I last reported that I’d flown the Facebook coop and planned on living happily ever after. That was in mid-January of 2020. I’d only put my account on pause at that point. I had every intention of walking away for good, but as a lifelong professional planner I knew better than to burn a bridge or cut a tie or murder the messenger too swiftly.
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I have finally ended my connection to Facebook. The last post I made was a link to Greta Thurnberg’s and George Monbiot’s three-minute and thirty-nine second YouTube video on solving the climate change riddle.
In preparation for shutting down my account, I first downloaded the Facebook file of my entire 12 year residency there. Quite fortuitously, or maybe not so much, I signed up to be part of that world on January 13, 2008. As I was downloading my file, I saw that it was the evening of January 13, 2020. Exactly twelve years on Facebook. Far out.
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I want to report that after two years of indiscriminate book reading on paper and screens, I have come to the conclusion that I like reading on-screen more than paper. I did not start this process as an experiment, but I was aware that I should do everything in my power not to be judgmental on either side of the fence as I read.
There’s the obvious issue of being able to change font sizes (my 56-year-old eyes suck), but in addition: I like the compactness of the reading experience; I seem to be able to scan a story better (that is speed up and slow down the reading process); it’s also awesome to set up a catalog of highlighted text with book apps; and Continue reading
Rarely do I bump into a short story in a mainstream publication that knocks my socks off. The last time that happened was about twelve years ago when I read Anthony Doerr’s “The Hunter’s Wife” in The Atlantic (that was before they stupidly discontinued stories in each of their editions).
That said, “Nirvana,” by Adam Johnson, is in Esquire this month. Johnson’s novel, The Orphan Master’s Son won the 2013 Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction. He is clearly an author who deserves every good reader’s attention.
It’s a very tender piece, but it’s so full of who we are at the moment: ghost musician gods, a wise President still dispensing his thoughts to the world although he’s dead, a cute, quixotic drone; tangles of hair; a spider moment that is perfect; app coding; Google, Apple, Facebook, Twitter, Microsoft — only just enough; the future; the past; encryption busting; an Indian boss with flare; and love — tender, desperate, sweet, awesome love (and a bit of sex).
“Yes, hearing the President whisper is creepy because he’s been dead now, what—three months? But even creepier is what happens when I close my eyes: I keep visualizing my wife killing herself. More like the ways she might try to kill herself, since she’s paralyzed from the shoulders down.”
What amazes me about this story is that it can, and should, be read by everyone. It is serious, intelligent fiction, but it’s also fun, interesting, humorous, and timely.
Most of you know you should read more short stories, but just don’t manage to find the time. This is something to spend the time on. I’m a slow reader. It’s hard for me to find the time, too, but I’m so glad I read “Nirvana.” It’s everything a modern short story should be and then some. Check it out. Click below (if you really can’t do the reading yourself, they’ve magically added an audio link with Mr. Johnson reading the piece himself).
