The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the Worldby Eric Weiner
Part foreign affairs discourse, part humor, and part twisted self-help guide, The Geography of Bliss takes the reader from America to Iceland to India in search of happiness, or, in the crabby author's case, moments of "un-unhappiness." The book uses a beguiling mixture of travel, psychology, science and humor to investigate not what happiness is, but where it is. Are… See more details below
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Part foreign affairs discourse, part humor, and part twisted self-help guide, The Geography of Bliss takes the reader from America to Iceland to India in search of happiness, or, in the crabby author's case, moments of "un-unhappiness." The book uses a beguiling mixture of travel, psychology, science and humor to investigate not what happiness is, but where it is. Are people in Switzerland happier because it is the most democratic country in the world? Do citizens of Qatar, awash in petrodollars, find joy in all that cash? Is the King of Bhutan a visionary for his initiative to calculate Gross National Happiness? Why is Asheville, North Carolina so damn happy? With engaging wit and surprising insights, Eric Weiner answers those questions and many others, offering travelers of all moods some interesting new ideas for sunnier destinations and dispositions.
"Part travelogue, part personal-discovery memoir and all sustained delight, this wise, witty ramble reads like Paul Theroux channeling David Sedaris on a particularly good day..... Fresh and beguiling."Kirkus Reviews
"Think Don Quixote with a dark sense of humor and a taste for hashish and you begin to grasp Eric Weiner, the modern knight-errant of this mad, sad, wise, and witty quest across four continents. I won't spoil the fun by telling if his mission succeeds, except to say that happiness is reading a book as entertaining as this."Tony Horwitz, author of Confederates in the Attic
"With one single book, Eric Weiner has flushed Bill Bryson down a proverbial toilet, and I say that lovingly. By turns hilarious and profound, this is the kind of book that could change your life. The relationship between place and contentment is an ineffable one, and Weiner cuts through the fog with a big, powerful light. The Geography of Bliss is no smiley-face emoticon, it's a Winslow Homer."Henry Alford, author of Municipal Bondage and Big Kiss
The Washington Post
The New York Times
Weiner's diverting travel memoir tells the tale of a self-professed grump who sets out to find where the most contented people in the world live. The major problem is that the good idea didn't pan out. Weiner visits dozens of countries including India, Iceland and Bhutan, which have their share of socioeconomic problems. Yet Weiner deems these places as having the happiest people in the world, not truly understanding their troubles, but generalizing on the whole. The narration is also a disappointment, with Weiner slip-sliding his way through his own journal writings without passion or enthusiasm and occasional pronunciation problems. Simultaneous release with the Twelve hardcover (Reviews, Oct. 22). (Jan.)Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Fortified with Eeyoreish fatalism-"I'm already unhappy. I have nothing to lose"-Weiner set out on a yearlong quest to find the world's "unheralded happy places." Having worked for years as an NPR foreign correspondent, he'd gone to many obscure spots, but usually to report bad news or terrible tragedies. Now he'd travel to countries like Iceland, Bhutan, Qatar, Holland, Switzerland, Thailand and India to try to figure out why residents tell "positive psychology" researchers that they're actually quite happy. At his first stop, Rotterdam's World Database of Happiness, Weiner is confronted with a few inconvenient truths. Contrary to expectations, neither greater social equality nor greater cultural diversity is associated with greater happiness. Iceland and Denmark are very homogeneous, but very happy; Qatar is extremely wealthy, but Weiner, at least, found it rather depressing. He wasn't too fond of the Swiss, either, uncomfortable with their "quiet satisfaction, tinged with just a trace of smugness." In the end, he realized happiness isn't about economics or geography. Maybe it's not even personal so much as "relational." In the end, Weiner's travel tales-eating rotten shark meat in Iceland, smoking hashish in Rotterdam, trying to meditate at an Indian ashram-provide great happiness for his readers. (Jan.)Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
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Read an Excerpt
The Geography of Bliss
By Eric Weiner
TwelveCopyright © 2007 Eric Weiner
All right reserved.
IntroductionMy bags were packed and provisions loaded. I was ready for adventure. And so, on a late summer afternoon, I dragged my reluctant friend Drew off to explore new worlds and, I hoped, find some happiness along the way. I've always believed that happiness is just around the corner. The trick is finding the right corner.
Not long into our journey, Drew grew nervous. He pleaded with me to turn back, but I insisted we press on, propelled by an irresistible curiosity about what lay ahead. Danger? Magic? I needed to know, and to this day I'm convinced I would have reached wherever it was I was trying to reach had the Baltimore County Police not concluded, impulsively I thought at the time, that the shoulder of a major thoroughfare was no place for a couple of five-year-olds.
Some people acquire the travel bug. Others are born with it. My affliction, if that's what it is, went into remission for many years following my aborted expedition with Drew. It resurfaced after college with renewed fury. I desperately wanted to see the world, preferably on someone else's dime. But how? I had no marketable skills, a stunted sense of morality and a gloomy disposition. I decided to become a journalist.
As a foreign correspondent for National Public Radio, I traveled to places like Iraq, Afghanistan and Indonesia. Unhappy places. On one level, this made perfect sense. Unconsciously, I was observing the first law of writing: Write about what you know. And so, notebook in hand, tape recorder slung over my shoulder, I roamed the world telling the stories of gloomy, unhappy people. The truth is that unhappy people, living in profoundly unhappy places, make for good stories. They tug at heart strings and inspire pathos.
They can also be a real bummer.
What if, I wondered, I spent a year traveling the globe seeking out not the world's well-trodden trouble spots but, rather, its unheralded happy places? Places that possess, in spades, one or more of the ingredients that we consider essential to the hearty stew of happiness: money, pleasure, spirituality, family, chocolate, among others. Around the world, dozens of what-ifs play themselves out every day. What if you lived in a country that was fabulously wealthy and no one paid taxes? What if you lived in a country where failure is an option? What if you lived in a country so democratic you voted eight times a year? What if you lived in a country where excessive thinking is discouraged? Would you be happy then?
That's exactly what I intended to find out, and the result of this admittedly harebrained experiment is the book you now hold in your hands.
I was born in the Year of the Smiley Face: 1963. That's when a graphic designer from Worcester, Massachusetts named Harvey Ball invented the now ubiquitous yellow grinning graphic. Originally, Ball's creation was designed to cheer up people who worked at, of all places, an insurance company, but it has since become synonymous with the frothy, quintessentially American brand of happiness.
Ball's cheery icon never worked its magic on me. I am not a happy person, never have been. As a child, my favorite Winnie-the-Pooh character was Eeyore.
For most of human history, I would be considered normal. Happiness, in this life, on this Earth, was a prize reserved for the gods and the fortunate few. Today, though, happiness is not only considered possible for anyone to attain, it is expected. Thus I, and millions of others, suffer from the uniquely modern malady that historian Darrin McMahon calls "the unhappiness of not being happy." It is no fun at all.
And so, like many others, I've worked at it. I never met a self-help book I didn't like. My bookshelf is a towering, teetering monument to existential angst, brimming with books informing me that happiness lies deep inside of me. If I'm not happy, they counsel, then I'm not digging deep enough.
This axiom of the self-help industrial complex is so deeply ingrained as to be self-evident. There's only one problem: It's not true. Happiness is not inside of us, but out there. Or, to be more precise, the line between out there and in here is not as sharply defined as we think.
The late Harvard professor Alan Watts, in one of his wonderful lectures on Eastern philosophy, used this analogy: "If I draw a circle, most people, when asked what I have drawn, will say I have drawn a circle or a disc, or a ball. Very few people will say I've drawn a hole in the wall, because most people think of the inside first, rather than thinking of the outside. But actually these two sides go together-you cannot have what is 'in here' unless you have what is 'out there.'"
In other words, where we are is vital to who we are. By "where," I'm speaking not only of our physical environment but also our cultural environment. Culture is the sea we swim in. So pervasive, so all consuming, that we fail to notice its existence until we step out of it. It matters more than we think.
With our words, we subconsciously conflate geography and happiness. We speak of searching for happiness, of finding contentment, as if these were locations in an atlas, actual places that we could visit if only we had the proper map and the right navigational skills. Anyone who has taken a vacation to, say, some Caribbean island and had flash through their mind the uninvited thought "I could be happy here" knows what I mean.
The word lurking just behind the curtain is, of course, that tantalizing, slippery concept known as paradise. It has beguiled us humans for some time now. Plato imagined the Blessed Isles, a place where happiness flowed like the warm Mediterranean waters. Until the 18th century, people believed that Biblical paradise, the Garden of Eden, was a real place. It appeared on maps, located, ironically, at the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers in what is now modern-day Iraq.
European explorers prepared for expeditions in search of paradise by learning Aramaic, the language Jesus spoke. I set out on my journey, my search for paradise, speaking not Aramaic but another obscure language, the modern liturgy of bliss spoken by the new apostles of the emerging science of happiness. I brush up on terms like "positive affect" and "hedonic adaptation." I carry no Bible, just a few Lonely Planet guides and a conviction that, as Henry Miller said, "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."
And so, on a typically steamy day in Miami (itself some people's concept of paradise), I pack my bags and depart my home on what I know full well is a fool's errand, every bit as foolish as the one I tried to pull off as a peripatetic five-year-old. As the author Eric Hoffer put it, "The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness." That's okay. I'm already unhappy. I have nothing to lose.
Excerpted from The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner Copyright © 2007 by Eric Weiner . Excerpted by permission.
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