Philosophy Made Simple
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Philosophy Made SimpleAllegory of the CaveRudy took up philosophy late in life. He wanted some answers, an explanation, or at least a chance to ponder the great mysteries, before it was too late—love and death, the meaning and purpose of human existence, moments of vision, the voice of God, the manifest indifference of the material universe to injustice and suffering, the insanity of war, the mysterious tug of beauty on the human heart. What did he know about these things? Not a lot. But something. He’d never had a college education. He’d turned down a basketball scholarship at Michigan State University in order to go to work for Harry Becker up in Chicago. But he hadn’t peddled avocados for thirty years on the South Water Street Market without learning a thing or two about life, and Helen, his wife, had practiced all her lectures on him when she’d started teaching art history at Edgar Lee Masters, dropping her slides one at a time into the projector on the dining room table, the front end propped up on a couple of paperbacks so that it cast a slightly top-heavy image on the wall over the sideboard. So he knew a little bit about Beauty too. Beauty with a capital B: not just a pretty face or a picturesque landscape, not just a Greek Aphrodite or a Renaissance nude or a Turner sunset, but something that might shoot out of an old man’s face or out of a side of beef, sharp as his carbon steel kitchen knives, sad as bent notes on his guitar, but joyful at the same time. —Philosophy Made Simple |
| At four
o’clock, Norma Jean finished a painting and her
Russian owner led her back to a small barn. The winter Texans looked through the paintings in the covered stand and made their selections while they waited for him to return. Rudy picked out a painting too—a swirl of bright colors—deep purples and greens and yellows that seemed to push up against the surface of the canvas. It was one of the thirty-dollar paintings: Plum Blossom and Snow Competing for Spring. —Philosophy Made Simple |
 Photo: Thai
Flying Club
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Plato says that
philosophy begins in wonder. Aristotle too. Had they ever seen an elephant painting? |
| “Philosophy Made
Simple is the saga of a modest man trying to make sense of the shadows
on the wall of his life. Robert Hellenga’s good humor and
generosity keep the most serious subjects delightfully buoyant without
detracting from their gravity. But finally, what’s most
satisfying – and profound – about his writing is that he has great
respect for the complexity of ordinary people and events (though he
spices his story with some pretty extraordinary ones as well!). I
loved this book, every graceful insight, every unexpected turn, and
because I didn’t want it to end, I’m setting out to read all of
Hellenga now, to keep that voice in my
ear.” —Rosellen Brown (Author of four novels, including Tender Mercies and Before and After) |
In Hellenga's vibrant fourth novel, a retired widower embarks on a
semi-philosophical quest that yields an avocado grove, an elephant and
a new love. Sixty-year-old RudyHarrington has been selling avocados in Chicago all his life. His beloved wife Helen is dead, elder daughters Meg and Molly live in other cities and now his youngest, Margot (first encountered in Hellenga's debut, The Sixteen Pleasures, 1994), has left for Italy. Should Rudy hit the road too? There's an avocado grove in Texas up for sale. He's been reading a book by the uncle of TJ, Molly's Indian boyfriend (yes, it's called Philosophy Made Simple). Might he find Aristotle's "supreme good" in Texas? Rudy decides to give it a shot. Though he soon realizes that raising avocados will not make him any wiser than selling them did, his new home near the Rio Grande has its appeal. There's an elegant bordello just across the border. His neighbors include an Indian pandit who has magically rid the town of its crows and a Russian whose elephant, Norma Jean, paints four abstract canvases a day. All three daughters eventually show up, but it's the artistic elephant who steals the show... There's nothing whimsical about this solidly grounded fiction, which enchantingly exlores the space between philosophical concepts and our hapless floundering in life's challenges. —Kirkus Reviews |
| [W]ith the publication of
"Philosophy Made Simple," his fourth book,
Hellenga once again has produced a novel that adds immeasurably to the
pleasures of reading contemporary fiction. His ability to ground his
intelligence in the everyday and produce novels that are smart and
intellectually engaging while at the same time emotionally compelling
is a rare thing. —The
Chicago Tribune, NPR |
Since this is a novel, it
is not a surprise to learn where Hellenga
stands on the ancient quarrel between philosopy and literature. He
makes his case against Plato well, moving us with pathos and pleasure,
startling us into wisdom. —The
New York Times Book Review |
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It was during Hurricane Beulah—at the peak of the storm—that Rudy
finished Philosophy Made Simple, read
the last chapters by the light of a paraffin lamp, reached the end of
the story.… we’re all heading
into an unknowable future; there’s no way to chart a course with any
certainty; we face death troubled by Angst and Nausée and Ennui;
we search for ways to set the world on a firm metaphysical foundation,
but we have no reason to believe that such a metaphysical foundation
exists. The only meaning our lives have is the meaning we give them. |
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Outside, the storm raged, frightening but
exhilarating. Through the kitchen window, when he raised his eyes from
his book, Rudy could see nothing, and when he turned his eyes inward,
the darkness was equally profound, the storm equally frightening and
equally exhilarating. He closed the book around his thumb, thankful
for
these moments, thankful for moha,
for passion, for all the threads that
attached him to this world, this life.
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