This is the second book I've read by A.J. Jacobs, the first being "The Know-It-All." It's a pretty popular book, a best seller in fact, and it looks like we can expect something from him every few years.
A.J. specializes in immersion journalism, of which there are countless examples these days (guy saves his garbage for a year and writes a book about it, woman eats only local food for a year and writes a book about it, guy eats only at McDonald's for a month and makes a documentary about it, etc.).
Heck, I've even done it with some students of my students: web.me.com/thelastpintaturtle/Voluntary_Simplicity/Home.html
So what is A.J. Jacobs up to this time? In "The Year of Living Biblically" he follows the Bible literally for an entire year. That means the good stuff, like doing unto others, and the crazy stuff, like not sitting in a seat if a menstruating woman sat there.
And what do I think?
It's . . . fine. Mildly good. And mild in general.
First, he's can be funny, in a non-threatening kind of way. At one point he writes about a religious charity looking for a publicity boost, and they get one "when Bono and his sunglasses joined the cause." Or later, when he talks about Exodus 23:19, which orders us to not boil a young goat in the milk of its mother, he writes "I think--with a little willpower and a safe distance from farms--I can make it for a year without boiling a baby goat in its mother's milk. . . . [W]orse come to worst, I could boil the baby goat in its aunt's milk."
But why wasn't I too impressed with the book?
First, as much as I hate to say it, immersion journalism is beginning to play itself out. You might have new idea for your stunt, but doing a stunt in the first place is no longer original. When I hear of the next new immersion journalism idea, I'll probably just shrug my shoulders and think, "Oh, right, I guess no one's done that yet."
And immersion journalism can seem a bit like a cheat to me. It's as if the plan is to throw yourself into some crazy circumstances, and then crazy things will happen to you, and then you just report the craziness, and your writing will therefore be compelling. I had this suspicion about my creative writing thesis, which was largely about my time in Tanzania. Even if I don't excel at writing, I did see Masai men eat the raw eyeballs and drink the raw blood of their livestock. And that content alone provides its own vivid imagery, no matter how I string the words together. But what if the prose itself had to carry the day? Tell James Joyce to write about two men meeting for a drink, and he can have one of the best short stories I've ever read. He didn't need eyeballs or blood to pull it off.
But second, and more importantly, I find the book just too accommodating. Jacobs doesn't want to rock any boats, doesn't want to make any extreme claims, doesn't want to do anything except make sure everyone gets a fair shake and their due respect. That's good and admirable, but I'm not sure it makes for powerful writing. When accommodating everyone you never quite say anything new, or anything memorable. Henry David Thoreau (who's time at Walden might be the first real immersion journalism, or still the best literary stunt I can think of) wanted to "brag as lustily as a chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up." But when it comes to a hot topic like religion, Jacobs does no bragging, steps up to no roosts, and makes sure all of his neighbors sleep well into the morning and wake up of their own volition before he might speak with them.
But Thoreau-esque authors take the opposite approach. Here's the opening line from an essay by environmentalist Derrick Jensen: "Every morning when I wake up I ask myself whether I should write or blow up a dam." That's a sentence I remember.
Which means I may have to defend the Sean Hannitys and Bill O'Reillys of the world. They are on their own roosts trying to wake up their neighbors (but their ideas just happen to be very, very wrong). Even though their views are reprehensible, I'll still give them a few minutes of my radio time very now and then, because at least they working with an edge. They'll make me angry, but know I'll have an emotion to feel in the first place.
And the mild-mannered Jacobs might be a part of a bigger trend. Here is Professor Mark Edmunson's description of his current undergraduate students at the University of Virginia:
An air of caution and deference is everywhere. When my students come to talk with me in my office, they often exhibit a Franciscan humility. "Do you have a moment?" "I know you're busy. I won't take up much of your time." Their presences tend to be very light; they almost never change the temperature of the room. The dress is nondescript: clothes are in earth tones; shoes are practical -- cross-trainers, hiking boots, work shoes, Dr. Martens, with now and then a stylish pair of raised-sole boots on one of the young women. Many, male and female both, peep from beneath the bills of monogrammed baseball caps. Quite a few wear sports, or even corporate, logos, sometimes on one piece of clothing but occasionally (and disconcertingly) on more. The walk is slow; speech is careful, sweet, a bit weary, and without strong inflection. (After the first lively week of the term, most seem far in debt to sleep.) They are almost unfailingly polite. They don't want to offend me; I could hurt them, savage their grades.
It's also good description of the authorial voice in "The Year of Living Biblically". Jacobs never changes the temperature in the room--but I think I read in search of those temperature changes.
