by Peter H Frank | Sep 9, 2015 | Business, Life in Romania, Literature |
In business and in life, it’s the small things we take for granted that generally cause our mistakes. After all, you might wonder, what’s so hard about putting a book on a shelf?
Many years ago, I was driving through the suburbs of Dallas on a quiet weekend when I saw a big sign announcing a book sale under a large white tent in a parking lot. It was a fundraiser of some sort and they had rows and rows and rows of books that were no longer wanted from some library or school or someplace else I don’t remember.
![Georg Brandes (1842-1927) [Source: http://denmark.dk/en/meet-the-danes/great-danes/scientists/georg-brandes/]](https://peterhfrank.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Georg_Brandes_by_Szacinski580.jpg)
Georg Brandes (1842-1927)
entury who had been an acquaintance of Ibsen and probably most of the Scandinavian and German intellectuals of the time. He had also corresponded with Nietzsche and introduced his philosophy to much of Europe. In fact, Brandes was probably the first guy who suggested to Nietzsche that he become familiar with someone named Soren Kierkegaard. He was also the person to whom Nietzsche wrote one of the greatest letters of all time. One of the so-called “madness letters” that Nietzsche composed in Turin during a brief period in early January 1889 and never mailed, the unstamped letter to Brandes said:
“To the friend Georg,
“When once you had discovered me, it was easy enough to find me: the difficulty now is to get rid of me…
[Signed] The Crucified.”
So how did this treasure, apparently the first English edition, sit there unnoticed and sell for just a few dollars? Because someone (who might want to try reading their own books a bit more) had placed this fine edition in the section about Education. That’s right. Where else would you put a book titled What Nietzsche Taught?
Now before I go on, let me absolutely assure you that I’m not suggesting any parallels between Friedrich Nietzsche and me. He had a lot more hair. And, I’m told, he successfully completed his “Introduction to German” course. But that said, not since that day in Dallas have I noticed a book so misplaced, so oddly juxtaposed with unrelated subjects, until recently when I saw my own published scribblings about critical thinking in business in a Carturesti bookstore placed between a book on how to quit smoking and one by the Dalai Lama. That’s right. Snuggled together. Like best friends hanging out with no place to go.
The Myth of the Eternal Return
I’m not sure about you, but when I think about me (or my writing), only seldom does the Dalai Lama come to mind (though it does frequently make me want to quit quit smoking). In fact, I would guess that the Dalai Lama (Note to Editor: is he known as just Lama on second reference?) and I have about as much in common as Nietzsche and I. Yes, we each have written a few things. But I would hardly expect that single similarity to warrant our being put on the same shelf – or even in the same store.
Frog and Toad Together
You can’t really blame the bookstores and I’m not complaining. I’m just glad my book exists. But I do feel sorry for the retailers and their clerks who are confronted by the dozens of books that are published here every single day. Who has time to sort them all out? Just because you sell them doesn’t mean you read them. (I mean, I’ve served Sautéed Cerveaux and I’ll be damned if I’d eat one.)
some other book
So why don’t publishers here bother telling anyone what their books are about? For the same reason, I suppose, employees in restaurants and the places we shop are not taught by their managers to say “Hello,” “I’ll be right there,” and “Ok, I’m back from my nap. Did any of you want another drink?” I guess they take for granted that we know that’s what they’re thinking. Understand, it’s not just my book and it’s not just one publisher that believes it unnecessary to tell others the secret topic that’s hidden within their pages. Maybe they just take for granted that the bookstores will figure it out. They think it’s the other guy’s job. Perhaps they do this because they don’t like them. I’m told publishers here don’t bother communicating much with bookstores – except when they try unsuccessfully to get paid. But that’s the great thing about print, whether selling or writing. You don’t actually have to talk to anyone.
Now for those of you who don’t read English, let me tell you that it’s almost impossible to find a book printed in English, whether in the UK or the US, that doesn’t somewhere on the jacket or flaps list the category of the subject of what’s written inside. Even the Bible, I suspect, has “Religion” printed somewhere on the back. (Yes, ok, some might suggest “Fiction,” but that’s the subject for someone else’s completely different blog.)
Indeed, I’m told that somewhere between 90 and 120 percent of all books published here are imported and translated from English. So the obvious question is: why not import this idea from the cover as well?
An Anxious Age
So this little curiosity got me paying attention. And what fun it has been. There is the Dictionary of Sociology directly under a sign for Economics. The autobiography of Jung is in Philosophy with Kant and Aristotle while the other books by Jung are five feet away in the Psychology section. In Sociology, of course, are put all of the books no one knows where else to put them (sort of what happens in the real world also). I had the feeling that if I kept looking, I’d probably find Who Moved My Cheese? in the Cooking section. Or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance under Do-It-Yourself. Maybe The Magic Mountain in Tourism with other books about Disneyland.
?
Instead, though, I concentrated on my book. (After all, if I don’t, who will?) That book I’ve found in Practical Psychology. Sometimes Self-Help. Other times safely placed under a section dedicated to the publisher. For a while it was placed generally in New Books. Other times, it’s on some table that’s completely unmarked. And my favorite is when the manager says they have it, but no one knows where.
The sad fact is that I originally worried I would have to convince people my book was not only about business. Now I find I need to convince them it is.
Finally, though, I did find it in the Business section. Oddly, it was also at a Carturesti, but a different one in town. This time, it was placed between Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In and James Carville and Paul Begala’s book titled Pupa-I In Bot Si Papa-I Tot. Manual De Marketing Politic (which means something like Kiss His Mouth And Eat All Of Him. A Manual Of Political Marketing).
What?!?!! On second thought, nevermind. Could you please put it back next to my friend, Mr. Lama?
by Peter H Frank | Aug 17, 2015 | Literature |
Finley Peter Dunne
Just a few weeks ago, I introduced you here to Finley Peter Dunne – or more importantly to Mr. Dooley. Usually, I would let it go at that and know you were making the time and effort to explore his writing and his humor on your own. But it’s the summer and I’m sure you’re too busy trying not to work so I’ll bring you just one more (shorter) selection to enjoy. And in the spirit of this excerpt about appropriate swearing, and as one who grew up in a house where swearing was as common as houseflies in summer, let me say to hell with reading emails to which you won’t bother replying and put your feet on your desk and read this damn thing.
“I don’t believe in profanity, Hinnissy – not as a reg’lar thing. But it has its uses an’ its place. F’r instance, it is issintial to some thrades. No man can be a printer without swearin’. ‘Tis impossible. I mind wanst I wint to a printin’ office where a frind iv mine be th’ name iv Donovan held cases an’ I heerd it’s foreman say: ‘What gintleman is setting A thirty?’ he says. ‘I am,’ says a pale aristocrat with black whiskers who was atin’ tobacco in th’ rear iv th’ room. ‘Thin,’ says th’ foreman, ‘ye blanket-blank blacksmith, get a move on ye. D’ye think this is a annyooal incyclopejee?’ he says. Ivrybody swore at ivrybody else. Th’ little boys runnin’ around with type prattled innocent pro-fanity an’ afther awhile th’ iditor come in an’ he swore more thin annybody else. But ‘twas easy to see he’d not larned th’ thrade iv printer. He swore with th’ enthusiasm an’ inacc’racy iv an amachoor, though I mus’ say, he had his good pints. I wisht I cud raymimber what it was he called th’ Czar iv Rooshya f’r dyin’ jus’ as th’ pa-aper was goin’ to press. I cud’ve often used it since. But it’s slipped my mind.
“Swearin’ belongs to some thrades, – like printin’, bricklayin’ an’ plumbin’. It is no help at all, at all to tailors, shoemakers, hair-dressers, dintists or authors. A surgeon needs it but a doctor niver. It is a great help in unloadin’ a ship an’ sailor men always swear – th’ cap’n an’ mate whin wurruk is goin’ on an’ th’ men before th’ mast at meals. Sojers mus’ swear. They’se no way out iv it. It’s as much th’ equipment iv a sojer as catridges. In vigorous spoort it is niciss’ry but niver at checkers or chess an’ seldom at dominoes. Cowboys are compelled to use it. No wan cud rope a cow or cinch a pony without swearin’. A sthrick bringin’ up is th’ same as havin’ a wooden leg on th’ plains. Profanity shud be used sparingly if at all on childher – especially girls – an’ seldom on women, though I’ve knowed an occasional domestic: ‘Damn ye’er eyes’ to wurruk wondhers in reg-latin’ a fam’ly. Women can’t swear. They have th’ feelin’ but not th’ means. Westhern men swear betther thin Eastern men though I mus’ say th’ mos’ lib’ral swearers I iver knew come fr’m Boston.
“But it don’t do to use pro-fanity th’ way ye wud ordin’ry wurruds. No, sir. Ye’ve got to save it up an’ invist it at th’ right time or get nawthin’ fr’m it. It’s betther thin a doctor f’r a stubbed toe but it niver cured a broken leg. It’s a kind iv a first aid to th’ injured. It seems to deaden th’ pain. Women an’ childher cry or faint whin they’re hurt. That’s because they haven’t th’ gift iv swearin’. But as I tell ye, they’se no good wastin’ it. Th’ man that swears at ivrything has nawthin’ to say when rale throubles come. I hate to hear annywan spillin’ out th’ valyable wurruds that he ought to save to be used whin th’ shtove-pipe come down. Not that it shocks me. I’m a dimmycrat. But I know th’ foolish man is hurtin’ himsilf. Put a little pro-fanity by f’r rainy days, says I. Ye won’t miss it an’ at th’ end iv th’ year whin ye renew ye’er lease ye’ll be surprised to find out how much ye have on hand. But if ye hurl it broadcast, if ivry time ye open ye’er mouth a hot wan lapes out, th’ time will come whin ye’ll want to say something scorchin’ an’ ye’ll have nawthin’ to say that ye haven’t said f’r fun. I’d as soon think iv swearin’ f’r pleasure as iv lindin’ money f’r pleasure. They ain’t too much pro-fanity in th’ wurruld. A good dale iv it has been used up since th’ coal sthrike begun. Th’ governmint ought to preserve it an’ prevent annywan fr’m swearin’ more thin was niciss’ry f’r to support life.”
by Peter H Frank | Jul 24, 2015 | Literature, Politics |
There is an art to living well and to leading well. And whether in politics, in business, or in acting on a stage, the same ethics and same temptations can equally apply. So while delivering a speech to a captive business or political audience hardly reaches the height of reciting lines from Shakespeare or Chekhov, too often and no matter which venue, the person who is performing believes they are speaking the words of genius.
Perhaps that is why, as I was recently reading Constantin Stanislavski’s Building a Character and came across the following excerpt, I couldn’t help but think of the politicians I see everyday acting out their insecure and coveted roles on TV.
Constantin Stanislavski in 1938. (Source: https://uttaps.wordpress.com/actor-prepares/stanislavski-the-moscow-art-theater-a-timeline/)
“An actor is on view every day before an audience of a thousand spectators from such and such an hour to such and such an hour. He is surrounded by the magnificent trappings of a production, set against the effective background of painted scenery, dressed often in rich and beautiful clothes. He speaks the soaring lines of geniuses, he makes picturesque gestures, graceful motions, produces impressions of startling beauty – which in large measure are brought about by artful means. Always being in the public eye, displaying his or her best aspects, receiving ovations, accepting extravagant praise, reading glowing criticisms – all these things and many more of the same order constitute immeasurable temptations.
“These breed in an actor the sense of craving for constant, uninterrupted titillation of his personal vanity. But if he lives only on that and similar stimuli he is bound to sink low and become trivial. A serious minded person could not be entertained for long by such a life, yet a shallow one is enthralled, debauched, destroyed by it. That is why in our world of the theatre we must learn to hold ourselves well in check. We have to live by rigid discipline.
“If we keep our theatre free from all types of evil we, by the same token, bring about conditions favourable to our own work in it. Remember this practical piece of advice: Never come into the theatre with mud on your feet. Leave your dust and dirt outside. Check your little worries, squabbles, petty difficulties with your outside clothing – all the things that ruin your life and draw your attention away from your art.”
“Excuse me for pointing this out,” interrupted Grisha, “but no such theatre exists in the world.”
“Unfortunately you are right,” admitted Tortsov. “People are so stupid and spineless that they still prefer to introduce petty, humdrum bickering, spites and intrigues into the place supposedly reserved for creative art.
“They do not seem to be able to clear their throats before they cross the threshold of the theatre, they come inside and spit on the clean floor. It is incomprehensible why they do this!”
(From the chapter “Toward an Ethics for the Theatre”)
by Peter H Frank | Jul 23, 2015 | Journalism, Literature |
Sometimes the best thing I can write for you is what somebody else wrote first.
— “What’s wan man’s news is another man’s throubles. In these hot days, I’d like to see a pa-aper with nawthin’ in it but affectionate wives an’ loyal husbands an’ prosp’rous, smilin’ people an’ money in th’ bank an’ three a day. That’s what I’m lookin’ f’r in th’ hot weather.”
— “Th’ newspapers have got to print what happens,” said Mr. Hennessy.
— “No,” said Mr. Dooley, “they’ve got to print what’s diff’rent. Whiniver they begin to put headlines on happiness, contint, varchoo, an’ charity, I’ll know things is goin’ as wrong with this country as I think they ar-re ivry naytional campaign.”
Although that’s not from the story that I want you to read, it’s a good place to start as you go grab a Guinness and prepare to meet someone new.
One of America’s great humorists, Finley Peter Dunne deftly skewered much of society back at the turn of the 20th century, from judges and immigration to Theodore Roosevelt and the rights of women. (“They haven’t th’ right to vote, but they have th’ priv’lege iv conthrollin’ th’ man ye ilict.”) Among the most enjoyable, however, is what he wrote about the business of newspapers, in which his stories appeared.
Born in 1867, Dunne was chief editorial writer for the Chicago Post when he began writing these stories with the fictional Mr. Dooley, a loquacious and opinionated Irish bartender in Chicago. For them, he was paid $10 per story – about 40 lei, coincidentally what many writers are paid today for a story here in Romania.
Dunne eventually became nationally famous for his columns, having written hundreds of them, which were then published in various collections. The story here is taken from the book Observations by Mr. Dooley, published in 1902. Titled “Newspaper Publicity,” it’s one of the best, funniest, and in a way, most famous stories about newspapering there is. (Note the phrase: “comforts th’ afflicted, afflicts th’ comfortable.”) There’s even a mention of Roomanya in here.
Interestingly, for all those fame-hungry writers out there today, it might be instructional to know that Dunne’s name does not appear anywhere in this book. There is no author listed. The book is 37 essays and the only star is Mr. Dooley.
[WARNING: As you can see from the quotes above, the stories are all written using spelling that is intended to replicate Mr. Dooley’s thick Irish brogue. It gets easier to understand, the more you work at it. And it turns out, you can get some lessons on youtube for this. Try this one here – though honestly, I couldn’t understand half of what the guy was saying. Or this one here. Good luck.]
by Peter H Frank | Jan 14, 2015 | Literature |
What a gift it would be to have a friend like this – or better yet, to be a friend like this.
A very short excerpt from Zorba the Greek:
“Things we are accustomed to, and which we pass by indifferently, suddenly rise up in front of Zorba like fearful enigmas. Seeing a woman pass by, he stops in consternation.
“‘What is that mystery?’ he asks. ‘What is a woman, and why does she turn our heads? Just tell me, I ask you, what’s the meaning of that?’
“He interrogates himself with the same amazement when he sees a man, a tree in blossom, a glass of cold water. Zorba sees everything every day as if for the first time.
“We were sitting yesterday in front of the hut. When he had drunk a glass of wine, he turned to me in alarm:
“‘Now whatever is this red water, boss, just tell me! An old stock grows branches, and at first there’s nothing but a sour bunch of beads hanging down. Time passes, the sun ripens them, they become as sweet as honey, and then they’re called grapes. We trample on them; we extract the juice and put it into casks; it ferments on its own, we open it on the feast-day of St. John-the-Drinker, it’s become wine! It’s a miracle! You drink the red juice and, lo and behold, your soul grows big, too big for the old carcass, it challenges God to a fight. Now tell me, boss, how does it happen?’
“I did not answer. I felt, as I listened to Zorba, that the world was recovering its pristine freshness. All the dulled daily things regained the brightness they had in the beginning, when we came out of the hands of God. Water, women, the stars, bread, returned to their mysterious, primitive origin and the divine whirlwind burst once more upon the air.”
Image source.
