A Bias Against Biases

            Given the crazy political environment we’re in, I’ve been giving a lot of thought lately to the evil bias twins: negativity bias and confirmation bias.  As with most of our psychological afflictions, these tendencies are rooted in biological evolution.  We tend to overemphasize the bad in life because it made survival more likely.  Worrying about the saber tooth tiger that almost ate us was more beneficial than spending a lot of energy admiring our cave art. 

            Confirmation bias is trickier, but it did help us stick with smart choices, like keeping our hands out of the fire, while ignoring the advice of the shaman who thought a little fire cleansing was good for general health.  On the other hand, the shaman who agreed you shouldn’t move your settlement to the valley next door as you depleted the available resources confirmed the wrong thing. 

            Of the two, I think negativity bias has hobbled more of my family members and social reference groups.  This penchant is significantly reinforced by the media, for whom negativity is mother’s milk.  A bottomless well of attention and renewed subscriptions, of clicks and likes.  I think being aware of imminent or emerging threats is wise, but wallowing in all the bad news distorts reality and undermines the ability to have a little joi amidst all the ennui.

            Historians will tell you that everyone has nearly always thought that life has degenerated, if not gone to hell in a hand basket, and that we’re all doomed.  That each successive generation has also been wealthier, healthier, less subject to horrific wars and chronic deprivation never enters into it.  That doesn’t mean every little thing has improved, or that some things in the past weren’t arguably better, or that progress doesn’t come with a fair amount of regression.  You just have to look at the declining number of free-range children, or the obesity epidemic, or the decrease in pop tunes that feature key changes, to support that view. 

            As to confirmation bias, I’m more attracted to commentators who agree with me than those who don’t.  I read the educated opposers anyway, because I think that’s good mental hygiene, and sometimes I stumble on an argument that shifts my point of view. But I have a diminishing number of years left on this planet, and I’d rather spend this precious time with convivial associations than a bunch of chuds who just make me want to assert my second amendment rights and reach for the nearest cudgel.   

           

            To confess my biases, I feel the mystery/thriller genre is as good, or better, than ever.  I think the form has been dramatically improved by all the women and people of various ethnicities who have come on the scene.  It reminds me of the fifties and sixties when the publishing industry (and academia, and advertising, not coincidentally) started admitting Jewish writers, who revolutionized American fiction.  

            The rising tide of diversity in mystery/thriller writing has risen all boats. 

Yet now, when it comes to what we’d generally call literary fiction, I’m just not feeling it.  I’ve tackled some of the leading fiction writers of recent times, and with the exception of Amor Towles, I’m generally disappointed.  To be more specific, it’s as if they’ve forgotten that plots matter more than obsessive introspection.  That beautiful language can transcend the mundane activities of daily living (maybe go back and review James Joyce), that there’s greater meaning to be perceived from simple human interaction than thwarted expectations. 

I’m not alone in this.  David Brooks did a whole column on the matter.  https://tinyurl.com/eypvzzx5   I don’t necessarily agree with his political thesis, but the numbers underlying the argument are availble from Neilsen. 

At the same time, maybe I’m not giving literary fiction enough of a chance; like Brooks, I’ve only been peaking into the current literary world.  Maybe I should just push through and be pleasantly surprised.  Stop letting bias creep into my prehistoric brain.  (Anyone eager to set me straight with recommendations are urged to comment.)

It could be that literary fiction has gone the way of poetry, ballet, symphonic music and opera.  Settling in as a marginal art form, yet enduring with a hard core of devotees who will keep it alive into the foreseeable future.  I hope that's true, because I want all art forms to survive and thrive, even those I'm not very partial to.  Art tends to evolve toward and away from you, in big, barely noticeable cycles.  The important thing is to keep it all alive.  
            

            Unlike Timothy Chalamet, I adore ballet. Since my mother was a ballet dancer, as is a niece I’m particularly close to, perhaps that formed a positivity bias.  I love a handful of operas, though like hip-hop, some of which I really enjoy, I don’t seek it out as a general rule.  Call it ambivalence bias.  

             As I wrote in a prior post, keeping an open mind is really difficult.  You’re constantly warring against biological determinism – not succumbing to negativity or huddling in comfort with your collection of favorites.  I remember as a younger man telling myself that I wouldn’t be like the old curmudgeons I knew at the time.  That I’d fight, fight against the dying of a flexible mind, the elasticity of a healthy consciousness.