I have a lifelong
love affair with books. I read novels, non-fiction, periodicals, or any reading material that catches my eye. I try to
set aside two hours of reading every day. I used to spend eight hours back in my university days. I predominantly read in English, a vow I made to myself about 25 years ago when I was fresh off the boat.
I subscribed to
Time Magazine as soon as I settled in the U.S. with an address I knew I wasn’t going to change. I was young, newly married, moving from one rental house to the next until we bought our first house.
As I was trying to read the title of the book: THE ART OF WAR!! I read the title a few times. By then, my palpitation was rising.
By then, I’d been in the U.S. for about four years. My English was OK. I was taking more literature classes at
the University of Washington, as part of my post-bachelor’s degree program in journalism. I was working as a medical interpreter for the
Harborview Hospital and the UW clinics. I knew I could handle reading periodicals by then.
After obtaining Time Magazine’s prepaid subscription envelope with the slip, I filled out the paper with my information, included a $10 check, and posted it the following day. We are talking about the year 2003, when I was still reviewing my memories of Iran every day. Some of those memories
include my experience of the Iran-Iraq war, the few attempts to kidnap me in Tehran, leaving everything behind, and accepting life in exile. I was then, and maybe even now, mad at my fate and lost opportunities due to war and conflict.
When I sent the subscription envelope, I was not expecting anything drastic.
The “F” word
About three days later, I received a gorgeous box with the Time Magazine logo on it. I got very excited. I opened the box to find a gorgeous, glassy-paper, coffee-table-size book inside. “Wow, this is what they do in the US when you subscribe to a well-known magazine,” I thought to myself. As I was trying to read the title of the book… I couldn’t comprehend what I was reading: THE ART OF WAR!! I read the title a few times. By then, my palpitation was rising. I felt a tremendous heat in my body, especially in my head. I was breathless. I knew I was holding my breath.
Somehow, I remembered in the
Popeye cartoon that when the Captain got too angry, a stream of thick smoke would come out of his head. I felt smoke coming out of my skull. Then I remembered to breathe and let the smoke out. I felt a damning rush of my migraine coming back to me. I let a muted scream out of my body, then slowly I put the book back into the box, and started thinking:
What the F**k? I used the F word with full force and a lot of enthusiasm. You may not believe it, but it was the first time I was using the word so loudly. We are talking about the era when the F word wasn’t as popular as it is now!! People were not using the “F” word as if they were grabbing a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Even Starbucks wasn’t as popular. I was buying Seattle Best Coffee back then.
Then I thought …
What do these bastards, know about war and conflict? Why do they call a “War” an “art”? Have they ever been in a war themselves? Have they seen bodies of dead children laying on the streets, or a pregnant woman lying dead with her embryo spread on the ground after a goddamn bombing? Do they know the effect of war on civilians? By then, I was swearing all the Farsi swears that I knew. I wasn’t so eloquent in English swears then. I only knew the “F” word so far!
What do these bastards, know about war and conflict? Why do they call a “War” an “art”?
Without ever bothering to open the book and read a few lines, I put the book back into the box. I included a handwritten note, in which I knew I had too many grammar mistakes, demanding to cancel my subscription. And I tapped the box. I mailed it back the next day.
The Art of War: 20 years later
I was at
Costco about three months ago. I usually check the book section to see which titles Costco has hit that month. I saw The Art of War: And Other Classics of Eastern Philosophy in an attractive black, red-wine, and gold writing leather back with a red ribbon tucked inside the book. The outer pages were painted in gold. The word “Eastern Philosophy” captured my attention. I grabbed The Art of War and started reading it unpassionately. I was standing right in front of the book stack. I read:
“There are four central virtues [in Confucius’s philosophy,] which guide behavior, perception, and feelings: Benevolence, righteousness, wisdom, and reflection. One who has a true understanding of propriety will both address others respectfully and themselves disdain to be addressed disrespectfully.” Then, a few lines down: “Most of all, people must be given the proper environment to cultivate their inherent goodness.”
“Wow, is this The Art of War?” I thought.
I bought three copies, one for me, two for gifts.
About three days later, I received a gorgeous box with the Time Magazine logo on it. I got very excited. I opened the box to find a gorgeous, glassy-paper, coffee-table-size book inside. “Wow, this is what they do in the US when you subscribe to a well-known magazine,” I thought to myself. As I was trying to read the title of the book… I couldn’t comprehend what I was reading: THE ART OF WAR!! I read the title a few times. By then, my palpitation was rising. I felt a tremendous heat in my body, especially in my head. I was breathless. I knew I was holding my breath.