The question I should have been asking when deciding what to include in my canon came to me when I was watching a cheesy sci-fi movie.

What works would I recommend to an intelligent extraterrestrial to give it an understanding of humanity?

I realize that it is kind of a silly question, but it has helped me focus. It would eliminate most science texts, as we could assume that any being intelligent enough to travel through interstellar space would understand science at least as well as we do. Most philosophy, arguably, could be removed also, as any practical application of it is reflected in other seminal works.

While I understand that a knowledge of science is essential for any 21st century human (American human, anyway), it is not essential that I read Newton’s Principia. Nor is it necessary to read Locke, if we can see his ideas reflected in the US Constitution and the Federalist Papers. Reading summaries of scientific and philosophic ideas would suffice, as the primary texts are no longer part of my canon.

And, because more than 2 or 3 works by a single author (with possibly the sole exception of Shakespeare) would be unnecessary, the list is further narrowed.

But to how many?

That was relatively easy. 247. It is the number of books currently on the large bookcase in my living room. It is also a number that could be digested over a few years, rather than a lifetime, which would be necessary for this hypothetical ET.

More important than all of this, though, is that I will never, in all likelihood, run into this ET, and no one will look to my canon as The Canon for all of human endeavor. I am not a philosopher, nor a scientist, nor a literature professor. My knowledge of any of these subjects does not need to be comprehensive. My canon will be mine alone, and its purpose is to allow me to see the commonality of human experience. Nothing more. To attempt more is get mired in details, be overwhelmed by the enormity of the task, and never get started.

With this focus, I was freed from my own tyranny. I am no longer beholden to the 800 items, many of which are irrelevant to my pursuits. It is no longer a chore I dread, but something I can enjoy over time. It is manageable, and that is what any item on a life-list should be.

Since I decided that the best way to get an understanding of world literature was to define my own canon, I’ve been struggling with a definition. According to Princeton WordNet, a canon is “a collection of books accepted as holy scripture, especially the books of the Bible recognized by any Christian church as genuine and inspired.” This, though, describes the word’s origins, more than its meaning in the sense I am seeking.

Wikipedia has a more helpful definition:

a specified collection of works considered to be both representative and the best of a particular form, genre, or culture.

The problem with this definition is that one has to ask, who is doing the considering?

This is not a new question. Since the concept of a literary canon was introduced, it has caused controversy. But, I am not interested in this debate (if you are, Wikipedia has a brief section on it). The only canon I am interested in is my own.

I started my canon in my late teens, and in the intervening decades, that original type-written, two-page list has bloated to over 800 items. For every book I read from it, I add 2 more. It has not been particularly productive.

I had to ask myself, what was the purpose of creating this canon, and what did I hope to get from reading all of its constituent members? Believe it or not, I had never really answered this question to any satisfaction. I just kept plodding along, reading the books and adding more as I discovered more connections and influences. Back in my days as a Project Manager, I would have called it scope creep.

So, what is the answer to the question, Why? As best as I can come up with so far it is this: to understand what it is to be a human at the turn of the 21st century.

I cannot possibly know everything about every culture that is extant today, let alone all that have come before. But, there is a commonality to the human experience that, by reading those who have written down their thoughts, I can open a window onto that commonality.

But what about those influences and connections? Is it necessary to read Ptolemy in order to understand Kepler? Is it important to know, and read, a minor poet who may had an influence on a major poet, but who really adds nothing to my knowledge of that commonality?

And of those major writers, is it important to read all of their works? Dickens is undeniably a major voice in Victorian England, but must I read all of his works to understand life in 19th century England?

These and other questions nagged me. Until I stumbled on the question I should be asking.

The works included in Harvard Classics are arranged somewhat pellmell into 50 volumes, so there are an additional 2 volumes of reading guides, indexes, and lectures to assist in tackling the whole set in a more organized fashion. I figured I might as well start big: The History of Civilization.

The course starts with an essay, “Race and Language” by Edward Augustus Freeman. Though written in 1879, and despite using dated, borderline-racist terms like “inferior races,” it is remarkably prescient. Freeman’s argument is that race is an artificial construct, as is language, as a means of national identity. He states that the people of his time were starting to identify with their cultures based on these very constructs, and it was changing the political affiliations of Europe. For those who would doubt him, he warns,

I must emphatically say that nothing can be more shallow, nothing more foolish, nothing more purely sentimental, than the talk of those who think that they can simply laugh down or shriek down any doctrine or sentiment which they themselves do not understand.

He foresaw the nationalism that led to the devastation of World War II and Hitler’s determination to unite the Germanic people.

One main object of modern policy is to bring these exceptional districts under the general rule by spreading the German language in them.

And his observations are still eerily relevant today. He writes of the idea of a Slavic people, and foresees the political climate of the post-Yugoslavian Balkan states.

It is a feeling at whose bidding the call to union goes forth to men whose dwellings are geographically far apart, to men who may have had no direct dealings with one another for years or for ages, to men whose languages, though the scholar may at once see that they are closely akin, may not be so closely akin as to be mutually intelligible for common purposes.

A hundred years back the Servian might have cried for help to the Russian on the ground of common Orthodox faith; he would hardly have called for help on the ground of common Slavonic speech and origin.

Certainly a great introduction to these volumes, for one of my greatest worries was their relevance.

I have a Kindle. Don’t worry, though. This isn’t going to be a post talking about how much I love it (I really do) or how much it has changed my life (it really hasn’t).

Ever since I first read a book on my PDA nearly 7 years ago, I have dreamt of a device that was portable and could hold my entire library in its memory. My dream device has a leather cover, is about the size of a trade paperback, can hold around 500 books, and is as easy on the eyes as a real book. Pretty much exactly what the Kindle is.

It needed to hold 500 books so it could hold all of the works of what has been called the Western Canon. When I was in college, I first encountered the Harvard Classics, otherwise known as the Five Foot Shelf. (The editor, Charles Eliot, had stated that a good education could be obtained by reading for a few minutes a day from a collection of books that would fit on a five-foot shelf.) I had seen a complete set in Green Apple Books in San Francisco, and immediately began to covet it. But being a poor college student, I decided instead I would learn what books should be included and then read them all anyway as used paperbacks.

I created a list on a typewriter in my room between study sessions. I kept the list with me as I moved from city to city, updating it periodically in both form and content. I created a website for it 1994, then a database in 1999. I still have the list and it has grown to include works beyond the West. And yet, my desire to read the entire 5-foot shelf continued to swell.

Then I got the Kindle, and discovered that someone at the MobileRead forums had converted the entire set into ebooks. I downloaded them a few weeks ago, and just last night finished the last of the other books in my queue. Tonight, I begin to tackle #64 – Read the Harvard Classics.

At the risk of turning this into a Book Blog, which it is not intended to be, I am today considering the question, “What makes a good airplane book?”

Judging by what one finds in most airport bookstores, it must be thick with plot, and thin with substance. Though I am not like Somerset Maugham, who would travel with a separate bag specifically for his books, I do usually bring at least two of my own when travelling. I have, out of necessity, purchased from an airport kiosk, and only once was I pleasantly surprised (more on this below). So the need to select the right books before I leave is essential.

I bring two books for two reasons. First, there is one for each of the flights. Second, and most important, if I do not like the first book, I have a backup. But what should these books be? They cannot be too similar, as they would kind of run into each other during the trip. Two detective novels within the same series is definitely not a good idea. The best is to have two completely different genres.

Some people insist that anything can be read on a plane, that the best way to lose oneself in the book, and therefore have the time pass more quickly, is to have something which requires tremendous concentration, something meaningful. I tried this once, and all it caused was frustration, due to the frequent interruptions of the flight crew, crying babies, rude neighbors and the like. This meant that I was going to need something not terribly deep, but at the same time, something not terribly shallow either. Usually, this means a plot-centric novel.

SF would normally be perfect, and I have brought many SF novels along on my trips. But, I am just too self-conscious to bring certain books, usually those with aliens, elves, or swordsmen on the covers. I always look to see what others around me on the plane are reading, and I know others do the same. For some reason, I cannot get past this. S says she is actually stunned that this bothers me, because I don’t seem the type to care what others think of my reading choices. Apparently I am that type, though I’m not certain why. At any rate, no lurid covers. This eliminates about 90% of SF.

As stated in my earlier post, about 95% of mystery/thriller books are eliminated, just because they are crap. Of the books that I have abandoned in the middle of a trip, all have been in this genre. There just seems to be a higher acceptance of really bad writing in this area. Perhaps it is because they are made for travelling (they dominate the airport kiosks, and are most of what I see in fellow straphangers’ laps), that people just don’t care about the depth of anything besides the plot. They just need something to pass the time until the plane lands, or they arrive at their station. I definitely understand this need, but I cannot abide by bad writing. Especially because I know that when these books are good, there is nothing like them.

The one book I purchased at an airport that did not disappoint me was one such book. I had read more than I planned on one of my trips, and found myself without reading material before a 5-hour flight. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep the entire time, so, based purely on the cover and the review blurbs inside, I picked up the mass market edition of Michael Gruber’s Tropic of Night. It was 400 some-odd pages, enough to keep me occupied for the entire flight, and some critics I usually agree with gave it good marks. After I started reading, I was a little astonished. Here was an interesting plot that moved quickly, characters were more than mere clichés, and the underlying themes were enough to keep me thinking when I put the book down. So maybe I had discovered the perfect airplane book. I had at least given myself a definition of one.

A perfect airplane book is one where the writing is good enough not to distract me, the plot is central to the novel, enough pages to keep me occupied for several hours (but not so many as to be a space consideration while packing), and no embarrassing cover. Writing and plot are the hardest to determine without actually reading it, so I give myself a few weeks before a trip to start the selection process. (If a trip is last minute, I’m usually screwed. More often than not, I have been disappointed with my selection of books for these trips.) I scour review sites, newspapers, and friends’ bookshelves to help me find these books. About a week or two before I leave, I’ll have 5 or 6 ready to review for the final cut. Since I am leaving 2 weeks from today, I have all 6 ready to be pared down to the lucky two.

The first and most promising candidate is Gruber’s latest The Book of Air and Shadows. His first was so good that I almost automatically throw one of his in for consideration. It is the perfect size, no lurid cover, and I can be fairly confident I’ll like the writing. Plus, Salon put it in their Hot Summer Reads column. I know nothing about it. All I had to see was the author, and I knew it was a contender.

Another perpetual contender is Tim Powers. I haven’t read a word of his I didn’t like. His ideas are so original, and his subjects so unclassifiable, that I cannot fairly compare him to any other writer. I suppose it could be said that he is Neal Stephenson with a sense of humor (and a good editor). I started reading him on flights and he is just about perfect for them, but I like him so much that I cannot usually wait for my next trip. I picked up Expiration Date from Bookmooch, and this might be the one for the trip back.

The next on the stack is a bit of a dark horse, but only because of the size. At over 1000 pages, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is just too big and bulky. I have the trade paper edition, so it weighs a ton, and having to lug it around in my shoulder bag will require chiropractic intervention. But, I have heard so many good things about it, it is hard to pass over. It seems like the perfect novel to completely absorb my attention, and I have heard Clarke is a decent writer. Still in contention, but unlikely to make the trip.

Another by an author I’ve never read is Dead Simple by Peter James. This is a leftover from another trip, and is now up for its third consideration. Not sure why it hasn’t made the cut yet, but it’s probably due to the author being unknown to me, and on the other trips there was always a clear favorite. It’s unlikely to make this cut either, though from what I’ve heard, I might enjoy it immensely.

The final two are by two of my favorite authors. The Lady in the Lake by Raymond Chandler has been to Europe with me. It was the perfect size to slip easily into my pocket, and I had been looking forward to reading it on the flight home. Unfortunately for the poor lady, Simon Barnes’ How to Be a Bad Birdwatcher caught my eye in a London bookstore, and that was my book for the return flight. This might be the Lady‘s chance, if for no other reason than she would be the only book of mine to cross both the Prime Meridian and the Equator. A strong contender for the backup book, but the low page count might rule her out for the 11 hour return flight from Ezeiza.

Finally, I discovered last week that Dan Simmons has finished another series, this one about a far-future Earth/Martian society (or so I gather). As I said in a previous post, Hyperion is one of my favorite novels, and I have greatly enjoyed other works of his. Ilium is the first book in this new series, and from the reviews, could be as good as Hyperion. I, however, have two problems with it. First, I’ve heard the second book, Olympos, is not very good. Knowing that I will not be able to read just one, I am unsure that I am willing to make the commitment to this story yet. I inevitably blaze through a series, subverting basic living needs to finish a story that needs resolving, and when I finished the 4 Hyperion books, I felt like I had just recovered from the flu. So, basically, the fact that Simmons is a good storyteller is actually counted against him in this contest.

The second reason I may pass over Simmons is something I mentioned above, and probably had many readers (if this blog had “many readers”) rolling their eyes in disgust. The book has too many pages. At nearly 800 pages, the mass market paperback does not fit nicely into the side pocket of my suitcase. I understand that page count has absolutely nothing to do with quality. But, much as we might like to think otherwise, a book is still a physical object that occupies space, and when travelling this must be a consideration. The other size consideration is that I cannot run out of book, and therefore it also cannot be too small. An airplane book should be around 400 pages, and this may inevitably rule out three of the books I have proposed.

The next step is to do the Adler cursory pre-reading. This usually makes the decision for me. Until I am done with that, I give you

The odds:

• Book of Air and Shadows : 3 to 5
• Expiration Date: 3 to 1
• Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell: 20 to 1
• Dead Simple: 4 to 1
• The Lady in the Lake: 3 to 1
• Ilium: 7 to 1

Also-rans:

Gene Wolfe’s Book of the New Sun. I have yet to tackle Wolfe’s magnum opus. Maybe I am saving it, always keeping it on my shelf so I know I have something great waiting for me, but Wolfe requires too much concentration. Not to mention he falls prey to his publisher’s unfortunate covers.

Smilla’s Sense of Snow by Peter Hoeg. Have heard this is a great, great detective novel. But after reading the first few pages, I could tell it wouldn’t move fast enough for me. Maybe when I get back.

The Geographer’s Library by Jon Fasman. This received solidly mixed reviews, but ultimately missed the cut due to Amazon feedback. Was too leery of all of the reviewers who said the descriptions of alchemical equipment dragged on and on. Probably the last thing I need when the kid behind me is kicking my seat.