The Anthropocene Reviewed: Reviewed

You might have noticed I concluded my last post with "I give it four stars." You might have found that odd. You might be wondering whether my dialogue has morphed into Amazon-review style lingo. The fact of the matter is that I have just finished reading a book by John Green, one of my all-time favorite authors, called The Anthropocene Reviewed, which thoughtfully and cleverly expounds upon components of the anthropocene, this present geological era in which humans inhabit (and sometimes destroy) (and sometimes greatly benefit) the Earth. 

Throughout the book, which was mostly written during the Covid shutdown and into spring of 2021, he reviews a wide variety of products, places, experiences, and tendencies of the human era as we live in the world. Every chapter is a review, and every review ends with "I give it __ stars," on a 1-5 scale, as he relates that particular thing to the larger scale of its place in society. 

For example, he reviews Monopoly and talks about how capitalist constructs are set to help the rich thrive while the poor grow more poor (one star). He reviews the world's largest ball of paint (in good ol' Indiana!) and relates it to the way you might paint a layer, knowing it will soon be painted over, but you paint anyway, and it makes a difference (four stars). From whispering to sunsets to Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, his reviews are loaded with history, art, vulnerability, and what it means to be human. 

I read it most of the trip down to Florida, and the whole time, was rating the book somewhere between 3-4 stars. It's good, of course, and it's easy to relate to, as many of the things he reviews are not far from where I live. But I felt like something was missing. Perhaps it was the way he could talk about humanity and the creation of the Earth and only acknowledge God in a roundabout fashion, or maybe the way he turned games I mindlessly enjoy (Monopoly) into (honest but) harsh criticisms of the world.

But I think the biggest reason I held back from five stars was because I was reading about communal experiences alone. He elaborates on the Indianapolis 500 in all its redneck racing glory (four stars), an experience quite close to home for me, and yet I felt alone because I was reading it alone. How I longed to be in the crowd at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, or sitting by my brother - my biggest Mario Kart rival - as I read his review of Super Mario Kart; what sweetness it would be to read the Diet Dr Pepper page with my mother-in-law who drinks them loyally. 

So when Joe leaned over and asked if I could read him a chapter out loud, the hole in my literary heart grew full. I read the chapter on Indianapolis, of course, as John retells of his move to 86th and Ditch, not far from where Joe used to live when we met. Right down the road, in fact, from the Michael's where he bought my birthday present. In the chapter, John talks about dropping off his U-Haul and asking the cashier what he thought of "Naptown." The cashier responded, "ya gotta live somewhere!" 

He went on to talk of the way Indianapolis grew on him, how he found his footing and fell in love with making a place home - home being the place where you try to cure the terrible disease of loneliness. Joe and I laughed together as I read certain words, gasped when he mentioned familiar places, and snuggled closer together when reading that part about loneliness. Now, whenever we mention our home, or the surrounding areas, or what it would like to still be in Indy, we laugh and say, "ya gotta live somewhere!"

It was in that moment that I realized what a terrible disease loneliness truly is, and how much better not only reading, but also all of life becomes when it becomes communal. We were created for community, for togetherness, for leaning into one another and working together to cure that disease. I want to work to do that more.

I give the book itself four stars. I give reading it together five.