What is a true story?

People frequently ask me what kind of books I like to read. After considerable thought, I've concluded that my favorite books to read are the true ones. Only, what constitutes a true story? You might think that it would be, say, one composed of facts, or at least based on them; however, I consider this to be nonsense. I don't like factual stories, I like true ones. Some factual stories are true, but not all of them; nor are true stories necessarily based on fact.
The Lord of the Rings is what I would consider a first class true story, despite the fact that it is clearly not only fiction, but fantasy. Let me explain myself to those who doubt my definition (But before I go any further, let me confess that it's been a while since I read the books, and now I don't remember what's in the movie and not the book and vice versa.). The Lord of the Rings demonstrates true principles and the characters make true statements. The most famous of the true statements is probably Gandalf's about how we can't choose what time we want to be in, we can only decide what to do with the time we've been given (I don't remember exactly how it goes). That is true, very true, despite the fact that Gandalf was a figment of Tolkien's imagination. I think that Aragorn beautifully demonstrates true principles of leadership and its burdens, despite the fact that he too, unfortunately, is entirely fictional. Do you see what I mean about The Lord of the Rings being 'true' fantasy? It's not great because it's well-written or has good character development or an epic plot; it's great because it's true. That's why it's the best high fantasy out there - the rest can't compete for trueness (although there are some good ones, I admit).
Some other books:
The Thief (Megan Whalen Turner) - true
The Chronicles of Narnia (C.S. Lewis) - true
The Mark of the Horse Lord (Rosemary Sutcliff) - true
1776 (David McCullough) - true
The Odyssey (Homer?) - true
The Oresteia (Aeschylus) -true
You will observe that all of the books on this list are true. That's not actually because I was looking for true books; it's because the true books were the ones that came to mind. I forgot the others.

Sparrow

I like Simon and Garfunkel. I realize they may have had some issues in their lives, but the words to some of their songs are amazing. One of my favorites is Sparrow. The words are thus:


Who will love a little sparrow
Who's traveled far and cries for rest?
"Not I," said the Oak Tree
"I won't share my branches with no sparrow's nest
And my blanket of leaves won't warm her cold breast"

Who will love a little sparrow
And who will speak a kindly word?
"Not I," said the Swan
"The entire idea is utterly absurd
I'd be laughed at and scorned if the other swans heard."

Who will take pity in his heart
And who will feed a starving sparrow?
"Not I," said the Golden Wheat
"I would if I could but I cannot I know
I need all my grain to prosper and grow"

Who will love a little sparrow?
Will no one write her eulogy?
"I will," said the Earth
"For all I've created returns unto me
From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be"

I like this song because it's a good reminder of how we ought to behave, and how bad our excuses for not helping each other are. The tree won't help the sparrow; why? Because he doesn't want to. The swan won't help the sparrow; why? Because of what others might say if he does. The wheat won't help the sparrow; why? Because she thinks she doesn't have enough to spare, and won't make it if she shares. Then in the end, what happens? The earth receives the sparrow, as she will one day receive the tree, the swan, and the wheat. Despite their selfishness and unwillingness to help the sparrow, one day they will be nothing more than she is. It seems to me as though the primary reasons we use to avoid helping each other are all here: we don't feel like it, people will laugh at us, we don't have enough for ourselves. But what will happen in the end? Will our desire to put ourselves first, our laziness or vanity, our reputation, our financial well-being, put us in a better position when we all go back to meet our maker? Somehow I doubt it.

On being crippled

Due to the conjunction of certain planets in my mind's sky, I have been considering lately the meaning of the word crippled. I understand what it means in general usage ("a person or animal that is partially or totally unable to use one or more limbs"), but I don't think that's how my subconscious understands it. To me, I think, it has nothing to do with one's physical capacity, but instead depends on mental attitude. In my mind, a 'cripple' is someone who refuses to try doing something because they're afraid they might fail. So a person who's missing a leg, say, but is willing to try, I don't know, ice-skating (which would be difficult - I have a hard time doing it with both my legs intact), is much less crippled than a person who's entirely hale of body but won't try ice-skating because they're afraid they might fall.
That's my profundity for the day.

Why would anyone want to be a lawyer?

It turns out that I don't want to be a lawyer for high moral reasons, or even low money-grubbing reasons. No, after deep personal reflection, it turns out I want to be a lawyer because I have a crush on Cicero, Marcus Tullius himself. I adore him and want to be like him. This would look good in fifty years if it ever came out. "What first lead you to the study of the law?" "Oh, I had a crush on an argumentative dead man." So now I'm going to put it on a blog where, conceivably, anybody could read it.

On being Wonderful

Sometimes, I suspect people of thinking that I'm wonderful. This is inconvenient.
The first reason it's inconvenient: I'm afraid they're then going to hate me because they're jealous. I don't want people to hate me, I want them to like me. I don't know if this actually happens, but I'm a little paranoid that it does. I don't know why or when this fear developed.
The second reason: because being thought wonderful leaves one with certain responsibilities. At least, I feel like it does, but maybe I'm secretly a dutiful person. Anyway, I feel like I ought to go out of my way to be nice to people so that they'll feel like they are cool enough for wonderful people to like them, which is difficult for me, because I'm not very good at reaching out to people, partly because I'm oblivious and partly because it scares me silly. I also feel like I have to be happy and positive (or brilliant or witty or charming or whatever it is people think I am) all the time around people who don't know me very well, lest I should disappoint their expectations, which is no good, because sometimes I'm miserable and crabby.
So I end up having all the disadvantages and responsibilities of being wonderful without any of the advantages, and that is an unjust situation, I daresay.
The moral of the story is: Thank goodness for my friends who know that if I'm wonderful it's mostly serendipitously.