Synopsis:

Much like a previous book I reviewed, Loneliness (which Shock of Gray coincidentally cites at one point), this book pivots on one central theme: the world is getting older. You see since the advent of modern medicine people have been living longer and developed societies have been having fewer children. This book takes an in depth look at the aging process and those developed societies that are getting older and the effects of both.

Review:

This book had about 5 typos, and I don’t normally notice typos, (you can tell from my writing) but I did notice these perhaps because I felt the subject matter engaging. As the author states at the beginning of this book, he is telling stories with a common theme as well as from his research. This particular pathway is effective and keeps the material fresh. Alternating chapters between case studies of countries and aging research also helps. I have been becoming self aware of thesis works, because one cause is supposed to be the effect for everything, which violates the complex world, however, it would seem that this author is talking about a cycle and hence avoids the former. Whether or not you agree or believe with the cycle is the selling point.

And:

I can’t avoid talking about the rest of this book because I like debate and this part is more for me to ‘remember’. The first chapter opens by reporting from Sarasota, Florida. Sarasota just happens to be where my grandparents have vacationed since the early 70’s when they weren’t grandparents. The title of this chapter is ‘Florida: God’s Waiting Room’ and it gets a little bleaker after that. It left me never wanting to go to a nursing home. Or rather, never be poor and go to a nursing home. It was interesting to hear about how the rich ‘upgrade’ nursing homes to coincide with the ‘fit and loving it’ mentality that one has seen with those aging in order to stave off the specter of death. Those who are poor are less able to maintain a lifestyle with a spouse dying and health declining without the resources to handle it.

After that we run into the short history of living longer, where the author cities (other sources) modern medicine as being the reason we, as humans, are living longer. Just having successful births is half the battle, then getting past common killers that we now have vaccines for and finally (and this was a stretch for me) educating ourselves on the proper techniques in living longer such as diet and exercise (mental exercise too, the mind typically goes before the body). A couple other chapters include the actual physical characteristics of aging starting from 30’s and progressing decade by decade citing research on common killers such as prostate and breast cancer and the likely percentage of getting each (prostate cancer starts as early as the 40’s) and the common causes of death for the elderly which happen to be falling (those who suffer a severe fall usually die within 3 years) and loneliness. One of the ‘funnier’ chapters is about cheating death through surgery, bionics, and what actually makes a person age on a molecular level (basically our ability to replicate our DNA is what keeps us young).

One country Fishman explores is Spain, where the aging countryside (caused by the educated youth being attracted to the cities) is importing young workers from Africa in order to keep up with labor in the service and factory sector. These workers make a meager wage and send it back to their home countries, does this sound familiar? Like say exactly what those who come from Mexico, Central and South America do when they immigrate to the United States and fill menial jobs that the more educated Americans no longer take unless in desperation?

Another point on Spain is that the common age for retirement is 55 after which people used to die at say, 60, where as now people are more likely to live into their 80’s. That means that the State has to support them for an additional 20-30 years after the point of productivity on a labor force that is shrinking due to less births, which also should remind one of the United States. 

Fishman covers Japan, Rockford, Illinois and China, all rapidly aging areas. Rockford was interesting as a profile of a forgotten factory town, common in the Midwest, and citing globalization in a different way: Those who are older are typically more educated and require a larger wage so the companies go across the seas, that isn’t new, however, he set the focus on how the town hasn’t tried to attract new, younger, educated workers. Those towns without colleges or a social scene for young people are rotting. Also there is a ledge, because young Americans just getting out of college are seeing these older, more experienced workers take entry level positions. This delays settling down for the younger generation and it causes frustration.

For the skeptics out there, I ask you, why is nursing one of the most secure professions to get into? Why are we constantly debating social security and the debt? Tell me what your family gatherings are like now as compared to what they were like 20-30 years ago? Ratio of young to old? Where is the rub where the older generation asks the younger generation to have (more) kids, who responds with a hectic lifestyle of a dual-career marriage?

With China, which Fishman extensively covered in his previous book: China, Inc., (which I haven’t read) the book comes to a close. He talks about a cycle where undeveloped countries have plenty of children because women are not working, they aren’t spending resources to obtain an education and they typically do not have any social safety nets. China, in so many words, casts off their old people and has no social security so it has that less amount of overhead to compete on the global stage. In this way China will have to confront worker strikes and anger the richer the country becomes. (this book cites one) China is also rapidly aging due to their One Child Policy, which I won't go into here, but is fascinating.

If anything this book is a study in modernization, what happens when a society becomes sophisticated, wealthy and healthy, they get old. 

Shock of Gray by Ted C. Fishman – Review

http://www.city-data.com/city/Macy-Indiana.html

Crape Myrtles bloom earlier in Texas than they do in Delaware, in late May those harsh but spectacular pink blooms would come out to signify young love and try to support it through the Texas summer. The sun would blow its warm breath on young lads from the north recovering from winter shock, dizzy from watching the Hispanics mowing laps around the tree rings, shredding the glowing green grass below. Up the stairs, lured by the large sunglasses, anxious smiles and the smell of vanilla, swim trunks sit on the bed, young lads take deep breaths, sit on the futon and smile.

In the Delaware Valley, in Southeastern Pennsylvania, Crape Myrtles bloom in August, the only time when the region will reach the Texas heat. Older lads weary of the summer heat, wear large hats and uniforms. The gravel crunches below, the cold swoops in occasionally and carries the nectar, cotton candy and the pine around in the air. Mornings rich in sweets and bees before the afternoon pushes back to the shadows around buildings, and under majestic, forgotten trees. Through the greenhouses, and around the plants, walkie-talkies hanging off of shorts barely able to support the weight. Tan legs, relaxed repetition and anxious eyes. Older lads sit on collapsible chairs and smile.

One feature about Crape Myrtles is their mottled bark, their sturdy but skinny limbs exfoliate in layers. Worn grays give way to rich browns, the skin constantly renewing showing the past and the future. Old lads bundled in layers, appreciate the bark as it sheds its layers in the snow. The old lad looks out onto the horizon as the sky turns dark and watches the sky mottled orange and blue by the clouds.

One day the filament will ping

Quietly in some old, dark bathroom

Gabriel Garcia Marquez writer of one of the greatest books of time, One Hundred Years of Solitude, said that the idea came to him while driving his family to Acapulco for vacation. He went back home, sold his car and wrote every day for 18 months.

I haven't had my idea smack me across the face yet, mostly because I haven't been looking. Mine is the lazy man's punch, it is supposed to happen without me even leading up to it. But I know it is there, I heard it happen to others, all my punches turn out to be duds. Maybe I need to be more discriminatory on the kinds of ideas that come to me. I am just transcribing events now, there is no style, there is no tone...it is weak. My worst fear is that I ain't got the creative marbles rolling around in my brain to produce it, I mean it happens all the time, failure, you just never hear about it...unless it is followed by: was able to surpass. Those stories are more likable and tell-able.

Einstein used to say if you couldn't come up with the right solution, go to bed and in the morning you will have the answer. He had idea punches all the time, because he was a genius, what am I? Able to grasp things more than others sometimes, but other times I am completely oblivious. It is hard to punch someone when the fog is so thick.

Don’t mind the salt
As it eats away your sole

Snow mountains move for you
Cars warm to the touch

It’s them
Not you

This town is in one big hurry to get to places they don't want to be
Rolling their eyes at things they have already seen
Throw another can into the shopping cart
And get out of my way

*nom nom*

“One winter night while the soup was boiling in the fireplace, he missed the heat of the back of his store, the buzzing of the sun on the dusty almond trees, the whistle of the train during the lethargy of siesta time, just as in Macondo he had missed the winter soup in the fireplace, the cries of the coffee vendor, and the fleeting larks of springtime. Upset by two nostalgias facing each other like two mirrors, he lost his marvelous sense of unreality and he ended up recommending to all of them that they leave Macondo, that they forget everything he had taught them about the world and the human heart, that they shit on Horace, and that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.”
-One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez