January 25, 2006: Reading Room
Exploring
grief By Maria LoBiondo The common denominator in the nine stories in Douglas Trevor ’92’s debut short story collection is loss — of a loved family member, or of a former self. But while sadness haunts his characters, Trevor goes beyond this emotion to the deeper feelings that surface when loss, or a tear in the fabric of one’s life, rips security away. The title story in The Thin Tear in the Fabric of Space, published in October by the University of Iowa, involves a professor facing her own mortality while mourning the loss of her lover. A young man in “Central Square” duplicates his deceased father’s decline into alcoholism, but finds redemption in Thoreau’s Walden and then seeks forgiveness from a Chilean woman he has wronged. “I wanted to move the reader through the bewilderment of loss,” Trevor explains. “Grief is very hard to empathize with when others are experiencing it. It isolates the person experiencing it, unlike other emotions, like mirth, which connect us to others.” In the last, largely autobiographical story, “Fellowship of the Bereaved,” Jared, home from college for the first Christmas after his sister’s death, muses: “In the face of death, we become greedy for life: selfish and hoarding.” “I’m interested in self-consciously descriptive characters,” Trevor explains. “I’m drawn to people who can recognize their own idiosyncrasies but who remain powerless to change them, in part because I think we’re all a little like that.” Trevor began writing stories in elementary school — his sister was his illustrator — and dabbled in playwriting in high school. But it was as a comparative literature major at Princeton that he says he felt he became a writer, working with Joyce Carol Oates and delving into Paradise Lost with the late Earl Miner. He decided to balance an academic career with writing modern fiction, receiving a Ph.D. in English Renaissance literature at Harvard. In 1999 he began teaching at the University of Iowa, and edited the literary journal Iowa Review for about three years. His scholarly field relates to his fiction writing by also focusing on emotions, specifically the exploration of emotions as portrayed in period texts such as Hamlet and other prominent works. The Thin Tear in the Fabric of Space won the 2005 Iowa Short
Fiction Award, a national competition honoring first-time authors. Now
Trevor is developing one of the collection’s stories, “Girls
I Know” (selected for inclusion in The O. Henry Prize Stories 2006),
into a novel. Maria LoBiondo is an occasional PAW contributor.
What
do we really want? Sitting on a beautiful sandy beach, with a good book in one hand and a cold drink in the other, sounds pretty good. No worries. No stress. Although most of us may think that that would make us content, think again, says Gregory Berns ’86. A neuroscientist who studies motivation, Berns believes that chasing such pleasures doesn’t get us what we really want. Instead, we would be better off seeking satisfaction. By satisfaction he means the feeling you get when you engage in a challenging and novel experience, be it taking up yoga, tackling a crossword puzzle, or learning how to play a musical instrument. In his book, Satisfaction: The Science of Finding True Fulfillment, published by Henry Holt in September, Berns looks at the biology of satisfaction: what happens in the brain when we engage in challenging and novel experiences. He distinguishes satisfaction from happiness, the emotion we feel when something good happens to us, like winning the lottery. In fact, “a ton of research” has shown that money does not make most people happier, he says. Satisfaction is active; happiness is passive, says Berns, an associate professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Emory University. Using brain-imaging technology, Berns and other scientists have identified the part of the brain in which two chemicals, dopamine and cortisol, interact and result in the feeling we associate with satisfaction. A burst of dopamine is released when people engage in something challenging and novel; cortisol is released when we do something stressful, such as public speaking or physical exercise. Our brains are hard-wired to crave novelty and dislike boredom, says Berns, who majored in physics at Princeton and earned a doctorate in biomedical engineering at the University of California, Davis, and a medical degree at the University of California, San Diego. To bring greater meaning to data accumulated in the lab, Berns takes his readers into real life to hear from people engaging in challenging and stressful experiences. He meets a master chef while preparing a meal, visits a sadomasochism club in Atlanta to explore the connection between pleasure and pain, observes ultramarathoners during and after a race, and competes in a crossword puzzle tournament. After doing research in the field, Berns ultimately brings readers into his own bedroom, where he tries to introduce novelty into what had become a predictable sex life with his wife. Berns isn’t suggesting we all run out to S&M clubs or run ultramarathons. A challenging and novel experience could be as simple as a biker taking a different route, or as risky as a spouse confronting her mate about sex. Berns admits that this craving for novelty is a moving target — after doing something for the first time, your brain adapts and loses that sense of newness. Berns says, “The people who are most satisfied with what they
do are the ones who really lay it on the line and go for it.” By K.F.G. BOOK SHORTS
By K.F.G.
For a complete list of books received, click here.
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