Culture
Book Review: ‘Talk,’ by Alison Wood Brooks
She also warns about “candidate answers,” a kind of leading the witness, in which one asks an open-ended question only to narrow it down in anticipation. (As in: Why are you reading a book about how to improve your conversations? Do you think you have room to grow, or are you just hoping to feel superior?) I realized that I curtail my questions this way all the time; leaving them open has actually expanded the answers I receive.
Brooks is a companionable writer, and she’s alive to the absurdity inherent in her project. Talk is messy, and good talk messier still; templates, instructions and guardrails are generally self-defeating. Kant, she notes, hosted dinners that adhered to a strict script: Guests spoke during the first course of headlines and the weather before proceeding, with their entrees, to politics and the sciences. Dessert came with “jesting.” Games, beer and music were forbidden; lulls were unpardonable. Though Brooks lauds the philosopher’s ambition, she prefers her conversations faster and looser — something, she says, like Arlie Hochschild’s description of “the jazz of human exchange.”
But I couldn’t hear the jazz in “Talk”’s pages of diagrams and graphs, among them a “conversational compass,” a “topic pyramid” and a “chart of emotions.” Brooks’s rigid, evidence-based approach means that she must frequently write things that I suspect she would find obvious or trite in conversation, such as, “It’s not just about choosing topics, but also deciding what to say about them.” By the time I read that talking like a rude cop at a traffic stop “is likely to make your friends, your romantic partner, your mom and everyone else uncomfortable in less charged circumstances, too,” I was about ready to take a vow of silence.
Parts of “Talk” feel designed not to help humans communicate but to train A.I. This is especially evident in the section on levity, which advises “livening up your texts by sending Onion headlines to your friends” and imitating the outsize reactions of “Seinfeld” characters.
Is this what it feels like to be optimized? I don’t know why I say half the things I say, and I often want my conversations to roam elsewhere, but to make “spreadsheets filled with promising topics to raise with strangers,” as some of Brooks’s students do, would make me feel even less human than I already do.
Welcome to Literary Quotable Quotes, a quiz that tests your recognition of classic lines. This week’s installment highlights observations from future or alternate worlds depicted in popular science fiction. In the five multiple-choice questions below, tap or click on the answer you think is correct. After the last question, you’ll find links to the books if you’re intrigued and inspired to read more.
Welcome to Lit Trivia, the Book Review’s regular quiz about books, authors and literary culture. This week’s challenge tests your memory of books that made huge impacts on society after they were published — some of them even spurring changes to American laws. In the five multiple-choice questions below, tap or click on the answer you think is correct. After the last question, you’ll find links to the books if you’d like to do further reading.
Where do you turn when you need advice? A chatbot? A life coach? A wise and trusted friend?
How about a poet? Poets may not be famous for making the best life choices, but because they subject the mess of human existence to the discipline of language, they can be as helpful as any therapist or mentor.
Good poets know the rules and when to break them, which is something they can teach the rest of us.
To wit:
Giving advice is a peculiar literary undertaking. It flourishes in certain popular genres — graduation speeches, newspaper columns, country and western songs and poems like this one — but what, in these contexts, is it really for?
I’m thinking of situations when you don’t urgently need help but nonetheless enjoy reading answers to questions you may not have thought to ask. What interests you isn’t the content of the advice — you could get all the life hacks you want from A.I. — so much as the voice of the person dispensing it.
Wendy Cope is an English poet, born in 1945, who has been a fixture of her country’s literary scene since the 1980s. More recently, her short, buoyant poem “The Orange” has been widely memed online, bringing her to the attention of new readers beyond Britain.
Cope favors rhyme, meter, brisk jokes and tart aperçus. She addresses romance, friendship and the petty absurdities of modern life with disarming good humor. The last line of “The Orange” is “I love you. I’m glad I exist.” Somehow she makes it the opposite of cringe.
This isn’t the kind of poetry you would describe as “confessional.” And yet …
Question 1/7
Stop, if the car is going “clunk”
Or if the sun has made you blind.
Don’t answer e–mails when you’re drunk.
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.Want to learn this poem by heart? We’ll help.
Fill in the missing words below. You can always refer to the reading by A.O. Scott and full
text above.Let’s start with the first stanza.
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