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370 pages, Paperback
First published September 2, 2014
Sometimes I'll walk past my old house with my stepsons or my grandchildren when we're on our way to Vilas Park and I'll just stop, look up, and reminisce, and try to think how I could possibly explain all that happened inside to these people who are so utterly American. I can't do it. Maybe when they'll read this book they'll understand just a bit of what it was about.
To Americans, the outward display of intelligence is considered unseemly. The Donald Trumps of the world can boast about their penthouses and Ferraris, their women can wear baubles the size of Nebraska, and no one says boo. If you have money, you're almost always expected to flaunt it. But intellect? This is something else entirely. Women, especially, are supposed to play dumb. One of the richest men in America has said publicly tht if your SAT score is too high, find a way to sell 200 points. Supposedly you don't need them.
The inability of Americans to value intellect is, to me, maddening. If someone possesses physical beauty, they will not be cloistered or hidden in dark shadows. No, they are expected to be the source of pleasing scenery to others. We are not frightened in this country by beauty. We celebrate it, as we should. But what about beautiful brains, the kind that can create amazing worlds out of nothing but thoughts, that can find a way to intricately bond elements of our lives and our ideas that conventional wisdom tells us are inert? Why should anyone hide this intellect ever? ... There is no such thing as unnecessary beauty, whether it be physical or intellectual.
Most of the audio came from American radio dramas. The way the children on these shows interacted with their parents, free of shouting and so polite, seemed as foreign to me as the language of English itself. "Are people in America really like this<" I remember asking my father.
"Yes, of course. They are all like this."
"Will we have to be like this when we move?"
"No. We can be like we are."
The answer had been reassuring. For while I was certain that I could master English, mastering American culture seemed both impossible and undesirable. To this day I don't understand this country well. The cheery optimism. The lack of concern about the past. The openness to strangers who simply show a smile and give a firm handshake. ... Where does this blithe strength come from?
Clinton begins to tell my mother of a recurring dream. He is in an elevator of an impossibly tall building. He keeps rising higher and higher alone in the elevator, the numbers signifying what floor he is on getting bigger and bigger. "What do you think it means, Doctor K?"Hillary finally bursts out laughing, recognizing it as a joke.
"Well, I'm a mathematician, not a psychoanalyst," my mother says, "But, it would seem that your subconscious is telling you that you are in over your head in your present job."
Besides it is not a Russian thing to follow rules, unless of course not following them will likely mean prison or worse. Many rules are in fact inherently stupid.
She swatted them away without any pretense of being polite. If they persisted, she'd roll out the insults. "Da poshel ty na kher so svoin utiugom [Get the hell out of here and don't forget to take your dick with you.]"
If there is one hardship Russians can endure, even celebrate, it's cold and the deprivation associated with that cold. Every hundred years or so another country forgets about this special Russian talent, declares war and pays dearly for their naivete and hubris.
"…smart people do stupid things far more often than most people realize."
"Actually, it is more than this. The big D in the Navier-Stokes equation is called the material derivative, and it refers to watching velocities of fluids change not from a fixed reference frame but from one in which you are riding with the storm. When I think of Navier-Stokes, sometimes I imagine myself as a Lilliputian in a tiny canoe that has been lifted up and tossed high in a fun-house mirror. I watch as the fluids careen against and flow around me."Wouldn’t it be great if the turbulence in our lives could be described and defined and nailed down with scientific precision? We could coolly assess a situation and recognize just when things are going to fly out of control, in which direction, and with what force.
"Tornados are a good metaphor for how bad things happen in our lives. They build from small disturbances that usually don’t mean a thing and almost always dissipate. But somehow one particular random bad event attracts others, and all of them together grow and attract more nasty stuff. Once it gets to a critical size, the odds of it growing even larger are no longer remote."
"Our capacity for love isn’t like a gallon jug that you fill up from a rest stop as you take a drive across the country. It can swell, and sadly, it can shrink. Less is not more. Less is less, and more is better, although I can’t say that I fully understood that at the time of my mother’s death. I’m a whiz at science and math. In matters of people, I am indeed a slow learner."