The Thing Itself: On the Search for Authenticity

The prevailing style in the reviews of the hardcover edition of Todd's book was personal confession. So here's mine. Dick Todd is a friend of mine too. Not a good one, mind you. What is it Gore Vidal used to say when good fortune befell another writer? "Whenever a friend succeeds a little something in me dies." However, I was so excited to see Dick's book make it into print (finally) that I literally jumped up and down and gave the author a huge embrace. To say Dick is not a man prone to hugging other men is like saying the nation is experiencing a little bit of a credit situation. (I should add that in his self effacing manner Dick always finds a way to make clear that the awkwardness is all his.) Dick eschews such reckless acts of sentimentality. We would expect nothing less from the man who just wrote the book on authenticity. Nevertheless, ignoring Dick's obvious discomfort, that's exactly what I did. I hugged him. What's more, I didn't let go. "Okay, okay, that's nice. Thank you. Alright, I appreciate that. Truly," said Dick tapping me on the back and looking at his wife with a desperate expression on his face--the way you might look if a friend excited about showing you his pet Boa constrictor, suddenly turned and threw the reptile into your unsuspecting arms and said, "Here, you take a turn!" But what Dick didn't realize is that I wasn't so much hugging him as trying to hold onto him. Because when Dick Todd goes (and I hope that doesn't happen anytime soon), we will be losing one of the best American writers and thinkers in a generation. I read THE THING ITSELF (for the first time) while on vacation with several other families. Eleven of us packed into these tiny decaying bungalows on a pond in the woods. Dick's book was passed around from reader to reader. The next person in line was giddy with delight when handed the treasured object. It was like a literary Woodstock. When one of the people who hadn't had his turn yet asked two of us who had which authors Dick's writing is most like, we looked at each other and simultaneously replied, "E.B. White and Wendell Berry." When my ten year-old son finished the last installment of Harry Potter he broke down and sobbed and said he was never going to read another book so long as he lived. Well I'm not saying it was that hard a fall after I finished THE THING ITSELF, and, of course, my son lived to read another day. Still, I found myself feeling more than a little abandoned when I finished Todd's beautifully crafted masterpiece. Another 247 pages would have killed him? THE THING ITSELF begins with an essay on the author's experience of purchasing an antique box, which he quickly discovers is not the real thing. It is a fake. The box becomes Todd's Rosetta stone which he uses to unpack his--and our--hunger for authenticity in objects and places, in politics and ideas and, most important, in ourselves. David Sedaris hasn't written anything funnier than Todd's chapter on his trip to Disney World

A very thought provoking exploration of what is authentic and what is false masquerading as real. Todd's style is engaging, scholarly, humorous at times and always compelling. In a society mesmerized by celebrity and preoccupied with money and status, it's a good book to read in this time of economic readjustment.

Background: I am neither a writer nor a philosophy student so I'm in no way qualified to judge whether the analysis and conclusions are novel or unique. That out of the way I really enjoyed the book. With a kaleidoscope of loosely connected chapters it does a great job exploring concepts of authenticity, reality, self, society, and values in a creative, relevant, and enticing way. It certainly made me stop and think. The book is at its best when the author's humility, inquiry, and sprit of curiosity shine through. It is a fast read, which is good all the way to the end (actually I think it picks up intensity mid-way through). I can see myself coming back to re-read it. I recommend it!

The prevailing style in these reviews seems to be personal confession. So here's mine. Dick Todd is a friend of mine too. Not a good one, mind you. What is it Gore Vidal used to say when good fortune befell another writer? "Whenever a friend succeeds a little something in me dies." However, I was so excited to see Dick's book make it into print (finally) that I literally jumped up and down and gave the author a huge embrace. To say Dick is not a man prone to hugging other men is like saying the nation is experiencing a little bit of a credit situation. (I should add that in his self effacing manner Dick always finds a way to make clear that the awkwardness is all his.) Dick eschews such reckless acts of sentimentality. We would expect nothing less from the man who just wrote the book on authenticity. Nevertheless, ignoring Dick's obvious discomfort, that's exactly what I did. I hugged him. What's more, I didn't let go. "Okay, okay, that's nice. Thank you. Alright, I appreciate that. Truly," said Dick tapping me on the back and looking at his wife with a desperate expression on his face--the way you might look if a friend excited about showing you his pet Boa constrictor, suddenly turned and threw the reptile into your unsuspecting arms and said, "Here, you take a turn!" But what Dick didn't realize is that I wasn't so much hugging him as trying to hold onto him. Because when Dick Todd goes (and I hope that doesn't happen anytime soon), we will be losing one of the best American writers and thinkers in a generation. I read THE THING ITSELF (for the first time) while on vacation with several other families. Eleven of us packed into these tiny decaying bungalows on a pond in the woods. Dick's book was passed around from reader to reader. The next person in line was giddy with delight when handed the treasured object. It was like a literary Woodstock. When one of the people who hadn't had his turn yet asked two of us who had which authors Dick's writing is most like, we looked at each other and simultaneously replied, "E.B. White and Wendell Berry." When my ten year-old son finished the last installment of Harry Potter he broke down and sobbed and said he was never going to read another book so long as he lived. Well I'm not saying it was that hard a fall after I finished THE THING ITSELF, and, of course, my son lived to read another day. Still, I found myself feeling more than a little abandoned when I finished Todd's beautifully crafted masterpiece. Another 247 pages would have killed him? THE THING ITSELF begins with an essay on the author's experience of purchasing an antique box, which he quickly discovers is not the real thing. It is a fake. The box becomes Todd's Rosetta stone which he uses to unpack his--and our--hunger for authenticity in objects and places, in politics and ideas and, most important, in ourselves. David Sedaris hasn't written anything funnier than Todd's chapter on his trip to Disney World in Orlando Florida, while Tod

I loved this book and want to read it again. When I first read it, alone in my living room, I nodded, grunted, and laughed out loud. A few sections made my eyes fill with tears. I kept thinking, "I've got to buy a copy of this for so-and-so." Todd begins with an anecdote about buying a lovely antique. When this item turns out to be a fake, Todd wonders why this should even matter. After all, the object is still beautiful; it hasn't changed. He then goes on to explore both the nature of authenticity and the history of our yearning for it. He follows a meandering path, which is a large part of the book's charm. I loved the asides and byways, many of which left me with a desire to travel further along them. I also loved the details contained in these asides. I'm grateful, too, for the specific titles that Todd mentions. Most of all, though, I loved the tone: kind, thoughtful, inclusive, and deeply human. Todd does not make this an abstract discussion. He personalizes it in ways that will help every reader know just what he means. I read this quickly so I could pass on my copy to my brother. Now I need more copies to give as gifts. I guess the first person to get one will be me.