Alternadad

It seems like I’ve been talking about Alternadad forever. I’m a long time Neal Pollack fan from his McSweeney’s days. I read his blog daily. When the “hipster parenting” backlash followed shortly on the heels of his book, I was in Neal’s corner. Well, I finally got around to actually reading the book.

I now feel qualified to comment on what this book is and what’s it not. It is a memoir of author’s Pollack’s decision to get married, have a child (Elijah), and what parenthood is like for a big-city-livin’ thirty-something new dad. Regardless of what has been suggested elsewhere, the book does not advocate using your kid to showcase how cool you are or suggest that bringing your kid to an indie rock concert is a good idea. (In fact, bringing his son to the Austin City Limits Festival is showcased as a singularly bad idea in the book.)

As I’ve detailed at length elsewhere on this blog, I’ve identified on a personal level to Pollack’s writing about family life. We both married in our thirties, we each had a child in our mid/late thirties, we like the music, we live in transitional neighborhoods in urban areas, … the list goes on. I think there are some universal experiences that come with that general background.

I’ve been a cheerleader for this book mostly because I was looking forward to someone telling “our” story. Lest you think that this review is going to be all rainbows and unicorns, I’ll point out that there were several points where I had to question whether we were actually on the same team, Pollack and I.

There are more than a few areas in the book where image does seem to be overly important. During birthing classes, Pollack stops wearing ironic t-shirts after the first few meetings because no one notices. There is a rant about NPR churning out over-ernest and “aware” chai latte drinkers. And then there was this passage about the inhabitants of the Hyde Park neighborhood in Austin, Tx – the neighborhood next to Pollack’s:

…they hadn’t sullied their souls by making money in bad ways. These were academics, environmental engineers, or, at worst, marketing consultants. They listened to Fresh Air and subscribed to The New Yorker. Well, so did I, but unlike me, they actually liked those things. It was very hard to have a conversation.

Um, I’m thousands of miles away from Austin, but that actually sounds just like my neighborhood. I like Fresh Air. I actually seek it out. I’m not a chai latte drinker (but Mrs. Cayenne is). Who cares? Wouldn’t “writer” be in that same list?
An especially large faux pas occurs when Pollack describes how amazing the punk band Gold Blade sounds by stating that it was “as though the Clash had stepped through a time portal, minus political pretension.” What do you do with that? The Clash are pretentious? I’m speechless. The music bona fides are in serious question here.

So yeah, I can see how Pollack could be off-putting to some. That said, Pollack is at his best when he tells emotionally challenging stories about his family that are somehow humorous at the same time. A highlight of the book is Chapter 7, which details “peenie-gate.” Peenie-gate pit Pollack’s non-Jewish wife against Pollack’s Jewish family and thousands of years of Jewish tradition over whether or not to circumcise his son. Everyone survives the ordeal. Other stand out vignettes: the challenges of finding a suitable pre-school, the balancing act of urban living, and the new hoops children add to marriage. As a special bonus: My favorite diaper rash ointment of all time, Boudreaux’s Butt Paste, is featured in a hilarious scene.

I had hopelessly high expectations for this book. Parts of it are genius, and parts are the mundane experiences that happen to everyone who has ever had a child. I’d recommend it if you fit the demographic. Don’t let the ring through the duck’s bill scare you off. Pollack is not a pierced and inked punk rocker, no matter how the marketing team tries to package it. He’s just a guy who loves his wife and son, and that comes through regardless of the posturing.

No More Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut, one of my literary heroes, has died at 84 (NYT).

Update: I’ll add other notices here throughout the day –

• The Guardian
• LA Times
• CNN
• Boing Boing
• Neal Pollack
• Salon.com
• TimesOnline (UK)
• The Millions
• The Guardian – 2
• NPR
• McSweeney’s (Interview)
• The Guardian – 3
  

Weird: A few weeks ago I was reading Neal Pollack’s Alternadad while waiting for my family at an outdoor cafe. A lady at the table next to me leaned over and asked, completely out of the blue, “Excuse me. Do you think that Vonnegut is just for teenage boys?” How random is that? For the record, I do not think so, although I read most of his books as a teenage boy. Here’s the weird part. Last night I had just finished writing a post on Alternadad when I clicked over to the New York Times web site and saw that Vonnegut had died. On the train this morning, a guy next to me was reading Alternadad. Spooky.

Brookland

As the resident blogger of historical fiction for BGB, I picked up Brookland by Emily Barton after seeing that it was in the Tournament of Books and that it was set in Brooklyn which is also a favorite locale of our blog.

The story takes place between 1774 and 1822 during the heart of colonial America when Brooklyn was known as Brookland. The main character, Prue, has inherited a gin distillery, Winship Daughters Gin, from her father, Matty, since he had the ill-fortune to not produce any male heirs. Luckily for our main character, he was an enlightened 18th century male and believed that his eldest daughter, Prue, was up to the task of running a distillery.

He begins training her at the age of 10 and by the time she is a teenager, she is practically running the distillery. The first half of the book focuses on Prue’s distillery training, life in 18th century Brookland, and Prue’s familial relationships; she has 2 sisters, one who is “mysteriously” mute (this becomes a key point in the novel which I don’t want to give away) and one who becomes her business partner.

She adores her father who is a role model in his community, and she has a rocky relationship with her tragic and depressed mother. Her parents die young and Prue and her sister, Tem, end up running the distillery at a very young age. As if managing a gin distillery before the age of 20 is not enough of an accomplishment, Prue decides to fulfill her dream of building a bridge from Brookland to New York. At that time, the only way to get to New York City was via boat, and Prue had a grand vision to build an architectural masterpiece.

The second half of the book focuses on the building of the bridge – from how Prue learns how to design and engineer a bridge to getting approval from the New York legislature to getting the bridge actually built. While bridge building is not a topic that excites me, Barton does an exquisite job of educating and enlightening the reader of the intricacies involved in bridge construction both from an engineering and political standpoint. Along the way, Prue marries, has children and continues to be caught up with family and community issues.

I really enjoyed this book and felt myself immersed in 18th century Brooklyn. All of the characters were fully fleshed out and multi-dimensional. Barton’s descriptions of the time period were so vivid that often times it felt like I was watching a movie rather than reading a novel. In fact, I would be surprised if this wasn’t made into a movie. My one fault with Barton’s writing style is that she chose to tell the story through Prue’s letters to her daughter, Recompense. I did not think this added anything to the story other than verbiage. Barton could have just as easily told the story in third person without losing any of the family drama. Good reading for any historical fiction lover.

Our Siberia Winner

L’il Cayenne just selected a name out of a hat to determine the winner of a FREE copy of Siberia by Nikolai Maslov.  Our lucky winner is Rich.  We’ll get that off to you ASAP, Rich.  Thanks again to the nice folks at Soft Skull Press for hooking us up.

Then We Came to the End

I’ve finally figured out how to speed up my reading — sit on a plane for nine and ten hour stretches. I’m not sure how long the DJ’s commute is on the number so-and-so bus every morning, but I think I now see the secret to his success.

After finishing Dreaming of Gwen Stefani on my trip to Europe and posting on it from other parts of the world, I also managed to get through Then We Came to the End, by Joshua Ferris, at the tail-end of my trip. As I’ve mentioned in prior commentary, I was extremely excited about this book, given its overlap with my occupation as an advertising lawyer.

The book takes place at an unnamed advertising agency in Chicago following the bursting of the internet bubble and the scrambling by the agency for new business and the quest for job security within the agency. Ferris uses the book to describe a wide cast of characters at the agency, from the partner that the main characters work for, to her deputy, to all of the gossip-mongering underlings that work for them. As a group, they demonstrate an interesting blend of both mob mentality and individuality, with each character seeming to possess at least one quirk or idiosyncracy that demands attention.

I have to admit that the story didn’t resonate that much with me; I can’t say whether that’s because I never actually get to see the inner workings of the agencies that I work with (but they’re in fact like the agency in this book), or if instead it’s because this book is a fantastical account with no connection to reality. That’s not finger-pointing; it’s simply that I expected the book to parallel experiences I’ve had, but it didn’t. Don’t blame Ferris, but don’t blame me, either.

An interesting aspect of Ferris’s writing style in the book (and I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t know if it’s a commonly-used technique) is that the story toggles back and forth rather seamlessly between a first-hand account by the narrator to a third-person telling of the story (i.e., of events at which the narrator was not present). And the narrator is apparently an employee at the agency, but we know absolutely nothing about her (I think it’s a female, anyway, based on a couple of remarks); this is odd given the exploration of all of the other characters’ personalities.

Overall, I think the book represents an exploration of how people cope with insecurities in their worklife and their personal life, and how those two lives are inextricably intertwined. The stress that these characters face due to layoffs at the agency, office politics, domestic strife, and the dynamic created when “teammates” are competing with one another, seems to surface and sensationalize their most bizarre internal traits, creating an interesting journey for the reader. It’s not an “Office”-style kneeslapper by any stretch, but it’s a pretty quick read that kept me engaged.

Sharks, Greeks, Tilting at Windmills

The Raw Shark Texts buzz continues. A short and unofficial trailer made by a fan of the book has shown up on YouTube. The Annotated Raw Shark Texts wiki has been created, which is sure to come in handy once I dive in to the book. (High-fives to Ragdoll for the second link.) Now, if my book would only arrive…

Harry Potter fan? Classics scholar? Have I got something for you.  My mom recently purchased Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in both Ancient Greek and Latin as a graduation gift for a classics student in the extended family.

Unrelated to books – other than it has become a Quixotic journey – I went down to Ann’s Snack Bar to sample the best hamburger in the United States. My group arrived 10 minutes before opening – 11:20 AM – and would have had at least a two hour wait. Also, I was reminded that it was Good Friday. Who needs that kind of crushing Catholic guilt? Getting a burger at Ann’s is fast becoming a test of wills. You will be mine Ghetto Burger.

An Award

We’ve been honored with the Thinking Blogger Award. Beth (the Toronto One) of Books Etc. found herself tagged with the TBA meme and was forced to choose five blogs to recognize with this prestigious award. She randomly selected five of her most read blogs from a hat, and we were one of the five selected.

However we were selected, it is nice to be recognized, and we are honoured (I’m going with the Canadian spelling here as a tip of the hat to the selection committee) to have even been in the running. Here’s what Beth had to say about us on her blog:

Baby Got Books — because reading this blog is like taking a Continuing Education course in Contemporary Literature with the added bonus of it being taught with wit, humour and a delightful dash of sarcasm.

I’m blushing on behalf of all of us here at BGB. I think that I’ll use that if we ever craft a mission statement. Thanks, Beth.

Monday’s Mixed Bag

The Guardian has a fascinating review of The Color of Fascism, a book that seems to be a cross between Phillip Roth’s The Human Stain and Plot Against America. The book tells the story of a man in the American south who rejects his family in order to pass as white. He then goes on to become the “brains behind American fascism” in the lead up to WWII. It’s non-fiction.

Another book quiz: Take Encarta’s “famous opening lines” quiz. I got 9 of 13. (Thanks for the link, Mrs. Cayenne.)

Marina Lewycka’s new book Two Caravans is (mostly) well reviewed in The Sunday Times (UK). Lewycka’s previous book was the Booker-nominated A Brief History of Tractors in Ukranian (We reviewed aBHoTiU here and here). Adding to some confusion. It appears, based on my inexpert sleuthing, that the book will be titled Strawberry Fields in the US (and won’t be out until August). I’m guessing that this is because “caravans” as used in the title doesn’t translate into US English.

Speaking of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, Rich at TTT says the new album by the band Low is a “more than adequate audio companion” to the book. Follow the link to give it a listen.

New York Magazine has an interesting article about what happens to debut novelists who find themselves on the cover of the New York Times Book Review. (Thanks for the link, Nitro.)

Mail Bag

Dipping into our mail bag, I have an update on some previous posts:

1) In Februrary of 2005, I posted about certain semantics questions posed by a sign outside of the Laurel Hill School (Florida) that reads “Home of the Hoboes.” Two years later, we’ve received fresh comments from Ms. Williams – a teacher at the school, and Jeffrey – a student. Jeffrey defends the mascot name saying, “Nobody else may think that it is a very good name but I think it is the best name that we could have ever gotten.” We agree Jeffrey. In fact, the school mascot is included on lists for the best/most unique team names (like this one). Plus, I hear you guys are really good at basketball. The sign, “Home of the Hoboes” intrigued me, because generally hoboes are – um – homeless.

2). In August of ’06, Nitro posted a link to a New York Magazine article about a group of Brooklyn kids that have their own band. “Mr. Blender” – who says he’s a kid that knows the kids in the band, Care Bares on Fire, finally got around to posting a comment this week. Says, Mr. Blender:

to tell you the truth the only people who like them are, well….parents. ….I think parents only went to see them cus’ they were kids but when they record an album nobody will by it cus their music is LAME!!!

Everybody’s a critic.

You Suck, Bloodsucking Fiends

I picked up You Suck after reading some nice things about author Christopher Moore. I hadn’t read any of his books, and it sounded like the perfect thing to follow up my assault on Pynchon’s Against the Day. The Pynchon’s still there, taunting me, but You Suck made the cut for a family vacation. I liked You Suck well enough that I bought its predecessor, Bloodsucking Fiends, on another trip.

I read the books out of order, but I can’t say that it made a huge difference. In case you haven’t deduced from the covers/titles, the books are comedic send ups of vampire stories. The books are both set in San Francisco. Like Anne Rice’s New Orleans-based vampire novels, San Francisco just feels right as a setting for undead supernatural hi-jinks.

The books tell the story of Tommy, a wannabe writer from midwest, who meets recently “turned” vampire and hottie, Jody. The cast is rounded out by the Emperor, a homeless guy who knows the city’s secrets; The Animals, the night crew at the Safeway (Marina location); and Elijah, an ancient vampire.

The star of the show though, for me, was a teenage goth girl who becomes Tommy’s minion in the second book. She calls herself Abby Normal, and may be the funniest character in recent memory. Her recounting of events show up in diary entries written in hilarious teen speak.

Bloodsucking Fiends was written about 10 years before You Suck, which is a relatively recent release. In those intervening years, it appears to me that Moore has grown tremendously as a writer. While I enjoyed both books, the writing in You Suck is much better. If you’re looking for a light, enjoyable, quick read, buy You Suck. If you really enjoy it, you can always go back and get Bloodsucking Fiends later.

Feel Good Hits of the Year

I don’t how I missed this. The New York Times Book Review insightfully reviews the book Stacked: A 32DDD Reports From the Front by Susan Seligson. The author writes about her breasts like a “besotted schoolboy.” The reviewer, who has impressive – um – credentials herself, notes, “Seligson is likable, if for no other reason than that she’s absolutely dizzy with admiration for her assets.” (Thanks, Rick.)

Wordsmiths’ Russ sings the praises of Esther Levine who has what may be the best job you’ve never heard of. She’s an author escort. When an author rolls into town, Ms. Levine picks them up, shows them the town, gets them what they need, and makes sure they show up at the reading on time. Yesterday. the Atlanta Journal-Constitution article wrote about Ms. Levine here.

This last bit has nothing to do with books, but it is such an inspirational piece of film I just had to share. Be sure to check out Alanis Morrisette’s tremendous cover of “My Humps.”

Food for Thought

After a long hiatus from reading in general, I am back in the swing and have finished The Way We Eat: Why our Food Choices Matter by Peter Singer and Jim Mason. Now let me preface this by saying that I am not a crunchy vegan type despite the fact that I live in Decatur. I don’t even particularly like cats and dogs, though I do have two ungrateful cats. However, this book was pretty darn interesting.

The authors follow American families, ranging from the Wal-Mart meat and potatoes crowd, to a family you could describe as Whole Food-ies, and then a die hard vegan crew to detail and understand these very different types of consumers. Their perspectives on shoppping and eating are considerably diverse as anyone who has strolled through WalMart lately can attest.

In the course of following the families dietary habits, some interesting ethical dilemmas are posed. Envionmentally, the abundance of cheap, processed food is a nightmare. WalMart shoppers ain’t helping. WalMart drives prices down, no doubt. But the margin has to be made up somewhere and that’s where it gets kinda scary.

Factory farming produces considerable waste as does the energy required to transport and grow the feed required to raise all the animals. And what the animals are fed is mostly cheap corn, which is not what cows naturally eat. So, the cows eat the corn so they get fat, because American farmers sell the cows per pound. The problem is that it wreaks havoc with their digestive sytems ( ulcers, infection) so the farmers pump them up with antibiotics. So by the time you get your steak, you are ingesting extra antibiotics, growth hormones and best of all, more corn. Corn does not metabolize in your liver real efficiently either. So we get fatter and more antibiotic resistant. If you don’t want to give up your steak, switch to grass fed organic beef. That’s more compromise.

In most cases, the animals lives are deplorable which really is quite ironic considering how Americans are so into their dogs and cats. Pigs are smarter, supposedly, than dogs and certainly more friendly than cats. However, we seem, as a country, to have no problem pretty much torturing them their whole swine lives so we can get our baby backs. You will definitley be disturbed by how most pork is raised in this country. I say “most” because there are alternatives.

Chipotle, owned by McDonald’s by the way, only uses pork and beef raised by Niman Ranch, a company that does not use antibiotics, growth hormones and raises animals humanely. I want to personally plug the Niman Ranch hot dogs and bacon. Yum. Also, Burger King recently jumped on the bandwagon by vowing to phase out all dairy and beef that is factory farmed over the course of the next couple of years. Smithfield Farms, probably the biggest pork producer, is phasing out “gestation crates” which are a particularly gruesome farm practice. I digress.

In addition, the book also poses the question of how to provide food for a growing population (who can’t necesssarily afford to shop at “Whole Paycheck”) while still providing enviromentally and ethical food choices.

The book also stresses that it is important to consider the energy ( global warming alert) that it takes to ensure that we have strawberries, cantaloupe etc all year round versus the days of seasonality when we would look forward to fall for apples, summer for corn on the cob etc. I think I am right on if I assert that nothing is better than fruit or vegetables that are in season in this country. Peruvian tomatoes don’t cut it. So pass on those. It won’t kill you.

Starbucks, a company close to my heart, is examined at length in the whole “fair trade” and “organic” debate concerning coffee. Coffee beans and the their harvesting are another dimension of the “buy local” issue because many countries who are capable of growing coffee beans rely on this economic reality to survive.

The fishing industry is also called into question as we continue to demand salmon, sea bass (which by the way not sea bass but actually Patagonian toothfish) and our old staple tuna fish in more and more quantity. A lot of seafood is being harvested in countries that have little restriction on fishing which is fast depleting resources and upsetting the ecological balance. Meanwhile, back in Canada and the US, small time fisherman are unable to make a living. Cape Cod, MA was named as such because as recently as a century ago, real cod ran so thick off the coast of Massachusetts, you could hang a basket off the side of a boat and fill it up. No more. Overfished. And not by the hook and line fisherman, but the big old factory boats that netted the cod and everything else in the ocean up with it . Now “cod” ( for all you fish and chips lovers at the Brick Store Pub) is really Russian pollock; much smaller and not nearly as tasty as the real thing. Also, after reading this book, I will not seek out any “farm raised” fished. Gross. It’s like eating out of your aquarium with all the fish poop and ick. But worse.

The authors basically assert that you can be conscientous without being fanatical and that Westernized countries are in the position of effecting change throughout the world. Frankly, the wild-raised humanely-slaughtered kinda food just tastes better. Think ” fresh from the farm” but a real farm where the chickens can run around and the potatoes aren’t covered in toxic pesticides. Yes, it costs more but as someone once said, “If you want civilization, you must raise taxes” or something like that. I think we would all agree that people chowing on McDonald’s is costing us a boatload already in insurance premiums. People are too damn fat here anyway. If you don’t think that’s necessarily true, hang out at Gwinnett Place Mall for an afternoon.

The recurring theme for me, and I am not about to become a full blown vegetarian much less a vegan, is a standard of all things in moderation, including meat ingestion, but probably more importantly, unprocessed and seasonal and with regard for its origin and implications. If we are going to give Al Gore and Oscar, then we need to really understand how small changes in our lifestyles can make a difference. If you don’t care about making a difference, care about eating better tasting food that won’t kill you off nearly as quick as Oscar Meyer “Lunchables”.

Irony & Passover

Publishers Weekly notes that Newt Gingrich, the man who brought you divide and conquer scorched-earth politics, has begun to call for bipartisanship on the issue of environmental protection. He calls his new tome Contract with the Earth. The earth is so screwed.

In other irony news, George Orwell’s London neighborhood is covered in surveillance cameras.

WikiPedia may have the last word on whether that Alanis Morrisettte song contained any irony whatsoever – complete with a link to the lyrics for easy study at home. Apparently, it depends.

Passover fans, are you sick of your tired old Haggadah? Jonathan Safran Foer is hard at work on an English language version just for you. He’s taking on the project because “most Haggadot out there lack the imaginative punch to achieve what Passover ideally should: to inspire people toward a greater commitment for social change.”

On possibly the other end of the Passover spectrum, Neal Pollack has the official scoop. Marijuana is not Kosher for Passover. It appears that you will need to look a little harder to satisfy the “bitter herbs” part of your Seder Plate.

Raw Shark, Champion, and Ch. 11

Steven Hall, the author of The Raw Shark Texts, is featured prominently in the New York Times Business Section this morning. It’s a fascinating article starring Nicole Kidman, extravagant dinners, and independent booksellers. The author has just announced his US tour dates – and Atlanta will be skipped – we’ll be calling on our BGB operatives in other cities to file a report.

On Friday the Finals of the Tournament of Books featured the match-up of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road vs. Gary Shteyngart’s Absurdistan. The Road took the honors rather handily by a vote count of 15-2. One of the two dissenting votes was Colin Meloy of the Decemberists.

In local news: Zach has news at the Wordsmiths’ blog on the closing of Chapter 11 Books (scroll down), an indipendent bookstore chain that has been on the Atlanta scene since 1990. Back in the years before I arrived in Atlanta, the word on the street was that it was not unusual to wander into the Ansley Mall location and find Amy Carter behind the counter. Zach’s post discusses his thoughts on why the chain folded.

I think that the fact that they were trying to be a local chain, rather than a top notch independent bookstore (singular) has much to do with their announced collapse. The other reason, and this may be heresy to some, is that their stores were not the kind of places that encouraged visiting. I’m a bookstore lover of the highest order. I will routinely make a point of blocking off hours to spend at a bookstore or travel miles out of my way to visit a favorite. I visited various Chapter 11 book stores approximately three times in the 17 years that our time in Atlanta overlapped. It takes a lot to keep me out of a book store, but they figured out how. Still, I’m sad to see them go, but I’m looking forward to the Wordsmiths’ guys doing it right.

Dreaming of Gwen Stefani

Shaft here, coming at you live from Brussels (that’s in Belgium, by the way) whilst on a family vacation. As some of you may recall, I was fortunate enough to win the music/literature linking contest a few weeks back (through my Velocity Girl/Primal Scream reference — incidentally, I wore my Velocity Girl “Setting the Night on Fire with Rock and Roll/Kicking Ass and Taking Names Tour” t-shirt as pajamas last night), and received a couple of books as prizes, one of which was Dreaming of Gwen Stefani, by Evan Mandery.

Mr. Mandery was even in the A-T-L for a reading that I was unable to attend, but Mr. DJ got the book personally autographed by Mr. Mandery (a lawyer like yours truly), who signed it “To [my real name] — My condolences on your choice of career, but congratulations on your excellent choice of friends [referring to the DJ].”

The book is pretty short (chalk up a point for the good guys), and pretty straightforward. Not to mean inconsequential or lame, but not groundbreaking in terms of originality of concept. The protagonist, Mortimer Taylor Coleridge, is an overeducated [probably] dork who works at Papaya Queen making hot dogs, feeling like he deserves more out of life. He becomes obsessed with something and focuses his life on achieving this singular goal to which he has turned his entire attention. I won’t fill in the blanks for you, but they’re on the back of the book.

So the joy of reading this isn’t so much about being surprised at where the story goes, but rather about the construction of the tale (alternating third-person narratives with excerpts from Mortimer’s journal), which toggles you back and forth between what’s happening and how Mortimer views what’s happening.

The book cover calls it “A Confederacy of Dunces for the VH1 generation”, which is big talk to someone who adores that book, but taken in the light-hearted tone in which it’s stated, it’s not out-and-out blasphemy. They’re very different kinds of books, and it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But to the extent you’re talking about stories centered on main characters that you are fascinated by but probably wouldn’t hang out with in real life (but find yourself rooting for), they fall into the same big bucket.