[Disclaimer: I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review via NetGalley]
Maths has been my kryptonite since day one of elementary sch[Disclaimer: I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review via NetGalley]
Maths has been my kryptonite since day one of elementary school, which leaves me with what could be euphemistically described as a myopic view on the beauty of the subject. With the horrors of maths tests far behind me now, though, every once in a while I try to dabble in the odd popular science book for the purpose of cross-pollination - in German we say “Even a blind chicken sometimes finds a kernel”. With that in mind, I was intrigued by the concept of a book marrying the concepts of mathematics and psychology, namely confronting grief through the lens of geometry, a proposition which, if treated well, sounds like a great step in broadening your horizon.
But why would you choose to read a book about grief if you’re lucky enough not to be going through it currently? As Frame points out, grief comes in many forms and sizes and, as a highly individualized experience, you don’t need to lose a loved one to feel grief. People can grieve choices they’ve made and the doors that closed permanently as a consequence: “But many of us are haunted by thoughts of a path not taken. Some choices lead us along paths that we cannot reverse. Even if we change course now, what remains of our lives will not unfold as if we had made the other choice years earlier. What might have been is beyond our reach, and we grieve this loss.” You can even grieve the way you used to see the world before you had certain insights. I dare say most lives contain at least a modicum of those kinds of grief, and while you can never truly prepare yourself for when absolute calamity strikes, it can be an advantage to know certain tools exist and how other people employ them.
One of the aspects that strike about this book is just how likeable the author is. Deeply steeped in humbleness, the writing is refreshing and, despite the overarching mathematical theme of the book, acutely palpable to lay people, which I presume to be a direct consequence of Frame’s decades spent teaching at Yale. The theoretical parts are always kept as concise as possible, followed by a story to give practical application to what has been discussed, and in my opinion, the messages come across sharp and clear.
He dives into (and clears up) popular topics such as parallel universes and the butterfly effect, which lends a great new viewpoint on grieving.
Another aspect I highly appreciate is that Frame gives ample book recommendations for further reading.
What comes as somewhat of a relieve to me personally is the fact that in this book, geometry is the medium through which the author chooses to express his view on psychological concepts and framing techniques to deal with grief, and the real beauty of the book lies in getting a glimpse into a completely mathematical mind and its outlook, and how it pictures and processes life concepts in terms of algebra. This is absolutely fascinating to behold!
I wish the book would end a little less abruptly, I would have preferred a final musing that neatly ties the whole parcel together, but then again, I do like an author who doesn’t waffle on.
All in all, this is a marvellous quick read to expand your view on life, nature, and grief. Here some more gems:
“A notion that’s repeated often in this book is that an idea can’t be unseen. Taking in others’ ideas before thinking through my own experiences with grief might have limited how I understood those experiences. […] The first step is to understand your own experience, then see how it fits into established works.”
“When I see something beautiful, that first realization is tinged with grief, because I know I’ll never again feel so strongly about it. When I see something pretty, there is no initial gasp like the gasp that accompanies the first glimpse of beauty. Subsequent viewings of the same pretty thing can produce about the same pleasure. We feel no grief, because our initial impression is reproducible.”
“I focused on the actions, not the feelings, and imagined other people helping their neighbours in similar ways. I saw what Dad did […] as part of a larger picture. Even though he would not do this again, the idea, the movement, of neighbour helping neighbour, to which Dad belonged, would continue. Projection to the space of neighbour helping neighbour eased the grief.”
“Death closes the door to the further experiences with those we have irreversibly lost. But grief opens a door, maybe just a crack, to let us remix memories, see actions in a new way. Let us think what the person who has died would want us to do. Examples are familiar: “In lieu of flowers, the family suggests a donation to…” […] A cause dear to the person who has died gets a boost in their memory. Their influence still is felt.”...more
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