The Pursuit of Happiness - book review

Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book to review, through BritMums. For other reviews of the book, see the BritMums Book Club discussion.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Part of that enjoyment was that the author wrote it when she moved with a young family from the UK to the US. Transplanted to a new culture, she was challenged to ask herself what it is that really makes you happy. I found so many echoes of myself, ten years ago. There is nothing like moving to a different society to make you ponder what exactly are the happy-making elements of daily life, since almost all of them change overnight.

Other reviewers found the author overly critical of other cultures and snarky, with a tendency to make sweeping statements. I remember when I started writing a blog from America, I got rather bored of always saying "... but this might not be typical of America generally, it's just my experience". Each post seemed to need a disclaimer. It would be very hard to write a whole book with disclaimers all the way, and I felt that Ruth Whippman included enough personal detail about herself and her children to make it clear that she was writing from her own situation. She didn't come across to me as smug. For example, she notes that she didn't like the stereotyping judgement that a Mormon man makes of single New York women in their thirties, and why they find it hard to find a marriage partner, but in noting her reaction, she acknowledges that other people's views (including hers) of Mormon women marrying young into lives of domesticity are equally stereotypical.

Whippman's criticism is of sub-cultures, institutions, systems, ways of life, rather than of the people within them. I always felt she was treating the individuals she wrote about with respect, and I didn't find her tone judgemental. It was clear to me that her investigation was always about the wider phenomena in which people live (a religion, a parenting fashion, a self-help conference circuit). I warmed to Whippman when she describes how she and her husband decide to have their son circumcised, as they are both (at least part) Jewish, without being able to articulate the reasons why. For her husband, it's "instinctive tribalism", and for her, well, she doesn't quite know, but senses that belonging to a community is an important thing for her son's future. I liked her for not being clear cut, and for understanding that other people's lives aren't clear cut either.

I enjoyed Ruth Whippman's writing. Her experience as a journalist is evident. Her style is clear, concise and elegant. I often found myself re-reading a sentence, simply to enjoy the way she had said something. She can also be very funny, in witty one-liners which had me reading paragraphs out loud to Husband, and telling him he had to read the book after I'd finished it.

What I enjoyed most of all about the book was that it set out to ask (and I don't think it set out to answer) a question that seems such an important one for our time. The clue is in the sub-title. The book is "The Pursuit of Happiness - and Why It's Making Us Anxious". For all the opportunities available to us now, for all the scientific knowledge, for all our improved health and education, it seems obvious to me that we are an anxious society. I found the book at its most interesting when Whippman was looking at the 'Positive Psychology' industry (for it is an industry). She describes how it is increasingly the case that the responsibility for happiness is laid at the door of the individual. The logical conclusion of this, is that if you're not happy, it's because you're not trying hard enough. I've begun to notice this insidious attitude, and I really don't feel comfortable with it. It smacks to me too much of the Victorian well-to-do who held the notion of the deserving and undeserving poor. Whippman gives a few concrete examples where this underlying philosophy has permeated public policy, which I found disturbing (unemployed people in the UK are now subject to "attitude profiling": those with a negative attitude or not displaying enough evidence of motivation are required to spend 35 hours a week at the job centre, whereas those with a more positive attitude may continue their work search on their own schedule at home). Whippman brings her journalist's thoroughness to her research. The lack of integrity she uncovers in the world of academic 'Positive Psychology' is dismaying, given the amount of faith we all place in it, and the way it feeds into public policy.

I thought the book had gaps. She considered whether religious faith makes us happy solely on the basis of the community it creates. Surely she should have looked into whether believing in a higher power is of itself a factor? What about the health and fitness industry? These days, we're bombarded with advice about exercising or eating our way to happiness. What about family life? What about friendships? Is there something peculiarly 21st century that we're doing with those now?

Whippman came across to me as clever, funny, kind, compassionate, and full of common sense. I wish she lived down the road, and then we could mull things over, proper British cups of tea in hand. I think we would agree on many things, and on those we disagreed over, I would still enjoy her sparky, intelligent style of discussion. Would I recommend the book? Absolutely. In fact, when Husband has finished reading it, if you would like my copy, I will pass it on to you. First come, first served.

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Ramblings

I have just lamented to a friend in an email that I'm not writing enough these days. So I thought I'd just sit down here, at an empty "new post" screen, and write about this moment.

I'm sitting at my desk, and the view from the window speaks of early spring. There's a colour associated with this time of year, which is on the spectrum where yellow and green meet. It's a damp morning, so the yellowy-green hues seem vibrant and zingy. It's a colour I enjoy in nature, because it's a colour of growth and newness, but I don't usually like it when it's reproduced in man-made items. Orla Kiely uses it well, mixed with orange and brown, but I saw some paper napkins in IKEA yesterday which were that same greeny-yellow, and they just looked very sickly. Nature gets away with so much in her colour palette that we can't copy.

I also see the recycling bin, stuffed to over-flowing, which triggers a little ping of frustration. Will my phone call to the Council have worked? Will someone come and empty it, thereby making space for the contents of the bags that are piling up in our garage?

I enjoy the view from the study window. It looks over our small front garden, and then a quiet driveway. Beyond that, there's a high wall, shielding us from a major road. The wall is just the right height that when a double decker bus drives past, it looks as if the upper deck of passengers are sliding along the top of the wall. It amuses me.

I can hear traffic, and birds. From inside the house, I hear Husband helping my oldest with his Economics revision, sitting at the kitchen table. As I write this, I feel a little uneasy, as it makes us sound like such great parents. Me, engaged in a spot of creative writing, Husband, wrestling through some Economics issues to support the education of our son. I have to add that this is not a typical moment. These days, school work is usually too advanced and too specialised for us to be able to help with, and in any case, I've never been a big homework-doer. They either do it themselves, or they ask the teachers for help, has been my usual approach. My involvement in homework, and Husband's, has been sporadic, to say the least. But this is the Easter holidays, and the next few weeks are 18-yo's last weeks at school, with exams that are weightier in significance than all the many others that have preceded them.

There's a sneeze from the sitting room, reminding me that hay fever season is on its way, and I hope that 15-yo won't be too badly affected this year. There's girlish chatter coming from upstairs, where 12-yo and a friend are talking and sharing (I can hardly use the verb "playing" any more, though I expect there is some of that going on too).

So that is where I am and what I'm surrounded by. What is in my head? Thoughts of a friend who had back surgery yesterday the other side of the Atlantic, and another just a few streets away who is hearing what her cancer treatment plan involves. Thoughts of my mother, dealing with health issues associated with ageing. Anticipation of heading away for the week-end on Friday, for a family birthday celebration, with an accompanying sense of how much easier that is these days, with everyone in the family doing their own packing. Ten or fifteen years ago, I'd have been writing a list, and shopping for journey-friendly snacks. It makes me smile to remember how for years the list began "Bottles, Beakers, Wellies". I miss that level of involvement in my children's travel bags, but I also don't miss it. Until the moment in the day when I've walked the dog, there is always in my head a sense that I must walk the dog, but otherwise, my mind is mellow and my time is soft.

And now I will stop writing.

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