Technology overload vs. the world in a cup

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I've been trying to read books and printed articles as a balance to online surfing. The nagging voice to "read more books" (sometimes through friends in kind and subtle ways) is finally taking hold. The excuse that my eyes are too sleepy at the end of the day is getting ignored as long as it's before 8:30.

So it was great to find an interview with Nicholas Carr (author of Does IT Matter?) in The Sun (see Carr's blog and home page too), titled "Computing the Cost." It's about how the Internet is rewiring our brains. (The entire March 2009 issue of The Sun is about technology and its effects on us.) By the way, I read the print version.

Apparently we use different parts of our brains for reading a book or other print materials than for reading online. Carr refers to the book iBrain, by Gary Small who studied two dozen people, half of whom had little Internet experience, and half of whom had a lot. Dr. Small and his colleague scanned their brains while they searched the Internet, resulting in different patterns of brain activity. The subjects with little Internet experience showed activity in language, memory and visual centers, typical of someone reading. The experienced Internet users had more activity in the decision-making areas of the brain. Disturbingly, within a few days of surfing, the previously non-users' brain activity resembled that of the frequent users. I haven't read Small's book, but Carr questions whether we are losing a vital part of our brain function that thinks and synthesizes information.

While reading the interview, first off, I felt pretty good about myself for trudging through The Ambassadors week after week, because I have felt, decisively, that on p. 144 I am more easily grasping content than I did at p. 1 or 10 or even 80. It doesn't really bother me that it's taking so long to get through James' novel, because I'm getting through it. And I am finding it possible to sit for longer periods reading it too. Thirty minutes is longer than 15. And 60 is longer than 30. That's about what I'm up to, 30-60.

Second, I recognized that when it comes to information, more is not necessarily better. While access to oceans of information is great on one hand, on the other, a) it is overwhelming and b), as Carr says, we are becoming big flat pancakes with lots and lots of facts in our heads and at our fingertips, but losing deeper thinking skills. If I read a political story, then read four blogs about it, did I give myself a chance to reflect on the event? And what influence will government or other agencies use to control me one day, if I am too reliant on this medium?

Clearly, the Internet's value to become more informed about current affairs, geography, history, literature, the environment, ways to help and not least, meeting friends around the world, is vast. And by limiting information intake I don't mean I want to close my eyes to the world's problems.

I'd like to contain the world in a cup, which of course isn't possible. But I don't mind keeping my world smaller than the Internet and its Googles and Wikis want to pull me into. I think a deeper, more focused world is a richer one.

slow winter

Almost everything slows, like precipitation taking its time getting to the ground in the form of snowflakes. Not the finches though - quickly scooping thistle seed into their gullets, flashing glances to see if they're being watched. But the photographer is slow and stealthy, the lens is long, and they are captured. I'm grateful all we have to collect out-of-doors these days are photographs and firewood from the corncrib - the lefthand building above. (Don collects eggs, they're sort of indoors in the coop. Thank you, ladies.) Thank you, farmers in a warm climate, and truck drivers who bring food to our stores.

In 1st grade Peter punched airy holes in the tree, below, and pasted colored tissue paper behind to glow through like ornaments. Don's 3rd graders reprised this decoration last week with wreaths, trees and snowflakes. Click on it to see the colors better.

Winter slowing satisfies a craving to sit long and look out a window (not that I need a certain season for that). It's also time for reading a dense book by Henry James (so many commas and clauses in each sentence!) that I would normally read the first few pages of and shelve on top of other unfinished books for another day, which would never come in spite of good intentions. (Sometimes you get what you need from a book in the first chapter, at least in non-fiction . . . ) But after hearing Ann Patchett (whose Bel Canto I also want to read), talk about James' The Ambassadors the other day, I was inspired to push through it, in spite of poor reading comprehension, something I struggled with as an English major: I have to read slowly and sometimes re-read passages again and again. I have to read slowly and sometimes re-read passages again and again. I have to read slowly and sometimes re-read passages again and again. (Oh no, that was a James-esque multi-clause multi-comma sentence.) It wasn't until Don told me a couple years ago what he teaches his 3rd graders, that my comprehension began to improve: Visualize it as a movie in your mind. (You good readers are probably thinking: Duh.) What Don taught me was like punching holes in a book and letting the light through, like Peter's tree.

Another reading comprehension trick - besides not falling asleep - is explained in this cute 2-minute video for parents and their kids: predicting what is going to happen in the story. Following these ideas, maybe one day before I die I'll read as speedily and voraciously as finches eat thistle seed!

If like me you haven't read Henry James before and want to give him a go, you might consider starting with his fairly short tale "Brooksmith" about an upstairs manservant who has the "misfortune of being intelligent." Love this quote from it: ". . . anything that is supremely good produces more acceptance than surprise." It took me 3 years to finish it, but it might only take you an hour, hehe, just kidding. "Brooksmith" comes more easily than The Ambassadors. (When you click on "Brooksmith" it will take you to the Introduction. Click on "enjoy your reading" at the bottom of that page to get to the wonderful tale.)

Painting of the woman in green reading is by Félix Augustin Milius (French, 1843-1894).