A week ago, revered author J.D. Salinger died at the age of 91. Salinger’s passing brought his life and work back into the public spotlight, which was a place he worked hard to avoid for most of his life. Known as much for his reclusive nature as for his most famous novel, “The Catcher in the Rye,” Salinger once wrote: “It is my rather subversive opinion that a writer’s feelings of anonymity-obscurity are the second most valuable property on loan to him during his working years.”

Coincidentally, this week also saw the public reemergence of another spotlight-shunning writer/artist. Bill Watterson, creator of the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, gave an interview to the Cleveland Plain Dealer newspaper, thought to be the first he’s given since 1989. Watterson ended his work on Calvin and Hobbes in 1995, and since then has resisted pressure from his fans to revive the beloved comic strip. In the interview, Watterson seems incredibly down-to-earth about his success, and unwilling to remain stuck in the glory days of the past.

I don’t know the whole story behind why these men choose/chose to guard their privacy so fiercely. But these days, when the pursuit of fame for its own sake has become so widespread, I find it really refreshing to be reminded that there are creative people out there who are more interested in their work than in basking in the public spotlight.

For years I’ve been a fan of the BBC adaptation of Jane Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice, starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. I first watched it soon after it came out in the mid-90s, and have watched it a few more times since then. I was thrilled to receive the Blu-ray version of it this last Christmas, and wasted little time in watching all six hours of it yet again.

Seated in front of our big screen TV with a group of girlfriends, drinking tea and eating crustless cucumber sandwiches, I saw the familiar scenes unfold, but something felt different. Like all young girls with literary aspirations, I had always identified with the witty and compassionate Elizabeth Bennet, but now I was starting to find her slightly annoying. Why was she so slow to see the true intentions of the taciturn Mr. Darcy? To me, his actions and demeanor were easily readable, but she seemed utterly blind to his real character. While I know that this is the central theme of the novel (to which the prejudice in the title refers), I had always seen things from Elizabeth’s perspective, and like her, viewed Mr. Darcy as a proud, misunderstood man who needed to be drawn out in order to be happy.

But now my perspective had completely shifted, and I felt a kinship with Mr. Darcy instead. There was nothing wrong with him, I realized, he was just an introvert! I felt with him the discomfort of forced sociability, and the frustration of being misjudged because of a wish to keep one’s private thoughts to oneself.

It may be that I’m projecting more onto the character than is reasonable, but it will be interesting to go back and read the novel through this “introvert” lens. Whether I will find confirmation of my theory there or not, I find it fascinating that with age, and increasing comfort with my own way of being in the world, old stories can transform into new friends.

First off, a nice piece from Garrison Keillor on Salon about his periodic need for solitude, in which he conjures up a New York café experience that does sound “heavenly”:

…to walk into a little cafe with an armload of newspapers and sit at the counter and read them over a bowl of chili and a grilled cheese and a white mug of coffee, and a waitress who says, “What else would you like, love?” — this is heaven…

The second item I found is an essay from The Guardian written by Rachel Denton, a woman who calls herself a hermit. In the article, Denton describes not only her daily life as a hermit, which is quite interesting, but also the experiences that led up to her decision to live a solitary life. In particular, I found it fascinating that she had once been determined to become a nun, but she found even convent life was too social for her taste.

The final link I’ve got is from the Web site of the Academy of American Poets, which features a collection of “Poems about Anonymity and Loneliness.” I take issue with the title of this sampling of poems, which they admit further on also includes poems about “solitary thought,” because I think “melancholy” is a better adjective than “loneliness.” And as I wrote about in an earlier post, melancholy can be a good thing. In any case, I like this gathering of poems, and I hope you do too.

I imagine that kind of fickleness is what proved so disturbing to Britain’s Got Talent contestant, and now global superstar, Susan Boyle. To have everyone build you up and then criticize you for the smallest misstep (as happened after her second performance on the show) would rattle the most jaded of performers, let alone an introverted person with little experience of fame. I thought it was telling that between her second and third appearances, those charged with her care thought it best to isolate her, from the media and from the public, I presume.

Isolation as an escape from an intrusive public seems to be the issue behind another story that came out today. Vanity Fair is planning to publish an article in its July issue about Johnny Depp’s private island in the Bahamas, and in a quote from the piece, Depp shares that life on the island is his “…way of trying to return to normalcy… Escapism is survival to me.” Never mind the fact that owning one’s own island is not “normal” for most people, I find his statement extremely depressing. Sure, it would be nice to have his wealth and opportunities, but if your only means of escape is to live Robinson Crusoe style, that means you look at the rest of the world as a prison. As tempting as it is, I would choose the ability to move (relatively) freely in the world over a private island any day.

Cary wrote what I thought was a helpful response, agreeing that “being oneself” is a poor way to describe the necessary action in this kind of situation. Instead, he counseled the letter writer to “Hold your own space” in a social setting, in opposition to “the signals you are getting from the rest of the people that you do not exist.” Even when standing silent amongst the crowd, a time that can seem excruciating to introverts, Cary argues that the introvert is still making an impact. As an example of this, in what may be my favorite part of the column, Cary imagines a “conclave of introverts” in which “silences erupt for deliberation.” The lone extrovert in such a group will certainly understand what kind of power simply “holding one’s space” has, as he waits for the relief of a return to conversation (or so Cary, an admitted extrovert, has experienced it).

Finally, Cary analyses the whole phenomenon of “attention,” advising the letter writer to determine what he/she really wants to get out of social interaction, and even questions whether interaction as such needs to be part of the equation. In what I think is a brilliant formulation (why didn’t I think of it before), Cary states that “Wanting attention is not the same as wanting interaction.” He cites the example of performers and lecturers who may thrive in the spotlight, but be reluctant to engage in social interaction outside of their work. This certainly sheds new light on previous posts about introverted actors and politicians.

I’m not sure if an aversion to excessive noise is a hallmark of the introverted personality, but I do know that few things set me on edge more than exposure to constant, chaotic noise (making the ear-splitting renovation hubbub going on below our apartment for the past few weeks such a joy). It could be this sensitivity that leads me to pay more attention to any mention of noise, or it could be that there is a particular convergence around this issue in the global consciousness, but whatever the case, I’ve found that noise (or the absence of it) has been making the news a lot lately.

First the bad news: the International Herald Tribune reports that the ambient noise level in Cairo has gotten so bad that every conversation on the street must be conducted in screams. As the city grows in population, the din from traffic, public ceremonies, and hawkers struggling to be heard, has resulted in a daytime average noise level of 85 decibels, or “a bit louder than a freight train at a distance of 15 feet, or 4.6 meters.”

Less bad, but still not great: According to some, hybrid and electric cars don’t make sufficient noise to warn pedestrians (especially the visually impaired) of their approach. A bill to address this problem may soon be proposed in the U.S. House of Representatives, under the terms of which automakers may one day be required to build vehicles that produce a minimum level of noise. I’m all for strengthening public safety on the roads, but I’d have to see more data about the actual risk before being convinced that this is a good idea. In the meantime, maybe some lawmaker could introduce a bill to reduce the amount of noise cars are allowed to make. I’m sure there’d be a market for those cars in Cairo.

Potentially encouraging: A new movie starring Tim Robbins as an anti-noise vigilante has recently been released in the U.S.. Noise shows the transformation of Robbins’s character from an ordinary New Yorker into the rampaging ‘Rectifier,’ who expresses his frustration with blaring car alarms by destroying the offending vehicles. The movie has gotten mixed reviews; not having seen it I can’t speak for or against it (although I am wary of the glorification of vigilantism), but I would be pleased if it expanded the conversation about the problem of noise pollution in some way.

And finally inspiring news: The phenomenon of silent raves has been around for a few years, but recently it seems to have gained some momentum in the States. A silent rave took place in New York’s Union Square in April, drawing hundreds of participants. And what is a silent rave? It’s similar to an ordinary rave, in that strangers gather to listen to music and dance together, except that at a silent rave, everyone is listening to their own personal dance mix (through headphones, naturally). I love this idea because it combines public partying (which even as an introvert I can get into) with respect for everyone’s space, and bears an interesting resemblance to quiet parties.

Last night we went to a get-together for expats here in Paris, and one of the attendees happened to be a mathematician visiting the city for a month. When the topic turned to introversion, as it often does once I mention that I write this blog, the mathematician shared a great joke about his peers that relates to the topic. Since I don’t trust myself to phrase it as aptly as he did, I found a version of it on the Mathematic humor Web site as follows:

The difference between an introvert and extrovert mathematician[s] is: An introvert mathematician looks at his shoes while talking to you. An extrovert mathematician looks at your shoes.

Hearing this joke inspired me to include more introvert humour on Spectatrix, but unfortunately I don’t know any good zingers. Got any good ones? Please send them my way via comments or email. (Kudos to the first person to give a funny answer to “How many introverts does it take to screw in a lightbulb” other than “One, obviously.”)

Update: Check out the comments section for some great joke submissions I’ve received since posting this. Thanks to everyone who has responded so far, and to everyone else, keep ‘em coming!

Atwood has received criticism from some quarters for her invention, mostly from people who don’t think fans should miss out on actual interaction with their favorite writers or celebrities. Atwood insists she isn’t trying to do away with book tours and signings, but is just providing another opportunity for connection when it isn’t otherwise possible. For example, those who aren’t able to travel for one reason or another could still be present in virtual form. And for celebrities concerned about the effects of frequent global travel, the LongPen could be a way to reduce their carbon footprint.

I’m not sure how to feel about the LongPen; I do enjoy meeting authors in person when they are on book tours, but it’s interesting to think about how many otherwise famously reclusive writers might make themselves available for LongPen sessions. And even though at this point I would find a book tour thrilling (meaning that I had in fact published a book), I can imagine one growing weary of the endless travel once you’ve done it a few times (and Atwood has written thirty books). I do think the LongPen could be a boon to famous introverts for whom public appearances hold little appeal, but I don’t think it can replace the real thing. For those of us who get tongue-tied in the presence of our idols, you just can’t substitute virtual embarrassment for making a fool of yourself in person.

Last night Joe and I watched the movie The Incredibles again, and it reminded me of an earlier post I wrote about superheroes who have introverted alter egos. Joe found it interesting that one of the characters in the movie, Violet, who in her alter ego is a shy girl in her early teens, has super powers many introverts would love to have: the ability to put a force field around herself (and others), and the ability to become invisible.

I had to agree that these super powers were very appealing to me, and I had happy visions of creating an impenetrable force field around myself the next time I walked down a crowded Paris sidewalk. Of course I’ve also often thought how nice it would be to be able to disappear in an uncomfortable situation—those pushy salespeople and talkative strangers would have no idea where I had gone.

See that person over there on the cruise reading the small print on the cereal box? That’s an introvert. See that woman across the aisle there, actually reading the inflight magazine? That, too, is an introvert. Whoever thought about putting advertisements in elevators and inside toilet doors had introverts in mind. Well … it’s better than having to talk to the other people in the elevator!!

I think this analysis is priceless, if only because I see myself so clearly in her description. Since I was a tiny tot I’ve been an incredibly avid reader, using reading as an escape from social interaction (as Fenn depicts) but also as a hedge against boredom and unhappiness. There is something so comforting to me about diving into a good book; it gives me a distraction from my sometimes wearying thoughts without draining my energy as spending time with others has a tendency to do.

While reading is always a favorite activity, I do have periods when I’m not so much in need of the written word. I’m content to dip into and out of various books, magazines, and Web sites, without suspending other activities. But at other times, the need to read feels almost like a physical necessity, and long periods of devouring a good book the only antidote.

Since we arrived in Paris I’ve been experiencing this need to read quite acutely, even though, or maybe because, suitable reading material is not so accessible. Books are heavy, and with a heavy heart I had to leave most of mine behind in storage when we got on the plane. I did bring a few, but they are mostly reference books that don’t encourage quick consumption. We have made a few forays to local English language bookstores, and I’ve been able to find a few books to hold me over, but something very special is happening tonight (I’m sure you know what it is) that promises to help me scratch this itch.

Yes, the new Harry Potter book comes out tonight, and Joe and I have already reserved our copies (one for each of us, for the sake of marital harmony) that we will pick up at approximately 1 a.m. tomorrow morning from a cute little bookstore in the 4th Arrondissement. I have enjoyed the Harry Potter series, and I’m not happy to see it come to an end, but I am happy to know that my weekend plans will revolve around the simple pleasures of a ripping good story.

Don’t get me wrong, my stylist is extremely nice and friendly, but if it were up to me, I’d spend the whole appointment sitting quietly and just watching the action going on around me. If I do that, however, I feel both boring and unfriendly. I don’t know for sure, but it could be that my stylist wouldn’t mind a break from the chitchat. I know if I were in his position, I’d welcome a bit of quiet time once in a while. But then again, I wouldn’t say making conversation is my forte.

Of course I’ve had jobs where conversation was required (way too many receptionist gigs), but that’s different from making conversation throughout the day. Although it’s probably not at the very top of my list, I’d have to say that a job that required making conversation would be among the professions I would not like to attempt (as James Lipton asks of his guests on Inside the Actor’s Studio).

I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet, but I think it’s safe to reveal that, as in the previous two installments, this third movie veers between quiet character-driven scenes and huge action sequences. It was obvious the filmmakers were trying to cover both stereotypical bases: a romantic storyline for female audience members, and plenty of testosterone-driven battle scenes for men. While I don’t want to buy into those limiting categories, I have to admit that I preferred the more introspective scenes to the intensely aggressive ones. There were moments when I was blown away by the CGI effects, but mostly I felt overwhelmed and over-stimulated by the mass of frenetic images.

At times the divide between these two types of scenes seemed so extreme that it was almost like watching two different movies. It was sometimes hard to reconcile the tender, kindhearted actions some of the characters displayed, with the flinty, purposeful maneuvers they made once they donned suit or mask. But that’s always been the point. Almost every superhero must have a secret identity—à la Peter Parker or Clark Kent—the face they show the world when they aren’t busy saving it.

That is the appeal of comic book heroes to so many; the seemingly ordinary person turns out to be extraordinary in some way. And I think it can be an especially potent fantasy for introverts: if only the world knew what I was really like, I might gain the respect and attention I think I deserve. While I definitely think it is important for introverts to get their due, this kind of thinking can be a trap. It assumes that heroism is limited to acts of direct (often violent) engagement with the external world. I think far greater acts of courage can occur solely in the mind or the imagination, and have longer lasting effects. The courage to think beyond what is acceptable or allowed has been the impetus for many important social movements, such as Gandhi’s nonviolent resistance actions in India, or the civil rights campaign in the U.S.

That being said, it is quite interesting to me to see how many popular superheroes have alter egos who display typical introvert qualities. Joe just put together a list of them for our Web site SenseList: Top 5 Superheroes Whose Secret Identities Are Introverts. This list raises the question for me of whether so many superheroes have introverted secret identities simply because they provide such good cover—who would ever suspect Clark Kent of feats of heroics—or because characters with these extremes of personality tap into the collective unconscious in some way. What do you think?

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, this happens to be a pet peeve of mine, although in some moods I am able to ignore the intrusion of noise and stay focused on what I’m watching. This wasn’t one of those nights. What made it more disturbing for me is that I knew how much I had paid to be there, and how much all those around me had similarly forked over for their tickets. Ultimately, because I wanted to relax and enjoy the show, I tried to see the situation from the other side. Maybe, I thought, some people can’t get full enjoyment out of something unless they can talk about it while it’s happening. Maybe, but unfortunately this behavior comes into direct conflict with what I need in order to enjoy a show: namely dead silence.

Later on, as I reflected on this conundrum, I realized that I feel the same way about intrusive noise as I do about second-hand smoke: that people are free to do what they want as long as they don’t interfere with the happiness or health of others. Just as patrons in a smoky bar cannot escape second-hand smoke, so second-hand noise is unavoidable for those who prefer quiet when watching a performance. Of course noise is rarely such a health hazard, although it has been known to raise its sufferers’ blood pressure to dangerous levels, and to unsettle their usual tranquil state of mind.

For some reason, when I was younger I felt it necessary to repeatedly put myself into situations that were extremely stressful for me. Although I dreaded performing in front of others, that didn’t stop me from taking piano lessons, singing lessons, dance lessons, playing in a band, or auditioning for plays and musicals. At my most perverse, I joined the high school debate team (after my first debate, one of our opponents even asked petulantly, “Isn’t she supposed to say something?”).

I think my motivation for doing all this was a combination of various factors: a misguided belief that suffering would make me a better person; a desperate need to express myself (which would later find a much better outlet in writing); and at times, actual enjoyment, mingled with terror, of participating in the activity in question. My forays into high school drama productions were prompted by a mixture of all three, and were aided by my sheer and utter ignorance of how crippling extreme self-consciousness is for an aspiring actor or actress.

And so it was that I stumbled onward, through the roles of Soldier #2, Greek chorus member, anonymous geisha, and unnamed Dickensian waif, without realizing that not everyone had a hard time rendering their lines at a level above a whisper. The one major role I did have in those years, granted by a compassionate director who also happened to be a good friend, seemed to be written especially for me: that of a skittish and reserved housemaid.

Looking back, I really shouldn’t have been surprised by my lack of acting prowess at that age; for me, the transition from bright young girl to excessively self-conscious teen was the death knell for any acting ambitions I had. I just couldn’t lose myself in the roles I was playing, I was always painfully aware of who I was, at every single moment.

Because of that experience, I’ve always found it odd that there are so many incredible actors who are also introverts. It seems like they must be able to find a way to quiet that self-consciousness I found so troubling, and to turn their inner lives into an external craft. Indeed, looking at a list of introverts who are also actors, it seems like introversion and brilliant acting just might go hand in hand (i.e., Meryl Streep, Diane Keaton, Joan Allen, Laura Linney, Ellen Burstyn, Harrison Ford, Clint Eastwood, and Tom Hanks, to name only a few).

Since I don’t have their talent, I can only guess at their methods; perhaps one of them will write in and tell me just how they do it. In the meantime, it’s enough for me to ponder how most introverts are playing a role in some fashion or another. At work, and in social settings, we are often called upon to behave in a way contrary to our true nature. Unfortunately, I just never developed the knack for making it look effortless; I always seem to forget my lines when the curtain goes up.

In the first few episodes of the season it was interesting to see how the tribe members interacted, and to speculate whether their similarities would outweigh their differences, or vice versa. It didn’t take long to see the dissimilarities among the members of Puka, the Asian-American tribe, who not only were ethnically diverse (South Korean, Filipino, and Vietnamese) but had very different personality styles. My sympathies were definitely with the laconic Yul (who eventually won the game), as opposed to the quite chatty Cao Boi, and the contrast between them reminded me of survivors past who tended to either extreme.

In general, it pays to be an extrovert on Survivor, although if you go too far (see Jonny Fairplay) it can work against you. Introverts don’t usually last long, mostly because they’d rather keep to themselves than sit and gossip around a smoky campfire. And they are not so ready to unburden their innermost thoughts in private interviews; in short, they don’t make for good reality TV, with its attention to the machinations and personality clashes of their less self-conscious tribemates.

In previous seasons, it has been painful for me to see how “the tribe” treats introverts. Usually they are seen as loners, and a tribe member’s solitary walk down the beach is often interpreted as evidence that they are not a “team player.” I have infinite sympathy for these poor souls–I too would feel an urgent need to take a break from living with other people 24 hours a day. Speaking of which, for the last few seasons, there has been a punishment that involves spending a few days alone on “Exile Island,” which always seems appealing to me. There is a lot of talk about how grueling it is, and I don’t doubt that it is physically challenging, but I suspect a lot of introverts wouldn’t find spending time alone to be much of a punishment.

In light of the above, I propose a new twist for the next season of Survivor: Introverts vs. Extroverts. I can see it now, alternating shots of the two tribe camps, one group speaking quietly to each other, if at all, and at the other, nonstop conversation erupting from time to time into meaningless spats (a regular occurence on the show). I know which tribe I’d rather belong to.