Self education

I've been pondering the word autodidacticism. (Yes, sometimes I do think about seven-syllable words.) Why? Primarily it stems from how I view my intelligence (or, more appropriately, lack thereof) among my work colleagues. Sure, I have some smarts: I can point to good grades in high school (not that that is necessarily a qualifier), I have two university degrees, I can string a few sentences together in a paragraph. Often, however, while in the work room, surrounded by people who whip off historical references, or read latin, or will easily knock off the NYTimes crossword during a morning coffee break, I'll begin to feel out of my element, that I don't belong. I worry I'm going to be sussed out, that they're going to discover I'm really nothing more than a fraud. In short, they'll finally figure that I'm a complete dunce. (Unfortunately, the topics where I can show some mental dexterity - 1970s American films, jazz, tennis, where to find the best secondhand CD stores in NYC - rarely, if ever, come up.)

To that end, I feel I'm always in learning mode, that much of my life is spent self educating myself. It's not a chore, nor is it a competition: I like to learn (I almost wrote "I love to laugh," which is something of an inside joke...), and almost nothing gives me more pleasure than having hours of leisure time at my disposal to indulge in a book. Or, in my case, several books.

It's taken me a while to figure out my natural reading habit, but I think I finally have it down. In short, I need to have a few books (and usually a magazine; these days that's the latest issue of the New Yorker) on the go at once. Let's face it, my attention span is nothing to brag about. I'm a bit of a "flitter" (if that's even a word). I used to feel bad about this, that it was something to be ashamed of. Sure, every now and then I get so ridiculously involved in a book that it becomes something of a preoccupation, the proverbial "page turner" that keeps me awake at night. It's rare, however, so what usually happens is that I crack open a book (these days primarily from the library; I've stopped buying books, for the most part) while I have a couple already on the proverbial bedside table (or, much to the dismay of my back and shoulder, in my bag).

Let's take stock of my current reading projects as an example.

I've got two main books on the go, both non-fiction: Conversations with Woody Allen by Eric Lax (pretty much self explanatory), and The Rest is Noise by the New Yorker music critic Alex Ross (which examines 20th-century "classical" music, although it's really more of a look at various historical periods of the 20th century as seen through the filter of modern music and composers such as Stravinsky, Berg, Copland, etc.; it's a fantastic piece of work). Both are long-held interests of mine, although I'm much-better versed in one subject (Allen) than the other. I've also dabbled a little in a book about the Lincoln-Douglas debates, which I took out of the library after Obama was the presumptive Democratic nominee and McCain started floating the idea of doing Town Hall debates through the summer. Obama instead suggested they should do a reprise of the Lincoln-Douglas debates from the 1850s, so naturally I wanted to find out more about them. (Lincoln displayed his oratory gifts and essentially made his name during these debates, which were widely covered by the press, even though they were competing for the state legislature. Lincoln also lost the election.) I finished last week's New Yorker last night in bed, so I'm waiting for delivery of the next issue (hopefully tomorrow so I'll have it for the weekend). And I read the cover story about Rush Limbaugh from Sunday's NYTimes Magazine.

Not to worry, I'm also working through some fiction. My friend R. bought me a collection of Tim Winton short stories, so I've read the first two of those. I was in a bit of a fiction slump (I tried and failed to get into Cormac McCarthy's The Road; I think it might be a better winter read), so I found something easily digestible at the library: The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler. I'm pleasantly surprised to discover it isn't trash or overly chick-lit-ish, although I'm only about 60 pages in. I have Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto on the (ha ha) kitchen table and in the queue. I also want to re-read Robert Bolano's wonderful The Savage Detectives, which recently came out in paperback, this summer.

So where does autodidacticism fit in to this discussion? Well, I can't help but use my reading material as launching pads to learn even more. For example, because of the Woody Allen book, I've reserved a few of his films from the library to re-examine in light of some of his views. I've been taking out CDs of some music that I'm reading about in the Ross book (primarily Berg and Schoenberg since I'm pretty weak on 12-tone music). I've also been trying to discover some new music, out of sheer boredom with the current tuneage on my ipod. (Recommendations are heartily welcome. I've been listening to some Sleater-Kinney, New Pornographers, Great Lake Swimmers, Iron and Wine, so anything in that general vein.) I also realize I need to read (and re-read) more Jane Austen. (And I haven't even mentioned some of the movies and DVDs I'm watching: the second season of the Sopranos, the 20th anniversary edition of Heathers, Flags of Our Fathers... it just never seems to end. Thankfully.)

Years ago I remember reading that one can take one book and, simply following the references it mentions within it, create an entire syllabus for one's own self education (since each subsequent new book or film or piece of art will come with its own references). It's something I so totally get and will continue to pursue while I'm lucky enough to be sentient.