A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marra

It's not uncommon for friends in the book business to send me a care package full of books, bless their hearts. They'll send books they know I'd like, some of the hot titles for a particular season, and suggest a few others they are especially enamored with. Few events make my day more than this.  It is, after all, a box(!) full(!) of new books(!). And what is better than a box full of new books?  Damn near nothing.

At the top of the last care package were two that had post-its on them, The Dinner by Herman Koch, which I ended up hating (sorry, 'Chele), and this, which I loved and won't shut up about. 

This stunning debut takes place in Chechnya and has only half a dozen characters. It meanders back and forth over the ten years of the first and second wars that left the country desolate and broken though via flashbacks and memories of some of the characters, it goes back even further in Chechnya's twisted history.  

The setup is simple: in the middle of the night, Dokka is taken away and his house burned to the ground, for what we're not certain. He has prepared his eight year-old daughter, Havaa, with an already packed suitcase, who hides and escapes capture. Our main character, Akhmed, Dokka's lifelong friend and neighbor, finds her and tries to secure for her a safe place in a land with few safe places left. A failed doctor himself, he takes Havaa to a sad, nearly abandoned hospital that has only one doctor, one nurse and a one-armed security guard on staff. He makes a plea to Sonja, the flinty, worn-out doctor, to keep Havaa there and a deal that he will work there if she will consent.

Marra's writing is elegant and funny despite the constant brutality he describes. He makes me laugh like Jonathan Safran Foer did in his debut, Everything Is Illuminated.  His prose sings and is reminiscent of Leif Enger in its beauty.  For example, he describes Akhmed taking care of his long-ailing wife, Ula, this way: "He was losing her incrementally. It might be a few stray brown hairs listless on the pillow, or the crescents of bitten fingernails tossed behind the headboard or a dark shape dissolving in soap. As a net is no more than holes tied together, they were bonded by what was no longer there." 

It is a masterful work made even moreso by being the first from the author. If I haven't summarized or described this book well enough to intrigue you, please dismiss my writerly inabilities and seek out this novel for yourself. Better still, you may read an excerpt here: http://goo.gl/92g58

 

Whatever happened to Jonathan Valin?

One of the cool literary aspects I came across when I arrived in this burg many years ago was a mystery writer named Jonathan Valin, a local who set his stories in Cincy.  His recurring character, a private dick named Harry Stoner had a certain schlumpy appeal.  He was a tough guy who drank too much but he was on the right side of the moral morass. Like most of the heroes of the genre, he was conflicted and brooding, could take a punch and hand out a beating.  That and he drove a rusting Pinto (!) all the while remaining a decent fellow.  What's not to like?

Perhaps you big-city folk are used to reading suspenseful tales set in your town but I found a certain thrill in his descriptions of the Queen City and its people.  Valin saw Cincinnati for what it was--a midwestern town with a rich history that wants to be the team captain but is really the backbencher with the clipboard.  As Stoner says "I suppose you have to like Cincinnatians...They're small-minded and drab and about as hopelessly parochial as any large group of people can be but they elected Carl Klinger mayor after he was caught in a Newport (KY) brother and they tried to make Pete Rose into a city park".  The 'Nati in a nutshell.

Upon finding a copy of Missing in one of my favorite second-hand shops, I decided to re-read another Valin title, Final Notice.  It's a tale set in a local library branch where art books are found to have the faces and 'lady parts' of photos cut out alerting the library staff that perhaps a nutjob is on the loose.  Enter Harry Stoner who makes short work of the situation, not only figuring out who the perp is but linking him to a brutal murder from two years prior.  Valin works quickly and efficiently and Stoner is a likable shamus who gets in one dust-up after another while falling in love with a hot, young librarian.  The story is tense and violent though a little dated and formulaic as I expected it to be.  Still, good fun and a suitable vacation read.  

Over roughly fifteen years, Valin produced a dozen or so Harry Stoner mysteries but with only average sales and no "breakout" book, he decided to call it a day in the mid-nineties.  He now writes for a few audiophile magazines and websites, the Stoner novels out of print.  Given how the genre has changed and readers have become a bit more sophisticated, I'd love to see Valin pick up his pen and bring Harry in from the cold.  This town could use a hero.  

World Book Night 2013

It isn't often that I get to be a part of something big but I had the distinct privilege to be a Book Giver again this year for World Book Night 2013.  Now in its second year in the US, World Book Night is aimed not at book devourers like me but at people who don't read or don't read much.  The advisory board at WBN manages to come up with a list of thirty marvelous books (fiction and non-, classic and contemporary) and then, volunteers, some 25,000 of them this year, give those copies away to light readers.  Somehow, the folks at WBN have been able to get everyone--publishers, authors, printers, binders, shippers--to do it for free. The aim is to give away half a million books in the US and UK in one day. That's big, especially at a time when reading books is low on the list of priorities for most people. 

I've said it before but the thing I miss most about bookselling was when I used to finish a book, close the back cover and think to myself "Who is going to love this book? Who needs to read this? I can't wait to get to work to put this book in someone's hands".  WBN allows me to do that again, to recapture that feeling after all these years away from the bookstore floor.  

My choice was City of Thieves by David Benioff which I raved about in 2009 (http://goo.gl/OIWIr).  Whereas last year, I focused on giving books to co-workers and neighbors, this year I thought I'd go with the flow a bit more even though the first four copies I gave away were at my job. 

To start, I gave a copy to the woman who runs the day care where I take my dog and a woman my wife teaches with who was dropping off her dog at the same time.  Both were delighted.

Then it was on to the barber shop where two of the barbers were interested.  Oddly, a fellow getting his hair cut had just read the book and raved about it with me.  

From there I went shopping and as I got out of my car, I noticed an older gent reading the newspaper in his car, presumably waiting for his wife while she shopped.  I asked him if he'd like a copy of a "really terrific book" and once I told him I had no agenda, wasn't asking for money, and the book espoused no religious beliefs, political convictions or conspiracy theories, he agreed.  When I told him it was set during World War II, he thanked me and explained to me how important it was to read stories like these "even if it's fiction".  

Home for lunch, I gave away two copies to neighbors of mine, neither of whom read at all.  Both were out doing yard work and I got to revisit my handselling skills.  After telling them about the story, they were hooked.  As Ralph Malph used to say, "I still got it".

Next was my mechanic who swears he's so tired at days ends, he hasn't read in years but after my summary of the story and the fact that 25,000 people like me were giving away so many books in one day, he said he'd be honored to accept a copy.

A nearby firehouse was my next stop.  Knowing these folks have a lot of downtime between runs, it was a no-brainer. The two firemen I spoke with couldn't have been more grateful and asked for an extra copy.  My pleasure.    

Mrs. Next had plans with friends that evening so I was a swingin' bachelor and went to a favorite neighborhood dump for wings and a burger.  Sitting at the bar, I chatted with one of the regulars with whom I have a nodding relationship (we don't actually know each other but I've frequented the place long enough that the regulars nod at me when I come in).  He, too, left with a book that evening. 

The only person who turned me down was Peter who runs the gas station nearby. He said his English wasn't good enough and if he took a copy but didn't read it, he wouldn't be "respecting the book". I thanked him. 

I'm saving my last copy.  Not for me, of course. It's for a young man whom I watched grow up.  His family lives a block away, we've known them a long time and I've always been fond of him.  Bright, energetic, and with a sly smile, in his twenties he was diagnosed as schizophrenic.  Now he walks all over the area in shirt and tie, usually doing good deeds like raking lawns or shoveling snow. He refuses to take money though I'm sure he could use it. He has good days mostly and I always stop him to ask how he's doing and how he's spending his time. He was always a reader but now he turns almost exclusively to his Bible.  It is my hope he might add this to his reading list.

So, thank you, friends, colleagues and strangers for indulging an old bookseller. What a great pleasure for me to put a book in your hands.

Thank you to everyone who made this a success.
 
Thank you, World Book Night HQ for allowing me to be part of something big. 

Let's do this again next year. 


To learn more, visit http://www.us.worldbooknight.org/ 

Winters' Tales by Jonathan Winters

Alas, we've lost Jonathan Winters.  

If you knew his work as

an actor and comic, you know what an incredible talent he was but if you look into who he was, you'll find darkness.  An only child who felt unloved by his parents who divorced when he was quite young, he was alcoholic and he suffered breakdowns for which he was institutionalized.  There were voices in his head, for certain, but unlike most who suffer, he brought them out to play and put them onstage for the world to see and hear.  This was how he coped, I suppose, and how he found success.  

In the late '80's, Vintage published Winters' Tales: Stories and Observations for the Unusual, and unusual they are.  Since he passed last week, I've been re-reading it for the first time in years. I've no idea how well the book sold or if it's still in print but I would imagine most of his fans who bought the book were disappointed it wasn't a "laff riot" because Winters' Tales is not what you expect at all. 

A mix of memoir and fiction, most of the pieces are very short, some are dated and the gags threadbare, a few are downright creepy but throughout, they are very, very dark.  Still, there are many that are really wonderful, especially the stories in the section, Children's Voices. What Are You Frightened of, Johnny?,  I Was Behind the Couch All the Time, and How Much Money Did You Make Today, Little Man? are my favorites. They appear to be autobiographical and are surprisingly hopeful. More than anything, the book seems to lay all his demons out there for everyone to see, maybe even more than he did onstage, and that took considerable bravery.

If you ever want to see a master at work, check out this clip from the Jack Paar show where Winters does four minutes with nothing but a stick.  Astonishing.

 

Story Prize Winner

In my last post, I raved about Clare Vaye Watkins and her debut short story collection, Battleborn.  

Now, news comes from our friends at Shelf Awareness that she was awarded the Story Prize (http://goo.gl/772lb). The rookie writer faced some very stiff and august competition to win the $20,000 prize.  

Further proof you should read this impressive book.  

The New Strength of the Short Story

For years, short stories have been given short shrift (is there any other kind of shrift?).  The complaints are many: collections don't sell as well as novels, the authors lack the ability to write full-length works, the reading public wants one long story, blah, freakin' blah, freakin' blah.  Oh yeah?  One word for you: Hemingway.  Another: Salinger.  I could go on but I won't belabor the point, an unusual position for me since many say that's what I do best. 

Interestingly, a recent Times article (http://goo.gl/ZNtMa) argues that the short story is making a comeback because it fits well on tablets and phones and because the distinct lack of length complements the collective short attention span of the early 21st century. Therefore, I find it especially heartening to find two short story collections included on the latest New York Times bestsellers list: Tenth of December by George Saunders and Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell. 

Some assess the work of George Saunders as "weird just to be weird".  They are not only mistaken but are missing the point. Tenth of December, which has been lauded as "the best book you'll read this year" (http://goo.gl/DuSo1), is indeed his breakthrough book, a breathtaking collection of stories that left me panting.  It has boundless heart and humor (Puppy, Victory Lap), generous grace and warmth (the title story) and yet, like the bulk of Saunders' backlist, remains odd (My Chivalric Fiasco), often uncomfortable (Escape From Spiderhead), and sated with sadness (Home).  All of Saunders' work has always touched me deeply but he has reached new heights here.  His greatness is that he makes us feel and feel deeply for these characters.
  

Karen Russell can make something absolutely beautiful out of nothing.  St. Lucy's Home For Girls Raised by Wolves, her debut collection, was wildly imaginative, and her novel, Swamplandia!, itself born from a short story, proved she was only going to continue to amaze us.  The eight stories that comprise Vampires in the Lemon Grove are a testament to how well she writes and is replete with those breathless moments I relish.  The only drawback is that I found the collection a bit uneven. 

My favorite, The Barn at the End of Our Term, imagines former U. S. presidents reincarnated as horses. The main character is Rutherford B. Hayes and it is touching and funny and makes you wonder how in hell she ever arrived at the premise.  That said, it is her expert execution of that very premise that makes Russell shine.  Much the same can be said about the haunting Proving Up and Reeling for the Empire in which women in a Japanese silk factory begin to metamorphose into actual silkworms.  The title story somehow manages to make us think about vampires not as Bela Lugosi or their more recent incarnation as pale teen boyfriends but as people faced with living too long. 
 
Unfortunately, the overlong and, frankly, exhausting The New Veterans and the story on Arctic tail-gating that reads like a Shouts & Murmurs piece that needed an editor, bring down the collection by a notch.  There is still plenty at which to marvel, to absorb and commit to memory. 

The new face among the collections I've read recently is Clare Vaye Watkins and her impressive debut, Battleborn.  Watkins is only 28 but writes like the old soul I imagine she was at 8 and 12 and 18.  Throughout all ten stories, we are presented with characters in desperate need to connect, be it with the world, each other or themselves.  Watkins' home state of Nevada provides the setting for all the stories and often acts like a character itself, all dusty, hot, desperate, and often unforgiving.   

The Diggings is a tale of two brothers who set out for California in search of gold but find only madness and desperation.  It is terrifying.  Ghosts, Cowboys contains some autobiographical details about the author (or does it?). Watkins' father was known as Charles Manson's wingman and the story includes history of the Spahn ranch, the desert hideout of Manson's Family.  This may be a chance for the author to rid herself of the inglorious association into which she was born.  The Last Thing We Need, a story told in one-sided letters, is another stand-out.  Unlike Karen Russell's latest, Battleborn is the opposite of uneven. It thrills, it frightens, it questions, it aches and it delivers.  

Some Girls, Some Hats and Hitler by Trudi Kanter

While the title evokes something I'd expect to come from the mouth of Mel Brooks, this touching memoir is an unexpected treasure. Trudi Kanter, a milliner, was enjoying the life of a successful businesswoman, making hats for the chic and well-heeled of Vienna, when Hitler ratcheted up his campaign for European domination by annexing Austria in 1938.  Her slim memoir recounts her life before, during, and afterward.  She was a woman of stern stuff whose survival instinct allowed her, her husband and her parents to survive the era while millions like her did not. 

Despite the dark subject matter, the book is practically breezy in her descriptions of lavish, pre-war Vienna, the mercurial fashion world, and her deep love for her husband, Walter Ehrlich, though it is counterbalanced by the desperation and fear that accompanied the times and her extensive labors to seek safety for her family.

As a kid, I had a guitar teacher who was incredibly talented and, in my naivete, I couldn't understand how it was that he hadn't left my little hometown and made the big time instead of giving Saturday afternoon lessons at the music store to dopes like me for three bucks an hour.  When I asked him this question, he told me "You can be good but you have to be lucky".  That has always stayed with me and Kanter's tale proves out the theory.  Repeatedly, her luck, often in concert with her tears, her looks or her sheer pluck, allowed her to find some kind soul who smiled on her or some tired bureaucrat who looked the other way and awarded her a visa, a necessary document, or letter of recommendation that took her from Vienna to Prague to the relative safety of London.

Making this even more interesting is that, beyond what she reveals in the book, little is known about Kanter.  She died in 1992. She self-published this story in 1984 but the book has been long out of print and no one knows who holds the copyright.  Luckily, an editor found a copy in a book shop and was moved enough to republish it with a new introduction by British novelist Linda Grant and a new sub-title: A True Love Story Rediscovered.  It is well worth your time.

Telegraph Avenue by Michael Chabon

There is little I can add to the voluminous praise for Michael Chabon's latest novel, Telegraph Avenue.  It is a brilliant work that stands alongside the best of the author's canon.   However, since I am one to offer my two cents even when not asked, a few observations:

• As I've stated many times, I'm a sucker for a story of fathers and sons so with Telegraph Avenue, it seems I've hit the motherlode.  There are fathers and sons, fatherless sons, sons and sons, adopted fathers and sons, and men who fit the description "he was like a father to me".  Good fathers, bad fathers, reluctant fathers, confused fathers.  Yearning sons, angry sons, naive sons, and sons you expect to start belting out "Papa, Can You Here Me?".  Actually, damn near any of the male characters might.  Chabon writes at great length about what masculinity comprises but also never fails to show the many, many facets that co-exist within each person.  I think what the author tries to get at in the heads and hearts of his characters is less what it means to 'be a man' and all its attendant failures but what it means to "be a mensch".  (You can look that up if you need.)  That said, I believe his female characters (there are three) are better men than most of the male characters. 

• For the first time since 1999's Werewolves In Their Youth, the story is set in the present day.  Works like Kavalier & Clay and Yiddish Policeman were thick with history and Chabon loves to delve into the details so I wondered if I would be left wanting without the historical elements the author loves to brandish like a scimitar (see Gentlemen of the Road).  Not to worry.  If anything, Telegraph Avenue allows Chabon to indulge his vast knowledge of jazz, blaxploitation films and other pop culture without being too showy or hipper-than-thou.  Let's face it--the man loves minutiae.  Because of him, I know what phosphenes are.  You can look that up, too.

• A friend told me she thinks Chabon loves his characters.  While I'd never considered it in those terms, she's right and that was evident throughout Telegraph Avenue.  There are few writers who can create characters more vivid than Chabon and while we don't always love these characters completely, I believe it's because we aren't meant to.  Instead, we root for them and know, deep down, they will do the best they can despite their limitations, which are often in abundance.  Sound like anyone you know?  Sounds like EVERYONE I know and that is among the reasons this book is such a success.  

• Do not be intimidated by his reputation, by the page count, or the fact that his work is regarded as "important".  Just read it.  You will have to commit to it to a degree as there are a lot of characters and a great deal going on, mostly all at once, but the reward is great as is the author's ability to transfix us, transform us, and transport us.