Baby Got Books

Quiz: Can you spot the two words that mean the same thing and are synonyms?

And they didn’t use an oxford comma!

Have a great weekend, everyone, and stay fly.

A few days ago, I linked to a presentation on the Penguin blog about books that make interesting use of text. I liked it so much, that I made my own presentation, which you can check out here.

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This may easily be my most nerd-tastic endeavor yet. Or maybe that record is still held by this…

I just finished reading Republic Sublime, by Christopher Cessac, for the third time. Chris is a friend of mine who lives in Marfa, Texas, with his wife and little girls. I was lucky enough to befriend him while we were in law school together, and I even got to play in a band with him during that time. Anyway, I digress. The point of this post is to share the power of poetry.

This book won the 2002 Kenyon Review Prize in Poetry, a very prestigious honor that goes to one — count ‘em, one — book each year. That should say something right there.

There’s been a lot of hype recently about The Raw Shark Texts, including the local hype surrounding Steven Hall’s reading here at Wordsmiths in Decatur. I loved that book, and I loved Hall’s reading; the reason I mention it here is that Hall really tried to look at the text of his book as more than just words — he wanted to examine those works as visual imagery (hence the allusion to the Rorschach test in the book’s title). Hall did this through the use of several devices, including presenting the words on the page in a graphical format.

Cessac’s work demonstrates, at least to me, another device that makes words more than just words — namely, well-constructed poetry. And by “well-constructed”, I don’t mean that it rhymes. I mean that the words he uses, and the way he lays the words out on the page, are awesome. He uses countless biblical, historical, literary, geographical and mythological references, most of which are completely lost on me, but the beauty of his writing can withstand my ignorance. I don’t need to know who Christopher Smart is to appreciate his poem “Fragments of a Letter to Christopher Smart”, which includes this passage:

. . . much of madness is nothing more

than devotion misplaced, a passion of loss:

for widows, monks and lunatics concur

nothing hurts so much as loving too much

that which doesn’t move among this world –

a dead husband, a god, idea or cause . . .

I urge anyone who’s got the slightest passion for poetry, or who’s willing to invest a bit of themselves to see if one’s there, to read this book. It truly is remarkable what Cessac does with words, even when you don’t know what those words mean; the sound of them, the look of them, the flow of them, have given me a new appreciation for an art that I can’t claim to have cared for.

Come on, man. Try!

(photo by the Journopals - Manhattan)

Browsing the aisles this week, I stumbled on a volume titled Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Café. The Nuyorican is a cultural center for writers in New York. It began in 1973, in the living room of writer and professor Miguel Algarín. His goal was to provide a venue for emerging writers and artists to showcase their work. By 1975, Algarín realized that his living room salon was much too small for the large number of new artists in the city, so he rented an Irish Bar called the  Sunshine Café and converted it into the Nuyorican. Over the course of the last 30 years, the café has hosted innumerable emerging writers, musicians, and filmmakers as well as established artists, including Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, and Amiri Baraka.

The Nuyorican is located in the Lower East Side, a neighborhood that has seen significant changes. In 1975, the Lower East Side was certainly not among the most sought-after neighborhoods in the city. Now, the LES houses young professionals and the few remaining artists who haven’t been priced out of Manhattan by skyrocketing rent. But when asked whether he believes this transformation will have an impact on the café, Algarín has asserted that it will not, because the café was never intended to cater to any particular group of artists, but rather to provide a meeting place for artists with a wide range of backgrounds.

(photo by Raúl)

Aloud is a comprehensive collection of poems that have been performed at the café and works by artists who have appeared there. True to Algarín’s philosophy, the poems vary widely in style and theme. They’re edgy, personal, and often experimental. It’s an eclectic anthology with a history just as diverse, and it’s definitely worth a read if you’re a fan of poetry that’s honest and emotionally unfettered.

The Penguin blog put together this nice slide show of “books that make interesting use of their type.” I would have also included Steven Hall’s The Raw Shark Texts and Mark Z. Danielewski’s Only Revolutions. Especially those two. I need to get to work on my own slide show.

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I graduated college with an engineering degree. With high honors. And at one time I was pretty good with physics. However, over the course of the nearly twenty years since I earned that degree (and went on to law school and the practice of law), I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve gotten a little rusty in matters of science and mathematics (right down to simple arithmetic at times). But I’ve carried this faint optimism with me that some “magic bullet” exists that will get me back up to speed in no time.

The Universe in a Nutshell, by Stephen Hawking, is not it. It’s a nice looking book, and it will probably wow and impress people as it collects dust on my coffee table, right next to big shiny books on muscle cars and mid-century storefront design. But the aspirations I had of learning how the universe works and regaining my mastery of physics through a couple hours of simple reading were about as well-founded as those of the foolish scientist who built Harvard’s Jefferson Lab entirely without iron nails so as not to interfere with their attempts to measure the “ether”, failing to recognize that the reddish brown bricks of which the building was constructed contained large amounts of iron. Can you imagine!? I didn’t think so.

After repeated attempts at a quick and easy epiphany — a “Eureka! Now I get it!” realization — I think I’ve come to accept the fact that no matter how simply and clearly you show illustrations of figures in elevators next to figures in rocketships, or bowling balls and billiard balls warping the surface of a trampoline, the concepts of the space-time continuum are just a little too complicated for my apparently stegosaurus-sized brain to fully grasp. And those are the easy parts of books like this. When you start getting into quantum mechanics, M-theory, 11-dimensional supergravity, superstrings, black holes, 10-dimensional membranes, and P-branes, I really start to feel like a . . . well, a P-brane. To a layperson, I think the best I’m ever going to understand things like the so-called “grandfather paradox” — i.e., what happens if you go back in time and kill your grandfather before your father was conceived — is through the teachings of those esteemed researchers Logan and Preston (a/k/a Bill and Ted).

One of the nice things about this blog business is that occasionally I am given books that I wouldn’t have ordinarily come across on my own. The most recent such book? Shut Up, I’m Talking: And Other Diplomacy Lessons I Learned in the Israeli Government by Gregory Levey. Leavey’s memoir is hilarious. And by hilarious I mean funny, but often in an, “Oh my God, we’re all going to die” kind of way.

Levey, a Canadian, found himself adrift in his second year of law school in the US. His plan was to take a break before completing his third year of law school and join the Israeli Army. On a lark, he sends a resume to the Israeli Mission to the UN to apply for any internships that may be available. Hilarity, of a sort, ensues.

Levey finds himself hired, not as an intern, but as a speech writer for the Israeli Ambassador to the UN. The misadventures at the Embassy are hilarious, but also frightening when one factors in the whole precarious nature of the Middle East.

The memoir is written as a fish out water story, and Levey himself points out at almost every opportunity that he has absolutely no business in the jobs that he held for the Israeli government. Examples of absurd situations for a 25 year-old non-Israeli citizen to find himself in abound. Levey has to decide how Israel should vote on an UN resolution when he stumbles upon the realization that he is the only person at the UN affiliated with Israel (a country of which he is not a citizen). Result? The U.S. and Greg vote “no,” the rest of the world votes “yes.” An international incident hinges on his shaky translation of French. Etc.

Despite his own feelings about his capabilities, just as he plans to leave the UN Mission the situation escalates. At the request of Prime Minister Sharon(!), Levey moves to Israel to become an English speech writer for the PM’s office. While in Israel, Levey has a front row seat during a particularly volatile time in Israeli history. The author feels very much the outsider despite his position with the corridors of power, in no small part because of his inability to abide the rudeness of the Israeli’s themselves. In one passage, Levey notes:

…life in Israel was difficult. I was sure there were many wonderful, kind, and caring Israeli’s, but they all seemed to be on vacation. “The customer service alone is enough to make you want to start an intifada,” an American I met quipped…

I am quite sure that Levey’s book will be seen as controversial in some Jewish circles. In fact, there were passages that I read and thought, “This guy is either really brave in his honesty or else he is really, really stupid.” I don’t think that it is the latter.

The web site Very Short List, which features a daily post about things that are worth your time, came up with the following Venn diagram to describe the book:

Close enough. However, the book that Shut Up, I’m Talking reminds me of most is Dan Kennedy’s Rock On. The absurd behind the scenes look by an employee that feels completely lost and out of place in the employee of a powerful and monolithic entity is true enough for both books. Levey’s memoir carries additional weight, because - oh my God- this is a sovereign nation’s government that we’re talking about.

While the memoir is specifically about Levey’s service with Israel, I have no doubt that similar issues and absurdity exist for all countries (particularly my own). As such, Shut Up I’m Talking is a useful reminder of the inherent fallibility of governments. Shut Up is a fun, engaging, and sobering read. I recommend it to all that might find the subject matter - the fate of the world as we know it - of interest. It’s also good fun if you’ve ever found yourself over your head in the job world. Levey’s experience shows that it could have been much, much worse.

It just so happens that Gregory Levey will be reading from Shut Up, I’m Talking at Wordsmiths this Wednesday night. Quel coïncidence, no?

Check out the author’s blog.

After Nick Hornby wrote Slam, his first novel for young adults, he discovered the Young Adult section of the bookstore and became an enthusiastic advocate for the books sequestered there. Defending the idea that the Young Adult (YA) readership shouldn’t be limited to teenagers, Hornby wrote in The Believer:

…dismissing YA books because you’re not a young adult is a little bit like refusing to watch thrillers on the grounds that you’re not a policeman or a dangerous criminal…

My internet hero, Cory Doctorow, has a new YA book out called Little Brother that is getting great reviews. Doctorow has been a champion of YA novels for years on his blog Boing Boing. The author/tech guru notes:

Living in a space that no one watches too closely is one of the secret ways that people get to do excellent stuff. Science fiction’s status for decades as a pariah genre meant that writers could do things with literary style, theme, and political content that their mainstream counterparts could never get away with (games, comics, early hip-hop, mashups, and many of the other back laneways of popular culture have also enjoyed this status). These days, a lot of the coolest stuff in the universe is happening in the kids’ section of your bookstore…

You can see what he’s talking about first hand by checking out Little Brother for free before buying it. As a PDF file, you can read it at work - if you’re capable of that sort of subterfuge.

Unrelated: Little Golden kids’ books that never made it to print

The National Book Critics Circle have announced their “Good Reads” selections for the Spring. The list is developed by polling the members of the NBCC and tallying the results. (I am a member, and here’s how I voted.) An interesting side note: As imperiled as book reviewing is supposed to be, membership in the NBCC has increased almost 50% over last year. What to make of that? Anyway, here are the Fiction and Nonfiction selections

FICTION

1. Richard Price, LUSH LIFE
2. Jhumpa Lahiri, UNACCUSTOMED EARTH
3. Steven Millhauser, DANGEROUS LAUGHTER,
*4. Charles Baxter, THE SOUL THIEF
*4. Peter Carey, HIS ILLEGAL SELF
*4. J. M. Coetzee, DIARY OF A BAD YEAR
*4. James Collins, BEGINNNER’S GREEK
*4. Brian Hall, FALL OF FROST
*4. Roxana Robinson, COST
*4. Owen Sheers, RESISTANCE
NONFICTION

1. Nicholson Baker, HUMAN SMOKE
2. Drew Gilpin Faust, THIS REPUBLIC OF SUFFERING
3. Mark Harris, PICTURES AT THE REVOLUTION
4. Honor Moore, THE BISHOP’S DAUGHTER
5. Susan Jacoby, THE AGE OF AMERICAN UNREASON

How the Dead Dream, by Lydia Millet, was recommended to me by Tim (who posted on it earlier, although I can’t remember his post and won’t look back at it until I finish mine). I finished the book last night, and while I’m definitely happy about reading it, I’m still not completely sure the entire thing has sunk in yet.

I think the reason for that is that the book really covers three periods in the main character’s life. Thomas (or “T.”, as he is most often referred to in the narrative) begins life as a youngster absolutely fixated on money; not initially the greed of wanting more of it, but rather a conceptual worship of the idea of money, right down to the faces of the dead presidents featured on bills and coins, and the first part of the book follows his formative years into his establishment as a real estate developer. Then, the book veers off into a “middle section” that tracks his relationships — with women, with business partners, with his dog, and with his aging mother. Lastly, the final part of the book focuses on T.’s mental and psychological transformation into a guy whose focus seems to be completely centered on empathy and compassion, specifically toward animals, even more specifically toward animals on the verge of extinction.

The three parts of the book (my delineations, not the author’s) threw me initially. While I really liked Millet’s writing style and vocabulary, I almost put the book down partway through the second “section”; I couldn’t really sense a plot, and I just didn’t really care much for T. or what was going to happen to him. But I stuck it out, and almost immediately felt rewarded for it. The book is truly one about transformation, and about the pieces of our world that we choose to focus on and which steer our development during our limited time on earth.

The way that Millet discusses mortality, sometimes directly and sometimes indirectly, is fascinating. And some of the passages are so darned quote worthy that I’ll indulge us both for a second:

. . . to Janet a bachelor eked out his living on the margins of society, orbiting the married couples wild-eyed and feral as a homeless man at a polo party.

or how about:

In the wild, he thought, there would be almost no waiting. Waiting was what happened to you when you lost control, when events were out of your hands or your freedom was taken from you; but in the wild there would always be trying. In the wild there would always be trying and trying, he thought, and almost no waiting. Waiting was a position of dependency.

Millet’s descriptions of T.’s thoughts and of how they drove him to embark on the journey depicted in the last segment of the book is absolutely mesmerizing. And as the story wrapped itself up, I felt connected to T. and to everything that happened to him, despite how discombobulated some of it felt to me earlier.

Note [SPOILER ALERT -- DON'T READ THIS NOTE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE ENDING OF THE BOOK]: the ending of this book reminded me of the ending of The Confessions of Max Tivoli (one of my absolute favorite books); both feature the main character alone in the wilderness, coming to terms with mortality both figuratively and literally.

Tony Earley’s “Jim series” (my name for the two books - not the authors) are deceptively simple. The covers suggest that these might be children’s books, and they are written in a bucolic style that masks the quiet complexity of these novels. Tony Earley seems to have effortlessly created a richly detailed world with fully developed and engaging characters.

In the first of the two books, Jim the Boy, we are introduced to Jim as an infant. His father has died unexpectedly in the fields of the family farm at a young age. Jim is raised by his mother and three bachelor uncles in the town of Aliceville in western North Carolina. If you think “Mayberry”, you’re going too cosmopolitan. Jim’s boyhood is a rural existence in the years between the first and second World Wars. As Jim begins to grow up, his world expands beyond the farm as he begins to learn about the world around him and his own family. It sounds so simple but is a surprisingly engaging read.

In the second book, The Blue Star, Jim is a senior in high school on the eve of World War II. World events are beginning to encroach on Aliceville, even as Jim struggles to come to grips with becoming the starting shortstop on his baseball team and the eternal mystery that is high school girls. The ability of Jim’s uncles to protect him from the realities of the adult world begin to wane, and Jim is faced with some tough and very adult choices. There will almost certainly be a third book in the “Jim series” to complete or extend Jim’s story. I’m looking forward to it.

While the two books can easily stand on their own, the reader will be rewarded for reading both books. The second book, The Blue Star, reveals the back story on several situations that were taken for granted in the first book. I read them both within a few weeks of each other, and I recommend that approach.

Earley’s style is warm and generous without being maudlin. Although set in the rural south, Earley avoids the gothic “things go wrong on the farm” narrative. Life isn’t always rosy, but the farm of Jim’s youth is the kind of place that actual Southerners might be able to relate to - even us city slickers.

I should have posted this days ago, but…stuff happens.  ANYWAY.  There are ample opportunities to get your story on in the ATL in what remains of the week.

Wordsmiths is hosting Story Time for Grownups this Wednesday night at 7:30. Stories will be told by author Ben Tanzer (Lucky Man), the Kennesay State University Tellers, and a few of The ’smiths favorite open mic-ers. All are forewarned that the kids should stay home for this one.  Cookies and libations. Free. Get the rest of the scoop from Russ.

For the kids: The International Reading Association is holding their annual convention in Atlanta this week, and several events will be held at the Little Shop of Stories in conjunction with the meeting. I’d link to something, but they haven’t posted the schedule anywhere. Here are the remaining events based on the info in Little Shop’s e-mail newsletter:

Wednesday, May 7th at 10am
IRA: Doreen Rappaport and Matt Tavares

Doreen Rappaport and Matt Tavares present their joint effort Lady Liberty, a biography of the Statue of Liberty. You only think you know her story, but when you read this moving, true life tale of one of our country’s most iconic figures, told from the point of view of those who built her, you will see Lady Liberty in a whole new light.

Wednesday, May 7th at 4pm
IRA: Radio Disney kicks off Rick Riordan Festivities

It’s finally here: The Battle of the Labryinth, the latest adventure of Percy Jackson, half-blooded son of a Greek god! We don’t need to tell you how much we love this series, because you all love it too! Join us with Radio Disney at 4pm to kick off the festivities before Rick arrives at 4:30!

Wednesday, May 7th at 5:30pm
IRA: Jerry Spinelli

In a special event for educators, librarians, media specialists, and all lovers of Mr. Spinelli’s books, the author of such great books as Stargirl, Eggs, and Maniac Magee joins us for a discussion of his new book Smiles to Go, writing, and more.

If you go to the Little Shop, be sure to go to their new location (not listed on their web site), next to the Starbucks on Decatur Square.  All events are free.

For the motorcycle/Food Network enthusiasts: Alton Brown will be riding a motor cycle indoors at the Variety Playhouse Thursday night. The Food TV star will be discussing his book Feasting on Asphalt.  The evening includes a viewing of the show on which the book is based, Q&A, and music.  $29.50 (includes a copy of the book).

And of course, our friends at The Wren’s Nest are always ready with a story. Check out their site for story times.

I’ve been a fan of Don Novello for a long time, and not just because he was born and raised in my hometown of Lorain, Ohio. I, like many of you, thought he was pretty darn cool before I even knew of his impressive origins. For a long time, I knew him solely as the character he created for Saturday Night Live, Father Guido Sarducci; but I somehow came to learn that he participated in multiple ways in all kinds of funny stuff, and so I had to do some digging to see what I could get my hands on.

In addition to recordings of some pretty hilarious stand-up comedy, what I came up with was The Lazlo Letters, a compilation of correspondence that was first published in 1977, but which contains letters spanning the period from 1973 to 1977. Novello’s idea, which he executed in spectacular fashion, was to write letters to various bigwigs from the world of politics, show business, and big business, playing the part of a loyal follower, concerned citizen, or huge fan, and trying to provoke a response.

The prose and punctuation he uses in his letters, in addition to the rather zany ideas presented by them, suggest that he is somewhat of a dimwit; nonetheless, in the interests of good public relations and nondiscrimination against knuckleheads, many of the folks he wrote to actually wrote back. The staffs of President Nixon and President Ford treated these letters as legitimate, and sent personalized responses back to him. Repeatedly.

The genius of this book doesn’t really lie in its content (although there are some pretty funny exchanges documented by these letters); rather, it lies in what Novello did, how he did it, and when he did it. This started over thirty-five years ago! He was writing on what I guess was a manual typewriter, and mailing letters out for ten cents. The time and effort needed to pull off a hoax like this was incredible. And it didn’t come with the sort of immediate gratification that pranking someone on the Internet can bring. While we take the Internet for granted in this day and age, Novello was working on this at a time when you had to work pretty hard to track down information. Even finding the name and address of someone he wanted to write to must have been a chore.

I applaud Mr. Novello, albeit it a couple of decades later than he deserves, for this effort. And now I think we can safely place him up on the pedestal with the other critically acclaimed writers originally hailing from Lorain, Ohio, such as Toni Morrison and . . . uhm . . . uh . . . let me get back to you on that one.

In a sure sign of our society’s ever decreasing literary standards, the editors of Blogged have decided that Baby Got Books is ranked #12 out of 1,144 blogs in the “general books” category.  We were assigned a score of 8.7 (out of 10) and the descriptor “great”.   We have no idea who these editors are nor why they are so confused.

With the success of Jill Scott’s recent album, The Real Thing, Words and Sounds Vol. 3, and her concert tour now at an end, I thought it was a good time to revisit her book of poetry. The Moments, the Minutes, the Hours gives readers a glimpse of the R&B singer as she was at the beginning of her artistic career.

Before her work with the band The Roots, Jill Scott was a spoken word artist, performing her work live at poetry readings. Of course, her beautiful voice and her experience in a Canadian production of Rent didn’t hurt when she was discovered by Amir Thompson of The Roots, who invited Scott to collaborate with the band. She contributed to the writing of the band’s song “You Got Me,” which won a Grammy in 2000.

I am a long-time fan of Scott’s music and a new devotee of her poetry. What has always affected me most about her music is the raw honesty of her lyrics. Listening to a Jill Scott song, you feel as though she’s in the room speaking to you as she would a close friend. Her poetry has the same unembellished honesty. The cadence of her poetry has a distinct lilt, carrying one word right into the next, like natural speech. Scott speaks about the issues that are so crucial to experiencing life fully – relationships, spirituality, self-identity – and brings to them a new and very personal outlook. In Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman argues that the goal of the poet is to see life and humanity as they truly are and to convey those insights honestly, without sentimentality or disingenuous decoration. Scott certainly accomplishes that.

For example, she begins a poem discussing something as seemingly banal as her experience with being potty trained and, with the concluding line, “I don’t even think of you now,” abruptly turns the poem into a sharp and biting portrayal of her relationship with the parent in question.

Jill Scott appeared on last year’s premier episode of Russell Simmons Presents Def Poetry on HBO. I highly recommend checking it out on You Tube:

It’s emotionally raw and somewhere between an a cappella performance and spoken word. Clearly, Jill Scott is as much a poet as she is a singer.

Your to do list, ATLiens, must include a trip to Criminal Records on Saturday for free Comic Book Day. (The rest of you can find you can find the nearest participating store here.) Criminal being Criminal, they have events a’plenty to celebrate.  Lil’ Got Books and I will be there first thing Saturday morning getting the pick of the litter.  Salon has a handy guide to the free comic books that will be available.  Did I mention free?

The Criminal Records blog (Motto: Keep Atlanta Awesome) has collected customers’ recollections of their first record purchases in a real record store here and here.  (The list of customers includes me!  I’m famous.)

Cool guy/artist Cooper Sanchez has an opening in Decatur tonight. Details.

If you want to get in touch with your own inner Alternadad, you need to get down to The Graveyard Tavern in East Atlanta tomorrow.  At 3 PM, The Wipes, a band comprised of parents from the Grant Park Cooperative Preschool will be rocking the house with the best pre-school dance party that you’ll come across all day long.

Each morning, while I stand on the platform waiting for my train to work, this man is smiling at me:

Once on the train, this smiling countenance welcomes me:

Neither of those books will tell you on their covers that the authors head mega-churches and are preachers of the “prosperity gospel”. Slate did a nice job of exposing some of the problems with that top guy’s theology. The bottom guy (based here in Atlanta) is under Congressional investigation because a Senator wanted to know why churches that but Rolls Royce automobiles should be tax exempt entities. And his name is not in any way ironic.  Both of these books are bestsellers.

I was busy with being annoyed by these guys when a link to a web site for The Christ Corporation appeared in my inbox. At first glance, it appeared to be the logical progression for the prosperity gospel gravy train. Instead, it appears to be a poker-faced lampooning of the kinds of churches that these guys run. While checking out the site, I had that occasional feeling that lighting was going to come crashing through the window at any moment. But seriously, who are the sacrilegious here?

And of course, The Christ Corporation has a blog. It features tips for dressing for success (business casual conveys a saintly image) and some original scholarship on the nature of the Antichrist (it’s not who you think!).

And what’s with these guys’ hands? Who poses that way? This guy, while not a preacher, does the same thing…

It’s creeping me out! I guess that one guy at that success seminar at the Arena said that you gotta get those hands in the the picture - no matter how ridiculous you look.

Robbed! I say.  Our man Steven Hall, author of The Raw Shark Texts, was short listed for the Arthur C. Clarke Award.  Sadly, for Raw Shark fans everywhere, Hall didn’t take home the big prize.  Instead, the winner was Richard Morgan for his book Thirteen (or TH1RTE3N, if you prefer).  Confusingly, the book was published as Black Man in England.  Amazon’s Omnivoracious blog has the scoop on Thirteen straight from the author:

It’s stuffed full of contentious material that, whether you agree with it or not, will give you conversational ammunition at dinner parties for months to come. Shock and Awe your guests with Provocative Genetic Science! It’s my first conscious attempt at a world that is not dystopian–roll up and see a cheery(ish) future society, one you might not actually mind living in for a change. It has a very unpredictable storyline–I know this because I had no idea where my characters were going half the time…

Intriguing.

Nitro’s review of Lauren Groff’s The Monster’s of Templeton was so convincing that there was little choice but to by the book at the first opportunity.   I suspect that my appreciation for the novel may be slightly less than Nitro’s but only by the thinnest margin.  Read her review for the gist of the novel, and I’ll just throw in my two cents along with some supplemental material that I’ve come across.

This is a charming book - in the least patronizing sense of that word.  It has a centuries old literary pedigree at its core, but the novel is neither twee nor precious.  The “monster” that occupies the imagination of the  town makes for some great symbolism.  There’s a lot going on in this novel.  Check it out for a nice read.

The Monsters of Templeton made me want to read all of James Fenimore Cooper’s books.  So hat’s off for that feat alone.  I also need to visit Cooperstown, NY - all the more so after Groff recently paired her book with Three Philosopher’s, which is brewed by Coopertown’s Brewery Ommegang.  Between a trip to the brewery and the Baseball Hall of Fame, I’d feel like I was one of the novel’s “Drosophila tourists”.  (Best description of tourists ever.)

I recently came across a weird trailer for the novel. It’s like Masterpiece Theater Presents: The Monsters of Templeton. And why are their accents so strange?  The cover gives the game away. It’s for the UK edition, and the actors in the trailer are apparently trying to sound American. “Marmaduke” gives them all away.