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312 pages, Hardcover
Published September 6, 2022
You were curious when your hand reached out to pick up this book. What is that curiosity? Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral? Is it ethereal or tangible? Like a loris, can it be categorized and classified, or like love, is it difficult to define? It feels impossible to choose precise words to answer these questions. And yet curiosity seems as if it should be definable because . . . well, because . . . because it is so simple. And perhaps it seems so simple because it is so common.
Curiosity is one word, one string of letters, one concept in the mind, but curiosity also has multiple manifestations, a plethora of practices, and kindred kinds in many bodies. Like a genus spanning species or our mother embracing her eleven children, curiosity is both one and many. The one and many nature of curiosity is an opportunity for the attainment of epistemic freedoms: we are permitted to be curious! But it is also a liability for the perpetration of epistemic injustices: we are permitted to be curious in less than many ways.
The busybody, the hunter, and the dancer each highlight a unique praxis of curiosity. Whether it involves collecting new bits of information, tracking down specific answers, or experimenting with breaks in tradition, each model illuminates a different modal dimension. They are not static representations of curiosity as such but rather dynamic depictions of how curiosity works, how it behaves, and what it does. They portray how curiosity moves. Throughout philosophical history, busybodying, hunting, and dancing capture specific kinesthetic signatures that map out different styles of knowledge network building in conceptual and social space.
Cracks conduct movement and advance entropy. The crack of curiosity allows the hidden to fly with hatchling wings, the unthought to effuse in a lavalike flow, and the buried to root through nutrient-rich soil. A rooting radicle. A radical conception. A thought uprooted, rerooted, changed from the root as radicalized. A riddled similarity, the curious mind and the first fruition of the seedling are notably alike. As naturalist Charles Darwin penned in his The Power of Movement in Plants, “It is hardly an exaggeration to say that the tip of the radicle thus endowed . . . acts like the brain . . . ; the brain being situated within the anterior end of the body, receiving impressions from the sense-organs, and directing the several movements.” Tucking their head down in the safe darkness and anonymity deep beneath the turf, the radicle riotously flings their white sinewy arms into the superficial dirt and spreads their green leafy legs into the air. And then they walk. Walk the air. Walk the sky. Walk over the face of the sun. They walk a circumnutating trail and think — think about how the world looks from this angle, from that distance, from above, beneath, and aside. Their imbibition is a conduit for imbrication; the crack in the soaked seed coat from which the radicle first peers is the prerequisite for the curious walk by which edges of distinction overlap, layers of perception form, and networks of realization grow. When next it rains, we must pause beneath the sky to soak our woolen coats. Then we will stand on our heads and step our legs across the clouds.