A Man Called Bob... I Mean, Ove

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

In my last Goodreads review, I ranted like a grumpy old man about the value of "storytelling." So how unexpectedly great it has been to listen to a story (Audible version) about a literal grumpy old man and re-remember the lesson that a great story can change your perspective in life-affirming ways.

Yes, the grumpy-old-man-masking-a-heart-of-gold-and-an-intriguing-backstory has been done before. But this tale is unsentimental and rings true. Fredrik Backman, you had me at the first haunted words Ove addressed to his wife.

Not only is this pure storytelling at a high level, but this particular version of the story has been translated from Swedish to English. How hard is it to capture the rhythm of literature and not sound a flat note in another language? I used to have a Latin teacher, a mild-mannered Roman Catholic priest -- and every year he watched young scholars struggle with translating Catullus. It was an incredible experience for him, especially considering the source material. One thing he said he learned was captured in an Old World, no longer-politically-correct maxim: "Translations are like women; the more beautiful they are, the less true."

So I give this book an extra star because of its talented translator -- Henning Koch -- who seems to have produced an English version of this book that's both beautiful and true.

I'm also resisting an urge to that star away, since Ove's beloved "Saab" may someday re-appear as a brand and this book would then fall into the hands of that most reviled of all storytellers, the content strategist. But until that day comes, I stand by this review.

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Is Storytelling Overrated?

A review (of sorts) of:
A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

In August 2015, Stephen King -- yes, THE Stephen King (if we are to trust Twitter's blue checkmark) -- tweeted: "A HEAD FULL OF GHOSTS, by Paul Tremblay: Scared the living hell out of me, and I'm pretty hard to scare."

So, who am I to argue the King? And yet... I found most of this story, save for some cleverly written blog entries by the main character, to be excruciating rather than scary. Perhaps because I raised two daughters in real life, and the plot here centers around two young sisters.

I also started to think about my grandmother as I slogged through this tale. She died years ago, but this book made me recall how she used to wonder why anyone read would fiction. "It's just silly stories," she'd say.

Now, admittedly, she was a Bible reader, so she did take some stories as a matter of faith (which this book dutifully ridicules). But, setting that debate aside, her main point was: "Why waste your time?"

Of course, here in 2017, storytelling is supposed to be the answer to everything... love, happiness, marketing, effective communication... you name it.

The Twitter background of my boss (who is real, despite not having a blue checkmark), even features this quote from Plato: "Those who tell stories rule the world."

As I listened to the Audible version of this book, though -- realizing it was a masterful writing job, and I'm sure the movie will be successful and that the author will be, if not already, rich -- I kept wondering, "Why am I wasting my time? Haven't I seen, read or heard all this before?"

In fairness, I picked up this book to be scared -- and, on one level, I think I am. But not because of all the predictable gore and manipulated shocks in this story.

I'm scared because I think my sainted grandmother might have been on to something, after all. Sometimes a story is just a cigar and a cigar is just a story. If the words aren't Great Gatsby transcendent, if the ideas they express aren't New Testament challenging or enriching, then what the hell am I doing here in 2017?

Am I simply spending my time begging to be frightened, or entertained?

"Tell me a story" may indeed be a building block of love (intimacy), happiness (connection), marketing (persuasion) and effective communication (acceptance).

It just doesn't get us any closer to greater meaning or insight or -- as I think of my grandmother -- redemption.


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Communications Lessons* From the 2016 Election (*alternative fact included)

More than 1 million people attended IABC-New Jersey’s recent panel discussion at Fairleigh Dickinson University’s Madison, NJ, campus.

OK, that’s really an alternative fact.

Still, it was challenging to try to steer clear of politics and focus on communications lessons. Luckily for the energized and engaged audience of more than two dozen, moderator and former IABC-NJ board member Rich Ecke of Berry Ecke Associates handled things like… a consummate politician.

He, along with panelists Dan Cassino, Ben Dworkin and Pat Politano resisted any urge to “re-litigate” the election results, and in the context of the “takeaways for communicators,” several themes emerged.

Authenticity.
“Who wants to be inauthentic?” Dworkin, who teaches political science at Rowan University, asked rhetorically. The new reality, he explained, is that the way to create authenticity has changed. The old rule of authenticity, Dworkin said, was that you apologize for a mistake and move on; the new rule is to not apologize and stick to your guns.

The old rule: media endorses your authenticity. The new rule: the media is a foil.

Cassino, who teaches political science at FDU, added that “authenticity is now in the eye of the beholder” and is “something we build for ourselves.” What does inauthenticity sound like? That’s easy: when one political candidate sounds just like all other political candidates. Just like when one company uses the same PR approach as every other competitor in its industry.

Dworkin also cited an unchanged rule when it comes to authenticity in business communications: “In business, if you have a lousy product, it doesn’t matter if you’re authentic.”

Simple Messages.
Politano, a political media consultant and strategist, said that the effectiveness of a simple message is still the greatest takeaway from the past election season. And while a political campaign has an end date, and an election is a fixed moment in time, business communicators need to have a sustainable message. “Big messages still matter,” Politano said. “Only the method of delivery has changed.”

Social Media.
“Reporters live on Twitter,” Cassino observed. Candidate Trump’s tweets drove and dominated coverage, which in turn drove public opinion. Dworkin called it “The Twitter Election,” and Politano said that the increasingly fewer number of journalists, “chained to desks in newsrooms,” were increasingly relying on Twitter as a news source.

Cassino noted that the Associated Press, for example, now has only one part-time reporter covering New Jersey, and that the “hollowing out” of the media ranks has put reporters “in a bubble.”

Still, Politano noted, Twitter is simply a tool to the message, and clarity, simplicity and directness are hallmarks of effective messaging that cut through clutter, especially in a business environment. And especially, if messages can be stated in less than 140 characters.

New Rules.

Dworkin, Cassino, Politano and Ecke (not a rock band)

Dworkin returned to the theme of old vs. new rules. The old rule was “message discipline.” The new rule, he said, is that the effectiveness of clear, simple messaging depends on the situation, and that this election season proved the value of keeping competitors off-balance and NOT having message discipline, especially in highly competitive business environments.

One audience member commented that a lack of message discipline seemed counter-intuitive in business communications. Dworkin responded that Trump kept his competition off-balance and unable to counterpunch effectively. Also, the timeliness of the attacks fueled the news value of the attacks.

Politano said, “Trump’s uniqueness enabled him to use this tactic. He’s been doing this for years. It’s his brand.” Cassino added that a changing message can be effective in business if it’s used to acknowledge problems, for example, because it demonstrates listening. ”The mere act of telling customers or employees that ‘I understand this is a problem’” can be a highly effective communications strategy for business leaders, he said.

Attracting Attention.
“You can’t replicate or copy Donald Trump,” Politano reiterated, “but you can take away lessons from his campaign… about how the media works now… about the effectiveness of acknowledging problems.” And about how to attract attention.

Business communicators, Cassino said, should know that “if you want to hide something, put it in a rote press release or standard memo. When you put out a ‘press release’ that doesn’t look like a press release, it will attract scrutiny. When people see something novel, they pay more attention.” Attention is neutral, and can turn positive or negative, but attention itself is hard to come by in today’s society.

Dworkin said, “When we talk to each other, we talk the same. Politicians all sound the same. Trump didn’t, at a point in time when people were looking for something different.”

The Politics of Change.
“Change” can be a compelling theme – for both politicians and professional communicators.

Politano offered a valuable insight about the inevitability of constant change. If there’s one thing a career in politics has taught him, he said, it’s that “everyone will say they want change, when the one thing that scares them the most is change.”

Politics aside, for IABC members who help business leaders communicate to employees, that too is an important lesson to keep top of mind.

This post first appeared on the website for the New Jersey chapter of the IABC.

Two Recent Books I've Read That Can't Be Reviewed

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book will be 20 years old this year, and there's nothing to "review" here. It's proven to be a fairy tale for our times, with an inspiring backstory about the author... and a catalyst for a generation of new readers. Magical things, all. Still, reading this for the first time in 2017 (or "listening to it," since it was only recently made available on Audible), it simply reminders me how quickly two decades can pass. I can't otherwise relate. The magic in my life is that I can close my eyes and vividly see my family years ago at the dinner table. We're laughing. It's a lively conversation. I've just asked my young daughters what they thought of the book. You can only imagine what Maddy had to say.

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is the second consecutive book I've read this month that defies being "reviewed." It's a testament and accounting of a man's life -- and death. Period. I would note, in review of Abraham Verghese's introduction, that Paul's friend promises transcendent writing and insight. Honestly, I found neither... despite that fact that Paul, in his own words, was truly heroic and inspiring. Besides, I don't think the author would have wanted us to look to him for transcendence -- or easy answers.

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Happy Birthday, Thomas Edison

I visited Thomas Edison National Historic Park in West Orange, NJ, today -- on Thomas' 170th birthday. I posted some photos too.

My Immigrant Family

This is my grandmother on her 99th birthday... 17 years ago this week. She was born in Ferno, Italy, and died before she turned 100. My other grandparents were born in Bacau, Romania, and Majdan, Poland. My grandfather's family is from Borca di Cadore, Italy. We are proud immigrants.

Is There Anybody Alive Out There?

This blog does everything wrong.

That’s the message I heard loud and clear as I sat through a webinar this past Thursday night: A successful publisher and editor disclosed strategies for building an audience and generating page views.

She had everything down to a science, exposing the flaws of this very site.

You see, I need to get outside of the need to express myself. That’s not what someone else needs. Oh, they’ll follow the arc of a personal story, and they’ll appreciate if I can share an insight I gained along the way, especially if it’s counter-intuitive. Because then readers will share the post to their own circle of friends to make themselves look helpful or clever.

As part of this marketing strategy, there’s also the all-important packaging… headline, images, layout… that can turn web posts into “small works of art.”

In a practical sense, I know she’s right. What I learned Thursday can be applied to anything I do in the business world.

In my heart, I also know she’s also wrong.

Click-bait isn’t art. Craft helps, but formulas don’t produce art either. Isn't art, at its core, an absolute celebration of self-expression?

Producing art is a primal force. Since the “brand theme” of this blog is New Jersey, I’ll illustrate it this way: Bruce Springsteen, before the E Street Band starts to play, shouting into the darkness, “Is there anybody alive out there?”

A Mid-Winter’s Poem

With this in mind, I'm posting something I wrote last night. I'm not claiming it's art; it's certainly not click-bait. It's just my small attempt to put a unique mark on the world.

I had been watching “The Last Waltz” on Netflix… marveling at the performance of a younger Van Morrison (“one more time”), when I was moved and haunted by The Band’s “Evangeline,” sung by a younger Emmylou Harris.

I let the dog out and a now-older me produced the first poem I've written in more than a dozen years, cheekily titling it in reference to Longfellow’s masterpiece. It's not necessarily addressed to anyone in particular, just to anyone alive out there in the forest primeval:

A Tale of Suburbia 

I summon you tonight, Evangeline.
As I behold the passage of time
In the breath of the bone-chilling cold. 

My old black dog.
Cloudy-eyed, shedding,
Struggles to his feet and
Shuffles to my side. 

I scratch his dry nose,
And open the back porch door,
Exposing the darkness.
The crack in my bones. 

Come, Evangeline,
Hear the scuttling of time.
The claws of the moments we lost.
My words in the bone-chilling cold. 

I long for the warmth of our souls.
I mourn for the warmth of our souls. 

'Paterson': A Gem of a Way to Look at Life for 118 Minutes

This is a character study, taking a look at one week in the life of a Paterson, New Jersey, poet and bus driver named Paterson (a nuanced performance by Adam Driver). Be forewarned: There’s hardly any drama or conflict here, not the modern cinematic variety at least. Instead, Jim Jarmusch’s film unfolds as an accumulation of details and images. Some are haunting… the twins Paterson’s wife dreams about before they wake up on that first Monday morning seem to float in and out of the story. And duos, too: Abbott and Costello, Romeo and Juliet, Sam and Dave. And the circles and spirals of Paterson’s wife’s art. It’s all very heady, and the most poetic parts are filmed from the perspective of a moving bus – not airborne and not ground-level, but truly unique. It’s a gem of a way to look at life for 118 minutes.

And Now, The Backstory…

Jarmusch, with Carter
Logan, at the Sunshine
Cinema last night

My wife – and notice, by the way, how I blithely assume the wonderful Golshifteh Farahani plays the role of “wife” when that is never stated or specified in the script -- and I happened to see this movie at the Sunshine Cinema on East Houston Street in New York last night. The attraction for viewing the film there (besides “date night in the city”) was that writer/director Jim Jarmusch was scheduled to show up after the 7:15 screening to answer audience questions.

During this Q&A, Jarmusch was simply amazing – cool, insightful, respectful about his art, playful about his art, genuine, smart and thankful to all the people who collaborate on his films.

As I’ve noticed at similar events in the business world, however, the audience questions seemed more focused on the observations of the person asking the question. It’s always personal… always “about me!” and not focused on the topic of discussion.

In that spirit, I offer my own "Paterson" backstory that has only a tangential thread to the movie:

I grew up in Totowa, a town bordering Paterson – which is America’s first planned industrial center and still the most populated city in Passaic County. 

Despite its local reputation for crime and poverty, I always found Paterson to be a good neighbor… although its neighbors have not always been so faithful. 

Two other bordering towns – formerly known as East Paterson and West Paterson – formally changed their names to Elmwood Park (1973) and Woodland Park (2009) – seemingly to avoid any association with Paterson. Notice how these towns cleverly kept their EP and WP initials, so that none of the associated community, municipal or educational logos needed to change. 

My first job as a newspaper reporter was in Paterson – and I admit it, I found the city scary enough not to stop at any red lights when driving home after my shift ended in the early morning hours in the early 1980s. 

A tough and complex city – unapologetically unlike Totowa or Elmwood Park or Woodland Park -- Paterson has also, over the years, been a haven for musicians, artists and writers… with an astoundingly diverse population and an enchanting incongruity. There are, for example, breathtakingly beautiful renovated homes in the city’s gentrified, historic Eastside Park neighborhood. There’s also a large historic park and waterfall right in the center of town (and this particular setting plays a central role the movie). 

Photo from my visit to Paterson's Great Falls in October 2017

This Paterson – the one I grew up with, often love and sometimes fear – is truly a unique place. And Jim Jarmusch (remember him?) is truly a unique director, so please, I urge everyone, SEE THIS MOVIE. It is, as my review (remember that?) states, a gem of a way to look at life for 118 minutes. It’s simply not like anything else. In this day and age, that may be the highest praise you can give anything.

But, back to me.

After the movie, my wife Nancy and I went for a drink at trendy Fools Gold on East Houston Street. I definitely didn’t feel like I was cool enough to be there.

Yet, there we were, seated at the end of the bar. I was in a restless and unsettled mood. I was, in fact, the saddest person in a happy barroom.

I sought solace in the always on-point observations of my wife.

“What did you think of the movie?” I asked.

As Nancy spoke, I was looking directly at a reflection of myself sipping a craft beer in the tastefully trashily decorated mirror behind the bar.

“Oh,” she said wistfully, “it was sweet in its own way. But it kind of had its flaws.”

I was still looking in the mirror, so – speaking of everything being about me -- I had to ask:

“You are talking about the movie, right?”

Poetry + Technology = Magic

Mom and I at the scenic overlook in Allamuchy in October 

Mom will turn 85 soon, one week earlier than Dad would have turned 85. The sad thing is, Dad died when he was 73.

I’m their only son. So for nearly a dozen years, I’ve taken the place of Dad in Mom’s life… but only in the smallest of ways.

For example, there’s the job of setting the timers: That is, trekking to Mom’s house every few weeks to make sure her living room lights automatically turn on at dusk. I used to resent knowing New Jersey’s sunset times better than the Farmer’s Almanac, but then it dawned on me (excuse the pun) that “setting the timers” used to be my father’s job.

I initially thought Mom was just being stubborn about not wanting to learn how to set her own timers. But it turns out she was just being sentimental. Having someone take care of that for her was a small, but meaningful, comfort… one less thing to remind her Dad was gone.

Over the years, I’ve tried to get Mom to text or Skype, use email, check her bank statements on an iPad, or at least use a cell phone – all to no avail. She plays Scrabble on a laptop for hours at a time, but only an old version that runs from a CD. I’ve turned off the computer’s Internet access because she’s otherwise rattled by update notifications and worried someone is spying on her.

Still, this Christmas, I gave technology another shot with Mom. I bought her two Echo Dots along with some smart outlets, and arranged things so that she could turn her lights on and off by voice from her bed or easy chair. And, failing that, so that I could do so remotely.

Behold, the Echo Dot

To my surprise, Mom warmed to the idea of asking “Alexa” to control her lights… and she thought it was black magic when I randomly asked Alexa to reach into Amazon’s music cloud to play “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby.

So earlier today, I was upset when I called to check on Mom and found that she was having problems with Alexa. How could that be, I wondered? Mom had no clue, and she was upset Alexa was no longer responding.

I checked the Alexa app on my smartphone and saw that even my remote access was not working. That couldn't be right, either. So I inspected the app a little further and found a history of my Mom’s actual voice commands over the past few days.

It turns out Mom has been talking to the Echo units as if there was a person on the other end, and not a bot. She had set an alarm to wake her in the mornings, and evidently complained, “I’m up! I’m up! I'm up!” to shut it off. She had also asked conversationally about the weather, and somehow Alexa had dutifully answered.

I was floored, however, when I read that Mom had also asked this:

“There’s a poem, and it’s called, ‘How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count the Ways…’ Alexa, do you know that poem? Before my husband passed away, he used to recite it to me. Could you recite it to me now?”

I didn’t know this about Dad, and I felt as if I were spying on my parents’ relationship.

Alas, Echo’s Alexa does not recite famous public-domain poetry on demand. (There’s a feature idea for you, Amazon.) So Alexa’s response to Mom's request was simply, "Sorry, I didn't understand your question."

I asked my wife what to make of all this. I told her that soon after Mom had requested the poem, her day had been interrupted by someone who comes in to do her cleaning and vacuuming.

My wife knew immediately what must have happened. The most convenient outlet for a vacuum cleaner is also right where Mom’s router is plugged in. It was probably unplugged. That’s why I couldn't receive a remote signal, and why Mom couldn't receive a response from Alexa.

Troubleshooting this on the phone would have been painstaking since Mom neither knows nor cares what a router is, so I decided to test my wife's theory by surprising Mom with a visit. Before leaving home, I recorded myself reciting Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 43. I named the file “How Do I Love Thee” and uploaded an MP3 version to Amazon Music.

Arriving at Mom's house, I explained how I “fixed” everything by simply plugging in the cord attached to a mysterious black box she didn't even know she owned.

Then I said, “Alexa, play ‘How Do I Love Thee’.”

“Playing ‘How Do I Love Thee!’” Alexa cheerily answered, and from somewhere in the cloud my recorded voice filled the room.

This is how, on the eve of 2017, technology bridged the gap between generations. It unleashed the magic of a 170-year-old poem to summon my father… in my own voice… to make my overwhelmed and delighted mother start to cry on the eve of her 85th birthday.

Listen to my recording here.