Baby Got Books

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.

Better, by Atul Gawande, sounded like a fascinating read. On the front cover of the edition I bought, Malcolm Gladwell, author of Blink (a book everybody but me liked), calls Better “a masterpiece, a series of stories set inside the four walls of a hospital that end up telling us something unforgettable about the world outside.” Truth be told, though, the real reason I picked up this book was because of the subheading under its title: “A surgeon’s notes on performance”. As a professional constantly faced with differing philosophies as to how performance should be measured and rewarded, I thought the idea of reading a “masterpiece” on the subject from someone whose performance can literally mean life or death would be worthwhile.

Let me preface this post (unless it’s too late at this point for a preface) by saying that this book didn’t really meet with my expectations; however, once again, that was because my expectations might have been a bit skewed. And although the book didn’t really talk to me about performance metrics as much as I expected, it was still a nice read.

What Gawande does in the book is break down what he believes to be three core requirements for success in a field that involves risk and responsibility (such as medicine): diligence, doing right, and ingenuity. He then builds the case for each of these through the use of anecdotes. None of these anecdotes really stands on its own as the basis for any world-changing proposition, but each of them is effectively representative of an approach or philosophy that Gawande cites it for. And I will absolutely vouch for the fact that Gawande has a very easy-to-read writing style. I doubt that he took a whole lot of writing classes while in medical school, but you wouldn’t know it from reading this work. His approach is one to challenge your thinking, not to challenge your reading ability.

Will this book change your life? Probably not. Will you regret spending the time to read it? I strongly doubt it. Will you learn a lot about some things you probably didn’t know much detail about (eradicating polio, the treatment of wounded soldiers, the Apgar score)? Absolutely.

We’ve been kicking around the idea of having a BGB Reading Series event in Brooklyn. No, really. For one thing, a kindly bookstore suggested the idea. Secondly, that’s where are all of the writers that matter live, right? Most importantly, good friends of the Family Got Books, the Journo Pals, recently moved there. Mr. Journo Pal sent this map of literary Brooklyn from The New York Observer to get the ball rolling:

The article references a Colson Whitehead essay for The New York Times Book Review (I Write in Brooklyn, Get Over it) that you should read, too. If you’ve got a good reading series in Brooklyn idea, I’d love to hear it.

I read a lot of Jewish lit and most of it revolves around Ashkenazi Jews (those who immigrated from Eastern Europe). I haven’t read many stories or even know many Sephardic Jews - those from Spain and the Middle East. The Man in the Sharkskin Suit is the story of a prestigious, Jewish family in Cairo in the 1940’s and 50’s who eventually flees to Brooklyn under the Nasser regime.

Lucette Lagnado, a reporter for the Wall Street Journal retells her father’s (Leon aka “Le Capitain”) life which is the opposite of the American dream. Throughout most of his life, he is a dashing, cosmopolitan entrepeneur who lives life to the fullest. He begins his day in synagogue, then goes on to wheel and deal (Lagnado never really knew how her father earned a living - just that he seemed to be some kind of high-end peddler) and then socializes with Cairo’s glitterati late into the evening. Leon is portrayed as a dashing figure, the title of the book stems from the fact that he always wore white sharkskin suits, and he is idolized by the author who becomes her father’s companion throughout most of his life.

Lagnado is the youngest of four and her father dotes on her and gives her all of the affection that he does not give towards his wife and other children. While Lagnado sees her father through rose colored glasses, she does a good job of also showing the dark side of Leon. Her parent’s had a very unhappy marriage and her other siblings had a much more strained relationship with their father. Lagnado’s mother is the least likable character in the memoir. She is a weak woman who realizes that her marriage was a mistake in the first few months and spends the next 50 years as the miserable, underdog.

With the rising tide of anti-semitism after the formation of Israel and Nasser’s rise to power in Egypt, life becomes more and more difficult for the Jews of Cairo. Finally in 1963, Leon realizes that he has no choice but to leave Cairo. The rules were very stringent about emigration and families were not allowed to leave with any money - only clothing and personal items. Jewish Services agencies around the world took responsibility for emigration of these Egyptian Jews and most settled in either Israel or America. Lagnado’s family ends up in Brooklyn via Paris penniless and with no prospects for a viable future. The remainder of the book details the hardships that they encountered including the author’s serious illness and the eventual estrangement between the other siblings and their parents.

This book is a heart-felt, personal account of a family’s tumultous life which started in the Old World and ends in the New World. What does not change throughout the memoir is Leon’s unwavering adherence to Judaism and his deep love for his daughter. I really enjoyed this book and was most fascinated by the description of Cairo in the 1940’s. I had no idea that it rivaled Paris with its nightlife and was a booming melting pot of Christian’s, Muslims, Jews, Egyptians and British who were stationed there during the war. Leon represented a time and place in history that his daughter beautifully recreated with this memoir.

Dean Wareham’s indie rock memoir, Black Postcards, was reviewed by two big-deal book review sections this past weekend.

The LA Times handed the book a mostly poor review.  The reviewer botched the lyrics to the song “IHOP”, which, of course, makes it easier to reject the entire review out of hand.  The reviewer’s assertion that Wareham seems to have written the book to settle “old scores” just seems flat out wrong to me.

The New York Times, on the other hand, had the good taste to have the book reviewed by Liz Phair.  Liz Phair!  Also a veteran on the 90’s indie rock scene, Phair’s review comes across as very knowledgeable and well written.  I didn’t notice the byline until the end of the (very positive) review, and I was stunned.  I hope that they’ll be sending more work Ms. Phair’s way soon.

You can read my review of Black Postcards at Largehearted Boy.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, by Jean-Dominique Bauby (which was recently made into a major motion picture that I have not seen yet), is essentially a memoir. But way different than most memoirs. It is a recounting of tragedy by its victim, but told with a triumphant spirit that defies the tragic end that looms. If the title hadn’t already been used, I might even refer to this book as a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

For those of you who don’t know, Bauby was 43 years old in 1995 and was the editor of French Elle magazine — a well-traveled journalist and father of two young children who had lived quite an interesting life up until December of that year, when he suffered a massive stroke that left him with “locked in syndrome”, in which he was completely paralyzed except for his left eyelid (which he could blink). But unlike most forms of paralysis, he could feel his body — he just couldn’t move it. Locked in syndrome is what gives the book its name; Bauby refers to his condition as like being locked in a clear diving bell, unable to interact with the outside world, but with his mind behaving like a butterfly, flitting freely along inside the diving bell.

Other elements of his particular condition are worth noting as well. For instance, his right ear was completely blocked, but his left ear amplified and distorted distance noises. It was like having a bionic ear that allowed him to hear the slightest distant noises, but not always in a good way. If a tv was left on, or if bells rang in the distance, it could be an ear-piercing experience that he could do nothing to stop. And the condition in general left him at fate’s mercy because he could do nothing to correct what would normally be to you or me nothing more than tedious little annoyances, such as covers bunching up under him. Let alone what happened when his catheter came loose (which happened at least once), and he became uncomfortably drenched with no way of informing his caregivers.

The book was dictated by Bauby during his stay at the Naval hospital in Berck-sur-Mer, on the French Channel coast. He dictated the book, letter by letter, to a speech therapist at the hospital, using a special alphabet layout in which the letters are arranged in order of their frequency of use in the French language; she would read off the letters in that order until Bauby would blink his left eye, signaling that she should note the letter at which he stopped her. And the book gave me chills as I read the story, thinking about it in the context in which it was transcribed.

Bauby’s wit and sense of humor are in full effect, despite his condition. He talks of taking vacations in his mind, in which he re-travels to the corners of the globe with no physical or financial restraint. He jokes about Hong Kong, a place he has never actually visited, but which was the site of a global conference hosted by Elle. In describing Hong Kong, he references the Felix Bar in the Peninsula Hotel, which was decorated by the French designer Philippe S., and he says:

The fact is, my likeness adorns the back of a chair in that lofty luxurious watering hole. I, who hate to have my photo taken, was one of dozens of Parisians whose portraits Philippe S. incorporated into the decor. That photo, of course, was taken some weeks before fate turned me into a scarecrow. I have no idea whether my chair is more or less popular than the others, but if you go there, for God’s sake don’t tell the barman what happened to me. They say the Chinese are superstitious, and if my true fate were known, not one of those charming little Chinese miniskirts would ever dare sit on me again.

Bauby also references the sinister character Noirtier de Villaforte, from Alexander Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo, who was described by Dumas as a “living mummy”. In fact, Noirtier — who was slumped in a wheelchair and could communicate only by blinking his eye — was, according to Bauby, literature’s first, and so far only, case of locked in syndrome. Bauby had recently re-read that classic, and had toyed with the idea of writing a modern version of it. Only to be stricken with that rare condition that plagued one of its villains. That’s not necessarily irony, but it’s certainly tragedy.

Bauby died just two days after the French publication of his book. But we are all fortunate that he was able to muster the strength and the courage, and obtain the assistance necessary, to share his thoughts and his story before he passed away. It is a wonderful sad book.

The Georgia Center for the Book is hosting an event with Charlie Cobb tonight. Cobb is the author of a magnificent new travel guide to the American civil rights movement, On the Road to Freedom: A Guided Tour of the Civil Rights Trail. What makes this book special, in addition to Cobb’s great writing, is his own insider history as one of the unsung heroes of that movement.

Cobb was a student at Howard University when he was drawn into the black freedom struggle. He ended up taking a few years off from his studies in the early and mid-1960s to organize rural blacks and register voters in the Mississippi Delta. His analysis of the situation African Americans faced in that part of the world helped convince the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (the group with which he was affiliated) to invite privileged white students into the state as volunteers for the monumental Freedom Summer project.

Cobb was the first to suggest the creation of the Freedom Schools, the parallel institution that taught a value system diametrically opposed to the one taught in Mississippi’s segregated public schools. The Freedom Schools were the enduring legacy of the Mississippi movement and only the most important development in American public education in the last half of the 20th century. But you won’t learn too much about the Freedom Schools, or about Cobb, from most American history books. (There are some exceptions: He has written about his story here, and a few historians of the Mississippi Movement, like this one have written about his organizing in some detail.)

The Georgia Center for the Book couldn’t be easier to find or get to. It’s in the Decatur Public Library, one block off the square and one block from the MARTA station. Tonight’s event features a great writer AND a significant historical figure. Two for the price of one!

Our blogmaster, Tim, received an uncorrected advance proof of Rock On, by Dan Kennedy, which he shared with me. The book chronicles Kennedy’s somewhat brief career as a marketing guy at Atlantic Records. As noted in the commentary on the book’s back cover, when Kennedy stumbles into this job, he “thinks he has landed a pass to the secret kingdom of rock and roll”, but as his tale unfolds, he learns that the activities behind the curtain at a major record label are a little less logical and polished than you might expect.

As I read, I could clearly pick up on Kennedy’s confusion at the all-too-common dichotomy that many of the proletariats at large companies feel while watching the activities of management; trying to square the belief that “I know more than these people” with the observation that “these people” must know something I don’t, because I don’t understand what they do or why they are in management.

As somewhat of a music geek and someone who works with the music industry at times, I was excited about the prospect of getting the lowdown from someone who was an insider. Alas, by the time I finished, I realized that Kennedy was never an “insider” — he was never treated like one, and certainly never felt like one. Instead, his time at Atlantic was spent under the black cloud of a rumored acquisition (with the layoffs usually tied to a takeover) and in the funk of trying to figure out what the people around him were doing.

His inability to “fit in” led to plenty of funny anecdotes, though. I don’t want to spoil the book for any potential readers, but let me say that his meeting with Duran Duran (in which he couldn’t figure out who one of the guys in the meeting was, despite replaying the video for “Rio” in his mind, and despite having professed being a “big fan” of that guy in particular) and his experience with The Donnas (who unwittingly ratted him out to his boss about the long lunches he was taking) were laugh-out-loud funny.

I would say the stories Kennedy tells about those situations and some others are in and of themselves worth the price of admission. It’s not a groundbreaking work of humor, but it was a quick and enjoyable read.

As a postscript, I harbor a bit of contempt toward Kennedy, because “Rock On” was the title I had previously come up with for the sitcom treatment I was thinking about writing up about a cheesy hair metal band from the 80’s that was getting back together to cash in on the retro fad; now, everyone will think I stole the title from Kennedy’s book. On the bright side, though, now I can bail on that idea, and hey — that’s one less thing to do for me.

I resolved to get back on track with posting for 2008 and have decided to stick with the brief synopsis plus pros/cons format.

As Linda Colley, the author of The Ordeal of Elizabeth Marsh, states in the introduction, this book tells three stories - the life of Elizabeth Marsh, the lives of her extended family members and most importantly, the historical events which were taking place during this time period. This book is not a biography of Elizabeth Marsh; it is more of a historical textbook with Elizabeth’s story interwoven throughout. I think that Colley found that Marsh was the perfect vehicle to describe the tumult of globalization during this time period. None of Marsh’s travels or experiences could have occurred were it not for the spread of English imperalism, the Revolutionary War and the economic ties that were beginning to interconnect the world through the East-West trade of salt, tea, textiles, etc.

Elizabeth Marsh lived from 1735 to 1785 and during her life she lived in England, travelled to Morocco (she was the first woman in history to write about Morocco in the English language), and lived and travelled extensively in India. What is remarkable is that most of her life was spent journeying alone or in the company of men who were neither her relatives or husband.

Marsh was a resourceful, independent woman who continually changed her path depending on her financial resources and personal situation at the time.

I admire Colley’s decision to interweave a biography with a historical narrative. However, I did not feel that Colley had enough information to write a true biography of Marsh. She was able to state the facts of Marsh’s life, but there was minimal information as to her state of mind and emotions which is what typically makes biographies engaging. While I learned a lot about England’s imperialist developments during that time period, the Royal Imperial Navy, the East India Company and global trade routes in the mid eighteenth century, I was never fully immersed in Marsh’s life.

The “+”:

- Detailed historical description of global events in the mid 18th century
- Lots of detail around the merchant society of that time and the expansion of British imperialism in India
- Impressive research into the extended Marsh family and how members of their family dispersed around the world

The “-”:

- Not enough information about what made Elizabeth Marsh tick (because that documentation doesn’t exist)
- Very dry; I would have preferred if this book was made into a historical novel and Marsh’s emotions and relationships embellished
- Tough read unless you are a world history/women’s history fan

Today is the birthday of Elvis Presley. Mrs. Got Books and I celebrated the occasion on Saturday night in our traditional fashion. Big Mike and his band Kingsized once again put on a stunning Elvis Tribute at the Variety Playhouse. Purists may have quibbled with the inclusion of “Purple Rain” in the playlist, which is not technically an Elvis song, but it ridiculously good just the same.

From an earlier post:

If you’d care to mark the occasion in a more literary frame of mind, I recommend the two volume definitive biography by Peter Guralnick. (A tip of the hat to Dr J who recommended the books to me some years ago.) The first volume, Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presely, is the better of the two and is a frankly incredible story. Volume two, Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley, is a slow downward spiral of despair (but still interesting and well written). Expect scholarship over sensationalism in these two volumes. If you’d like a taste of Guralnick’s style on the subject, the New York Times ran an Op-Ed piece last weekend in which Garulnick questions how it is that Elvis has become viewed as a racist.

I just finished a couple of political works back-to-back, so I thought I’d post on them together. Sort of like a two-for-one special. Or half-off. Or something like that.

First up was Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong, by James W. Loewen. This was another one of those books that was on my bookshelf, despite my having no idea how it got there. But given the struggles I’d been having in the world of fiction, I thought I’d give it a shot.

To say that the message of this book was startling might be an understatement. Loewen talks in depth about how so many critical events in our nation’s history have been inaccurately recounted in our history books. Many of these events are somewhat well-known (e.g., the mistreatment of Native Americans by explorers and settlers, including the bizarre twisting of the tale of the first Thanksgiving), but others were sort of news to me (e.g., the falsification of what truly happened during Reconstruction). I couldn’t possibly summarize all of Loewen’s alleged inaccuracies or the evidence he uses to back them up, but suffice it to say that if he’s only half right, our history books are all wrong. I think this book is a must-read for anyone who considers him or herself a history buff.

Next up, by complete coincidence, was Stephen Colbert’s I Am America (And So Can You!). I had read Jon Stewart’s America: The Book, and that book was absolute, no doubt about it, top shelf political humor. I think I’ll probably read that one again, maybe several times. In fact, if I read it this year (timing uncertain), add that to my “Best Of” list.

Well, given the connection between Colbert and Stewart, I thought I’d give this book a spin (pun intended). I watch the Colbert Report on occasion, and he’s a pretty funny guy. Unfortunately, stretching his schtick over the course of 200+ pages gets a little tiring. I appreciate what he’s trying to do, but the egomaniacal right-wing bullsh*t positions as applied to every subject ranging from family, to animals, to dating, to science, plus all of the expected topics (race, religion, the media, etc.) just wore kind of thin. Don’t get me wrong — there are some funny spots in the book — it’s just that you can only laugh at the same joke so many times before you tire of it (unless that joke is “The Aristocrats”).

I fell in love with Barack Obama during his keynote speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, and even more in love after I watched this speech.

He’s been my favored candidate for president ever since he announced, I’ve given him a little money, and I’ve expressed my enthusiasm for him in various ways. I knew about his general biography and could mark his spot on the political spectrum, but I couldn’t honestly say that I knew exactly what sorts of specific policies he would pursue, or what kind of leader he was likely to be, if elected president until I read The Audacity of Hope.

Suffice it to say that I like what I read.

I don’t share all of Obama’s beliefs and values — I’ve given up on trying to find candidates who match my beliefs and values perfectly — but we’re pretty close in this regard, and after reading this book I have a deep respect for how Obama developed them. For instance, I don’t share his religious faith, but I get it. I understand why he’s made the choices he has made, and I deeply respect the mature and intellectual way that he decided to become a practicing Christian. (It had nothing to do with political calculations, by the way.) I also appreciate the fact that he remains skeptical and doubtful about his faith, in addition to everything else in his belief system. We could use somebody in the White House who’s a little less certain that he’s carrying out god’s will.

Obama’s politics come across as deeply rooted in a particular value system, but remarkably non-ideological. I can only paraphrase the distinction he draws, because I don’t have the book in front of me, but it boils down to using a value system to help him assess the facts that present themselves in the real world — and perhaps adjusting the value system to the facts, instead of the other way around — and not using an ideology to filter out the inconvenient facts and concentrate on the ones that buttress the ideology. I’d like to have a president like that.

Best of all, the guy is a fantastic writer, even if he sometimes uses twelve words when three will do and his prose, like some of his politics, sometimes edges toward the purple. (Call me naive, but I believe he wrote every word in this book.) Can you imagine what it would be like to have a president who can not only read, but write, books? Keep hope alive!

I signed an online endorsement that compares Obama to JFK. But I think that misses the mark. I honestly believe that if elected, Obama would think more like Lincoln and govern more like FDR. That’s high praise, since those two are in my judgment far and away the greatest presidents in US history, and I don’t say that lightly.

I hope Obama wins in Iowa tonight, then wins the nomination and the general election. But I’d also like to see him as a Supreme Court justice or the Senate majority leader. So if he loses, I’ll live and I’ll expect bigger and better things from him in the future. But I sure hope he wins.

I picked up Close Reading: Chuck Close and the Artist Portrait, by Martin Friedman, more or less with the expectation that I would flip through it, ogle at the pictures, and then use it as a conversation piece/coffee table book. I have been fascinated by Chuck Close’s style as an artist for years, although I didn’t know much about him other than a vague recollection that he had been partially paralyzed at some point, and I used the availability of this book as a way to see more of his work.

Well, the book certainly contains pictures of much of his work, but also features much more. What I began with the intention of skimming through this as a flip book became a very engaging read about Close’s history as an artist, his methods, his relationships, and what drives him as an artist. Believe it or not, the text was just as engaging as the pictures (and that’s saying a lot).

For those of you unfamiliar with Chuck Close, he’s an artist who’s made his name primarily through huge portraits, many of them self-portraits, and virtually always based on photographic images. He has used a number of techniques historically, from hyper-realism (his “Big Self-Portrait”, from 1967-68, looks like a nine-foot high photograph) to more minimalist works that look like collages or mosaics, in which no individual element makes any sense, but which in their entirety form an incredibly recognizable image.

The book talks about some of Close’s struggles during his development (including dyslexia) and the methods he used to overcome them, as well as the frightening episode in 1988 when he suffered an occluded spinal artery that left him partially paralyzed, but did not stop him from continuing with his artistry. It also talks about the painstaking processes he uses to select his models (all people whom he knows) and to transfer imagery from carefully planned and lit photographs onto canvas or paper or whatever other surface he chooses for the portrait. The methods used and the time it takes to create his art is mind-boggling.

In short, pick this one up for the pictures, but don’t disregard the story it tells.

Not being very well-read in the classics or in the areas of political science, philosophy or psychology, and being a guy who uses the term “Machiavellian” more than anyone I know, I thought it made sense for me to read Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince. The version I read was translated by Daniel Donno.

Given (a) how short this book is (less than 100 small pages), (b) how much I assumed I already knew about what it means to be “Machiavellian, and (c) that this book was written almost five hundred years ago, in another language, I really didn’t expect a whole lot here, other than perhaps some difficult to understand confirmations of what I thought I already knew. I don’t think I’ve ever been more wrong in my presumptions regarding a book.

There’s a reason that this book is heralded as a masterwork on what it takes to obtain and hold power. I can’t think of another book in which such fundamental theories (whether they be right or wrong, and regardless of subject matter) have been articulated so clearly and succinctly, yet so profoundly. I refuse to quote any passages here, because there is virtually no excess verbiage in the entire book; it’s as if to pick and choose any of Macchiavelli’s distinct ideas to the exclusion of others would be to rank the others as less deserving of mention, which would be wrong. In fact, I didn’t even read this book so much as I studied it; I used a highlighter, which I ran dry as I found myself highlighting almost every sentence.

Macchiavelli is incredibly astute in his descriptions of the different types of principalities that exist and the proper way to maintain power of each of them, how best to deal with the military, the nobles, and the common people, the types of persons to surround yourself with when in power, how to treat the assets of your people vs. assets acquired from others, and, perhaps most famously of all, whether it is better to be loved or to be feared, to be kind or cruel, and when it is appropriate to be a “fox”, and when it is appropriate to be a “lion”. He presents his case so clearly and so compellingly that it is nearly impossible to argue that the prince who has the requisite skill and ability, and who is wise enough to prudently manipulate those around him (or her) as circumstances warrant and opportunities arise, is the most powerful and enduring of all.

Now, to the moral and ethical dilemmas raised by Macchiavelli’s ideas. I read this book objectively, without an eye toward right or wrong or any bias as to what would happen if everyone attempted to follow Macchiavelli’s advice. And in that regard, I stand by everything I said above — this man was an absolute genius. But, it must also be remembered that a genius, or someone following the direction of a genius, can do terrible things. And in that regard, Machiavelli’s wisdom, if appropriated and misused for evil, would be a very bad thing.

But the good news is that I am absolutely one hundred percent confident that a certain world leader in power right now is not smart enough to be Machiavellian.

In need of something to read recently, I found The Sociopath Next Door, by Martha Stout, Ph.D., on our bookshelf. Sounds interesting, no?

This book is a very telling and very insightful look into the human conscience, or, in the case of sociopaths, the lack thereof. Did you know that 1 out of 25 Americans has no conscience? And do you even know that means? Well, this book provides a pretty thoughtful perspective on that fact and its consequences.

The human conscience is basically an emotional attachment to others that provides us with a moral compass and helps us to “do the right thing”. But a sociopath — that is, the one out of 25 Americans that does not have a conscience — is not affected one iota about feelings for other people or guilt or shame or any of the other emotions that drive what most of us do. He or she generally has one objective — to “win” or to “dominate” in whatever their circumstances are.

What I found most insightful in this book was the revelation (which I guess seems kind of obvious in hindsight) that not all sociopaths are your stereotypical “cold-blooded killers”; in fact, many of them are not violent at all. But they are selfish and scheming, and are often smart enough (in the cognitive sense) to mask their lack of conscience by outwardly exhibiting socially acceptable behaviors. Not because they want to be liked, but because they are manipulating everyone around them for their own gain (whatever they view that to be).

The other fascinating element of sociopathy that this book examines is the evolutionary aspect of it. If sociopathy is partially hereditary (which it is believed to be), it would seem that over time the sociopaths and the rest of us would “battle” until only one side remained. And it would also seem that the sociopaths, although smaller in number initially, would have the upper hand because they would be able to lie, cheat and steal their way to victory. As Dr. Stout puts it:

Picture people stranded on a small, remote island with limited resources. In the long run, what kind of individual is likely to survive — an honest, moral person, or someone ruthless . . . . If there were few others on the island for the survivors to make babies with — and given that sociopathy is at least partially genetically determined — over a great many generations, might we not end up with an island populated mainly by people who possessed no conscience? Then would not this population of sociopaths proceed without a second thought to deplete the island’s resources completely, and all die?

The book attempts to answer these questions through discussions of various theories of natural selection, including group selection, kin selection, and even gene selection. In discussing this last theory, Dr. Stout quotes Samuel Butler as saying, “A chicken is an egg’s way of making another egg.” Thus, genes for emotional attachment (i.e., conscience) are “selfish” and and exist to enhance their own proliferation. Fascinating stuff.

Now I don’t want any of you to think that the above is intended to be an exhaustive overview of this subject; rather, this it is intended to be a teaser about what this book has to share. And if you’re like me, after reading this you will at least temporarily look at the world through a different lens, attempting to figure out which of the people you know are sociopaths.

Manhunt - The 12 Day Chase for Lincoln’s Killer by James Swanson is the poster child for why bookclubs rock. This was my bookclub choice this month and a book that I would never have picked up on my own. This detailed account of the hunt for John Wilkes Booth was a fascinating snapshot into Lincoln’s assassination and all of the characters involved in both the crime and the following 12 days before Booth’s demise. This book was filled with a myriad of facts and information that was completely new to me. Did you know for instance that the actual assassination plan involved the simultaneous murder of Secretary of State Seward and Vice President Andrew Johnson? I don’t think that I was ever taught that in high school US History.

The book is very detailed and somewhat long but provides the reader with a real feel for not only the escape by Booth and his accomplices but also what was going on amongst the politicians, miliarty, press and American people during this time period.

The +
- Interesting snapshot of a turbulent 2 weeks in American history
- Swann’s research into this book is impressive. No detail, letter, or fact is left out
- Even for someone like me who is neither a Lincoln buff, nor even an American history buff - it was an enjoyable and fascinating read

The -

- Very long and you have to push through the first 50 pages to get into a rhythm
- Not enough detail about Booth’s motivation
- The myriad of people involved (particularly all the military involved in the chase) became a little confusing

The World Without Us has one a fantastic premise. It had to be the easiest book pitch of recent memory. Veteran science reporter Alan Weisman imagines what the world would be like if we (humans) simply checked out one day, say next Thursday. For simplicity, neither nuclear weapons nor global warming are the source of our demise in this nifty thought experiment. A hypothetical sudden mass extinction leaves the world as we know it today without its current dominant species.

Some reviewers have criticized Weisman for a lack of focus. BGB’s own Shaft wrote that he had to give up on the book for losing the thread of the premise. I’d agree that the chapters could have been tightened up to remind the reader where they are being led and why it was important to understanding the big picture. That said, I found this book so fascinating, I didn’t mind the author going off on a tangent one bit.

The book begins with a discussion of how structures fail. Your house, any house, has no more than a 100 year life span (more like 15-20) without you in it actively keeping water out. The buildings in New York City would suffer a similar fate, although it would be undermined by flooding subway excavations that erode the foundations of buildings and streets from below. It’s sobering to realize how transient the things that we consider fairly permanent really are.

In imagining what Manhattan may revert back to, Weisman cites the work of the Manhatta Project. The Manhatta Project is creating 3-D models of what the island looked like before it was settled. By collecting soil data from grids throughout the island, the Project is reconstructing what a pristine Manhattan might have looked like - and might look like again.

In imaging what kinds of structures might last longer than 100 years, Weisman points to the buildings that have survived the longest. The examples of pyramids and ancient stone structures (like old churches and fortifications) suggest that similar buildings have a future. Weisman is banking on underground structures in the proper environments to hold up the longest. He cites the example of Cappadocia an underground network of “villages” that extend as deep as 18 stories beneath the ground in Turkey. The BLDG BLOG has more.

Weisman also imagines what species would move into take over our niche as the dominant species. Weisman notes that the Americas were once home to megafauna - ancestors of the elephant, hippopotmus, and other animals it is difficult to imagine living in these parts. Some scientists postulate that our arrival in the Americas doomed megafauna. In our absence, would these creatures find their way back to their ancestral homes? Weisman cruelly points out that our pets wouldn’t have much of a future in a suddenly wild world.

To show us what the world could become without our help, Weisman also takes the reader to places that have been people-free for decades - or longer. A primeval forest in Poland/Belarus has been protected since the 14th century. Weisman points out how this forest differs from places that we think of as pristine, like the Amazon rainforest. The DMZ separating North and South Korea has been people-free for over 50 years. In that time it has become one of the most bio-diverse places on earth. I, for one. love reading about places like this.

In the oceans, Weisman imagines what the recovery of reefs around the world would be like by joining a group of scientists visiting the most remote reef in the world. Kingman Reef is located 932 miles southwest of Hawaii. It is thriving, but it is also collecting junk from around the world.

The trash and hazardous materials that we’ll leave behind is perhaps the dark spot on this mostly “silver-lining” scenario. The chapter on the persistence of plastic is truly depressing and has made me redouble my efforts to swear off plastic grocery bags forever. The breakdown of our chemical producing infrastructure would cause some serious problems in some locales (like Texas City) - at least for a time.

Weisman points to Chernobyl as an example that at our worst, our impacts may only be temporary. The area around the Ukrainian nuclear facility, mostly uninhabited now, has seen an increase in wildlife. Time heals all wounds - eventually.

While it may seem like I’ve given a summary of the entire book, I’ve barely scratched the surface of the material presented. The author comes at the problem from just about every conceivable angle. If you prefer a well-organized and linear narrative, you might want to take a pass on this one. However, I found the book to be endlessly fascinating and a great read.

I received a copy of I Remember When: A Collection of Memories from Baseball’s Biggest Fans by Abe Schear largely by happy accident. Frank of TTT fame knows the author. He asked if I would be willing to have a copy sent my way. (Hint: the answer to this question is always yes.) He mentioned that the book was self-published, which can often be a red flag for impending suck-itude. However, I am happy to report that I am very glad to have this book in my mitts - as it were.

As the title suggests, the book is a collection of oral histories collected by the author. The subjects are principally the locally (Atlanta) famous. The names include Leo Mazzone, Stan Kasten, Tom Glavine, President Jimmy Carter, Mike Mills (R.E.M.), Senator Zell Miller, Skip Carey, et al. It’s a handsome volume, big and coffee-table sized. I’m about halfway through, but I am infatuated with this book. I’m also completely envious of the various people that Schear was able to get to talk with him about baseball.

I should mention that the proceeds of the book benefit the baseball charity The Baseball Assistance Trust. It’s a great gift for the baseball lover generally and Atlanta baseball fans in particular. I’ve got my copy, but if BGB’s Dr J is on your shopping list (or if you’d like to pick one up for yourself) visit the I Remember When web site. The author will be kicking off the Decatur Book Festival next weekend with a discussion of baseball and the Braves at 10:00 Saturday in the Decatur Library Conference Room. I assume that books will be on hand and that the author will be signing copies.

OMG! The Decatur Book Festival is Labor Day Weekend, and I haven’t written a thing about it. I’ll get on that ASAP. Come back tomorrow for the definitive BGB guide to the book fest…

I have fallen way behind on posting some of my recent reads. To further add to the backlog, I just came back from a beach vacation where I basically sat under an umbrella and read for a week. Due to time constraints as well as lack of motivation to write thorough reviews on all of my recent books, I have decided to go with a new format based on my other favorite blog - Midtown Lunch. This blog is geared toward the food-obsessed like myself who doesn’t want to eat a deli sandwich every day for lunch. The blogger posts on all the cheap restaurants, food carts, etc in the NYC midtown area. He summarizes his lunch experience, post some photos, and then does a +/- section.

I have decided to follow this format by posting a brief summary of each book and then a +/-. The goal will not be to provide a true review of each book but rather to either garner interest or disinterest in any of these books from our readers.

Here goes (in order of read the longest ago to most recently read):

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

This book was previously reviewed here by RaeRae but as a refresher, Kingsolver and her family move from Tucson to a family farm in Appalachia and decide that for 1 year they are only going to eat food that is grown locally and seasonally in the Virginia area. She has 2 daughters, a teenager and a pre-teen, so it is all the more impressive that she managed to do this considering how challenging it often is to cook for children. Kingsolver’s basic premise is that if we really want to stop harming the environment, then eating locally is the way to go. Her descriptions of how much fuel and resources are used to transport food are mind-boggeling.

She acknowledges that this experiment is “easier” for her since they live on a farm and are able to grow the majority of their produce and raise turkeys and chickens. However, she gives a lot of guidance throughout the book on how to make small changes in your food buying and eating habits.

It is amazing how much the availability of food has changed even in my lifetime. When I was growing up, you couldn’t buy a perfectly ripe peach in the middle of January - it just wasn’t available. And that is exactly Kingsolver’s point - you should eat what is seasonably available. The amount of damage to the environment as well as the economics of transporting that tree-ripened peach in the middle of January is nonsensical.

Kingsolver keeps the book entertaining by including recipes, funny stories as well as lots of historical facts.

THE +

• Powerful statement about our eating habits vis-a-vis the environment
• Motivated me to shop at my farmer’s market on the weekends
• Good recipes
• This book has become a topic of conversation amongst my friends

THE -

• I was paralyzed the other day in the grocery store when I wanted to buy apples for my kids and they were all from Chile. I succumbed and bought them anyway
• In the 21st century, you shouldn’t have to deprive yourself of eating bananas because they don’t grow in the northeast
• I’ve been feeling way too guilty eating a lot of my meals

Next up:

The Emperor’s Children by Claire Messud

This was one of those books that got a lot of hype in 2006 and definitely did not live up to all the hullabaloo. The book describes the lives of three privileged 30 yr old New Yorkers right before and after 9/11. There is the beautiful daughter of a famed journalist who has never done anything with her life, the more homely, intellectual documentary film maker, and the resident gay male to round out the three-some. Interwoven with these three characters is the famed journalist and his subservient wife, his nerdy, brilliant nephew from Middle America, and lastly the daughter’s sarcastic, condescending fiance. Sound pretentious and contrived? Well it is. I did not find any of the characters in the least bit likable and my main problem with the book was that the writing was pretentious, over-wrought, full of run-on sentences and much too wordy. And in what I found to be a lame and almost offensive ending, Messud used the tragedy of 9/11 to neatly wrap things up for the characters and their ongoing issues.

THE +

• Any book set in NYC is somewhat interesting, because I know the streets and restaurants they are referring to
• The characters are so pathetic that it makes you feel that much better about your life

THE -

• Way too long, no real plot, like reading a bad reality show
• Completely uninterested in the characters
• Use of 9/11 to “wrap things up” really stank

Obviously a thumbs down for me.

And on that happy note - I will sign off and continue the vacation reads in parts 2 and 3.