Foreword is Forewarned

Today I went to see a talk by a performance artist named Deke Weaver, who is a very interesting and talented man. He told a story about a polar bear that was just magnificent, and then he screened a portion of his performance called Monkey that he had put on in I think Illinois. You should check out his website.

I went to this talk partly because it was sponsored by one of my professors, and has some concerns in come with the class I am currently taking with that professor, but I also went because, like all such small events given by American universities, they had FREE FOOD. I was so excited! They had sandwiches, they had enormous pickles, chips, salad, and for dessert, cookies. I happily loaded up a plate with turkey/brie/bacon sandwich, chips, pickle and salad, and sat down to listen to the first segment of the talk. When I had finished my food, I thought, "I can't wait to get more food at the next break!" But then, in the time while watching the performance, I became seized with a deep panic. Frequent readers of this blog know that I get into a deep panic about thinks like turning off my light too early or hurting the feelings of my books I've owned since high school, so this should not be a surprise. What was I in a panic about, you ask? I was in a panic about this: I could not sort out whether or not I should get another pickle and bag of chips, or get a cookie. This was a horrible dilemma. Do I risk getting too full on the pickle and chips, and having to forgo the cookie? Or do I eat the cookie, feel un-full, and go the entire rest of the day feeling one pickle short? I often feel this way about desserts and the closure they offer: how do we know it is time to put the capstone on things?

You'd think it would be easy to know when to put the capstone on a book you're reading: figure the capstone is the last tenth of the book, or whatever fraction, and then read the tenth that comes last, last. But it isn't, because books -- especially Important Books -- have decided to fuck with you by inventing the Foreword. The Foreword is actually the dessert of the book, even though it comes first. It's a big time aberration. Here come some spoilers, too, so if you care about Major Plot Developments in Crime and Punishment, then beat it. This is good news because it means now you all have an excuse not to read a post. Go with god, people who want to avoid spoilers!

Now, down to business. The allure of the foreword is twofold: one, it is fun because the people who get called upon to write forewords are usually writing about something they quite enjoy, but do not have a huge stake in (you bought the book, it's not as if they are breaking their balls to sell you on it), so the writing itself is usually lively and fun. Two, it is fun because it's not like you have to super pay attention. Just read it! If you zone out while reading Moby Dick, maybe you miss out on part of the Great American Novel. No one is going to wish they had paid just a little more attention to the Great American Editor's Introduction. They are high in sugar and low in nutritional value, the cookie of the Parts of the Book. But caveat lector, because they are cookies that sometimes have, I don't know, steak cubes or something else in them; stuff that would be fine as part of the entree, but that are just disastrous and appetite killing if they come in the cookie eaten too soon. And those steak cubes or whatever, are Critical Plot Points.

Nothing ruins the good dessert feeling of reading a foreword like those. The first time I was exposed to this was when I was in tenth grade, and my friend's mother was giving us a ride home from school but had to stop at Office Max for printer ink on the way home. This was a disaster for me on par with being unable to determine how full I am. I was terribly fat and shy in high school, and I had a catastrophic bowl cut, and the two kids also getting a ride home were a year ahead of me and thin and probably knew girls. So, like Mizaru, I elected not to look at anything but a book, so that these Two Cool Guys would not try to talk to me, or make fun of my Looney Tunes tie, or whatever. Now, it would never do to read a book I was actually supposed to be paying attention to, because my chubby heart was pounding away in fear, and I couldn't focus; so instead I read the Foreword to the Signet Classic Edition of Crime and Punishment, which comes with a handy little map of St. Petersburg, marking key events like the bridge where Svidrigailov commits suicide, which happens on like page 500. What the hell, map? At least he shoots himself on the bridge, rather than jumping into the river, saving a little bit of surprise. I was disappointed. I could taste the steak cube in my cookie. I turned green, slightly, the chalky greenness of those who have had their future surprises ruined, and of those who have miscalculated their appetites by one bag of chips and one giant pickle, and foreclosed them with a cookie. And those kids made fun of me for turning an unnatural pastel color while reading, despite my brilliant strategy of not looking at them. I guess I should've been more like Kikazaru, instead.

So the moral of the story is: Forewords, delicious and enjoyable, but for god's sake only partake when you're sure you have already had enough book to eat. That, and check out Deke Weaver.