Skip to the content

Ben White

  • About
  • Archives
  • Asides
  • Support
    • Paying Surveys for Doctors
  • Medical Advice
    • Book: The Texas Medical Jurisprudence Exam: A Concise Review
    • Book: Student Loans (Free!)
    • Book: Fourth Year & The Match (Free!)
  • Radiology Jobs
  • #
  • #
  • #
  • #
  • About
  • Archives
  • Asides
  • Support
    • Paying Surveys for Doctors
  • Medical Advice
    • Book: The Texas Medical Jurisprudence Exam: A Concise Review
    • Book: Student Loans (Free!)
    • Book: Fourth Year & The Match (Free!)
  • Radiology Jobs
  • Search
  • #
  • #
  • #
  • #

Steps

02.02.14 // Reading

Yesterday I read and finished the short novel Steps, which had been recommended to me specifically because it is composed entirely of short vignettes. What I didn’t know at the time was that Steps, which was published in 1968, won the National Book Award for Fiction, and that its author, Jerzy Kosinski, was a Polish Jew whose family survived the Holocaust by posing as Catholics with the help of sympathetic local villagers in central Poland. Like Primo Levi, he also committed suicide later in life.

The vignettes in Steps are anchored by an extremely uncomfortable and disturbing eroticism. The prose is elegantly terse. Details of character and plot are obfuscated by the allegories of the individual vignettes, but the narrative arc does at times become more distinct. The book left me feeling disturbed, confused, and thoughtful. It’s quietly poetic without being indulgently lyrical.

Oddly, as a coincidence of sequence, in my mind Kosinksi’s unyielding depiction of amoral sexuality and intimacy as power is an even starker than it might otherwise be. Because last week I read Veronica Roth’s completely unrelated Divergent series, an about-to-be-a-huge-movie YA dystopian [romance] trilogy. In Roth’s series, every plot point is punctuated by breathless descriptions of heavy petting. Innocent, if dangerously co-dependent, one-in-a-lifetime “true” love.

If a young adult romance is predicated on an idealized version of what we want love to be or think love is, then I’m not sure exactly how to describe Kosinski’s counterpoint.

Nanoism cameo in The Writer magazine

02.16.13 // Reading

Nanoism makes a brief cameo in the March 2013 issue of The Writer magazine as part of an article “Hey, shortie!” by Karen M. Rider about flash fiction. In this appearance, I am—as always—attempting to argue that the joys of tiny tales do not come at the expense or eschewment of longer pieces but are instead a reflection on the fullness of our days and our ever-growing interconnectedness. Or something. Find it online here.

The #Twitterfiction Festival

12.18.12 // Reading, Writing

Last month, Twitter—one of the patron saints of creativity—held its first ever Twitter Fiction Festival (#twitterfiction, naturally). Perhaps because Nanoism is straight-up stories and not some sort of collaborative tweetganza, my little longest-running twitter fiction magazine of all time wasn’t made an official selection. Didn’t stop me from doing a little daily themed contest in celebration of course, of which you can read the results/winners here.

Additionally, as a result of the attention on the festival, TIME Entertainment ran a nice feature on twitter fiction, which includes Nanoism as well as some choice quotes from yours truly.

Litwit Love

02.22.10 // Reading, Writing

David Backer of FictionDaily has a guest post over at The Millions, Long Live Fiction: A Guide to Fiction Online. It’s a great, positive look of a newcomer to the world of fiction publishing online. A year ago I also literally had no idea these sites or the writers that populate them even existed. When you discover online fiction, the words seem never-ending:

What’s changing is access. I might read a short story in a magazine in Australia. Then I’ll follow a link to a new journal that’s just popped up in York, England. Then I’ll read an author bio and find the author’s blog, which has more of her writing and links to other magazines and the magazines and blogs of her friends in Nashville, New York, Portland, Austin, etc. The et cetera continues indefinitely. I find new places everyday. More and more and more writing.

Backer went searching for new fiction. He found “gobs and gobs of it,” and is happy to share the results. Part of his rundown is a very charitable view of twitter-fiction, particularly of my taste for Nanoism:

The difference with White’s stuff, both his own writing and the writing he publishes, is that in it you can see the litwit taking shape as a valid form, shaped by our technology, for getting at the truth.

Overall, an excellent introduction to why “Fiction is dead, long live Fiction,” and a great illustration for why sites like FictionDaily will help us navigate the endless story-seas for more manageable journeys.

And speaking of truth, here are two more Thaumatrope stories. The first, in particular, we must be wary of as we step into the future.

FictionDaily

02.15.10 // Reading

I read an article the other day stating that MFA programs are on pace to churn out sixty thousand new writers every ten years. Between that and sheer volume of information available and accessible online, the next battle for grassroots entertainment is not production but curation and aggregation: there is too much to read even a significant fraction.

That’s where projects like David Backer’s FictionDaily come in. Each day, the site hosts a snippet and link to three free stories online: one very short, one short, and one genre. It’s a gateway, and it’s these curated gateways that users will trust to collected and filter the independent publishing for consumption. Soon, the site will begin publishing socially progressive stories as well.

In addition to featuring both Nanoism and one of my stories, FictionDaily now hosts a short interview with yours truly.

Thoughts on Joseph Young’s Easter Rabbit

02.10.10 // Reading

Edward Mullany over at matchbook wrote an excellent review that I largely agree with. John Madera of Big Other wrote a review on NewPages that I largely disagree with. Between the two you’d get the idea.

Easter Rabbit is a collection of microfictions, each under 200 words and many hovering around 50. The stories themselves are wholly literary in nature, a compilation of scenes and moments focused on language and vivid (if sometimes cryptic) imagery. As the word microfiction implies, each entry is supposed to stand as a story. And here I think its use is distracting from the body of work: even coming from someone like me who uses the term “story” very loosely, these microfictions don’t really convey a sense of narrative very often. These are impressionist paintings, carefully crafted vignettes that walk the personally-drawn line between ambiguity and vagueness.

With around 80 stories that one could read in under an hour, the collection has the potential to be a numbing read. Many of stories understandably have a similar feel, the sparse dialog of a man and a woman, an image, a setting. ER demands to be read slowly, picked up and put down.

The book’s success, I think, has everything to do with how much ambiguity the reader is comfortable with. So if you’re looking for lovingly crafted sentences and some poignant moments, then Young delivers.

Sounds like poetry, doesn’t it?

The Role of Ritual in Medical Training

09.27.09 // Medicine, Reading

While Final Exam, a memoir by transplant surgeon Dr. Pauline Chen, deals primarily with doctors’ troubled relationship with death and dying, I was struck most by an essay that deals directly with medical training’s preoccupation with protocol, algorithm, routine, and ritual. For Chen, rituals during her medical training were the foundation on which she built her persona and expertise as a doctor. Medicine is challenging, and ritual is the mechanism by which students—and later, physicians—break down complicated or otherwise difficult tasks in order to approach situations calmly, competently, and treat patients effectively. The harder the situation, the more essential it is to have a ritual to fall back on, as Chen describes how her routines helped steady her during an emotionally challenging pediatric transplant by allowing her to mindlessly do a procedure she had long since mastered.

My favorite ritual example in Final Exam, pre-surgical hand-washing, illustrates both its positive and negative effects. At first, the routine of scrubbing helped Chen ensure that she observed proper sterile technique; by following the ritual, she achieved technical competence and kept her patients safe. Furthermore, the mindless routine of the ritual was a form of calming meditation, a quiet break that helped separated her—emotionally and temporally—from both her clinical and surgical duties.

Years later (and after years of physical discomfort from an aggressive, skin-damaging style), Chen discovered that she was behind the times: she could achieve the same results by scrubbing for five minutes instead of ten and using a soft sponge instead of hard irritating bristles. The danger of ritual is that it leads doctors to routines that may reinforce bad habits, make it challenging to adapt to advances in patient care, or shield us from responding emotionally to our patients. Chen writes:

After nine years of clinical training, I found it hard to conceive of doing these clinical tasks any differently. In, I fact, I believed there was no other way, because these rituals were what assured the quality of my practice. They were what made me a good doctor.

This devotion to ritual is what helps training doctors learn the way of doing things correctly, even when the way is perhaps not the best way. While rituals may be a necessary first step in the learning process, the art of medicine lies not just in following the ritual effectively—but rather in when knowing to deviate. As Chen argues, a good surgeon doesn’t just know how to perform the right maneuvers; she knows how to fix the surprises that invariably pop up in the moment. It is when we fail to leave room for change in our devotion to ritual that our development as physicians stagnates, because while “they protect us from doing the wrong thing, their protective logic can shield us from fully shouldering responsibility.” (94) If we do everything correctly, the logic goes, then the negative consequences must be beyond our control.

Hand-washing is a relatively benign example because Chen was only hurting herself, but ritual pervades every aspect of medical training and practice, from memorizing the steps of the physical exam to sharing difficult news with a terminally-ill patient. The negative consequences of these rituals are only complicated by the role of the “informal curriculum” in medical training, the instruction that indoctrinates young doctors with the habits of their superiors. What happens when the rituals themselves are faulty? What happens when the carefully rehearsed patterns are themselves a source of doctor error?

In our first year training we learned physical exam techniques from both fourth year students and faculty preceptors. Both groups stressed the importance of learning the rituals of different exams, the routines on which to build our future competence, and so we robotically went through the motions, verbalizing our steps and performing the exam with techniques that only appeared analogous to the real thing. The emphasis was on “pretend” competency: the ability to look like a doctor on camera. This is not a shortcoming of any one school but rather an unfortunate result of the nation’s century-old curriculum design, one that places inordinate importance on some topics to the exclusion of others (oblivious of clinical importance). Soon, undoubtedly and embarrassingly, our class will have to relearn how to perform exam techniques in order to actually evaluate our patients. Right now, the sham ritual is all we have.

As Chen says, the clinical aphorism is “see one, do one,” which means that as doctors we train to master the mistakes of our mentors. Our early success will depend directly on how well we copy our teachers (because it is our teachers, with their idiosyncrasies, that evaluate us). And while rituals may be a useful crutch in the short term, it’s not hard to imagine the future consequences. When our patient interactions become ritualized—each sentence just another item on a mental checklist—our patients will be reduced to a given number of steps. The more times we use our algorithms, the easier it will be to categorize our patients as cases, people as diseases, and conversation as a technical skill—instead of an intrinsic part of what makes us human. This reduction is the process of dehumanization that comes with the epidemic of physician burn-out, naked cynicism, and is a chief component of patient dissatisfaction. It is a mainstay of a generation of medicine we should hope to overcome.

Twitter Wit: A Review

09.07.09 // Reading

Twitter Wit is not the first book of little things; it is another crowd-sourced cousin to the likes of The Truth About Chuck Norris and the Six-Word Memoirs series. There must be an almost irresistible urge to collect a bunch of small things and make a big thing, like stacking the sugar packets at the diner to make a sweet, delectable pyramid.

The longest single continuous piece of writing in the book is the foreword by Twitter co-founder Biz Stone. It is a nice and safe and not unpleasant bit of writing, though both it and the introduction (yes, a foreword and an introduction) by Nick Douglas are not mind-blowing essays. They merely give the underlying rationale for the book and why people should take it seriously, which I interpret as—

Brevity is the soul of wit. People are funny, and they are funny on Twitter, perhaps uniquely so, because people who are probably not funny all the time feel compelled to up their game instead of contributing to our collective societal preoccupation with ourselves and anyone, anyone, can be a comic genius for a ‘tweet’ or two (if they write enough of them). Or, at least if you’re going to contribute to our downfall-by-breakfast-menu, be good at it.

Does this book succeed? In its quest to highlight amusing things, clever puns, and wry, sharp-witted observations—yes. In its quest to show that the one-liner is a classic form that continues to thrive—also yes. Are these really the funniest tweets on Twitter? Assuredly not, but they are clearly hand-selected and reflect the editor’s taste as to his favorites. You can’t really ask for more from an anthology.

What this book does not do (and may never have set out to do) is create a cohesive “book” experience. Twitter Wit is a collection of funny tweets, organized according to some rubric that I can’t guess (perhaps at random). Some tweets are clever puns with no real staying power. Some are cutting observations that really make a point. Some are funny miniature stories. Some I don’t even really get. Quality, style, significance all vary wildly. Everything is lumped together.

You could easily read Twitter Wit from cover to cover in one sitting, but the individual pieces would mostly blur together, and you likely wouldn’t even appreciate the best of them by the end. Your mind would be numb. Anyone can read one story for an hour or two. But can you read 300 smaller stories in an hour? You shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to them.

This is a bathroom reader. This book begs to be read a page or two at a time and then put down. Appreciate the thought that went into the entries. Anything this short seems easy. When you read too much you absorb too little, and soon you’re just reading sentences.

It is, in the end, an amusing read. No matter what the topic—from humor to literature and anything in between—Twitter contains thoughtful, concise bits of writing that are worth reading. A book like Twitter Wit is essential as an Lose Weight Exercise in separating the wheat from the chaff, attenuating the noise, and providing a filter to show the otherwise uninvolved that interesting things are going here.

Newer