So, After finishing Paris: The Novel by Edward Rutherfurd on October 26th, I picked up The Soul of All Living Creatures: What Animals Can Teach Us About Being Human, by Vint Virga, D.V.M. I heard about this book when I was listening to NPR one evening on my way home from work. The author, Vint Virga was being interviewed about cat PDA and his book. I'm pretty addicted to animals, so this interview piqued my interest more than some other interviews I hear on NPR. I mentioned it to the husband, and he added it to our next Amazon order. Poof - a few days later, I had it in hand!
I started reading it on November 6th, and finished it in early December (of course, I forgot to write the date down...) It was a little slow going getting into the book, but once I did, it was so interesting and gave me so much food for thought. I've only really had one pet in my life - a cat named Kitty Witty - she was the best and I loved her. I still get misty eyed remembering the last days of her life - she lived almost 21 years. The last years, I didn't have her with me - she stayed living with my parents after I moved from Southern California to San Francisco to go to college. But I loved the time I had with her when I was home for visits. I had fish and mice and hamsters and rats as pets too, but none had as much impact on my life as Kitty Witty did.
Reading this book, however, made me think more about animals and how if humans could live their lives more like animals live theirs, the world might be a much better place, and our relationships with others might be really different too.
Virga opens the book with a tale about a dog named Pongo that was hit by a car. Pongo wasn't physically injured - xrays and other tests showed nothing physically wrong with him, but he was going downhill fast. Vigra couldn't figure out what was wrong with Pongo or how to help him get better. Vigra attended to a host of other injured animals in the clinic that evening and at close to 3am, he sat, exhausted, next to Pongo to update the charts of the other animals. As Vigra sat there charting and resting his free hand on Pongo's chest, Vigra soon felt a vague shift in Pongo. Soon, the changes were real - Vigra felt the pulse strengthen, heart rate slow, and Pongo's focus shifted "from some distant planet to there by my side. With the weakest of wags at the tip of his tail, he licked my hand as I spoke his name. In medical terms, he became more responsive. But, simply put in other words, Pongo grew preset in body and spirit." Was it medicine that healed Pongo - maybe but also maybe not. Was it possibly companionship, touch, and bonding with Vigra?
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| Bixby, Christmas 2011 |
This passage really touched me. I, too, have always loved animals - they have a special place in my life. I love seeing them, love petting them, love just being with them. Animals are pretty special. I could spend hours just laying next to my sister's dog, Bixby, petting his soft little ears, and feeling him breathe.
"Since my earliest memories (I was maybe four or five years old), I've felt drawn to animals by some unexplained force. At holiday gatherings, my parents' dinner parties, or days around town - especially in crowds - I could be found somewhere out of the way, comfortably sitting alone on the ground with a cat in my lap or a dog close at hand. Sometimes I'd talk to them, other times not. I was simply content to be with them in silence and escape all the pressure of being with people - words freely spoken with so much unsaid, unspoken meanings, hidden agendas. With animals, I felt at home. Their messages were clear and true. What mattered in those moments was nothing more than our relationship."
Vigra tells his story in vignettes about animals he has treated - from house cats in Lake Tahoe to leopards in zoos - how he has tried (sometimes successfully and sometimes not) to help the animal (and their human companions) through whatever ails them. From depression, to crazy fits, he seems to always want to listen to the animal and hear what they are saying in order to try and ease their strain.
He wonders, for instance, why his dog, Katie, is so drawn to sniff every single lamppost on their walks.
"I envision a dog's world with clouds of aromas - some muted pastels, some lusciously brilliant, painted on tree trunks, seeping from crevices, and wafting aimlessly in the breeze. Enthralling. Alluring. Beguiling. Seductive. If for just one day we could smell as a dog does, in what ways would that day differ from others? And how might we be changed afterward? Could we go on with our lives as before, ignoring all that our senses miss? Or would we then dare to look at the world from a fresh perspective? ...How would it feel to surge through the waves and leap through the air with the ease of a dolphin? What would it be like to lope through the savannah, grasses billowing in your wake, in a coalition of cheetahs, moving toward a nearby grazing heard of impala? Or to swiftly glide through the cold autumn air as silently as a great horned owl, having spotted through the blackness of night the stripe of a skunk on the forest floor below you? How, then, is it possible to step into the shoes of an animal? Simply put, as humans, we can't... In the hurried pace of our daily routines, we all too often neglect to notice what our senses reveal to us. At the end of the day as we drive down the freeway, in our haste to make it home, we ignore the ochre hues of sunset fading before us between the clouds. With windows closed to the snarl of traffic and radios tuned to the evening news, we miss a flock of geese as they pass overhead...our thoughts often drag us right out of the moment...distracted by responsibilities and focused on our hopes and dreams, we neglect what is right within our reach. And in so doing, we miss the moment and all the rich experiences it offers us."
He talks about how animals' minds generate images, emotions, memories, and thoughts - just like we do. They take in their surroundings and circumstances, and make decisions on their actions accordingly. Sometimes they get it right, sometimes not. They use methods other than language to convey how they are feeling and what they are thinking. Where humans use language, there are so many nonverbal cues that we fail to pick up on or use. By considering animals and how they communicate, we could learn a thing or two. "...we must be willing to notice, take stock, and be accountable for all the messages we relate, spoken and unspoken. Our ability to express ourselves - to be seen, heard, and understood; to connect with others, as we long to do - depends upon us fully claiming all the ways we communicate. As we accept how we convey our thoughts and feelings beyond words we use - through the tone, pitch, and pace of our voice as we speak; our postures, gestures, and facial expressions; the ways we look into another's eyes (or don't) - we more fully relate to those in our lives. And as we communicate with clear intention, while being mindful and sensitive, we more fully embrace our human nature."
Often, as I am reading books, I dogear (ironic?) certain pages with passages that touch me in some way. In this book, there are so many dogeared pages, I can't include them all here - this post would be far too long, and there would probably not be too much more book for you to read.
This book, to me, was more of a book about how to be a better human, than it is about actual animals. Sure, the book is about animals, but it is so much more than that. How can we be better humans by considering the animals around us. "The world is always changing...Our circumstances are never static...We're never precisely on the right course...Adapting is an ongoing process...As I watch animals, I see they get this. It's not that they don't have objectives, but they adjust them more willingly than we do...Animals accept adapting as a process, adjusting their plans according to each situation...The creatures around us can serve to remind us that we hold the wisdom already within for how we can change our lives and open ourselves to new ways of being, if only we are willing to clip a whisker from the tiger." (Clipping a whisker from a tiger is part of a Korean folktale that Vigra writes about in his book - I found a retelling of it courtesy of Google - it's a touching story.)
In writing about forgiveness, Vigra says "While animals, undoubtedly, harbor memories of pleasure, suffering, and remorse, they move past them with greater poise than humans often do. It's not that they are indifferent to insult or injury, but they more willingly return to their relationships and their lives, giving as before. For them, the continuity of their lives takes precedence. Overlooking conflict, abuse, punishment, and suffering, they offer forbearance, patience, and a readiness to forgive. Looking past missteps and blunders, they remain devoted to the enduring qualities of each relationship - companionship, sharing, and affection."
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| with Kitty Witty in 1986 |
Animals are wondrous creatures, as are humans. I think we each enhance the others' lives, and we can learn a lot from each other - not through words - but rather, through unspoken connections. I remember distinctly the day I moved to San Francisco in January 1994. It was a week after the Northridge earthquake. I think my cat tried to warn me about it - but I didn't listen. About 30 minutes before it happened, I remember her waking up from her little corner of my bed, meowing a lot, waking me up and annoying me. I nudged her off my bed with my foot, and she ran away to find another part of the house to occupy. Then 30 minutes later - BAM! the earthquake hit. She was nowhere to be found for quite some time after the earthquake. I'm sure it was as traumatic for her as it was for me. I was so scared to leave home, leave my cat, and move to a city that was home to the original "big one." As I finished packing my things, and getting ready to go, I remember clinging to my cat. She sat there with me patiently and let me hold her, crying on her side, tears wetting her fur. She let me get it all out and licked my cheek - telling me it was ok to go - that I would be ok. We had a bond.
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| with Kitty Witty in 1998 |
Vigra's book is sweet and lovely, and rather insightful. Read it - it might teach you a thing or two about animals, and volumes about yourself.
After finishing Los Angeles Stories, by Ry Cooder, on August 30, I moved right on to Paris: The Novel by Edward Rutherfurd. I got this book soon after the husband and I returned from our vacation in May to Paris, Florence, and Rome. I had never been to any of those places before so was super excited to go. I had low expectations for Paris, but after getting there and being there for a day, I fell in love. Paris was magnificent and I loved every moment we were there. I also have a soft spot for historical fiction, so was excited to see this book at Costco one afternoon, and decided it should come home with me.
This book is quite lengthy - 805 pages - so it took me a while to get through it. I finished it on October 26h. The Husband and I had an ongoing joke about the book. Every night he would ask me what the book was about, and every night I would tell him it was about Paris. Clearly it was about Paris - it's the title of the book. But it was so much more than that. Rutherfurd told the story of Paris through several fictitious families that lived there at different times in pivotal periods of Paris' and France's history.
Rutherfurd provides an illustration of 6 family trees - these families all are intertwined throughout the book in interesting ways - the families Le Sourd, de Cygne, Renard, Blanchard, Gascon, and Jacob. The illustration begins in 1282 and goes through 1968, so yeah, the book covers a lot.
I loved how Rutherfurd paints such real and vivid literary pictures with his rich and descriptive writing style. As you are reading, it is so easy to visualize the people, the places, and the details that he writes about. I loved how he would describe a place, and I could actually picture it because I had recently been there.
When in Paris, the Husband and I took a guided tour of the Eiffel Tower. Our tour guide described how the tower came to be - a contest for a monument for the world's fair was opened with very specific requirements. It it had to be a specific height (to top the Washington Monument in America), and the winner of the contest had to fund the construction of the structure themselves. One option was a giant guillotine and another contender was a giant sprinkler. The tower was submitted by Gustave Eiffel - an engineer - and it was selected. Eiffel negotiated that he would pay for the construction if he could keep the profits the tower generated for the next 20 years. The book echoed this sentiment as Rutherfurd wrote about the character Thomas Gascon, a poor boy who lived near Sacré Coeur, who needed a job. He worked for Eiffel on the Statue of Liberty, and when the tower was starting to be built, Thomas got a job from Monsieur Eiffel himself. In one of the many conversations between Thomas and Eiffel, Thomas learns from Eiffel about the reasons behind the tower's design:
"What is the greatest threat to a tall structure, young Gascon? Do you know?"
"Its weight, I suppose monsieur."
"No. Not really. It's the wind. The reason my tower has the shape it has, the reason it is constructed the way it is, all this is because of the wind, whose force would otherwise tear it down. That is the reason. Nothing else."
"Is that why it is just iron girders, so the wind can blow through?"
"Excellent. It is an open lattice construction, so that the wind can blow clean through it. An despite the fact that it is made of iron, which is strong, it is actually very light. If you put the tower in a cylindrical box, as a bottle of wine is sometimes sold, the air contained in the box would be almost as heavy as the metal tower itself. Amazing, but true."
Jumping to 1911, Thomas Gascon is married and has a few children. He has taken his children for a walk around Montmartre:
There was a funicular, nowadays, that ran up the left side of the steep, high slope, but one had to pay. Besides, as he told Monique when she complained, they wouldn't get any exercise if they didn't go up the steps.
The sun was out, catching the soaring white domes of the church of Sacré Coeur. High on its hill, it gleamed over the huge oval valley of Paris.
"Most of my life," Thomas remarked to his children "this hilltop was just a huge field of mud and wooden scaffolding. I used to wonder if I'd ever live to see the church finished. They didn't take the scaffolding down from the big dome until you were born, Monique, when I was thirty-five."
Jumping back to 1877, Thomas is courting Édith, a girl he saw at the funeral procession for Victor Hugo and fell instantly in love with, despite not knowing her name, where she lived, or anything about her. He found her many years later, and began courting her. Thomas and Edith went for a walk at the Trocadéro, and some pleasure gardens nearby. Rutherfurd describes the scene:
On the slope below the Trocadéro's Moorish concert hall as it looked across the river to the site of Monsieur Eiffel's tower, there were some pleasure gardens, which contained two big statues, one of an elephant, the other of a rhinoceros.
"I remember my father bringing me here to look at these," Édith told him, "when I was a girl." She smiled. "So I like to come and see them sometimes." She shrugged. "It brings back good memories."
I remember seeing these statues outside the Musee d'Orsay. They were absolutely lovely!
Also in 1877, we follow Roland de Cygne after school one day going to see the tomb of Napoléon at Les Invalides near Champ Mars and the Eiffel Tower.
Roland was a conscientious pupil. It didn't come naturally, because he often didn't want to work. It was only because of his mother, really, that he forced himself to do it. "Promise me, Roland, that you will try your best at school." It was almost the last thing she'd ever said to him. And to his credit, he had always kept his promise. Other boys in the class might be cleverer, but by working hard, he usually managed to get grades that were only a little behind the leaders.
So when, during a history class that morning, the teacher had asked how many boys had been to visit the horror, and he was the only one not to raise his hand, and the teacher told him to go to see it, he'd decided to go at once. After all, it wasn't far.
... Instead of finding a nave beneath the dome, one looked down from a circular gallery into a marble pit. Twelve pillars of victory encircled this pagan crypt, and in its center, upon a massive, green granite pedestal, rested a stupendous sarcophagus of polished red porphyry, bulging with imperial pride.
The tomb of Napoléon, child of the Revolution, conqueror of God's anointed monarchs, emperor of France. This was the horror that Roland had been sent to see.
The book was so rich with descriptions of places, people, architecture, feelings, and historical events. It is impossible to touch on them all. I absolutely loved this book. I think I would feel exactly the same had I not bought it in a post-vacation Paris-loving haze at Costco one afternoon.
Randomly, my in-laws were visiting the Husband and I after I just started the book, and my father-in-law, Jim, mentioned he was reading Rutherfurd's New York book. I did not know that there were other books by this author out there (though I can't say I am surprised). I asked Jim to please save the New York book for me to read. If you like books rich in history that might help you learn a thing or many about what happened in that place over time, pick this book up. You won't be sorry - and if you haven't already been to Paris - be prepared to want to make the trip. You will absolutely love it!
Note: all pictures here were taken by me on our vacation to Paris
