Little House on the Prairie
When Laura Ingalls and her family leave their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, they head west for the open prairie skies of Kansas Territory. They travel for many days in their covered wagon until they find the perfect spot for Pa to build them a new home. Soon they are planting and plowing, hunting wild ducks and turkeys, and gathering grass for their cows. But just when they begin to feel settled, they are caught in the middle of a dangerous conflict. Based on the real-life adventures of Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairie is the third book in the award-winning Little House series, which has captivated generations of readers with its depiction of life on the American frontier.
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What Hacker News says
- I would also suggest the childrens books Cheaper by the Dozen, The Musicians of Brennan, Morris' Disappearing Bag and The Red Badge of Courage.
I'd maybe throw in some of the little house on the prairie books as well, especially the one where they all almost froze to death.
I think being able to appreciate books as an adult is pretty contingent on being exposed to good books as a youth.
- I enjoyed My Father's Dragon so much! Also the Little House on the Prairie books, and then when she's a little older, everything by Tamara Pierce.
- I've encountered flibbertigibbet and Brobdingnagian. Never encountered hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia before, at least I don't remember encountering it.
Flibbertigibbet appears in some of the Little House on the Prairie (Laura and Mary) books, if I remember right.
And I've also read Gulliver's Travels which is where Brobdingnagian comes from. Brobdingnag was a land of giants. Pretty sure I've seen the word used elsewhere though.
- Because an AI model is not a market replacement for a book. ChatGPT doesn't compete against Little House on the Prairie.
- If I remember correctly, one of the first white people to successfully visit the Māori reported that when he told them he didn't know how to make pistols, black powder, porcelain, hemp rope, etc., they thought he was lying, because in their culture everyone knew how to make everything. There was a division between men's work and women's work, that was all. They had specialization, but not of the kind you are talking about.
The Little House on the Prairie books fictionalize the childhoods of Laura Ingalls Wilder and Almanzo Wilder in the US in the late 19th century. They expected their readers, whose grandparents had grown up in similar conditions, to believe that one or more of their parents knew how to shoot a bear, build a house, dig a well, poultice wasp stings, cast bullets, fertilize and grow crops, make cheese, whitewash walls, drive horses, run a business, read a book, play the fiddle, dance a jig, sing, keep bees, clear fields in forests, harvest honey, spin thread, weave cloth, thresh wheat, and many other activities. There were "store-bought" goods produced by the kind of specialization you're talking about, but Laura's family had a few durable goods of that sort (Pa's rifle and ax, the family Bible) and mostly they just did without.
More recently the Lykov family survived 40 years of total isolation from society, missing World War II completely, but did suffer some heartbreaking losses in material standard of living because they didn't know, for example, how to make ceramic or iron. Agafia Lykova is still living there on her parents' homestead, nearly a century later.
Specialization is indeed very efficient, but that answers the questions, "What can I do for others?" and "How can we survive?" Historical answers bespeaking specialization are archived in many of our surnames in the West: Cooper, Fuller, Goldschmidt, Herrero, Nailer, Roper, Molnar, and, of course, Potter.
But for those questions to matter, we also need to answer the questions, "How can I be happy?" and "How can we be happy?", and for thousands of years it has been at least widely believed that devoting your entire self to specialization runs counter to those goals—among other things, because it can open doors to the kinds of exploitation, unfreedom, and insecurity the article is lamenting. And sometimes regional specialization leads not to prosperity for every region but to impoverishment, and regaining the lost skills is the path out of the kind of abysmal poverty that produces regular famines; that's why there's a charkha on the Indian flag.
TI was no exemplar here; you can't even write your own machine code to run on the TI-99/4A, but the situation with Nest is in many ways far worse. I think it's worth distinguishing between situations where someone chooses not to learn about, modify, or repair artifacts, and situations like these where they are not permitted to learn, especially when the prohibition is established in order to exploit them economically, as in both the TI case and the Nest case, or as in medieval guilds.
Some specializations are thousands of years old; tin mining in Cornwall supported much of the Bronze Age, and silicosis was already known as an occupational disease of potters in Classical times. But 80 hours a week breaking rocks in a tin mine is not a path to human flourishing, nor to economic prosperity for the person doing it. Neither is buying thermostats you aren't allowed to understand. We shouldn't idealize it just because it's profitable.
- The Little House on the Prairie books? Today they are categorized as autobiographical fiction or Roman à clef. Try reading Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser[1]. Wilder's books negatively portray Native Americans, and gloss over her family's illegal occupation of land what was then still Osage Nation's territory.
