“This pulls it together for me. The things that look like they cloud practical wisdom sort of gravitating to narcissism. I’m right; you’re wrong. I’m important; you’re not. My friends are like me; you’re not. Most of all, I want what I want, consequences are damned.”
This is a quote that brings this
story together for me. The true meaning of the plot and what to expect.
Taken back to the late 70’s you
step back in a world of faxes, pagers and cryptic messages where no one can be
trusted. It’s the time of nuclear threats, Chernobyl, already lefts its mark on
history and it’s a global fight about knowledge and power. Old lovers create
interesting plots and couples tries to live an ordinary life while espionage
and industrial terrorism threatens to bring it all to an end.
The Farm, On Practical Wisdom, is
not a non-fictitious book as I thought at first. But a technical story that
touches on Marx philosophy, Madame Curie’s death and nuclear disarmament as the
group of scientists, and CIA agents rush against time to disarm another global
energy disaster.
The delicate relationship between
Russia and America cleverly weaved into the fabric of this growing plot that
takes you across the borders into the heart of this crisis.
It is not my usual read and I
feel a bit left out at times. As if the choppiness left me in a daze. The flow
robotic and I miss the elegance a good story invokes. The exploration into the
nuclear age practical wisdom gave it an interesting spiel. As the patterns
reveal itself to us, we are left with thought-provoking points that are
relevant for today. The book is one big dialogue that springs from one event to
the next but strangely it works within the book’s genre. The unusual writing
style left me hanging at times. I had no real connection with the characters,
feeling one-dimensional. Like stick figures and then the author would surprise
me with some good description to draw everything together.
The author comes right to the point with no-nonsense at
the end.
George Benda grew up in the Chicago area. Born with a passion for the natural world and improving the environment, Benda studied first science, then politics, and ultimately philosophy to answer his burning question: how do we resolve the expanding conflict between human activity and the well-being of the planet on which we live?
Book clubs? Libraries? Academics? These are forums in which that burning question can be explored and answers formulated. Benda actively supports all of those pathways to a broader understanding. He offers free readers guides, Zoom sessions, and more.
Check out some resources:
https://georgebenda.com/book-club-support/
The first in the series, The City, took nearly 40 years to
mature. Those 40 years were filled with an active life and events which have
inspired most of the dramatic plots of the Shoebox Dialogues -- fictionalized,
of course, but a granular look at history. The action in the dialogues provides
an intimate glimpse at the realities that lie behind the headlines and belie
the history as told by the winners.
Benda started his career in government at age 18, working in natural areas
preservation. He was Director of Energy Programs for the State of Illinois at
age 27. Those years -- the late 1970s through the early 1980s -- proved to be
the emergent years for today's global issues of both climate change and
political turmoil fueled by an unending energy crisis.
Since leaving public service in 1983, Benda has been in
the private sector, leading companies in sustainability, indoor environmental
quality, and energy efficiency improvement. He has been the CEO of Chelsea
Group, Ltd since 1990. Benda's company has won numerous awards for innovation
in energy efficiency. Often a controversial figure in his industry, Benda has
never escaped the universe of turmoil that enmeshed him in his early years.
Now residing on Molokai, a small
island south and east of Honolulu, Benda still works diligently on
environmental issues through his role as President of the Molokai Land Trust.
Always engaged in both a life of action and a life of the mind, he continues to
collect stories and plot lines, characters, and emotions that enliven his
novels. Serious thinking has rarely been so much fun.
“Reading Marx got me thinking about the nature of work. The work you and I do is advancing technology, reshaping the work,” Jack responded.
“Isn’t all work like that? As you start building something, variations in materials… or changing goals… or altered aesthetics… or maybe an ah-ha moment of how to make things better, easier… any of those things can change at least the direction, sometimes the nature of the work.” “You need to take the longer view of what Marx says,” Ben argued.
“Work is only part of it. Work, music, contemplation, socialization – it takes all of these and to do that takes balance. Achieve that balance and maybe you’re happy. Three areas for personal accomplishment and one shared area. Get something done and then talk about it. I know that sharing my accomplishments with others brings me that sense of wellbeing that I associate with happiness.”
“And accomplishment means what? Personal benefit? Societal benefit? Happiness – is that your personal happiness? Familial happiness? Societal happiness?” “I don’t think there is such a thing as societal happiness,” Ben said, eyebrows lifted. “Au contraire! Have you never heard of the tiny kingdom of Bhutan?” Jack, voice filled with glee. “They measure the prosperity of the country on its gross domestic happiness instead of its gross domestic product.”
“Okay, okay, but stick to the
argument here, Jack. Your question is a good one. We already answered it in
part – we tied happiness to justice. Help your friends, harm no one. I believe
practical wisdom also has to be anchored in something more positive, more
beneficial, than justice alone. And I assert that the something we are looking
for is happiness.” Jack nodded concurrence. Journal out, Jack again scribbled: Practical
wisdom is the ability to build on good decisions and actions to make a good
life, the standard for which is happiness.
Excerpt # 2
The car, Evie thought, was the perfect cover. 1956 Ford pick-up. Exterior beaten to crap, the guts beefed up
and tuned to race-car perfection. Her blue jeans and plaid cotton shirt, tucked
in, combined with her long blond hair, parted in the middle, made for a solid
country look. She pulled up to the feed store – a combination of farm supplies,
hardware, and a sort of snack bar that might elsewhere pass for a trendy coffee
shop because of the authentic rocking chairs out front. Rural West Virginia –
no place like it. Heads turned when she walked in – tall slender blond, new to
town. Country boys filled the place. Lots of beards, plenty of bald spots
covered with seed caps. Evie flashed them a warm smile and tossed out a casual
“Hey.”
Evie walked up to the snack bar counter and asked for a cup of coffee. The young man behind the counter straightened and adjusted his cap to a jauntier angle. “My cousin Arlin lives up in one of the hollers, or at least that’s what he tells my pappy. You know him?” Evie asked the boy at the counter. “Uh, no ma’am. Don’t know no Arlin ‘round here.”
“Maybe there’s a town records office? My pappy’s worried. Could
be Arlin up and died and nobody knows…” Evie said. “Ma’am, it’s a quiet little
town. Not kindly to strangers poking around. Can I help you find what you
need?”
Evie smiled at the boy and smiled
to herself. Her first field test complete. She recruited a source for
information in a closed community. Her first operative. Mission accomplished.
DDD “It was a hero’s welcome at the office today, and I owe it all to you!”
Novovic exclaimed, popping a bottle of champagne in his Lake Shore Drive
apartment. “That is so wonderful, my love,” Tanya crooned, thinking: two, maybe
three more days. “How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked. “A good day,” she
smiled. “No one died in my arms.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Do you
think you could take some time off tomorrow and come meet the crew? I haven’t
told them it was your idea, but I’d like to introduce you to my colleagues.”
Her eyes darted.
Excerpt #3
Wednesday, 28 March 1979, about
4:00 am. Three Mile Island Nuclear Generating Station, near Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania. Cycle 10,942 of Novovic’s optimization program. The control
algorithm switched off the main feedwater pumps, which normally sent water to
the steam generators that remove heat from the reactor core. “Sir,” the plant
operator, a well-trained nuclear engineer, said to his floor supervisor. “Sir,
we have an excursion in the feedwater pumps. I’m trying to override the
software now.”
The plant’s turbine-generator,
and then the reactor, automatically shut down. Immediately, the pressure in the
primary cooling system for the nuclear reactors began to increase. “The system
is not responding properly, sir.” Older safety algorithms kicked in to control
that pressure, opening the relief valve at the top of the pressure vessel. The
valve should have closed when the pressure fell to proper levels. It did not.
“There it goes, sir, the pressure is dropping.” “Is the safety protocol working
correctly now, Aaron?” asked the floor supervisor. “It looks correct for the
data I see, sir.”
The new optimization software
continued in its cycle, overriding the safety algorithm. It held the valve
open. Instruments in the control room indicated to the plant staff that the
valve was closed. The operator opened his emergency protocol manual and ran
through a checklist. “Pressure is nominal, sir. I think the relief valve closed
and the pumps should restart in their normal mode. Looks like everything is
back under control.” Unaware that cooling water was pouring out of the
stuck-open valve, the supervisor nodded to Aaron and went back to his crossword
puzzle. Coolant continued to flow from the primary system through the valve.
“Uh, sir, we have another excursion. Coolant pressure just alarmed.”
The supervisor threw aside the
newspaper and shouted: “Everyone, check and report!”
The seven operators frantically
checked every gauge. Shouts of “nominal” filled the room. Every instrument
indicated that system parameters were normal. There was no sensor, no
instrumentation, that showed how much water covered the core. The new sensors
installed at Novovic’s direction, and his new software routines, all indicated
that the pressurized water level was sufficient. All parameters appeared
nominal. The core must have been properly covered with water. It was not. A new
round of alarms rang, and warning lights flashed. A wide range of parameters
was no longer nominal, but the patterns made no sense. Following the protocol
books for each out-of-range parameter, operators adjusted controls and made
incremental changes. Conditions worsened.
“Everyone remains calm,” the
supervisor said above the rising din of operator panic. Stacks of operation
manuals and incident protocol handbooks were pulled from desk drawers wedged
into the ledges of the control panels. Books flopped open on the central table,
normally used for reviews of operations reports. Shouts of commands disappeared
in the cacophony of voices. “Get that coolant pressure down,” shouted the
supervisor. “Open the reliefs.” The operators received no indication that the
plant was experiencing a loss-of-coolant event. No action was taken to reverse
the coolant loss.
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