By Bill Shein
April 14, 2011
The science-fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke famously said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” One implication, of course, is that today’s technology – from hand-held gadgets that wirelessly connect us to all human knowledge, to social-networking platforms that link people across time and space, to numerous online services that offer great utility – has enabled us to live in what would previously be considered a “magical” realm.
It’s important to establish this context, because a few weeks ago, while engaged in a very old-fashioned, pre-Internet activity – reading a library book in bed – something truly magical happened. And it was something that couldn’t happen with an e-book reader or fancy iPad, though I’m not dead-set against reading pixels rather than print.
In a delicious irony, my nifty experience – which I’ll relate below – happened while I was reading David Ulin’s excellent little book, “The Lost Art of Reading: Why Books Matter in a Distracted Time.”
Ulin is book editor of the Los Angeles Times. In 2009 he wrote a column about reading and the Internet age, and his growing sense that today’s frenetic flow of information has diminished our ability to slow down and immerse ourselves in deep, contemplative thought. He suggested that we are increasingly distracted by “the sound and fury” of fragmentary, seemingly urgent, but ultimately irrelevant information. And that it’s to our detriment.
Our near-religious, unquestioning embrace of technology is fueled by a central-but-unstated promise: Thanks to the “magic” of this gadget, or that online tool, life will be easier, better, and more predictable. Based on habits and preferences, and those of aggregated others, a “recommendation engine” will ensure you never see a movie you aren’t sure to like, or buy a book you won’t enjoy. At long last, security!
While no doubt useful, our fondness for these algorithms is also troubling. Do we really want our experiences to be predictably “good”? Because it’s been my experience that life’s most interesting, memorable, exciting, thought-provoking, and valuable moments are not usually the result of careful planning or predictive algorithms. Instead, they happen when things go a bit wrong, or when some random occurrence or happy accident puts us in the path of a previously unknown person or idea. Unpredictability is what gives life its magic and richness.
Like when your car breaks down and your day takes an unexpected turn. Or you walk down one street instead of another and cross paths with someone, randomly, who changes your life’s trajectory, literally or figuratively. Or you stumble across a book – left in a coffee shop or in a heap on a curbside – or perhaps a newspaper column(!) that changes how you see things.
Which brings me back to me, immersed late one night in David Ulin’s book, considering technology and predictive algorithms. Appropriately, I discovered Ulin’s book only because a librarian had shelved it in the “New Books” section, a collection of otherwise unrelated materials that no recommendation engine could possibly assemble. I had found it by pure chance.
The hour was late, and it would soon be lights out. My cats were in their usual spot on the comforter, signifying bedtime. Turning the page, expecting more text, instead I found a $10 bill stuck deep into the book’s spine. A yellow sticky note was attached. It said, “Enjoy This Gift!”
Wow.
Someone had done something wonderful and fascinating. Something more magical, I’d say, than a game of Angry Birds on an iPhone. Something that made me feel good for days. And it required just pen and paper. (And, um, $10.)
Did this generous person put money tagged with “Enjoy This Gift!” into other library books? Who knows.
CUT TO: Everyone reading this column racing to the library, en masse, to rifle the pages of book after book until their fingers bleed.
By the way, I didn’t keep the ten-spot. Instead, a few days ago I placed it deep in the spine of another library book, with another sticky note attached.
CUT TO: Anyone who didn’t previously race to the library now racing there to rifle the pages of book after book until their fingers bleed.
The lesson? That the true magic of life – and human beings – can never be captured in lines of computer code or represented in liquid crystal. It simply exists within us.
Even in a distracted age, if we stop long enough to listen, we’ll hear it.
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Bill Shein enjoys receiving gifts of all kinds.