Book Review: "Proust and the Squid"

Proust and the Squid: The Story and Science of the Reading Brain is a delightful rarity: a treatise that will pass the strictest scholarly and scientific scrutiny while being completely accessible – and fascinating – to the layperson. The author, Maryanne Wolf, is a professor of child development at Tufts University near Boston, and she also directs the Center for Reading and Language Research. Her passion is developing a better understanding of how the human brain re-organized (and re-organizes) its own circuitry to permit people to communicate through the written word. But her research isn't limited to the historical or theoretical; she's also determined to find ways to cope "when the brain can't learn to read." And her focus isn't limited to the past or present; she's doing her best to look into the future to see how our transformation into a digital society might affect our reading skills.

The book is less than 250 pages (with another sixty pages devoted to notes, sparing the casual reader a slog through the omnipresent footnotes that mark an academic text), but its breadth and scope are expansive. Wolf takes us through the known history of writing, starting with clay tokens dating to 8,000 BC and which represented the first accounting records; to Sumerian cuneiforms and Egyptian hieroglyphics; to the first alphabet (attributed to Semitic workers living in Egypt around 1,900 BC); with a detour through Greece to explore the surprising condemnation of writing by none other than Socrates, who believed that the access to unsupervised reading would lead to undisciplined thinking, erroneous conclusions, and the destruction of memory.

The author then describes at length what goes on inside the brain when we read. Thanks to advances in brain mapping, scientists can now literally see the process of reading played out across the brain, beginning with visual recognition of the words, followed by word-specific activation, phonological processing (connecting letters to sounds), and, finally, semantic processing (assessing varied meanings and associations), all of which takes place in the normal reading brain in .2-.5 of a second. If this sounds overwhelming, never fear. Wolf considerately places this jargon-heavy science into a neat package of italicized text, and points out that those who aren't all that interested can skip to the next section and be no worse for having done so.

Then, having described how the brain is supposed to handle the process of reading, she delves into those situations where it doesn't work that way. She spends a great deal of time on dyslexia, a syndrome that still isn't fully understood although great strides are being made in that direction. If nothing else, Wolf offers great hope to those who have children or other loved ones who are having difficulty learning to read. She urges calmness and patience in the case of children who seem to be "behind the curve," as the acquisition of reading skills varies greatly among individuals.

Wolf comes by this advice honestly; her children are dyslexic, and she and her husband had several dyslexic ancestors. She presents compelling evidence that dyslexia isn't an unmitigated curse, as there are too many examples of brilliant dyslexics whose contributions to culture and society through the ages are unmistakable and invaluable. In her words, dyslexia, with its seemingly untidy mix of genetic talents and cultural weaknesses, exemplifies human diversity–with all the important gifts this diversity bestows on human culture.

Finally, Wolf ponders the implications of a digital society, where the traditional written word has been replaced by pixels and sound bites. If the book has a weakness, it comes here, as the subject is given relatively short shrift. But at least one set of questions illuminates one significant source of concern:

This is not a theoretical issue, as we've previously discussed in this space (including a passing reference to Proust and the Squid.

I can't think of anyone to whom I wouldn't recommend this book, but I think it's an especially valuable and enlightening resource to three groups. First, educators who teach reading will benefit from the author's insights about how the human brain learns to comprehend the written word. Second, parents of young, pre-literate children need to understand the long-term significance of that seemingly simple things – like merely talking to their children – can have on their ability to achieve effective literacy (pay close attention to her thoughts about "the war on word poverty").

The third group is perhaps less obvious. I think that writers, professional and otherwise, will benefit from Wolf's perspective about the purposes of reading. Writers would do well to internalize the quote that introduces this post and ponder the implication that their words are most successful when they provide not an end, but a beginning – a jumping off point where their readers build upon a foundation in ways that the author may not be able to conceive.

Technorati tags: Proust and the Squid | Maryanne Wolf

Dutch study on lifetime medical costs merits close reading

A Dutch study is getting a lot of press over its findings that healthy people actually incur higher total medical expenses than those who are obese or who smoke, because the latter tend to die earlier. However, the conclusions of the study are not as straightforward as some news media reports are implying.

The study, entitled Lifetime Medical Costs of Obesity: Prevention No Cure for Increasing Health Expenditure, does indeed show (statistically, anyway; the study was based on a simulation model, not actual people) that the typical smoker or obese person will incur lower medical costs over the course of their lives than those who lead more healthy lifestyles. And, not surprisingly, a longer lifespan is accompanied by higher total medical costs than a shorter one.

But it's important to understand that the researchers are not suggesting that programs to eliminate smoking or reduce obesity should be eliminated, de-funded, or even de-emphasized, because there's more to the issue than the arithmetic of medical expense. From the study:

So, while some may attempt to use this study as justification for reduced emphasis on these health issues, they'll do so in direct disregard of one of the most important conclusions by the researchers:

In other words, the focus should not be exclusively or even primarily on those lifetime medical expenditures.

If nothing else, this highlights the importance of going straight to the source rather than relying on an AP newswire summary.

Stoned

As if to add insult to injury -- or, perhaps, vice versa -- Jen has been afflicted with a kidney stone. As I mentioned in a comment to her post, while I can't really relate to her being confined to bed rest for the duration of her pregnancy, I do have up close and personal experience with kidney stones, having experienced two bouts over the years, one of which required surgery and both of which required screaming like a little girl.

One of the attacks came as I was home alone in Midland while my wife was enjoying herself at a convention in Las Vegas. I drove myself to the emergency room in the wee hours of the morning -- our car at the time had a five-speed manual transmission so I ran a lot of red lights in order to not have to exert any part of my body more than absolutely necessary. Truth be known, I was hoping to catch the attention of a police car, preferably one inhabited by a trigger-happy nervous cop who might put me out of my misery. No such luck, however, until I slipped the surly bonds that bound me to a morphine-free consciousness after a suitable 16-hour waiting period (OK, not really, but it felt that way) to make sure I wasn't already a junkie.

Anyway, none of that's really important. Suffice it to say that I have experience in this area, and I also have experience in empathizing with others who are going through the ordeal. In fact, ten or so years ago, we had a friend who also had a kidney stone, except hers went undiagnosed -- for reasons known only to God and the Marquis de Sade -- for weeks. We shared great umbrage at the doctor, such that I was transported by the muse to enshrine our outrage in poetic form. Thus cometh the following, which is best sung to the tune of Rock of Ages:

Jen, get well soon. Don't make me write another poem!

Seeing Clearly

I'm sitting in the waiting room, watching a steady stream of folks come in and plop down more than three grand each (one fellow counted out his payment $100 bills) for the same procedure MLB is undergoing as I write this. The CEO of a local bank just came out of the operating area, walking arm-in-arm with one of the attending nurses. He seemed to be happy with the outcome, so far.

I've just finished updating a series of webpages (offline; the waiting area has no wireless connection…how utterly 90s, surprising for a practice that's otherwise on the cutting edge of technology), listening to the breathy electronica of Imogene Heap and Goldfrapp via iTunes (that RAKR commercial was irresistible…not for the phone, but for the music), and I’m now contemplating what it might feel like to not have to wear eyeglasses or contacts for the first time in decades.

My wife's been juggling two pairs of glasses and two sets of contact lenses for years, trying to find the right combination to compensate for the seemingly inevitable deterioration of sight that comes with aging. Unlike me, she's effectively blind without corrective lenses, but custom LASIK may just succeed in rolling back the clock, at least in this one very important area. We'll know very soon.

Update: Thirty minutes have passed, and MLB just walked out, accompanied by a nurse, headed for the recovery area. She was smiling.

One hour, and forty years of deteriorating vision are banished. I've always subscribed to the philosophy that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. We live in magical times.

Virtual OR Showcases West Texas Tonight

A local physician will perform bypass surgery on a beating heart and the procedure will be broadcast live at 6:00 p.m. tonight on the OR Live website. Dr. Sudhir Srivastava has pioneered the technique, called Totally Endoscopic Coronary Artery Bypass (TECAB), using the da Vinci robotic surgical system. The minimally invasive technique avoids the use of a heart-lung machine, and recuperation from the surgery is vastly quicker and less painful than with conventional open heart operations.

The da Vinci robotic system at Alliance Hospital in Odessa is one of the jewels of the west Texas health care system, and the increasing number of physicians in our area who are using the system represent an important asset for the region. In addition to the cardio-pulmonary surgical techniques like TECAB and THORACAB (another minimally invasive procedure developed by Dr. Srivastava), the system is being used locally for operations such as prostatectomies with significantly less trauma to the patient.

If this sounds like a Chamber of Commerce commercial for our region, I suppose it is. Access to this kind of cutting edge (no pun intended) medical technology, state-of-the-art facilities to house it, and expert physicians to use it is an important step in diversifying our economy and improving the attractiveness of west Texas as a place to live and retire.

Technorati tags: da Vinci Robotic Surgical System | TECAB | Sudhir Srivastava

Dealing with ED

It's a relatively common malady that strikes men of a "certain age," and its effects are embarrasing and socially crippling. Pleasurable activity that was taken for granted in one's youth is difficult, if not impossible. The wife is also affected, obviously, and while her initial reaction is one of sympathy, it doesn't take long for the gesturing and shouting to take over, and the times of intimacy become agonizing trials. The temptation to resort to extreme measures is great because professional help is often not forthcoming and self-treatment takes a while, with varying results. Yes, ED can be devastating and humiliating, but it's time to stop hiding and share my story in case my example can help others.

It's true...I suffer from ED: Earwax Deposits.

What? What did you think I was talking about?

Anyway, it's about to drive me crazy. Everything's muffled and it's starting to affect normal conversation. But I'm not about to go back to the doctor's office, nosireebob. They stick that water-pik down your ear canal and you feel like the stream is going to come out the other ear. Nope, it's the old eardrops-over-a-period-of-three-days protocol for me. It's not fun, but it will eventually solve the problem, and my wife can finally stop yelling at me during conversations (well, at least she won't have that excuse for yelling).

Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Sorry if it wandered into the area of Too Much Information, but sometimes these stories need to be told.

Lance and Oprah

Lance Armstrong will appear on The Oprah Winfrey Show tomorrow, February 11. He'll be talking about his bout with cancer as well as the fabulously successful LiveStrong yellow armband fundraiser for the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

By the way, according to the armband order page at the LAF Store, they've upgraded and restocked and the big shipping delays are apparently a thing of the past. I hope that's because of increased supply and not due to a jumping of the shark regarding rubber wrist bands in general.

Flu Shots Canceled

My wife just received confirmation of what we were expecting: her employer has canceled its plans to provide free flu shots for employees and their spouses, in light of the expected vaccine shortage.

We've never been particularly susceptible to the flu, but we've taken advantage of the offer the past couple of years just to be on the safe side (recognizing that there are still a few of the tinfoil hat persuasion who remain convinced that flu vaccinations are Communist plots). But I'm sure we'll be OK this year.

Although <cough> now that I think about it, <cough>; I am starting to feel a mite peaked.

<cough>

Hats of Hope: Commendable Cause, Cool Caps

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month and many organizations and companies are providing ways to provide tangible support for research efforts and for survivors.

Hats of Hope is one of those companies. Founded by three women, the company sells ball caps with inspirational messages printed inside them, and the word "Hope" under the brim, and they are really quite stylish. (Note to guys: they have unisex models.) The company donates a portion of their sales proceeds to various national cancer advocacy and research organizations (and the American Diabetes Association). Twenty bucks is a small price to pay to get a chic chapeau and support some very worthy causes.

Healthy Kids...Healthy Adults

I skimmed over this article about an increase in whooping cough in Midland and didn't attribute any special significance to it. After all, even though pertussis has become relatively rare, the phenomenon of increased communicable infections around the time school restarts each year is not a new one. The classroom is a veritable bacterial frappé (to paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld). Then I read this article in the Wall Street Journal, and noted an eerie coincidence that the two would appear on the same day.

The WSJ story reports on some research showing a direct link between infant and childhood infections and serious illness later in adulthood. Here's an excerpt (insertions in square brackets are mine)...

This is, indeed, fascinating research that transcends the theoretical and puts a new perspective on the perennial issue of whether the state-required childhood immunizations are a good thing or a bad thing. I've heard some parents argue that the risks of the immunizations themselves are greater than the potential benefit. I wonder if those parents would re-think that perception in light of this ongoing research.

It should also be a wake-up call to those of us who experienced some fairly serious childhood infections (in my case, at age 9, mumps that led to a bout of encephalitis). Even if all other factors indicate low risks for certain diseases, perhaps it's wise to err on the side of caution in terms of annual check-ups and other preventative measures.

A $4,000 Nap

Just got back from getting a PET scan, which sounds like something leading up to a flea dip, but was actually done in an attempt to identify the little alien lifeform in my chest.

The process is the stuff of bad sci-fi movies. We don't have a permanent scanner in the Permian Basin, so one circulates among El Paso, Midland and Odessa on a weekly basis. It's housed in a big white semi-trailer, plastered with the requisite "nukes-on-board" decals. You -- the patient -- enters the trailer via a big gate-lift which takes you up to a powered doorway operated by one of those two-buttons-on-a-thick-black-cord controls like Linda Hamilton punched when she whacked the Terminator the first time around.

I was greeted by a pleasant fellow named Don, who explained the procedure with a faint northeastern (US, not Texas) accent. I think he was pleased when I asked him a somewhat technical question about the radioactive tracer (I took it most people just wanted to know if it would make them glow; I knew better, having paid close attention during the original series of Outer Limits). But I knew we were serious when he pulled out the lead-encased syringe. (Tip to future moviemakers: lead-encased syringes reek of suspense.)

After a heapin' helpin' of radioactive sugar water, I laid back in a recliner while the solution circulated. The theory, as most of you know, is that tumors are metabolically-hyper little guys, and they'll latch onto as much of the sugar as they can, even beating up the poor little geek cells around them for their lunch money, as it were. But what they don't know is that this is Special Sugar Water, and the radiation will shine a light on their nefarious schemes.

Anyway, in a half hour, the solution has either been absorbed, or has come to rest in, um, the bladder. I had to dispose of that excess according to very explicit instructions administered by a young lady xx years my junior ("sit down, don't stand; clean up very thorougly; flush twice" -- I think the last is a code for something like "no, I didn't fall in" And, by the way, I left the seat up, just so they'd understand I'm not to be trifled with.). I was vaguely comforted by the fact that she was standing watch outside the restroom. You get that way when you're in a cancer treatment facility.

Back into the trailer, where the real test was to come. Lay down on your back. [Check] Pillow under your head. [Check] Pillow under your knees. [Check] Restraining strap across your chest and arms, and another to tie your feet together. [Whoa!] Now, just lay back, relax and enjoy the nice music on NPR for the next 55 minutes.

I think I dozed some, but not nearly enough, and for sure not during the last 20 minutes, which seemed like 20 hours. The fate of the free world rested on my ability to remain ABSOLUTELY motionless. The last time I was absolutely motionless was when Mrs. Buster walked past my desk in the fifth grade seeking evidence of who had just nailed her in the back of the head with a spitwad.

Well, to make a long story a tad shorter, I survived with only minor kinks that I'm sure a few miles on the treadmill will work out later this afternoon. What I really need now is some serious caffeine, as I had to do without this morning.

Of course, the test results will be agonizingly slow in materializing. They tell me it will be next Tuesday before the readings are interpreted in Dallas and returned to my doctor. Stay tuned.

Now, I've got to look for that old geiger counter. I know I don't glow, but I wonder...