Published in the March 1939 issue of The New Yorker, James Thurber’s short story “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” has been adapted into a full feature film, out now. I first read this story in my 9th grade English class, and it brings a lot of memories reading it again. The story has been unlocked at The New Yorker, so it’s well worth a (re)-read.
Walter Mitty stopped the car in front of the building where his wife went to have her hair done. “Remember to get those overshoes while I’m having my hair done,” she said. “I don’t need overshoes,” said Mitty. She put her mirror back into her bag. “We’ve been all through that,” she said, getting out of the car. “You’re not a young man any longer.” He raced the engine a little. “Why don’t you wear your gloves? Have you lost your gloves?” Walter Mitty reached in a pocket and brought out the gloves. He put them on, but after she had turned and gone into the building and he had driven on to a red light, he took them off again. “Pick it up, brother!” snapped a cop as the light changed, and Mitty hastily pulled on his gloves and lurched ahead. He drove around the streets aimlessly for a time, and then he drove past the hospital on his way to the parking lot.
If the link expires, you can always read the entire short story here.
Elizabeth Wurtzel, author of Prozac Nation, reflects on the difficulty of writing:
It’s not that hard to be a lawyer. Any fool can be a lawyer. It’s really hard to be a writer. You have to be born with incredible amounts of talent. Then you have to work hard. Then you have to be able to handle tons of rejection and not mind it and just keep pushing away at it. You have to show up at people’s doors. You can’t just e-mail and text message people. You have to bang their doors down. You have to be interesting. You have to be fucking phenomenal to get a book published and then sell the book. When people think their writing career is not working out, it’s not working out because it’s so damn hard. It’s not harder now than it was 20 years ago. It’s just as hard. It was always hard.
Further reading: Elizabeth Wurtzel on her “one-night stand of a life,” published earlier this year in New York Magazine.
David Foster Wallace took his own life five years ago today.
This quote on the mortality paradox, found in Conversations with David Foster Wallace, resonated with me:
You don’t have to think very hard to realize that our dread of both relationships and loneliness, both of which are like sub-dreads of our dread of being trapped inside a self (a psychic self, not just a physical self), has to do with angst about death, the recognition that I’m going to die, and die very much alone, and the rest of the world is going to go merrily on without me. I’m not sure I could give you a steeple-fingered theoretical justification, but I strongly suspect a big part of real art-fiction’s job is to aggravate this sense of entrapment and loneliness and death in people, to move people to countenance it, since any possible human redemption requires us first to face what’s dreadful, what we want to deny.
That’s the quote of the day, courtesy of John Gruber, who runs Daring Fireball:
Megan Garber summarizes in The Atlantic:
The camera features a new lens (one designed by Apple) with an f/2.2 aperture and a sensor that’s 15 percent larger than previous models. It’ll have a relatively meager 8-megapixel sensor, but each pixel will be bigger than previous models’ — which will, Apple’s Phil Schiller explained today, let in more light. The camera software — which will be optimized for iOS 7 — will do an automatic series of adjustments to things like an image’s white balance, exposure, tone map, and autofocus. The camera will also feature what Apple is calling a “true tone” dual LED flash, featuring one cool (blue) LED and one warm (amber) LED, allowing the flash to better match the color balance of the light in the room. That makes for, Wired notes, “over 1,000 unique flash variations for your photos.” Which is, as Schiller put it, “a world’s first for any camera.”
That new f/2.2 lens looks particularly impressive. Just look at this sample photograph Apple has posted.
Just a ton of new features for the iPhone’s new camera. I’m pretty sure I’ll be upgrading come September 20.
Someone in social media cited Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet as their favorite book. I haven’t read it, but this quote on patience is sublime:
I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
This week, I had a deep, liberating, and humbling conversation with someone whose intentions I got completely wrong. The signals, signs, body language: I’ve misread everything.
And so: I am reminded of this quote from Philip Roth’s American Pastoral, on getting people wrong. It’s one of my all-time favorite quotes:
You get them wrong before you meet them: you get them wrong while you’re with them and then you get home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole thing is really a dazzling illusion empty of all perception, an astonishing farce of misperception. And yet what are we to do about this terribly significant business of other people, which gets bled of the significance we think it has and takes on a significance that is ludicrous, so ill equipped are we all to envision one another’s interior workings and invisible aims? Is everyone to go off and lock the door and sit secluded like the lonely writers do, in a soundproof cell, summoning people out of words and then proposing that these word people are closer to the real thing than the real people that we mangle with our ignorance every day? The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we are alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride.
So, thank you, Mr. Roth for this reminder. I am wrong because I am alive. I am alive, and so I’m wrong.