Superficial and Shallow: A Natural History of Love by Diane Ackerman

I first read about this compendium when Ackerman's latest book was reviewed in the newspaper, her account of her husband's recovery for a stroke. Never heard of her before and thought I'd add her Love book to the lust list. Definitely, she too is on a quest to understand and contribute to the understanding of love. Now on reflection, this book is similar to the 2009 list capstone, the book with some short entry for each of the fifty states. Some takes on what a place meant to a particular author were memorable, most were the equivalent of a Corn Palace or other tacky tourist traps.

Not to suggest there are no quotables in ANHOL, about they do not string together to mark an author-improved perspective. One look at the content page, and the reader sees a scatter-shot approach: from history, literature, famous men, chemicals and mores. Too broad, too shallow.

But I will cut and paste those more poetic snippets from Ackerman's love almanac:

On courtly love in medieval times as described by troubadours: "the lying awake at night, the devoured glances, the secret codes, the fetishes and tokens, the steamy fantasizing, the moaning to one's pillow, the fear of discovery, the agony of separation, the torrents of bliss followed by desperate hours."

On Tristan and Iseult: "Can one excavate the past? Is it possible to become acquainted with our forgotten selves? At what point should one allow them to be castaways? Never, if what we really seek is ... the most intense excitement, receptivity, and awareness ... Without hurdles, the mind doesn't take wing, and there can be no flights of passion ... When we hear the Tristan myth ... we crave the lover's fire ... we could use ourselves in every pore and cell, feel breathtakingly alive, be rocketed right out of our skins and hurled into a state of supernatural glory, where we feel as lusty and powerful as gods.?

On Proust: " ... point about live is that it doesn't exist in real time, only in anticipated time or remembered time. The only paradise is the one that's been lost. Love requires absence, obstacles, infidelities, jealousy, manipulation, outright lies, pretend reconciliations, tantrums, and betrayals. Meanwhile the lovers fret, hope, agonize, and dream. Torment whips them to a higher level of feeling, and from that mental froth comes love. Love is not a biological instinct, nor an evolutionary imperative, but a feat of the imagination which thrives on difficulty."

Her variation on red to blue flam is all biochemical: " ... The infatuation chemical: PEA phenylethylamine, a molecule that speeds up the flow of information between nerve cells, whips the brain into a frenzy of excitement, which is why lovers feel euphoric, rejuvenated, optimistic and energized ... and the attachment chemical: endorphins... infatuation subsides and a new group of chemicals take over, the morphine-like opiates of the mind, which calm and reassure. The sweet blistering rage of infatuation gives way to a narcotic peacefulness, a sense of security a belonging. Being in love is a state of chaotic equilibrium."

Finally, Ackerman can write strongly when she is on her own and not trying to personally interpret all of love's domain. For example, this is almost poetic: "The towns in upstate New York are like railway stations, where at any moment hundreds of lives converge --people carrying small satchels of worry or disbelief, people racing down the slippery corridors of youth, people slowly dragging the steamer trunk of a trauma, people fresh from the suburbs of hope, people troubled by timetables, people keen to arrive, people whose minds are like small place settings, people whose aging faces are sundials, people desperate and alone who board a bullet train in the vastness of nothing and race hell-bent to the extremities of nowhere."