Tonight I finished Danny Wallace's Friends Like These. It is, I think, an important book on a number of levels. Maybe it's just me: living far from the place that I grew up, friends scattered all over the country, still rooted with memories of a happy childhood and a good sense of nostalgia. Wallace's story plays to that, even though he moved around quite a bit. I think, though, it's the sense of excitement that he writes with, the moments of real joy that seem to seep through the page. It's a gutsy thing for someone to do: look up people from decades ago to reconnect. Just today I got a Facebook request from a friend that I haven't spoken to in probably 25 years. What do you do about that? But anyway. . .

It's interesting, when writers put themselves in positions where life-change is almost forced upon them. Like The Unlikely Disciple from a few months ago. The guy commits to an act that will involve some level of personal confrontation and then deals with it (enrolling in Liberty is a big deal, especially to a non-believer). It's like a kind of pseudo-biographical reporting. A bit like reality television: it's real but also sort of scripted at the same time. Like some of the situations are a tad contrived.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, I kind of applaud it. It's a risky thing, putting your perceptions and beliefs comfortable ways of acting in a place of tension. I quite honor it, in fact. Which is why I highly recommend the book. His observations about friendship are spot on: how they are formed, how they fade, how they can be rekindled. At one point, he makes a play on the Facebook phenomenon by saying that he is doing the Face to Facebook method. But he's also aware that not everyone wants to be "found" after being apart for 20 or 30 years.

A closing selection from the book, from a point where Wallace is in a Japanese restaurant full of ninjas (yes, ninjas):

"You are in Japan on holiday?"
"Sort of," I told the Master Ninja. "I'm here to find this guy."
I pointed at Akira's picture again.
"You know him well?" asked the ninja, shuffling the cards.
"Not really. Not anymore."
"When do you meet him?"
"I hope tomorrow."
"You hope? You don't know?"
He was joking, but actually, he was right.
"Akira doesn't really know I'm here. In Japan."
The Master Ninja considered this.
"A long way for hope," he said. "But it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive disenchanted."
It was a remarkable statement. So remarkable I had to pause for a second and write it on my napkin.

A remarkable statement indeed.