I was enthralled by Bryson's earliest books about the English language, The Mother Tongue and Made in America. I read and re-read them and still turn to them. Then he broke through with his books about travel and he became a huge star. People were devouring Notes From a Small Island and A Walk in the Woods but they left me cold. To me, they were cranky and not much fun and I gave up on him. Fortunately for Bryson, he didn't need me and the books sold millions of copies and achieved bestseller status.
Thunderbolt Kid, his memoir of growing up in Des Moines, Iowa in the 1950's, strikes just the right balance. It is a personal memoir loaded with historical context, facts and figures and it's funny as hell. It's been years since I've enjoyed his work and it is a welcome return. A perfect vacation read or one of those books you buy because your plane has been delayed indefinitely and you don't have to be a baby boomer to "get" it. Had I the time, I'm sure this could have been read in one sitting. Out in paperback, this is worth your time if you like memoirs or the author.
Remember Big Little Books? I had a few as a kid when they were probably on their last legs but there was something about them I loved. The heft of this small, almost square book and the stories inside appealed to me. They also appeal to Michael Halligan, who becomes obsessed with them, believing they are the key to undoing his life's unhappiness in Short's promising debut novel.
We meet Michael as a five year old and stay with him until he's reaches old age though in many respects, little changes. Michael remains obsessed with the Big Little Books and his strange desire to own every one ever made, including the elusive Trouble in the City of Dreams. The novel is peopled by some interesting characters, including Michael's brutal father and lonely mother and captures parts of the 20th century quite well. Thing is, it's sort of odd. I didn't love it, it didn't wow me; in fact, about a third of the way through the book, I thought about putting it down. It's not a knockout of a book in terms of style or craft nor is it terribly challenging but Short made me want to keep turning the pages and I'm glad I stayed with it. Now that he's gotten that painful first novel out of the way, I'll be interested to read what's next from him.
I just realized that I started this dippy thing, I mean, this fabulous blog two years ago. My first post was August 11, 2006! If you know me at all, I'm sure you're surprised I even have had the discipline to maintain it two months, let alone two years.
It sure doesn't feel like dos anos but I'm glad I'm still at it and I appreciate those of you who have found your way here, told friends and have encouraged me.
Drink up, kids. Here's to me.
Below are my thoughts on a few of the 8 or 10 books I've read since I last posted a review. More to come. I promise.
Sub-titled True Tales of Double Dating with My Dad, Bob Morris, a 40-something, style writer for the NYT, gives us the skinny on his father's love life and his own involvement in it, (which sounds creepy but isn't). Only a few months after Bob's mom passes away, his 80+ year old father, Joe, an irrepressible character of a guy, starts dating again and asks Bob for his help. Bob, gay, single, and a perpetual self-saboteur of his own relationships, grudgingly agrees and quickly finds his father is getting way more action than he is. After a long, mostly happy marriage to a women he truly loved and her long, lingering illness, Joe doesn't want to wait around to meet another woman. Bob not only has a hard time with his dad's fervor but is also rather jealous of his head-first approach to getting back into the dating pool
Joe, unforgivingly set in his ways as only an 80 year Jew can be, splits his time between a retirement community in Great Neck, where it's 3 women for every man, and Palm Beach, Florida, where the odds are even more in his favor, but has a hard time at first. He can't really describe to Bob what he wants in a woman, but he'll "know it when he sees it", which naturally drives Bob crazy. Eventually, Bob gets in the game, too, and suddenly, father and son have way more in common than might be comfortable to some. A quick read, it is sweet as candy and, at times, funny as hell.
The only downside is Bob's inability to get a grip on his relationship with his father. A number of times, he comes across as a petulant child, embarassed as a pissy teenager at his father eating with his mouth open or his choice in clothes. I kept waiting for Bob to grow up and realize how lucky he is to have this time and opportunity with his dad. Instead, he moans. A lot. Though I do admire the fact that he was honest portraying himself this way in the book, the repeated "woe is me" stuff slows the book down and could have been cut down some.
This has got to be the dumbest, lamest thing I've ever seen. I'm sure I've said that before about any number of things (George W. as president, techno-sushi, sitcoms starring Jim Belushi) but, geez, I think I really mean it this time.
I didn't really want the book; I wanted to meet co-author and Dictators lead singer Handsome Dick Manitoba and, like so many others before me, say out loud, "Look at that Handsome Dick!" but the guys at the publishers booth said it was a mistake. He was never really scheduled to come to LA and, in fact, co-author Amy Wallace wasn't coming either because she just had back surgery. They gave me a copy/booby prize. I figured it might be fun in a sort of bathroom book kind of way. WRONG.
Many of the lists are the authors own creation and are either common knowledge (13 punks who OD'd, 7 punks who whipped it out or got naked), or are so stupid, I couldn't even believe it. I'm way too old to try to be punker-than-thou but seriously--108 Punk sub-genres? 'spaz punk'? 'bandana thrash'? 'Swedish enema punk'? C'mon! Or this little gem--Gilby Clark's 10 best punk rock solos! The dude from GnR? Go buy some Aqua-Net, Gilby. By the way, how's the new record coming? The only slightly cool thing about this hunk o' crap are the illustrations by Cliff Mott.
Spare yourself and go spend the 17 bucks on a Dictators record.
Work has been busy, we're redecorating the house and there has been some travel, of late. In other words, lots of lame excuses on my part for not being more up to date but since no one actually reads this thing, I'm cool with getting to the 5 or 6 books I've read this month (most of which I've really liked) when I have more time.
However, I've come across a few interesting book blogs I thought I'd pass on to the people who don't read mine.
First up, Lou Reads. I don't know a lot about her but we seem to have similar taste in some of the books we read and blog about. She's got a nice, breezy style and I appreciate her take on what she reads. Plus, it's called Lou Reads and I'm a sucker for a play on words that leads me back to the irascible Velvet Underground guitarist and singer.
And the colored girls blog: http://loureads.blogspot.com/
I haven't tried Miette's Bedtime Story Podcast yet but I LOVE the idea. When's the last time someone read to you? For the short story lovers and those who love to hear the written word, I dig it. Great mix of authors and stories--The Cask of Amontillado, Richard Brautigan, Roses for Emily, to name a few.
Start downloading at http://www.miettecast.com/
Last is Field-Tested Books. As they say on the site, "We had this notion that somehow through experimentation we could identify how our perception of a book is affected by the place where we read it." So they've collected some well-known writers (Andrei Codrescu, James Finn Garner), some up-and-comers and some scribes that are new to me and posted their pieces on what it meant to them to read Hunter S. Thompson in Bangkok or C. S. Lewis in New Jersey and many others. Kind of cool, kind of insightful.
To start your field work, go here http://www.coudal.com/ftb/index.php and then click Field-Tested Books on the right side.
There are plenty of books I've never made it through despite their reputation and certain authors whom I've found to be just awful even though they've been canonized as great masters. Maybe those books were "of their times" or I'm just not smart enough but mostly, I can only guess these books and authors just didn't speak to me the way others do.
Going through my reader after being on vacation, I found this terrific piece from the Times Online:
http://tinyurl.com/57korp
I thought this was great to see people own up to hating D. H. Lawrence or Dostoevsky or admitting to throwing a Patricia Cornwell novel off a boat.
Take that, Henry James!
Nobody really needs me to weigh in on this one--it was a Book Sense pick and then Starbucks picked it as a title for sale throughout their zillion stores and it's become a huge bestseller so you've probably heard of it or read it or thought about doing so. I say, hell yeah, do it. It's wonderful.
Often I'm too much of a snob to even read a blockbuster bestseller but don't let this conceit stop you. It ain't Tolstoy but I didn't set out to read Tolstoy (actually, I've never read Tolstoy, though I've nothing against him. I just haven't gotten to him yet). Still need an endorsement from ol' Reed Next? I cried in the first eight pages and devoured the book from there. 'Nuff said.
I will say I was reluctant to read a book with a dog as a narrator. A few years back, there seemed to be a mess of 'em--King by John Berger and the efforts of the protagonist of Dogs of Babel to make his dog talk, etc. It just seemed so gimmicky and every publisher was publishing their "talking dog" books. Feh! Sure, sometimes I think it'd be great if my dog could talk but that's part of her appeal, too. She can't speak and yet we can communicate in other ways and that's one of the reasons we're friends. That's probably why I absolutely loved Enzo and wish he were my friend.
There are times when the book gets a little melodramatic but these instances are forgivable. The relationship Enzo and Denny have is so honest and Enzo's own musings--his love of television, his desire for opposable thumbs, his belief in reincarnation--are just delightful. His perspective is so genuine and funny and though we'll never know what our dogs really think and feel, I want to believe Stein gets it right.
First off, no. It's not that David Gilmour. This David Gilmour is a Canayjin (say it out loud) novelist who sees his teenage son, Jesse, start to flounder in school, despite being a bright kid. It gets so bad that Jesse begs to be allowed to drop out of grade 10. (Notice that? Grade 10 not tenth grade? I've been to Canada. Twice.) Gilmour, divorced from Jesse's mother but still on good terms, struggles with the decision. Throughout much of the book, he is an out of work film critic and at loose ends himself but finally allows Jesse to drop out with the requirement that they watch three films together per week of Gilmour's choosing. No prep, no previews, no quizzes. No excuses.
Now I'm a sucker for father and son stories. My own father was quite the movie lover and I have the fondest memories of watching movies with him, movies that were sometimes well above my head, but which he patiently, but never patronizingly, explained. Some of this book took me back to that so thank you, Gilmour Boys.
What really worked well was that watching the movies together gave them something to talk about; a shared experience, which led to more talking. Gilmour struggles with his decision to let Jesse drop out and often second guesses himself and Jesse, deep in the maelstrom of teenage existence and young love, is a little melodramatic at times but he pulls it together when he needs to. Still, it leads to trust and love and dialogue and growth for them both and that's where the short, sweet story succeeds.
I hadn't read Mary Roach before but had always heard good things. After reading BONK, I think I'll read both her backlist titles, Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers and Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife. Not only did I find her work wildly informative but she is funny as hell. Many nights, as I lie in bed reading the book (or did I lay in bed? I never remember), trying to hold back the laughs so as not to wake my wife, I'd finally bust out with a proper and satifying guffaw and rouse my wife from slumber. Sorry babe.(So you know, I'm among the last people on the planet who actually guffaw anymore. Guffawing was outlawed in the early days of the Bush administration so let's just keep this entre nous or Dick Cheney might send his flying monkeys to my house and send me to Gitmo)
I also found myself, involuntarily, squeezing my thighs together in revulsion at some of Roach's scientific descriptions, including certain devices like the penis cam, which, you guessed it, was inserted INSIDE someone's hoo-ha, voluntarily and in the name of science. This usually led to a bout of wincing and brow-knitting. As well, I learned entirely too much about the plumbing with which my wife is equipped. Still, Roach makes you want to keep reading despite the often uncomfortable knowledge you gain about the science behind the sex and she keeps you laughing throughout.
My eye was caught by what appeared to be African-inspired artwork on the front cover and by the back cover copy of this book, a debut novel from an author I'd never heard of and whose name I don't know how to pronounce. (Can anybody help me out here? It's a marvelous name.) Without looking for them, I then stumbled across a couple of favorable reviews of Blood Kin that convinced me to move it up the pile. Sadly, I was disappointed.
The book begins as the unnamed president of an unnamed country is overthrown in a violent coup d'etat. The beginnings of this new order is narrated, in alternating chapters, by the former presidents' barber, his portraitist and his chef. (Later chapters are narrated by the women in their lives.) Much of the story takes place at the presidential residence as the junta begins their hold as the new governing body, finding the men unsure if they are to be held responsible for the crimes of the old guard or if they will continue on in their same capacities under the new regime.
An intriguing premise, which I found tense but tenuous. In the situations these characters faced, I certainly didn't expect warmth or charm but I had hoped for grace or redemption. Instead, I found the characters flat and unlikeable, especially the wife of the portraitist (don't get me started on that broad) and the story unlikely. Despite the solid reviews, it just didn't grab me the way I had hoped.
I met Leif Enger in January in Louisville at Winter Institute but I was kind of loaded and feel as though I overwhelmed the poor man a bit with my "enthusiasm" for his first novel, Peace Like A River.
Last night, I had the opportunity to see him again at a signing during a multi-city book tour to support his latest novel, So Brave, Young, and Handsome. (Go to February 2008 for my thoughts on this marvelous book.) Since I wasn't drinking with friends before the signing, I was likely to be less of an ass this time. (I was.) Plus I figured if he didn't run away when he saw me coming, he might have forgotten the whole ordeal. (He had.)
Before a crowd of only 20 or 25 people, Leif spoke a bit, read from the book and fielded questions.
The reading was magnificent. He was able to transport us all to 1915 Minnesota where we were lucky enough to have breakfast with Glendon Hale, Monte Becket, Monte's son, Redstart and his wife, Susannah. Later, we were treated to the spectacle that was Hood Roberts debut at the 101 Ranch in Ponca City, Oklahoma. I always tell my authors "no one knows your book better than you" and it was obvious Leif not only knew his book but assuredly loved his characters.
Several of his comments stayed with me:
On themes of both his novels, he said "Atonement is an important thing for me. Redemption is also an important thing for me."
When asked if he is teaching in between writing novels, he said that he isn't but is intrigued by the idea. However, he felt he might not be the best writing teacher. "I don't know much about what's under the hood of this thing. I just try to write clean sentences."
Someone remarked about how spirituality was a quality in his characters and he said he preferred to think of it as faith, which he then described. "Faith is like your name or the glasses you put on in the morning--it's how you look at things."
He came off as a very genuine fellow and it was a pleasure meeting him again and hearing him read. He said his next book is starting to come together but it'll be a departure for him. It will be set in the present day, written in third person and the main character is likely to be a 15 year old boy growing up on the shores of Lake Superior.
I can't wait.
Benjamin R. Ford--Bennie--is stuck at O'Hare trying desperately to get to the West Coast to attend the commitment ceremony of his long estranged daughter, Stella. Bennie has been many things--a drunk, a poet, an academic, a husband. He pushed his world away from him but there's a small chance it can come around to him again if he can just get out of the g-ddamn airport. With his flight canceled and time ticking away, he angrily starts writing a letter to American Airlines demanding his money back for the tremendous inconvenience, the extent of which, they'll never know. The whole book, a slight novel clocking in at only 180 pages, is his ongoing, self-revealing pissed-off missive to American.
Miles writes about alcohol as a "drinks" writer for the New York Times but if he only has one novel in him (though I hope not), he has acquitted himself most admirably. In describing his parents tortured relationship, he says "They were less parents than cellmates." When his father dies when Bennie was 15, he recalls it this way: "He was only forty-eight but his death felt like that of a nursing home patient who'd been bedridden and cancer-racked for years: an act of mercy, a gift rather than a theft." I kept re-reading these little bits and sucking on them like a hard candy I love to eat but rarely have. Dear American Airlines is rich, it is funny, it is quotable and it is heartbreaking.
Simply, Michael Wex rocks. I gushed over Born to Kvetch (which was actually the first booked I blogged about when I started this mess in August of 2006) and I'll gush over this one. Now you'll say to yourself, "Reed Next? Doesn't sound Jewish." Well, it was Nechtbergowitz when we lived in Old Neighborhood but became Next when we moved the suburbs. I digress. Just Say Nu is a wonderful examination of a very rich language and not in a textbook kind of way but, in this case, a practical way. Wex is teaching you phrases that can be of use like small talk, words and terms for greetings, family, food and drink and the like even if you don't plan on speaking Yiddish. He also highlights 5 words that'll get you through any Yiddish conversation and shows the amazing range and versatility of words like "Nu".
But like the kid who starts looking up terms for sex in the dictionary and encyclopedia at that certain age (c,mon, you did it, too), Wex shares this information, as well. Nu? Need to know eleven Yiddish words for 'breasts'? See chapter 8. A variety of ways to tell people to shut up? Chapter 4 is loaded. How about a Yiddish version of "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer? See page 61 and get ready to sing along.
Even if you speak NO Yiddish, I'm going to bet you can figure this one out:
Haysn hays ikh Maurice, nor rifn rift men mikh "the space cowboy".
Useful, funny, sweet, and informative beyond expectation, this book is an absolute mekheiyeh. You should enjoy.
Saw this in today's Shelf Awareness:
"Poof. For the first time since 1998, there are no Harry Potter titles on the New York Times (Times) noted. The Harry pileup on the hardcover fiction list led to several changes of the paper's bestsellers, including the creation of a separate children's list." Amazing! For 10 years, there has been a Potter presence on the List. Say what you will about Harry but that's quite a literary and cultural achievement.
Lots of hype on this one and unquestionably a page-turner, but...
A pharmacist named Sweeney, shattered by an accident that has left his son, Danny, comatose, takes a new job at an esteemed but very strange clinic where the creepy Dr. Peck has successfully revived a small number of coma patients. Danny has been admitted and Dr. Peck believes that he is an excellent candidate for "resurrection." Prior to his accident, Danny was a fanatic for a comic book called Limbo, the adventures of a troupe of circus freaks and their travails. The chapters alternate between the tale of the freaks, led by a chicken-boy (aptly named Chick) and what unfolds with Sweeney, Danny, Dr. Peck, Peck's daughter, and a whacked-out biker gang called The Abominations.
Confusing? Sure it is but that's not the problem. Between switching back and forth from one story to the other, so much shit happens, it's like O'Connell has tried to cram the book with every damn thing he can think of only to have me wondering, with about 80 pages left, "what the hell is going on and how's he going to pull it together?" Oddly, I figured it out as I was in the half-sleep before dozing off for the night (how appropriate) and he does pull it off, I suppose, but not without leaving the reader absolutely exhausted by his kitchen sink approach.
Okay, it's not really Latin; more like pidgin Latin but I'm calling myself out: I slack therefore I suck.
I've got two books that I need to write about, both of which I really liked, but it's been busy and I haven't felt all that creative so I haven't written and now I'm feeling that guilt and pressure of not having done so (awww, poor blogger dork--such a burden being you). Kind of like when you DVR a bunch of stuff and you don't really feel like watching TV but you get that nagging sense that the shows are piling up so you better watch them and get them erased as if it really matters, which, of course, it doesn't but this does seem to be a more recent anxiety of mine.
Look soon for posts on the delightful Just Say Nu?, the delightful follow-up to the delightful Born to Kvetch by the delightful Michael Wex and Dear American Airlines by Jonathan Miles, a timelier tome, I can't imagine, what with American crapping out on more than 3000 flights last week while their planes were inspected. The book won't be out for a few weeks but it's a good one and one that you will dig.
The Young Lions Fiction award nominees have been named:Ron Currie, Jr. (God Is Dead)Ellen Litman (The Last Chicken in America)Peter Nathaniel Malae (Teach the Free Man)Dinaw Mengestu (The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears)Emily Mitchell (The Last Summer of the World) I bring this up because I was impressed with Ron Currie's book that I blogged about last June: http://reednext.blogspot.com/search?q=ron+currie. In my post, I said I believed there was some residual grad school-ness about the book and someone commented "Dude, Ron didn't go to grad school!" Loved that.
Though I haven't read any of the other books, I've heard good things about Litman's and Mengestu's books.The award ceremony will take place on 4/28/08 and the winner gets $10,000. Oddly, actor Ethan Hawke was a co-founder of the award. While I think it's a wonderful thing and he should be commended, something about Hawke makes me ill.
A bunch of great reads and a few surprises as the American Booksellers Association names the Book Sense 2008 Book of the Year winners and runners-up in four categories (Fiction, Non-fiction, Children's Lit and Children's Illustrated):http://news.bookweb.org/5922.htmlMost of these are bestsellers already but this will give them all a boost. I'm pleased to say more than a few of the winners and runners-up were written up on this very blog.
I'm hoping Hosseini will be able to attend the June awards ceremony at Book Expo America at the LA Convention Center. I'll be at the reception and would love to hear him speak.
I was enthralled by Bryson's earliest books about the English language, The Mother Tongue and Made in America. I read and re-read them and still turn to them. Then he broke through with his books about travel and he became a huge star. People were devouring Notes From a Small Island and A Walk in the Woods but they left me cold. To me, they were cranky and not much fun and I gave up on him. Fortunately for Bryson, he didn't need me and the books sold millions of copies and achieved bestseller status. 
