“His mind makes merry with the images. His brain is a theatre where the state machinery puts on performances which are all the more amazing because they are unexpected.” – Charles Bonnet

The first documented case of Bonnet’s syndrome involved a 90 year old man with poor eyesight. As the days darkened, he began to see visions: thirty foot carriages, imaginary visitors, women with boxes on their heads, and dancing butterflies. Although the images are not disturbing and certainly non-threatening, even today doctors seek out explanations for these images that are all too pleasant but rather confusing for those who suffer from Bonnet’s syndrome.

There never was and still is no formal agreement by the medical community about the inclusion and exclusion criteria for Bonnet’s syndrome.

The name Bonnet has become associated with a syndrome, but few remember the namesake Swiss naturalist and philosopher Charles Bonnet. Because of his inability to see clear and defined images could not continue with microscopic research. During his lifetime, the Geneva aristocrat would be known as a botanist, psychologist, and finally a metaphysicist (Bonnet’s 900-page Meditations sur l’Univers remains unpublished). It was his work in psychology; however that would immortalize Bonnet’s name in the world of medicine. While he is credited for discovering the syndrome, like so many others, he would not live to experience the fame that it would eventually bring him.

The history of Bonnet’s syndrome is like traversing down a long winding path and not knowing what is actually at the end of it. There never was and still is no formal agreement by the medical community about the inclusion and exclusion criteria for Bonnet’s syndrome. Due to the advances that would come later in neurology Bonnet himself could not hope to fully understand the syndrome in its entirety in 1760. A score of practitioners, from mathematicians and philosophers to psychologists and neurologists tried to explain Bonnet’s syndrome, none of which did so successfully except for one man, Geneva neurologist De Morsier. Unlike his peers, De Morsier had decided on the inclusion and exclusion criteria that would be used to diagnose Bonnet’s syndrome in 1936. Using this criterion, De Morsier named these “psychological phenomenons,” as Bonnet had once called the visions both he and his grandfather saw, Bonnet’s Syndrome.

Three centuries later and practitioners in the healthcare industry still do not agree on the exact spot on the trajectory between eye and brain where Bonnet images originate. What we do know about Bonnet’s syndrome is that age and diminished vision are two crucial factors which doctors seriously consider when diagnosing patients. There are also similarities with the images that are seen by the geriatric population who have Bonnet’s syndrome. For example:

• Images were taken to be real
• Images will disappear by blinking or closing one’s eyes
• One cannot summon images at will or influence the content
• Images were mostly emotionally neutral (did not stem from the person’s life experiences)
• Images were non-threatening
• Images appeared at dusk, in the familiar surroundings of one’s own home, and at a time when the patient was not actively involved in a particular activity

While there is no exact science to diagnosing Bonnet’s syndrome, there is still hope for at least a modicum of understanding this peculiar disorder. Current research on the brain promises to demystify Bonnet’s syndrome by examining V19 (part of the visual association cortex in the brain) as well as comparing activation levels in the brain of introverts to extroverts. Thus, Bonnet sufferers, loved ones, and care-givers should all possess a good dose of optimism for understanding the syndrome fully.

For more on Charles Bonnet, and many other doctors who gave their names to famous psychiatric disorders, check out Disturbances of the Mind, coming this Fall.

It’s everywhere, and I know I’m not the only one who gets peeved when they see it.

“Employee’s Only”
“Your on the subway?”
“Man, I really need to loose some weight!”

Now, I’ve been called a Grammar Nazi many times over, but I do believe there is a clear difference between a person truly deserving of that unfortunate title and others, like myself, who believe that some rules should just be common knowledge for native speakers of the English language. Humans make mistakes; this is only natural. But let’s distinguish between the honest and benign misspellings that we all make, and some of the atrocities we encounter on a daily basis. So where do we draw the line between unnecessary judgment and that which is (should be) just plain obvious?

A Grammar Nazi is, in my opinion, a harsh term that should only be used sparingly, and when describing a singular type of individual. This person overlooks any semblance of argument and substance in a written text and makes an obvious, condescending effort to point out each and every little error one could possibly make. This is highly unhelpful and just plain obnoxious, and I make every effort not to be one of those people, because I realize that I, like everyone else, make mistakes when it comes to writing. But I can’t help but feel a little part of my soul die every time I drive past a store that advertises “Puppy’s for Sale”. What’s a “for sale”, who is Puppy, and why are you advertising that it belongs to him/her?

In defense of these errors, many argue that it does not matter whether the construction and spelling of sentences and phrases is correct, as long as the general message is made clear. I am certainly in agreement with this justification, but to a certain point. If a person spits out a work of intellectual genius rampant with superfluous punctuation and dangling participles, these mistakes are clearly secondary to the core of what is being said. Content over technicality should be the rule of thumb.

However, when it comes to billboards and simple signs that require very little thought to construct, a little editing goes a long way. When these mistakes are constantly present everywhere we go, they reinforce our knowledge for the worse. We begin to forget the difference in meaning between “they’re”, “their” and “there”. Apostrophes become either obsolete due to laziness, or grossly overused for every word ending in the letter S. These are the differences we learn in the second grade; I don’t think it would hurt to use that knowledge. If it’s going to be in our face, it better be right.

Steve of current.com has a great video series on this issue:

Chris’ article got me thinking about the deceptively simple task of reading, and so I thought it may be appropriate to share my own experience with this challenge as of late.

We’re all familiar with the evil, frustrating syndrome that is writer’s block. Let me jog your memory: you sit down, ballpoint pen in hand, bursting at the seams with creativity and ambition, prepared to get to work. It may be an academic paper or dissertation that you’re grappling with, or perhaps you’re trying to write a poem, or work on your first novel. Whatever the case may be, your goals are in order; all that’s left is the writing part. The hardest part, that is. Because regardless of how brilliant you are, how unique your ideas and how colossal your capacity for Green Mountain coffee, the fact is that sometimes the right words just don’t come. Now this may sound odd, but sometimes I find myself in a similar position when it comes to reading, a seemingly passive act in comparison. And I am definitely not one of those people who cannot bring myself to pick up a book for leisure, something other than the stuff assigned for class that we can often Sparknote our way out of if needed. No, I am a loyal lover of the novel, and usually have minimal (if any) trouble breezing through hundreds of pages in size 8 font of a story that piques my interest. But alas, in recent weeks I’ve found it increasingly difficult to focus on a text for more than a few minutes without promptly getting distracted. And so I’ve come to the conclusion that the only appropriate diagnosis for this malady is to classify it as a dreadful case of Reader’s Block.

A couple of weeks ago, the day prior to leaving for a brief trip abroad to attend a family wedding, I perused the shelves of the Cambridge “Library of Magic” in search of the perfect book to accompany me on my journey. For me, the “ideal position for reading” is usually while in transit, and with 17 combined hours on two planes to look forward to, not to mention the three hours in between flights, I thought it best to prepare myself with ample reading material. So in addition to the latest David Sedaris hardcover I received many months ago as a birthday gift, I finally, after careful and lengthy speculation, picked up another title from the makeshift library that appealed to me. With a newfound excitement, I boarded the plane eager to undertake a literary marathon.

Or so I thought.

The first hour airborne is excusable; this is the take-off period, typically followed by one of those alarmingly small airplane meals. But even after my tray was collected, rather than cracking open one of my books, I instead turned on the video screen and proceeded on to watch the in-flight entertainment, a screening of the chick flick “He’s Just Not That Into You” (which I had, at that point, already seen twice). As the movie ended and the final credits rolled, I slept for the remainder of the flight. In London-Heathrow airport, where I could have easily killed my stopover time with one of the two 300-page bricks weighing down my bag, I somehow passed the time touring the same duty-free shops repeatedly. Needless to say, I didn’t touch either novel on the subsequent flight either. For some reason, the act of reading had become a chore to procrastinate rather than an enjoyable activity. I was stuck.

While in India, much of my days were preoccupied with preparations for my cousin’s wedding and catching up with a number of long-lost relatives. During this time, I once again took out my paperbacks in a vain attempt to occupy the jet-lagged, sleepless nights with some mental stimulation. Somehow, staring at the ceiling in insomnia during the wee hours of the a.m. proved infinitely more appealing. The return trip to New Jersey was equally futile. My books sat mocking my lack of motivation, consuming space and collecting dust as I opted instead for a Bollywood film on the first flight and my dying iPod on the second.

…the billboard ads changed from Z-100 to Hoagiefest, and I found myself rereading the first few sentences over and over again.

A cure commonly recommended for writer’s block is to put away your materials for a little while, go elsewhere and distract yourself with other matters before returning to work. Applying this remedy to my own situation, I took my first couple of days back in the States to deliberately not read, hoping that maybe I had just been trying too hard and that by the time I returned to the Press the following workweek, I would be refreshed enough to get back to my normal self and read with ease during my commute home. I got on the bus at 5:45, prepared for the long ride, book in hand, determined this time around. Upon leaving the Holland Tunnel, I opened to Chapter One and started to read. So far, so good. But progress slowed, and as I got closer to home, came to a plateau altogether. 7 o’clock rolled around, the billboard ads changed from Z-100 to Hoagiefest, and I found myself rereading the first few sentences over and over again. Nearly 90 minutes had passed and I had accomplished nothing.

Author Gabriel Garcia Marquez says (regarding writing), “One of the most difficult things is the first paragraph. I have spent many months on a first paragraph, and once I get it, the rest just comes very easily.” Could this be true for reading as well? Perhaps we underestimate the actual effort that goes into reading a novel, because although writing may involve more physical activity, reading requires just as much concentration and mental focus. Or, maybe we have grown so accustomed to constantly dividing our concentration between activities that our attention spans have dwindled and our minds have become increasingly vulnerable to distraction. It feels like ages since I last picked up and read a novel, simply for the fun of it. Perhaps I should take Marquez’s words of wisdom into consideration, and make the first paragraph the first step. If I can just get through that initial chunk, maybe the succeeding pages will be smooth sailing. In fact, I’m going to try it as soon as I submit this post and leave for the day. Hopefully, when I ride the bus tonight, I will have finally discovered the cure for Reader’s Block. Wish me luck.

For those still struggling, Jessa Crispin has further suggestions. -Ed

The image >>

I was at my desk last week when I heard a Senior Editor mutter, “And the clouds roll in from New Jersey.” Since there are no windows by my cubicle, I began to imagine the scene outside.

Dark clouds hover above the towers in Jersey and along the edge of the Palisades. They billow and grow, as the moment of utmost tension nears. Then, as if unbound by time, they are upon the city.

Time should have a place though. Perhaps it slows as the clouds sweep across the Hudson. But they would not “sweep”. Flat, dreary clouds sweep. These clouds roll forth, collapsing continually from their pinnacle, before rising again and growing ever higher.

A few minutes later, I entered a conference room, sat, and looked out the window. To my surprise, mists shrouded the city in a shade of muted gray. The meeting began, yet I remained transfixed by the shifting haze beyond the window. My daydream faded and my mind was tranquil.

One evening this past January, I stood before a wall of glass on the seventeenth floor of a Midtown tower. Beyond the window panes, I saw a cube of light suspended in the night sky. Its five faint walls floated like thin, glossy sheets of vapor, and composed a dim reflection of the space I stood in. As I shifted my focus from the cube to the fuzzy dots of light from the other towers, I noticed several snowflakes in the air. They swirled about each other, like pixie dust carried by a breeze.

My heart’s pace slowed and my shoulders loosened. I felt compressed into myself, yet at the same time, adrift in the black, beyond myself. I get this same sensation when I sit in an armchair and listen to rain brush a window or pummel a roof. Perhaps we sense this duality when we slip into a space between places: spaces that we can not inhabit physically. When I looked out into the gray last week, unable to identify the streaks of rain that fell, I felt both compressed and adrift.

The sensation lasted a moment, and then I focused on the meeting.

Although meteorologists expect the wet weather of June to persist, it hasn’t rained for the past week. On the next wet workday however, I’ll try and manage a moment before a window, and hopefully slip into the void between here and there.

In an airport terminal on the eve of summer break, I pulled a receipt from my wallet and wrote out a list of books to read before school began in August. Several weeks later, and a few days before my internship at the Press began, those books remained stacked in a corner of my bedroom. Now, after three weeks of commuting into New York City, the pile has begun to dwindle.

Late Sunday night, I sat upon a pillow, beside that stack of books. With an incense stick lit, I chose a new title and flipped through its soft, thick pages to the first chapter. The room was quiet, and I could hear the rain’s mist strike the leaves outside. It seemed to be the ideal moment to begin Marcel Proust’s masterpiece, Swann’s Way. Before I reached the third sentence however, wisps of incense floated like strings of spider’s silk before the pages. I closed the book and watched the smoke twirl before me. Then I slept.

The first chapter of Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler* advises to

Find the most comfortable position: seated, stretched out, curled up, or lying flat. Flat on your back, on your side, on your stomach. In an easy chair, on the sofa, in the rocker, the deck chair, on the hassock. In the hammock, if you have a hammock. On top of your bed, of course, or in the bed. You can even stand on your hands, head down, in the yoga position. With the book upside down, naturally.
Of course, the ideal position for reading is something you can never find.

In all honesty, I can recall only a few times that I have read for more than an hour without thought of my surroundings. On Monday morning, I took a seat on a New Jersey Transit train and, once again, flipped to the first page of Swann’s Way. The train lurched forward, the ticket collector passed by, and, despite the many potential distractions, I read with ease. When the wheels screeched as they glided along the tracks, I would pause and in a moment of gratitude, reread the passage with renewed attention.

Before this summer, I had never worked at a publishing firm or commuted into the city. I couldn’t predict much of what I would encounter. I did believe, however, that I would hate the commute. To my surprise, I haven’t.

When people ask about my time at The Press, I mention the daily commute. They cock their heads or chuckle. I have discovered something quite special. Many of us long for an ideal reading spot. We wait for it, and (please forgive me for a bit of authorial extravagance) it waits for us. I’m not entirely sure whether I should develop that idea, but if you have been fortunate enough to have found that ideal spot, perhaps that sentence feels just right.

*Calvino, Italo. If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler. London: Vintage Books, 1979

Don’t you love having a misspelled headline on a great article, then leaving it unchanged over a long weekend?  Sorry about that, not Christopher’s fault. -Ed.

The only certainty for summer interns is that paperwork and paper cuts await us. They lurk about every filing cabinet and alongside each fresh stack of paper from the printer. Beware.

With time, we, young, innocent interns will realize the tensions and dynamics between members at the conference table. We will figure out who leaves odd smelling food in the fridge all week, who to avoid in the kitchen, or for whom to move aside at the printer. Paper cuts will endure however.

Last week, while I waited to board a packed train on my evening commute home, an elderly woman in a colorful knit beret and matching, chunky sweater jabbed me with her umbrella. Before I dashed to the next car, I paused in shock. She wagged her finger at me as though she were a guardian of all things decent and proper in Car 672. I felt like a sinner before St. Peter, but she held a pointy umbrella, not keys, and her white hair was tussled beneath a beret rather than a golden halo.

Ramble aside, I mean to write that the pain of a sudden jab to the stomach does not match the pain from the near ten paper slices I receive every day here at the Press. Please understand: I love paper. I like to clasp a newspaper in my hand when I walk, and to feel its rounded fold tucked into the cup of my palm. I like the warmth of a crisp, copied sheet, and the muted rasp upon the turn of a book page.

In the two weeks since my arrival at the Press, I have learned an invaluable amount from the pages I sort, copy, and file. While I have stood over the copier or typed data into worksheets, I’ve read reviews and book proposals of the finest academics. No matter what task I am to complete, there is something fascinating before me to read and ponder. I discover new knowledge from fields of study I have never found interesting. Most importantly, though, I understand that paper is a dangerous friend. This might be the greatest lesson of the past two weeks.

Perhaps my difficulties, or at least, their persistence, are quite singular. When I realize the answer to that question, I will post again. Until then, I bid you safe dealings with your files and the stacks from Copier A. For now, I must read several Cambridge books so that I can begin a proper blog contribution.

Yours truly,

The intern wincing and waving his hand in pain at the copier

This was over 3 years ago, when growth was frantic and Bernie Madoff was still a minor prophet. So here we turn to one of our current interns, reflecting on searching for a job in even tougher times, in an industry seeing greater flux than ever before. What does it feel like now? Any advice from our readers?

When a B.A. feels like B.S

The struggle to land an entry-level position in a changing field and suffering economy

Madhu Rajaraman, Editorial Intern

It seems as though we did everything right. For the past four years, we toiled incessantly, isolating ourselves in the abyss of libraries for hours, sometimes even days at a time, with nothing more than some cans of Amp energy drink and a few textbooks to keep us company. Sure, we had our fun (college is college after all), but when finals week came around, every last ounce of time and energy was invested in one thing: the assurance that upon receiving that coveted piece of paper come May, our scrupulous efforts would not be in vain. Even so, after the last all-nighter has been pulled, the final beer pong tournament played, and tassels turned over to the left, the vast majority of us are faced with a harsh reality: it is near impossible to find a job these days. This reality is present all across the board as far as industries are concerned, but it is particularly challenging within the field of publishing. As the book business undergoes significant changes, it is difficult to pinpoint exactly what the implications of these changes will be, both for the industry itself and for the recent graduates who seek to become a part of its workforce.

Publishing is an age-old business, and a trade heavily dependent on social change. The Press, as most of us know, was founded over four centuries ago. As literacy became widespread, the need for commercial printers and publishers grew accordingly. As long as there has been formal education, there has been a demand for the means of spreading this knowledge, and as our knowledge has evolved, so has the technology utilized in its circulation. So it comes as no surprise that publishing has gone from papyrus to typewriter to computer, and that in the modern age even traditional print is becoming increasingly web-based. With magazine and newspaper articles now easily accessible online, print media seems to be on the verge of extinction. Trade books and textbooks appear to be in somewhat higher demand, but even this is rapidly changing as the newest technologies replace print at a considerable pace. Amazon’s Kindle provides a compact digital medium to read what were up until now paperback novels, and even university instructors, especially in the scientific disciplines, are beginning to embrace the idea of the total digitalization of textbooks, so that they can be read on hand-held devices. So what does this mean for publishing, and consequently, for those seeking employment in the business, particularly during trying economic times where full-time work is already scarce as it is?

Recruiting new talent to join any industry is dependent on a number of factors, and perhaps the most important is the ability to keep up with the latest trends and advances that pertain to the field. Since we are amidst a great slew of technological transformations in publishing, it would appear most logical right now for companies to hire young graduates to fill entry-level positions. After all, we are a tech-savvy bunch in comparison to our predecessors, and because we don’t possess as much formal work experience as seasoned professionals do, are willing to work for less pay. However, this is surprisingly not the pattern present in today’s workplace. Many employers, in addition to laying off large amounts of workers, are getting rid of entry-level positions altogether and opting instead to place greater responsibility on incumbents with more experience. While this may be an effective quick-fix in the short-term, the enduring results will likely prove impractical for companies and job-seekers alike; a lose-lose situation.

Since we are amidst a great slew of technological transformations in publishing, it would appear most logical right now for companies to hire young graduates to fill entry-level positions.

According to the Department of Labor, the unemployment rate is highest for those in the 20-29 age group, a statistic that has risen considerably within the past year. While there are a lucky few grads who have managed to land positions and get their careers started immediately, most of us are either stuck with minimum-wage jobs normally reserved for high-school kids, or working for free (I myself am in my second summer as an intern here). Though this can be great for a few additional lines on the resumé and/or some pocket cash, it is only a matter of months before little things like student loans and health insurance start creeping up on us, and we are left unsure of how to deal.

Not only does the lack of entry-level positions out there affect us recent graduates; down the line it could potentially hinder the progress of publishing companies. As senior-level employees retire and the industry becomes increasingly innovative and dependent on technology and new media, there will inevitably be a need for people well-versed in these approaches. And who better to call upon than us, the generation of blogging, social networking sites, and an ever-continuing list of Web 2.0 and new media practices?

For now, the best we can do is keep searching for jobs, stay busy and productive in any way possible, and remain confident that things will pick up, and that we will eventually be given the opportunity to contribute to an industry rich in both history and innovation. Hopefully, that day comes sooner rather than later.