Catch this

In high school the one subject that I didn't like and couldn't drop was English.

This is odd, because I grew up surrounded by books. In my parents' home almost every piece of otherwise blank wall holds a bookshelf - floor to about head high, packed with books of all kinds. My mother started me reading before I went to kindergarten and regularly took us to the library to get more books. And I read. I read for relaxation, I read to avoid doing homework, I read at night and on weekends, I read on the train to and from school, I read at lunchtimes. The neighbourhood was quiet so I would sometimes read while walking home. I read like it was my life's purpose. And I didn't enjoy English at all.

At the time, I believed this to be because English class would take a book and analyze it in the most tedious way possible, like studying the paint pigments in a Monet (except that even that would be potentially interesting). You could also argue that it was because we rarely read anything in English that I would have voluntarily read myself. A few years out of high school I put this to something of a test by re-reading "Emma" and then reading "Pride and Prejudice" and "Sense and Sensibility". My conclusion was mixed. They were still not books I would have read voluntarily (I was pushed into it by some friends, although not very hard), but I still found them a lot easier going than I had found "Emma" in high school. I also had a few years of reading Usenet news under my belt, so I had much more of an appreciation for well-written English. See, the internet is good for something.

Recently I got another chance, when another friend expressed surprise at my negative opinion of "Catcher In The Rye". I found a copy in the library and re-read; and today I see on the Daily Beast a discussion of its merits. The task is a little complicated by the fact that I remember little of the book from studying it in high school, beyond the impression Southpark beautifully summed up with "just some whiny annoying teenager talking about how lame he is." I recall starting it with the hope of seeing some penetrating observations of humanity in general; but mostly people are just described as phony. I also hoped for some Bueller-esqe hi-jinks, but Holden Caulfield does nothing remotely interesting.

Caulfield spends the book wandering around doing increasingly irrational things until he simply appears to run out of ideas, money, and time. His blather about living in the woods is ridiculous and he ends up apparently in psychiatric care without doing anything especially drastic beyond the fact that he is making no effort at all in school.

When I was in high school I would have related very well to feelings of alienation and disconnection. But even then there was nothing for me in this book; Holden Caulfield learns nothing that will help him fit in better - he just magically improves. It amazes me that this is supposed to be one of the 100 best English-language novels of the twentieth century. I would recommend it to anyone who irritates you by waxing lyrically about how wonderful adolescence is (if there are any such people out there), but I am surprised that there is not a better book for this purpose somewhere.

So where does that leave my analysis of English lessons? Again, mixed. There might have been an interesting discussion over the issues raised in such a book, but that's not what we did in English class. And to be fair, I would have been more inclined to heckle at the time. I probably wrote an essay analyzing Salinger's use of language to convey Caulfield's state of mind, or describing the key themes of the book, or something. It's a tossup whether a tedious and forgettable book is the problem, or an unengaging and soul-less treatment of it. It seems I need to find another book if I am to determine which it is.

Emma, at least, has a main character who learns something.

Feedback. Pay attention to it.

I really don't understand ElevatorGate.

A lot of men complain about how hard it is to approach women, and wonder aloud what it is that they want. Some complain more, or more often, or whatever. I have occasionally voiced this complaint myself.

So when a woman takes the trouble to stand up in public and explain that a particular style of romantic approach is creepy and not going to work, there's really only one response: "Thank you very much for the information. I will bear that in mind".

It would make sense to consider encouraging her to provide more such information in future. Or encouraging other women to do the same. If you think the comment doesn't apply to all women, you might want to try asking a few if they agree. Perhaps you might be unsure of what the central cause of the creepiness is, and ask a few followup questions.

But trying to tell her she's wrong... well, that just doesn't make sense. Who's got a better chance of correctly stating what a particular woman finds creepy - the woman herself? Or you?

Greta Christina summarizes it well: "We are trying to help you get laid." If that's not what you're interested in (one way or another), then what's the problem? Just ignore the advice. If it is what you're interested in, pay attention!

Perhaps we should just consider this as evolution in action. There's a decent case to be made that a strong selective pressure on the human brain has been for chatting up women; those who fail at it will see their genes selected out.