the friendship abruptly ended (and - apparently - you never told anyone what caused this schism, so it remains a mystery to all). The friend moved away soon after the incident, wholly disappearing from your day-to-day life. But you have no memory of any of this. Within the contest of your own mind, this person never even existed. There is tangible proof that you deeply loved this friend, but - whenever you look at their photography - all you see is a stranger.
Six weeks after your incident, you are informed that this person has suddenly died.
How sad do you feel?
Klosterman Hypothetical #3
Assume everything about your musical tastes was reversed overnight. Everything you once loved, you now hate; everything you once hated, you now love. For example, if your favorite band has always been R.E.M., they will suddenly sound awful to you; they will become the band you dislike the most. By the same token, if you’ve never been remotely interested in the work of Yes and Jethro Tull, those two groups will instantly seem fascinating. If you generally dislike jazz today, you’ll generally like jazz tomorrow. If you currently consider the first album by Veruca Salt to be slightly above average, you will abruptly find it to be slightly below average. Everything will become its opposite, but everything will remain in balance (and the rest of your personality will remain unchanged). So - in all likelihood - you won’t love music any less (or any more) than you do right now. There will still be artists you love and who make you happy; they will merely be all the artists you currently find unlistenable.
Now, I concede that this transformation would make you unhappy.
But explain why.
Klosterman Hypothetical #4
Think about your life.
Think about the greatest thing you have ever done, and think about the worst thing you have ever done. Try to remember what motivated you to do the former, and try to remember what motivated you to do the latter.
How similar are these two motives?
I highly suggest you go buy the book because it’s truly a great read.
Cheers,
Matthew Lettini
