Books |
Endangered Pleasures: In Defense of Naps, Bacon, Martinis, Profanity, and Other Indulgences
Barbara Holland
By
Published: May 01, 2023
Category:
Self Help
Our ancestors came to this country to escape intolerance. Two and a half centuries later, we — well, some of us — have become the kind of people our ancestors fled.
Fun? Oh, we’ re against it. In every form. Because fun leads to self-indulgence, which leads to….well, the old right answer is “pleasure” and the new one is “ruin.”
Smoke? Don’t be crazy. Drink? Sure, if you want to die young. Eat? At your peril. Do nothing? Poverty awaits.
As a result, we — well, some of us — have dull lives that only Calvinists would admire. In the pursuit of black-and-white certainty or eternal life or whatever it is we’re seeking, we’ve not only banished gray, we’ve sent color packing. We may die miserable, but we’ll be perfect corpses. As Barbara Holland writes:
“Joy has been leaking out of our life. We have let the new Puritans take over, spreading a layer of foreboding across the land until even ignorant small children rarely laugh anymore. Pain has become nobler than pleasure; work, however foolish or futile, nobler than play; and denying ourselves even the most harmless delights marks the suitably somber outlook on life.”
So, like Martin Luther, she tacked her 67 theses — in the form of one-to-three-page essays — onto the church door of our culture. “Free yourself,” she cries, in the spirit of Zorba the Greek. “Take off your belt and live.”
Here, for example, are some activities, sensations and experiences — oh, let’s just call then “thrills” — that Barbara Holland endorses: “The cold and limey rattle of a vodka-tonic being walked across the lawn. Finishing our tax returns. The smells of the morning paper, cut grass, and old leather jackets. Finding a taxi in a downpour; clean sheets; singing to ourselves in the car.”
Nice. But make no mistake. “Endangered Pleasures” is not just a collection of lists. Barbara Holland writes beautifully — whereas pleasure-haters can’t write at all — on every subject she embraces. She’s wry. Sly. And, on occasion, downright funny. [To buy “Endangered Pleasures” from Amazon, click here.]
The first essay, “Waking Up,” sets the tone. It begins: “Obviously the best possible time to wake up is in the June of our tenth year, on the first day of summer vacation.” What kills me in that sentence? “Obviously.” Said with the assurance of that ten-year-old.
Barbara Holland’s ideal breakfast: “A glass of cold champagne and a perfectly ripe pear, perhaps with a spoonful of caviar eaten straight from the jar.” Clothes for men, she feels, would be improved by the return of “lace cuffs and velvet breeches.” Cigarettes after sex say “I am here” and “So am I.” How can you justify a nap? “A perfectly healthy cat can nap through the entire month of February and wake up feeling better for it.” Don’t drink only at home: “A good bar is a great joy in life and a fine place to be after the day’s work.” Restaurants? “Expensive and worth every penny.” One of the “great unsung pleasures” is…Sunday-morning sex. Sports rule — because they’re fair.
“Certain things were put upon this earth for our enjoyment,” she concludes, “and it’s wasteful and wicked to condemn them.”
I don’t drink, but if I did, I’d drink to that.
