I was away for a beach vacation last week. Usually that means that I’ll read a stack of books. This year I packed five books, but I only managed to read one. And after dutifully reading numerous summer reading lists, the book I did manage to read (published way back in 2000) was not on any of them (as far as I know). On the upside: it was a book that I have been meaning to read for years, it was very good, and it weighed about 20 pounds. So there was a bit of workout carrying back and forth to the beach. And I didn’t run put of books. Which is the worst.
With the idea of reading more short stories in mind as a goal for 2008, I was happy to see Say You’re One of Them by Uwem Akpan come through the mail slot. Once I read the author’s bio, the book jumped to the top of my reading list. Akpan was born in Nigeria, studied in the US, became a Jesuit priest, and then got an MFA from the University of Michigan. He works as a Parish priest in Africa. (I attended a Jesuit school is the attraction.)
The stories contained in Say You’re One of Them are not the predictable morality tales that you might expect from an author whose day job is being a priest. These are dark tales of people on the edge of existence living in extreme conditions. Adding to the desperation, the stories are all told from the point of view of children. Many of the stories center around religious or tribal conflicts that have long ago abandoned rationale behavior. This story collection will keep you up nights.
The book opens with the story An Ex-Mas Feast, a harrowing tale of a family living in extreme poverty. The style of the story and the hard realities of the son reminded me of the excellent novel African Psycho by Alain Mabankou. (You can read An Ex-Mas Feast at The New Yorker.)
The stories in this collection are gripping and imediate. Even a usually ill-advised second person narrative completely sucks the reader in within pages. Two of the stories are novella length and are almost cruel in taking so long to reach their resolution. The stories take place throughout Africa, highlighting that the horrors portrayed are more widespread than we’d care to think. For those of from the US, there is even a handy map on the inside cover so that we can locate where the stories are taking place.
I highly recommend this amazing collection of stories.
Here at BGB, we don’t often talk politics. We don’t hide our politics either; we just prefer to discuss political issues in the context of books. If at all. The older I get the less stomach I have for bare knuckle political confrontation. I mention this because we’ve been unwillingly pulled into some unsavory right wing smear job, and I’m not happy about it. Here’s the story:
Way back in 2005, which I am pretty sure was before this election season got underway, I posted a review of Barack Obama’s book Dreams From My Father. Flash forward three years, a right wing smear e-mail starts going around that professes to let Obama speak in his own words by misquoting his books or by providing misleading snippets without the full context. (Read the e-mail and the Obama Campaign’s rersponse.)
Well, the a-holes decided that they would use the picture of the book that is hosted on MY site in their e-mails by hotlinking to it - rather than download and host their own picture. Once the pictures are stripped away, the e-mail just reads babygotbooks.com/Obama.jpg where the picture was (see what I mean here) - which, to me, implies that BGB is somehow on board with their BS. We are not.
Rather than attempt to find and confront these ass clowns, I decided to have some fun instead. I have renamed the file for the Dreams from My Father cover and replaced the original Obama.jpg file so that the picture that will now show up in their e-mails is this:
Forward that e-mail around as often as you like guys. Tell ‘em Baby Got Books sent ya.
Around the same time, and I suspect that the two are related, a comment appeared in the approval queue for Dr J’s review of Barack Obama’s second book, The Audacity of Hope. The comment never saw the light of day because I am not interested in having that kind of debate on my web site, but here are a few of its salient points:
Yes, the books are well written, and he is a charismatic, dynamic speaker who can stir a crowd to an almost frenzy–much like an evangelist during a revival.
President and Commander-in-Chief? I think not. He has successfully mesmerized his followers into believing he is the answer to our Nation’s and the world’s woes, much like Nickolai Carpathian (sic) in the “Left Behind” series.
Got that. Obama not only has the magical powers to hypnotize people, but he is like a fictional Anti-Christ. That is literally demonizing the man. He is likened to a demon. Demonization.
As long as we’re talking politics, and speaking only for myself and not for BGB at large, I say:
One of the items on my 2008 reading agenda was to read more short story collections. Jim Shepard’s collection, the National Book Award-winning Like You’d Understand, Anyway seemed like a good bet.
Like You’d Understand, Anyway is a stunning achievement and is unlike any short story collection that I have ever read. Each of the stories is set in a very specific time and place, like Colonial Australia, a Soyuz space capsule, an Ancient Greek battle, Revolutionary Paris, a high school football field, Chernobyl, etc. The stories’ settings are incredibly well detailed. The amount of research that must have gone into this collection is staggering.
The grapplers on the cover are a metaphor for Shepard’s stories that feature men (with the exception of a female Cosmonaut) wrestling with themselves, responsibility, history, and the expectations of others. The stories also tend to be action driven with little of the navel gazing that derails some short stories. This is an excellent collection for people that don’t like to read short stories - and, of course, for those that do.
I have bought three copies of this book to date. The first two were bought as gifts for other people, and the third, finally, was for me. It’s entirely possible that I’ll buy another copy of the book for future gifts. Pick up a copy of two for yourself.
So, you’re looking for something different to read this summer. Have I got the book for you. Sharp Teeth by Toby Barlow is simply the best epic poem about lycanthropes that you’ll read this year.
Come back! What? You’re not a fan of werewolf stories or long poems? Generally, neither am I. On the poetry front, Barlow’s verse is not rhymed or metered. It’s not Beowulf. It certainly doesn’t have the formal constraints that Mark Z. Danielewski’s Only Revolutions rigidly imposed on its self. Instead the free verse feels stripped away of everything that’s not central to advancing the story in a timely manner. The brakes have been removed from the narrative.
The story revolves around Anthony, a down on his luck schlub who gets a job in L.A. as a county dog catcher. We are introduced to rival packs of werewolves around the L.A. area. Some gangs are criminals; some gangs are white collar businessman led by a lawyer. I suspect that Barlow is trying to tell us something. The fighting within gangs and between the rival gangs can be fairly graphic and bloody.
Sharp Teeth is not simply a horror novel/poem. It’s also a book about modern relationships, urban life, the single-mindedness of enterprises both legal and illegal, and survival in the modern age. At its heart, Sharp Teeth also tells the love story of Anthony and the woman/werewolf sent to keep an eye on him.
Anthony in love is unlikely
in its grace,
like a drunk with a magic trick.
There’s no reason it should work
but it does.
Like Anthony in love, Sharp Teeth just works.
An aside: While reading the novel, I went to see the L.A. punk band X at the Variety Playhouse (30th Anniversary tour?! Yikes!). One of the songs that they played was their classic The Hungry Wolf. The very next day, I began a chapter that had a line from the lyrics as an introduction. I love when things like that happen. I’m just telling you this story so I have an excuse to add the song to this post. Check it out. The vibe in the song is similar to the mood of the novel. Says me.
I am on vacation this week enjoying blissful peace at the beach. I’ve been catching up on my reading, as well as just chilling out. One of the things that I just got around to reading was Richard Ford’s essay The Myth of Summer in the Wall Street journal. Poor Richard! It seems if you are a millionaire and Pulitzer-winning author, summer, while somewhat anticipated, disappoints in a vague way that can’t be articulated. But it has something to do with going to the Post Office and being afraid in your boat. Or possibly the war.
The Telegraph (UK) lists the 50 Best EVER Summer Reads. There are a few books on the list that seem way too academic for taking to the beach, but its worth a look.
A friend recommended Consequences by Penelope Lively with such enthusiasm when she was about ten pages into it that I had to pick it up immediately. I read The Photograph last year and thoroughly enjoyed it.
The theme of the novel is formulaic: fate and consequences control our destinies. However, the formula is deftly handled by Lively.
The novel focuses on the lives of three women: Lorna, her daughter Molly, and Molly’s daughter Ruth. The book opens with Lorna sitting on a park bench crying after an argument with her mother. She catches the eye of a young artist named Matt who is at the park sketching ducks for a wood engraving he has been commissioned to produce. They end up blissfully married and forever thankful for the commission, the argument, and the park bench. Lorna is a young bride with a small daughter living with her husband in a cottage nestled in the English countryside when World War II breaks out.
Not much more can be said about the plot without spoilers. As with most books focused on fate every event leads to a chain reaction of other events right up through the last page.
I’ve read some reviews of the book since finishing it and have been very surprised to find some rather harsh criticism of the pace of the story (too fast), the development of the characters (or lack thereof), and the stilted dialogue. I feel as if I read a different book. Granted, packing 3 generations of women and their families into 258 pages makes for a pace that never lets up. Herman Wouk she is not. On the other hand, though, do we need every detail of what was eaten and worn and thought to grasp the story and the feeling of the time? Either the answer is no or I am far more intuitive than I imagined.
As for character development, I finished the book over a week ago as of this writing and still miss the characters. They are well-drawn, warm, easy-to-relate-to characters.
The dialogue may not be as natural as one might like, but it makes a point and pulls pieces of the story together to highlight the events that move the characters through the story. I had no issue with the dialogue at all.
Maybe I missed something, but I thoroughly enjoyed the book and look forward to reading more by Penelope Lively.
Oh Pure and Radiant Heart by Lydia Millet rounds out my impromptu Women and Science Trilogy. (The other two books were Rivka Galchen’s Atmospheric Disturbances and Samantha Hunt’s The Invention of Everything Else.) Someone somewhere has to get these three women on a panel discussion about science and literature. I’d go.
It was mandatory that I pick up Oh Pure and Radiant Heart immediately upon finishing Millet’s excellent How the Dead Dream. (With apologies to George W. Bush: I’ve read two Millets!) The cover blurb on the cover of my edition says, ” a brilliant, madcap, poetic, fact-spiked, and penetrating novel (think Twain, Vonnegut, Murakami, and DeLillo).” That’s pretty accurate. I’d also add Thomas Pynchon to the mix.
Oh Pure and radiant Heart begins with a great premise. Following the detonation of the first nuclear bomb in the desert of New Mexico, three of the leading physicists involved in the Manhattan Project (Robert Oppenheimer, Enrico Fermi, and Leo Szilard) find themselves in modern Sante Fe befriended by a local librarian named Ann. Millet doesn’t explain how the men came to be there - they just are. Ann quickly comes to believe that the men are who they say they are. Her husband thinks that they are convincing but are either deeply deluded or are con men. Throughout the novel, people must choose whether to accept the scientists’ claim (or not) as an article of faith. The scientists themselves are not interested in sci-fi time-machine theories for their sudden appearance . As Szilard notes:
I like H.G. Wells as much as the next guy, but please. We are men of science.
Ann helps the scientists in their quest to discover the purpose for their appearance int he 21st century. The search leads the group to visit the Los Alamos and Nevada Test Site nuclear facilities, Nagasaki and Hiroshima, and ultimately to Washington, D.C. The journey becomes increasingly as the novel progresses.
One of the things that Millet does exceedingly well in this novel is breathe life into the physicists by equipping them fully developed unique personalities. These are no mere cardboard cut-outs for the author to drape her themes from. Szilard is a self-important know it all who quickly adapts to our time, taking instantly to a laptops and cell phones. He even quotes rapper Ice Cube at one point. Enrico Fermi, on the other hand, is a bit of an Eeyore. He is hopelessly lost in our world, and guilt-ridden about his involvement in the Manhattan Project. Metaphysically adrift, Fermi laments:
I have lost confidence in the validity of my judgment. With science, he said, — one can explain everything except oneself.
It is Oppenheimer who steals the show. He is a dashing figure in European suits, French cigarettes, and a porkpie hat. And he is a genius. After watching the detonation of the bomb, Oppenheimer quotes from the Bhagavad Gita:
If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the mighty one. Now I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
I may be wrong, but I don’t know that scientists talk that way much anymore. For that matter, it would be interesting to find any government spokesperson quoting from an Eastern religious text. The novel notes that Oppenheimer also liked to give his projects lofty names. For example, he called the first atomic bomb test site “Trinity”.
Wait a minute, “Trinity”? And there are three scientists. Surely she doesn’t go there? Oh, yes she does. Religion and science are clearly central themes in the novel, but not necessarily in the way that one might think. It is science, after all, that is responsible for enabling men to become “destroyer of worlds”. Religion doesn’t get a pass either though. Eventually the scientists are joined by armed religious zealots that want to co-opt the time travelers’ message of peace for their own ends. The tension between science and religion is palpable in the book, and both have some answering to do.
Early in the novel, the scientists read their own (and each other’s) biographies, world history of the intervening years, and the latest in scientific developments. Coming to grips with their role in world history fuels their journey and drives them toward what they feel that they must do to make amends. However, the trio were under no disillusionment in the 1940’s that the bomb, if developed, would not be used.
Oppenheimer says: That a man, a group, or institution should want to employ a nuclear weapon, should desire its employement is difficult for a thoughtful person to credit, thought Oppenheimer. And yet weapons are full of desire, shaking with it, They are instruments for the expression of longing.
and
Millet tells us: One day, when Oppenheimer was on a boat full of world-renowned physicists, he was what would happen if the boat were to sink. “It wouldn’t do any permanent good,” he said.
Yet they persevered, if for no other reason than to beat the Nazis. Throughout the book, Millet also interjects snippets of the history of atomic weapon development. Clearly she did a remarkable amount of homework to write the book. If you’re not careful, as they used to say on Fat Albert, you might learn something before its done.
Oh Pure and Radiant Heart is not a perfect novel, but I loved it anyway. Millet’s prose often made me stop cold in admiration. More than once an incredible sentence would redeem pages that seemed to be going nowhere. The first draft of this post contained about 10 more quotations from the book and was twice as long. Let’s just say that I am very enthusiastic about the book. Some may be put off by the length, and there are sections that drag here and there. If you don’t find the subject matter of interest, it may be a slog. That said, Oh Pure and Radiant Heart is a novel that was almost tailor made for my enjoyment. I could go on and on. Pick it up if you are a like-minded reader.
Interesting Side Note: When I began writing this review, the NYT ran an interesting story about the phyicists in the current U.S. Congress. There are three of them. Freak-y.
Additional reading: If the subject of nuclear weapons is of interest to you, I highly recommend Richard Rhodes’ Pulitzer-winning The Making of the Atomic Bomb. After reading Millet’s novel, I feel the need to pick up the Oppenheimer biography American Prometheus by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin, which also won the Pulitzer.
One more quote from the book: “Love of knowledge can draw on its credit indefinitely…In love and knowledge there are two ostensibly virtuous quantities, so love of knowledge is ironclad.”
The NYT’s Paper Cuts blog has a snippet from a recent press conference where the Prez talks about how much he loves to read. He’s never even seen TV’s The West Wing. He told you he was hardcore.
The episode reminded me of an interview that Bush had with NBC’s Brian Williams a few years back. The scene: the Administration has completely blown the response to Hurricane Katrina and the aftermath. The Oval Office has just released a list of books the President has recently “read” and Williams decides to grill the President about his reading list - in New Orleans - about a year after the Hurricane. Let’s roll the tape:
Three Shakespeares! That year Bush and Rove were having a reading contest. In August Bush had read 60 books to Rove’s 50. Apparently this news was delivered with a straight face.
To date, I’ve seen exactly two Kindles in the wild. Both times I was on an airplane. For hot commodities, they seem fairly rare. Or maybe I travel in Luddite circles. Both times, I wanted to tap the owners on the shoulder and quiz them on their use. Have the gotten their $400 worth?
If you’re on a budget and have an iPhone (mutually exclusive?), you can make your own Kindle. Sort of. It involves some hackery and hollowing out a Moleskine notebook to slip your iPhone into for that “book feel”. It’ll make more sense when you check out the how-to at Wired.
After reading Tim’s review of Shut Up, I’m Talking, by Gregory Levey, I couldn’t resist picking up my own copy. I’m a total sucker for any sort of memoir, real or fictional, about somebody who’s somehow found him or herself in too deep.
I wouldn’t really classify this one like that, though; despite the unlikeliness of a third-year Canadian law student getting a job as a speechwriter for Israel’s U.N. delegation (and then advancing from there), Levey never really seems to be over his head. He seems confused, surprised, and downright scared at times, but not because of any insecurity about his skills; rather, the nervous tension that spans his entire experience stems from getting an insider’s look at the Keystone Cops routine that goes on behind the curtain at a powerful organization that one would expect to have its ducks in a row. And that’s what makes this an interesting read.
I can’t claim to have any insights into what it’s like to work for the government (U.S. or foreign), let alone to be in the midst of a political situation as volatile as the one that exists in the Middle East — in fact, as I read this book, I have to confess that I sometimes had to quickly do some research on the side to get myself up to speed on who gets along with whom in the region — but even as someone with no personal experiences to benchmark against, I was fascinated and freaked out by reading about Levey’s experience. If I had had aspirations of working in government or politics, they’d have gone on the shelf faster than this book did when I finished it.
One more note about the book: it’s easy to see how Levey landed a job as a speechwriter. He has a style that is clean and clear and doesn’t get bogged down by any of the fancy literary devices that are often the downfall of otherwise good storytellers. He has a superb command of the language, and his confidence in this ability allows him to tell his story in a straightforward manner, without ever trying to show off with ridiculous stylistic acrobatics that would throw his tale off the tracks. And that’s totally cool with me.
I saw this on the back door of Criminal Records/Aurora Coffee last week. Call to arms? Mission statement? I don’t know, but it’s a nice reminder to support our local scene. Someone print up shirts.
HappeningsPosted by Tim on June 16, 2008 at 7:34 AM
If you missed it, The Bobbie Faye Fais Do-Do Crawfish Boil and Author Shindig to celebrate Wordsmiths Books first anniversary was a terrific evening. After several thunderstorms earlier in the day threatened to spoil the fun, the skies cleared and we had as near perfect an evening in June as one could ask for to boil crawfish. A few glitches on my end of the proceedings slowed us down a little, but it all worked for the best in the end. On the new schedule, the crawfish were ready just as the events inside the store finished.
Since I was tending the pot, I missed the author events in the store. By all accounts, I missed out. Author Toni McGee Causey came out and taught an impromptu Crawfish Eating 101 class.
Toni teaches the proper technique as I maniacally add more food to the table
I had a great time talking to everyone who happened to wander by about crawfish, New Orleans, books, and just about everything else. It was especially enjoyable getting to meet some other local bloggers. Barbara from Publicly Available Angst had some nice things to say on her blog. The inDECATUR blog also featured a nice report on the proceedings. I found the accompanying picture to be an especially humorous/not especially flattering picture of me doing my thing.
Sure doesn’t look too appetizing. Here’s the marketing copy:
Specifications: The natural foodstuff is refined from natural powder of Konjac, which regard as man raw material. It contains rich edible staple, KGM, and many kinds amino acid, low fat, no cholesterol; taste is refreshment, profitable health. It can be called the scavenger of human body.
I’ll be sure to order plenty for next year’s boil so Russ can join in.
Don’t forget: As part of the Wordsmiths One Year Anniversary festivities, I’ll be cooking crawfish on the Square in Decatur tomorrow evening right in front of The ’smiths. I am giddy. You might be asking - why? What do tasty tasty crustaceans have to do with books? I’m glad you asked. As part of Saturday night’s festivities, Louisiana author Toni McGee Causey will be reading from her new book Bobbie Faye’s (kinda sorta, not excatly) Family Jewels. Let’s look at Ms. Causey’s book covers:
Do you notice the common thread between those covers? Right. Crawfish. A cajun dance party is called a fais do-do, and the great minds at Wordsmiths hatched the idea of a Bobbie Faye Fais Do-Do. Cajun food was called for, and being a native New Orleanian, I can’t bear the though of sub-standard Cajun food being served anywhere. I had to volunteer my services. We take our eating (and our partying) very seriously in that part of the world. It’s an essential part of our culture and heritage.
A quick piece of Cajun history and folklore: The Cajuns in south Louisiana originally lived in French-speaking Canada (where they were known as Acadians) before they were shown the door. The lobsters in Acadiana were so sad to see the Acadians leaving that the hearty crustaceans began to swim after the Acadians boats. As you can imagine, the ships sailed a lot quicker than lobsters could swim. The lobsters couldn’t take any breaks to eat or do anything else if they were going to keep up with the Acadians. By the time the Acadians and the lobsters were reunited in Louisiana, the lobsters had wasted away to a shadow of their former selves. Hence the origin of the crawfish. “Acadian” eventually was bastardized into the word “Cajun,” and there you go. Culture and heritage in one tasty package.
It’s the tail end (a pun!) of the season, and crawfish are trés expensive to ship to this part of the world. Accordingly, quantities will be limited. Be sure to get there in a timely fashion if you want to get your fair share. The Bobbie Faye Fais Do-Do gets underway at 7 and is free.
Of course, Wordsmiths being Wordsmiths, the Fais Do-Do is not the only event on the weekend’s agenda. Here are the highlights again if you haven’t been paying attention:
Friday: Live music from 7-11 PM. Four bands. All awesome.
Saturday:
Poetry Atlanta takes the stage at 2 PM
At 7PM the Bobbie Faye Fais Do-Do Crawfish Boil and Author Shindig officially gets under way featuring Toni McGee Causey and three other top-shelf authors.
Sunday:
Richard Blais’ will be appearing to sign Top Chef: The Cookbook at 2PM.
Even more chefs descend on The ’smiths to sign Atlanta Cooks at 4PM.
The article also lists the results of The Believer’s reader survey. I recommend carrying the reader survey in your wallet for your next trip to the bookstore. There are some great titles on the list. Here’s my ballet for the reader survey:
