Beans and Freedom

Those two words, analyzed from a global socio-political perspective, can be seen as opposites. After all, and I don't mean to be glib here, impoverished people the world over eat legumes while their political leaders misdirect foreign and domestic capital to their pleasure yachts. But for me, beans are a symbol of a smaller freedom, the personal sort, because they're one of the first things I cooked when I moved into my own apartment; dried beans are the graduate student's Platonic ideal of dinner because they're cheap, you feel hip shopping the bulk bins, and a big pot of beans yields an incomprehensible number of meals.

Tonight, however, beans are synonymous with neither the third world (I'm beginning to suspect that analogy is tasteless, no pun intended) nor my college days. Tonight I happened to meet with my book group to discuss Jonathan Franzen's new novel Freedom and then came home, realized there's no lunch for tomorrow, and threw together a black bean, butternut squash and kale stem (yes, stem) stew in the crockpot. I hope it's good. If it is, I'll post the recipe.

You might want to read Freedom. It's very good, and that's coming from someone who'd thrown Jonathan Franzen into the detested Jonathan Safran-Foer Over-Rated Writers Club. A.k.a. Authors Who Write About Things They Know Not Club. A.k.a. You Tricky Little Man, I Read Yet Another Of Your Novels And It Took Me Until The End To Realize What A Senseless Dodo You Are AGAIN Club. You get the picture. I don't like Foer's gushy sentimentalism or Franzen's condescending "oh I'm so not the elitist white liberal I am (but if you're not like me, you must be a hillbilly)" subtext. But I liked this book a lot.

Maybe because Franzen owns and explores liberal pretensions (while obviously fantasizing about being a rock star). Though I think the book is much more about the true limits of the American freedom concept, applied to romantic and familial relationships. We had a really nice discussion, which included the female readers' fascination with the rock star and the male readers' attraction to Connie. It was fun. I spend so much time sticking labels on books and reading papers about "the Islams" and terrorism (no joke) that I sometimes feel my brain cells holding tiny hands over tiny ears, mouths wide and howling. I enjoy having an outlet for my under-stimulated brain.

So here's to beans and Freedom. May the stew be as tasty as the reading!