The Adventurous Reader


What is an “adventurous reader”? I’m two chapters into a novel by Jedediah Berry, titled The Manual of Detection. The CIP data on the copyright page indicate that subjects for this work of fiction include (1) private investigators, (2) femmes fatales, and (3) criminals.

Inside the front cover are three pages of accolades, many of them praising the book for its departure from conventions and its playful spirit. The Wall Street Journal says that the author “defies mystery novel conventions, but adventurous readers who stay with his strange and fabulous debut work will be handsomely rewarded.”

I wonder, what is an “adventurous reader”?

Here are some possibilities. An “adventurous reader” is someone who:

  1. reads literature in any genre that contains adventure: fantasy, science fiction, the detective procedural, etc.;
  2. steps outside his normal reading habits or patterns to read beyond “other stuff”;
  3. lives more fully within the pages of books he reads;
  4. reads what others in his field, or in his peer group, or in his circle of friends do not read;
  5. takes on authors who are challenging, difficult, mind-stretching;
  6. devotes much of his reading time to authors with whom he disagrees
  7. reads backwards, starting with the last word on the last page;
  8. reads only every other page.

There must be other possibilities. Is the adventure to be found in the act of reading—its how—or in the object read? Both?

I guess I consider myself an adventurous reader—though I think “adventuresome” might be the better word. But why? I read “broadly.” I’m patient about finding “just the right book.” But I will sometimes take a chance on something with little to go on.

Does the adventuresome reader read slowly, or quickly? Is speed irrelevant? Or has speed got to do with being one kind of adventuresome reader? Wouldn’t it be an adventure to read five novels in a day, allowing only thirty minutes for each? Or to pick slowly through a complex text, in an effort to notice everything worthwhile—what is written, how it is composed, the contribution it makes to our knowledge or a fulfilled life?

Adventure is a pretty pliable concept. Applied to the reader, it has interesting possibilities.

Are you an “adventurous reader”? Why would you say so? Do you know someone how is more adventurous than yourself?

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Quotations to Live By


“The less routine the more life.” —Amos Bronson Alcott

Jack London, 1900

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dryrot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.” —Jack London

“Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.”
—Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night”

My Bucket List


Roger Ebert was offended by the movie The Bucket List. He thought it made a mockery of the seriousness of terminal cancer. Maybe he took the film a little too seriously.

My gripe with the movie is different: while it pays tribute to friendship and its redemptive value, it fails to come to grips with the the real value of an adventurous life. The Jack Nicholson character, true to form, is all about exotic thrills, the rush of adrenalin, and tempting fate. The Morgan Freeman character has more depth, but as a comparison with Nicholson, that’s not saying much. Both men are self-absorbed; neither can place “the list” into the context of purposeful living.

G. K. Chesterton

Today I read these words by G. K. Chesterton: “An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.” Chesterton could see the adventure in the ordinariness of life. Anything can be regarded with the lens of expected surprise. But the inconveniences of life, even the most mundane, afford real opportunities for adventure—a kind of living beyond the ordinary without demanding a change in circumstances. It all depends on perspective.

Today I had an adventure. Not a big, spectacular one that I can check off my own personal bucket list. I had been shopping for something on Craig’s List and had an appointment at a seller’s house. When I rang the doorbell, dogs began barking. Nothing unusual about that. But suddenly, one dog, yelping wildly, sprang through the screen door and lunged at me. As I reared back, the dog grabbed my shirt-tail in his teeth.
I wasn’t injured, but my favorite summer shirt is in tatters.

The adventure potential of this experience really was a matter of perspective. I didn’t like the sudden conversion of my shirt from something that was a pleasure to wear to a rag more worthy of washing the car. But I did feel oddly energized by this close encounter with physical danger. And I can imagine wearing the shirt in future as a badge of courage, so to speak. For a moment I was reminded that real surprises happen. I’m not generally fearful of dogs. And I didn’t have time for fear in this case. The dog—like my own dog, an Australian shepherd—was on me in an instant. But as the dog fled, I felt the exhilaration of a survivor.

In the modern world, we often have to manufacture experiences of that kind. Some go in for extreme sports, others for extreme travel. I like sea kayaking and motorcycling, each activity with its distinctive set of challenges and array of risks. But they aren’t things I have to do, in the utilitarian sense of “have to.” If I have to do them it’s because modern life is a little too humdrum.

Isn’t that why we have “bucket lists,” adventure ticks that we hope to get out of our system before we pass on?

Claudia Root and Jerry Root

Today I had an email message from a good friend who lives in another state. Completely incidental to the message of his email was an attached photo of him and his wife in a bi-plane over the Puget Sound. They’re sporting goggles and leather headgear—and broad smiles, of course—in a tight picture that says, “We’re having a blast, and we’re doing it together!”

I love the Puget Sound, and I love flying. I’ve dreamed of making a pontoon trip there some day. But it never occurred to me to view the San Juan Islands from altitude in a vintage bi-plane. I’ve now added that to my personal bucket list.

But I have another goal, as well—to remember Chesterton’s spin on the ordinary and the inconvenient. With a perspective like that, everyday is a bucket-list kind of day, every day an opportunity to check something off the list that I didn’t know was on it!

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