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First time reading Iyer; likely to be my last. Reading writing like this, I always wonder, “How do these people garner such followings? How and why do people put them on such literary or spiritual pedestals?�� It is beyond my understanding, as is the point of Mr. Iyer’s book…so disjointed and so non-linear as to leave me flummoxed from moment-to-moment and sentence-to-sentence. The interjection of random acquaintances—often un-named�� whose role or purpose or quips are befuddling as to any relevance to surrounding text. And at other times, Iyer is a name-dropper…to what purpose, one must wonder? To elevate his own status as a cohort among some elite legion?? Example:

“‘Here [at the Hermitage] you find answers,�� I suggest to Leonard Cohen shortly before I leave.

“‘Here you find freedom from answers,�� he replies in the grave and gravelly baritone beloved by many [in case any philistines reading this book have forgotten how belovèd and celebrated my friend, Leonard Cohen, actually is]…��

What??!! What kind of nebulous fake profundity is that supposed to be?!! “Don’t worry about the answers,�� Iyer seems to be inferring. “…Don’t even worry about the questions. Questions are stupid; answers are pointless.��

At another point (p. 57), Iyer casually points out that he’s been visiting the Dalia Lama for more than twenty years, and the dialogue he proffers seems to indicate that he is having rather a private audience with his old-buddy, old-pal.

Iyer, however, and despite his having spiritualist associations and repeated retreats to religious enclaves, claims not to be religious nor to be affiliated with any particular religious belief system. We are, I suppose(?), to take this to mean that perhaps he is “beyond�� or “above�� the rationalization of common man’s invented religions, and that he is, perhaps, a guru of life itself and its mysteries.

It all seems rather narcissistic.

The first two chapters [or sections] present us with an over-privileged, closet materialist who seems not to understand that his precious “silence�� is just another commodity to which he feels a special right��

“When next I settle into the blue-and-gold silence above the sea [at the Hermitage], it’s to hear a bulldozer protesting as it goes back and forth along the slope down the road [presumably widening the road for increased traffic]�� Inwardly, I curse. Do the monks really need to make this place more crowded? Might it not imperil the silence that is the Hermitage’s greatest gift? Many of us [rich and privileged folk who have been taking advantage of the monk’s cheap room and board] would happily contribute to their coffers if that might save them from having to build more trailers…��

At halfway through this thirty-dollar, mere 200-page book, I have yet to grasp the importance or relevance of why “silence�� is worthy of its 200 pages of bad writing�� And please note: I am a former Benedictine monk myself. The final three chapters/sections of the book are slightly more tolerable than the first two chapters. But I still feel like the entire book was misleading (and a disjointed, jumbled mess). Although Iyer is “non-religious�� and non-affiliated with any denomination, he is still willing to “steal�� the renewing and seclusionary atmosphere and benefits of this Camaldolian/Benedictine retreat center without ever extolling the benefits of the Benedictine Rule or Benedictine contemplative lifestyle. In fact, he seems to take particular joy in pointing-out the syncreticities of the brothers as a mockery of their professed religion rather than focusing on the routine of the Office (prayers) or how Benedictine philosophy is at the core of the brothers�� lives ( or how it benefits him …as in, he has enjoyed the freedom of cheap guest retreat accommodations BECAUSE of the Benedictine rule about welcoming the stranger. But does Iyer even know about this rule? …or take it with him out into the world and share it? …The book doesn’t say, so I presume the answer is, “No.��)

There is no deep or inward reflection about “silence�� whatsoever anywhere in this book. Perhaps, part of the problem is that—save by means of, perhaps, poetry—that the very concept of the ineffable character of “silence�� is not conducive to��words…or to storytelling…or to description. Because words [outside of personal prayer] and storytelling and description all “break�� the spirit of and contradict the very ineffable thing one is trying to convey.

In point of fact, this book is a meditation on anything BUT silence. Instead, anything halfway interesting deals with the people and characters that Iyer meets over his 30+ years retreating at the Hermitage. Indeed, “silence�� seems to be a misnomer, because no matter how Iyer might think he’s describing it, there is always a cacophony about. In one of the few single paragraphs in which he actually attempts to directly address the topic, he states:

“Sometimes I wonder—and friends keep asking—how spending all this time in silence has changed me. I can hardly count the ways [yet he does not], now that joy seems the opposite of pleasure and freedom arises out of an embrace of limits; it’s impossible to take so seriously the self that huffs and puffs along the highway. When I find myself in a crowded airport terminal, I’m drawn, as if magnetically now, to a quiet corner in the sun; as I wait for [my partner] to come back from work—will it be twenty minutes or ninety?—I turn off the lights and listen to Bach.��

…But listening to Bach is not silence, is it? And neither is the motor-grinding drone or the honking cars of the highway…nor is the effervescent drone of a million murmuring voices and clomping shoes on cement tiles or the HVAC system in overhead ducts or escalators or the persistence of public intercom announcements [even in a quiet corner] of an airport.

I actually think Iyer has mis-identified the very thing he has tried to write an entire book about�� And even if he has MIS-IDENTIFIED “SOLITUDE�� AS “SILENCE,�� he has still failed, because any snippets of wisdom he has garnered have been through recollections of INTERACTIONS with other individuals.

Frankly, I will never understand Iyer’s use of non-linear writing. There was no theme or topic compartmentalization that benefitted from it. It simply served to make things more confusing (and perhaps dis-serviced the author himself by highlighting his inability to outline or better organize his own writing…nor does it shine kindly on the editors�� skills since basic editorial assistance might have suggested better organization or flow).

And speaking of poor editorial capacity�� Iyer goes out of his way to laud his “faithful and unerring editor”…which is unfortunate because neither author nor editor apparently noticed now many awkward sentence-structural or syntax errors were pervasive throughout this book. I’m going to present one glaring example here to prove my point:

“In my cell, by the light of my table lamp—my face reflected back to me in the window as if it were hers—I page, very slowly, through the huge book of poems left behind by Emily Dickinson.�� (p. 156)

…Oh really? Did Emily Dickinson leave you a book of poems in your room? …Did she autograph the book and write you a personalized note as well?

I mean��COME ON�� That’s like an Editing 101 mistake�� from an example taken from a grade school grammar class.