So much to read

28 February 2006

 

Don’t Get Too Comfortable

David Rakoff

Perfectly navigating that delicate balance of a biting wit and endearing charm, Rakoff is probably the best of the modern personal essay magazine writers.  He visits Central Park with a modern-day hunter-gatherer, goes on a 20-day fast, and explores plastic surgery, cryogenics and gay Republicans, among other oddities.  It’s a look at The Way We Live Now, at least for a certain wealthy and smart segment of the world, or for the rest of us who want to escape there with an excellent tour guide.

 

The Golden Notebook

Doris Lessing

Thanks to a friend’s encouragement, I finally got around to reading this.  Anna Wulf, British writer, feminist, and communist in the 1950s, keeps four separate notebooks: a record of her days as a young adult in Africa; a novel; a personal journal; and a political diary.  I found the beginning annoying, but once I got into the Africa story I was hooked.  That and the novel, the two notebooks with narratives, were much more enjoyable than the other two.  Interspersed is the story of Anna’s life in the third person; both this and the Africa story are reflected in the novel (as Lessing’s life is most likely reflected in all three).  In the end, Anna tries to integrate the four notebooks into one Golden one.  I don’t think I’m alone among modern readers in having trouble understanding British fiction of even half a century ago; not only spelling, vocabulary and grammar, but deeper sentence structure and, by implication, thought structure, it seems, are quite different from ours today.  But some things come through all too clearly, and, unfortunately, are likely universal throughout time and place: namely the difficulty of relationships between men and women, and the fact that young political idealists see no need to behave like decent human beings.

 

Broken for You

Stephanie Kallos

Weird fun.  The premise is that an older woman, surrounded by the relics of her past in her Seattle mansion, learns she hasn’t long to live.  Her ad for a roommate is answered by a young stage manager determined not to let go of the boyfriend who left her.  Like many novels, it doesn’t live up to the promise of its opening pages, and by the end has dissolved into a silly fairy tale, but in between it delights with off-beat kookiness.  Kallos even pulls off that universal cop-out, the dream sequence – hers are both entertaining and believable.

 

America: A Prophecy

A Sparrow Reader, edited by Marcus Boon

This review appeared in the February 2006 issue of Chronogram.

America: A Prophecy begins with Sparrow telling us how ill-suited he is to his name, telling us how ill-suited he is to his name, which was bestowed upon him 25 years ago by a woman who wore a purple snood and called herself the Princess of Love. He thinks it's too wimpy, and he has a point, but if we think of him as a small voice in the wilderness, something ever-present but not overbearing, fluttering at the edges of our consciousness, it's not a bad fit.

After years of gradually becoming aware of Sparrow's byline on letters to the editor and short pieces in various small magazines and free newspapers—wise commentaries, often funny, sometimes bittersweet—I grew curious about who this person was. Man? Woman? Young? Old? Surely some sort of hippie, with that name, yet too humble and open-minded to be an ideologue. But after finishing this collection, I'm still not certain who he is.

The book ends with approximately 100,000 biographical notes on Sparrow, and that number is only a slight exaggeration, as are some of the entries. I'm pretty sure he's never been a submarine captain, but some things are clear: He's a troublemaker who likes to take long baths, a substitute teacher living on a shoestring budget in the Catskills, a poet in the Greenwich Village scene, a Marxist who has run for President four times, a Conservative Jew and a Buddhist, a 50-something husband and father, and a fan of musicals.

Mostly, he's someone who pays attention. For a guy who hasn't watched television in 28 years, he sure knows a heck of a lot about pop culture.

This collection spans the breadth of Sparrow's writing: from surreal flights of fancy like an account of sex with an ant or an interview with Kurt Cobain after his death, to quiet observations about the sky in the Catskills and his baby daughter, to quotidian dramas like his wife's having a cockroach stuck in her ear. Sparrow is a master at clever subversion (you gotta love a guy who hands out free books in front of The Wiz to discourage people from buying televisions), a student of history, and passionate about language and literature.

My favorite is his "Translations of the New Yorker into English."  They bring the reader up short—how can Sparrow nail in just a couple of sentences what took John Updike or Robert Pinsky five stanzas to dance around? Sparrow has no patience for pretension—it's one of his best qualities; he seeks spirituality in a Manhattan Bloomingdale's and beauty in e-mail spam. Yet he's merciless in his disdain for the proliferation of bad poetry.

Currently a columnist for the Phoenicia Times and a frequent contributor to this magazine, Sparrow is finally achieving a bit of fame by writing bumper stickers. Short, pithy insights are his strength, and this collection includes dozens of his proverbs: Cerebral one-liners that sneak up on you, give you a tickle, and leave you pleasantly dazed. If only he wrote fortune cookies.

America: A Prophecy leans toward the silly, and that's plenty entertaining, but what I like best is his own voice of reason, that of another befuddled human being trying to make sense of an absurd and frequently disappointing world. And the book's organization, if there is one, is inscrutable. Pieces are dated, but not always with years, and since they jump around chronologically, keeping track of which President Bush and which wasteful Middle East war Sparrow is deriding requires some effort.

America: A Prophecy, like Sparrow, has no platform; it's best dipped into at random and savored in small doses—all the better to make it last. To quote one of Sparrow's proverbs: One noodle, long enough, is a meal.

 

 

4 November 2005

 

Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream

Barbara Ehrenreich

In her follow up to Nickel and Dimed (which, despite being the book everyone loves to say they are reading, seems to have done nothing to halt the massive screwing over of poor people) Ehrenreich goes undercover to try and secure a corporate job.  She has such a hard time getting hired that the book is more about unemployment than working life – the only jobs she is offered are selling insurance on commission and peddling Mary Kay products.  As she points out, it’s more and more common that the worker is not given benefits, a guaranteed salary, or even an office to work out of, and even expected to invest her own money up front.  She meets employed people searching for jobs and discovers that they’re just as unhappy as the unemployed, and as discouraging as being out of work is, it’s made more difficult by having to seek a job that you know won’t bring you satisfaction or security.  Ehrenreich is a “brown shoes will be fine with navy pants, right?” kind of girl, and she’s tooled her resume, but it isn’t exactly corporate material.  So it may not be surprising that she can’t play the game, but why should such a smart, articulate and hard-working woman have to play a game to get a job? What this book really reveals is that the business world is built on air; you fake your way in, and then fake your way through a job trying to convince people they want things that they don’t need.  To her credit, Ehrenreich has turned this horribly depressing subject into compelling, and even funny, reading.

 

Clearcut

Nina Shengold

When fate throws together three irrepressibly sexy people in Pacific Northwest timberland, it’s only a matter of time before fingers are trembling and lips are aching hungrily.  It’s quite satisfying as logger porn (loggerotica?  A longjohn ripper?), but Shengold also has lovely things to say about desire, heartbreak, and loneliness, and she keeps the plot clicking along at a satisfying clip.  Truly pleasure reading.

 

The Early Arrival of Dreams: A Year in China

Rosemary Mahoney

Written before Tiananmen, this is Mahoney’s account of the year she spent teaching in China as a young woman in the late 1980s.  It’s my favorite sort of travel writing: a likable author with a sharp eye shares her experiences in a new place, letting us get to know her acquaintances and friends (including the usual wacky expats), and sharing her thoughts and observations.  As a teacher, she fought a losing battle with woefully neglected schools and students who had spent years without any notion of critical thinking.  As a tourist, she was constantly thwarted by inefficiency and corruption (that’s the thing about communists, working together to make things run well is the last thing they want to do).  China is hot and dangerous and uncomfortable, but it charmed Mahoney, as it does her readers.

 

Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture

Ariel Levy

‘Girls Gone Wild’, striptease aerobics, invitation-only orgies in Manhattan lofts – we’re constantly told how empowering our “sex-positive” culture is for women.  Levy isn’t buying it, and tries to explore why women are not only complicit, but instrumental in exploiting themselves and other women.  While I’m dismayed at the increasing coarseness of our culture, I’m not sure it’s a serious threat to adult women.  Plenty seem to like the attention enough to take off their shirts on command for the reward of a trucker hat, and I expect they’ll grow out of it, while the rest of us are quite happy to avoid the beach at Spring Break time.  The real danger is to young girls, who, caught between Paris Hilton as a role model, and the Bush administration’s refusal to fund sex education, are being thrown to the wolves.  A teenaged boy had the best observation in the book when he said that boys are going to like girls no matter what, and they “don’t have to dress like that.”  Such sweetness is drowned out in the noise and hypocrisy of a crude culture encouraging young girls to view their sexual attractiveness and prowess as the extent of their worth, and selling cheap thrills as “empowerment” and “liberation”.  As Levy points out, a country that claims to be sexually liberated wouldn’t be so threatened by gay marriage that half the citizens want to ban it when it isn’t even legal.  Permitting anything that will make a quick buck while denying the existence of most of human sexuality is an untenable position, and children are paying the price for it.

 

The Amateur Marriage

Anne Tyler

Don’t expect a love story – or maybe you just have to look carefully to find it.  Tyler is best at the small scenes and details, and she clearly loves her imperfect characters, so while this novel wasn’t terribly moving, the convincing world she’s constructed is a fine place to spend time.

 

Disappointments:

Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife

Mary Roach

Roach looks at those who’ve studied whether and how the soul survives death, be it a reincarnation expert in India or an early 20th century doctor placing dying tuberculosis patients on a scale to see if their weight changed when they expired.  Such nonsense begs a ridiculous number of questions, and watching people who call themselves scientists take silly ideas seriously is irritating.  And if you do take immortality seriously you’re not going to be entertained by Roach’s irreverent tour through the wackiest branch of science.  Her first book was about death, and the body after death, something very real that we don’t know enough about.  That’s fascinating.  This one is about something we’ve heard plenty about but have no indication at all of its existence, so more speculation just isn’t that interesting.  Plus, her fondness for bathroom humor is starting to wear on me.  

 

Wickett’s Remedy

Myla Goldberg

When I saw that this novel kept up a running commentary in sidebars, my heart sank.  Sidebars are bad enough in non-fiction, evidence of our cluttered culture of instant gratification, but they’re unforgivable in a novel.  It’s a novelist’s job to construct a narrative, not to constantly distract the reader with details the writer couldn’t be bothered to work into the story.  Not that it’s much of a story – set in Boston during the first world war, it begins with a love affair, but Goldberg seems to quickly grow tired of that and falls back on a sappy tale about a plucky young nurse who stands up to the big bad doctors.  With none of Bee Season’s magic or heart, it’s just a few vague ideas and a handful of notes, not a fully realized work of fiction.

 

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© 1997-2005 Erica Avery
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