questions

I've had a book since 1987 (first published in 1985), that I keep meaning to do something with. It causes ripples in my mind every time I pick it up and some ripples are close to waves. Have you heard of The Book of Questions? (Workman Publishing, New York) It's by Gregory Stock who has a Ph.D. in biophysics, which doesn't explain the kind of questions he poses. 

He warns that his questions are not like Trivial Pursuit.  They have no easy answers, and no right or wrong for simple scoring,  They are designed, instead, to trigger thinking and conversation and more thinking. Stock says they are about "your values, your beliefs, and your life: love, money, sex, integrity generosity, pride and death..." Is that all? You don't have to keep them to yourself. You can start a conversation, preferably with a trusted friend, by asking one or more of the questions. Be prepared for some surprises, though, at least I think so.  I've only got as far as me.  I can pick the book up and open it at any page and get carried away into a conversation with myself. 

Over the years I've owned the book and puzzled over it - no, the puzzle is in me - I find that my increasing age has reworked the questions in my mind and produced some different answers. In some cases the way I have lived my life provides answers, probably not that well thought out, but lived.

I have to tell you that as a playwright and story-teller, I find that some of the questions are worth a play or a movie, in fact, you'll probably recognize some of them as having already been written.  If I can't make you think every once in a while with what I'm writing, then do me a favour and go find the Book of Questions. 

 

laugh a little

I've been lugubrious lately, sorry. (Not an anagram of Bela Lugosi, but close to it.)  So I was trying to recall something I've read that made me laugh out loud even while reading silently to myself, and I came up with two off the top.

One is a funeral scene from The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1984)  by Milan Kundera (b. 1929), the other a weaning party for a child addicted to her soother, in Digging to America (2006) by Anne Tyler (b. 1941).  A man loses his hat and it flies into the open grave and he wonders how to cope with it. The child will not give up her "binky" without an heroic struggle.  Both scenes, as I say, caused me to laugh out loud.  

I used to have a dog and he made me laugh, or at least, smile, every day.  Children do that, too, make you smile, if they and you are lucky,  I've been writing about laughter in my book and I came up with a line that I think is mine:  "Remembered laughter is present laughter."  If it isn't, don't tell me.

Now you tell me one.