No, that's not the title of any book; rather, September has been a terribly unproductive reading month for me. I never like to abandon a book, yet this month I've managed to do that not once, not twice, but three times. Undoubtedly these books will haunt me and I will attempt to read them again, although I really shouldn't. In no particularly order, I present my failed readings:
Emma by Jane Austen
One of my least favorite books of all time is Pride and Prejudice. I can't fathom why I thought Emma would be any better, but I did, or at least thought I should confirm that it wasn't. I confirmed this pretty quickly, then continued reading out of stubbornness.Finally I could take no more.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain
A not-terribly-creative, yet moralizing story that involves time travel. Obviously I didn't do my homework before embarking on this one. At least I like Mark Twain. Did I mention that the free B&N Nook version included a completed garbled line of text every 4-5 pages? Given that one of my only failed books last year was Mark Twain's autobiography, I think there might be a lesson somewhere. He's either not as funny as I remember or I've read everything of his worth reading.
Losing It: In which an aging professor laments his shrinking brain...by William Ian Miller
The UM alumni magazine does not usually lead me astray. This time it failed me. In fairness, the book is exactly as the title suggests - the (whiny) lament of a professor unimpressed with the aging process. Given the title of the book, its subject matter, and the fact that Miller is a long-serving law professor who has taught Icelandic sagas (yes, really), I expected it to be verbose. Even so, nothing could have prepared me for Miller's ramblings. I paid good money for this book so I was determined to see it through...until I remembered the old "time is money" bit and decided my time was worth more than I had paid for the book. Mom, if you still want to read it after this ringing endorsement, I'll hook you up with my copy.
Fortunately, I'm deep into a James Bradley book I've had on my list for months and I'm soon to fly across the country, so there's hope yet I can salvage something this month!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Royko in Love
For many years, my favorite feature in the mostly-lousy newspaper my parents subscribed to (in fairness it was the paper of record in the mostly lousy town we lived in), was the Mike Royko column. Earlier this year the University of Chicago Press offered Royko in Love as their free e-book of the month and I eagerly downloaded it, then forgot about it, finally reading it several months later.
The book is the compilation of love letters he wrote to his friend/girlfriend/fiancee/wife while he was stationed at the Air Force base in Washington state and she was home in Chicago. The best letter, unfortunately, is the very first one; the humor and observations on life give way, and quickly, to a series of 'I love you, I miss you, only-so-many-days till I see you' ramblings.
The book is the compilation of love letters he wrote to his friend/girlfriend/fiancee/wife while he was stationed at the Air Force base in Washington state and she was home in Chicago. The best letter, unfortunately, is the very first one; the humor and observations on life give way, and quickly, to a series of 'I love you, I miss you, only-so-many-days till I see you' ramblings.
Friday, September 7, 2012
1861: The Civil War Awakening
Oh my goodness, what a disappointment. I had been looking forward to reading 1861: The Civil War Awakening by Adam Goodheart for several months but it just didn't live up to what I hoped it would be. Mainly this is due to three factors:
1) The biggest factor is that the book ends on the eve of the first Battle of Manassas in July 1861. So really, the book should be called 1861: The First Six Months. I understand, I think, why Goodheart chose to end here - he has chosen to write not a military history, but instead simply to attempt to capture the zeitgeist of a nation on the brink of war. Still, I might not have anticipated the book so much had I known it would end before any of the real "action" began.
2) He devotes a tremendous amount of text to James Garfield. Now, Garfield is an interesting guy, but I'm afraid that compared to the portrait of Garfield Candice Millard paints in Destiny of the Republic, Goodheart's Garfield is longwinded and dull.
3) Not surprisingly, Abraham Lincoln is the book's protagonist. Yet, even Lincoln loses much of his eloquence in these pages. Moreover, his life story, especially his rise from poverty and struggles with depression also seems to receive short shrift. (Granted, this book is not about Lincoln, but about how the times made him and he the times, but I still felt these parts of his life could have been handled better.)
My disappointment comes, too, from the fact that the book started so strongly. The prologue is beautiful; I could picture the bundle of letters folded and faded and see the poof of dust released as the ribbon was untied for the first time in a century. In other places, too, 1861 is shot through with brilliance. The comparison of General Butler to the East German captain left holding the phone, literally, as a crowd of thousands pressed against the gates of Checkpoint Charlie in November 1989 is writing at its finest - from one era to the next we see small decisions, little ripples, that grow into tsunamis. Yet, in the end these examples were too few or too far between. Just as I'd become convinced, again, that this really was a good book, the prose would become flat and leaden. Of course, the last time I'd decided I liked the book, it ended abruptly a few pages later.
Whatever its strengths or weaknesses, 1861 does allow the reader to consider whether one would behave in the same manner as the gentleman - and one or two ladies - in this book. In most cases, the answer for me was no, but I believe that might have something to do with the benefit of 150 years of hindsight.
Two stars.
......
A week later I'm still thinking about this book, and how the lens of history changes great events of the times into small ones in history (ever heard of the Wide Awakes? or the St. Louis riots of 1861?) and small(ish) events into great ones.
1) The biggest factor is that the book ends on the eve of the first Battle of Manassas in July 1861. So really, the book should be called 1861: The First Six Months. I understand, I think, why Goodheart chose to end here - he has chosen to write not a military history, but instead simply to attempt to capture the zeitgeist of a nation on the brink of war. Still, I might not have anticipated the book so much had I known it would end before any of the real "action" began.
2) He devotes a tremendous amount of text to James Garfield. Now, Garfield is an interesting guy, but I'm afraid that compared to the portrait of Garfield Candice Millard paints in Destiny of the Republic, Goodheart's Garfield is longwinded and dull.
3) Not surprisingly, Abraham Lincoln is the book's protagonist. Yet, even Lincoln loses much of his eloquence in these pages. Moreover, his life story, especially his rise from poverty and struggles with depression also seems to receive short shrift. (Granted, this book is not about Lincoln, but about how the times made him and he the times, but I still felt these parts of his life could have been handled better.)
My disappointment comes, too, from the fact that the book started so strongly. The prologue is beautiful; I could picture the bundle of letters folded and faded and see the poof of dust released as the ribbon was untied for the first time in a century. In other places, too, 1861 is shot through with brilliance. The comparison of General Butler to the East German captain left holding the phone, literally, as a crowd of thousands pressed against the gates of Checkpoint Charlie in November 1989 is writing at its finest - from one era to the next we see small decisions, little ripples, that grow into tsunamis. Yet, in the end these examples were too few or too far between. Just as I'd become convinced, again, that this really was a good book, the prose would become flat and leaden. Of course, the last time I'd decided I liked the book, it ended abruptly a few pages later.
Whatever its strengths or weaknesses, 1861 does allow the reader to consider whether one would behave in the same manner as the gentleman - and one or two ladies - in this book. In most cases, the answer for me was no, but I believe that might have something to do with the benefit of 150 years of hindsight.
Two stars.
......
A week later I'm still thinking about this book, and how the lens of history changes great events of the times into small ones in history (ever heard of the Wide Awakes? or the St. Louis riots of 1861?) and small(ish) events into great ones.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal
Fortunately, I'm not a big fan of fast food to begin with because Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal by Eric Schlosser would probably have ended that relationship if I was. (After reading it, I'm even feeling a big guilty about last month's trip to Jimmy Johns.) Narrowly, this book, which was published over a decade ago but has been re-released in a new 10th anniversary edition that seems to be displayed prominently in airports across America, is about the history and evolution of fast food in this country and its detrimental impacts on everything from family farms to obesity rates and diabetes to the meatpacking industry. Considering that the latter is still associated with Upton Sinclair, that's a rather impressive feat.
More broadly, however, this book is really a look at the homogenization of America, a trend that begin in the heady days of the 1950s and has rapidly picked up speed since. Schlosser connects the dots between any number of multinational companies, some of which would not seem to be related to the fast food industry, but are, even if only peripherally. In this vein, Schlosser delves into some of Disney's darker history, including the employment of literal Nazis in the immediate post-war years. He explores how the concept of franchising has changed business in this country - and around the world - as well as the impact of globalization. In Plauen, Germany, the former East German town with the distinction of having been more heavily bombed than even Dresden in World War II, globalization, and specifically the arrival of a McDonald's, seems to have heralded positive change. In Greeley, Colorado, not so much.
When I told Ben I what I was reading, he was surprised I hadn't already read it. I suppose it's possible I'm among the last to have discovered this book. For anyone else who hasn't - and doesn't mind the possibility of having fast food spoiled in their minds forevermore - I can definitely recommend it.
More broadly, however, this book is really a look at the homogenization of America, a trend that begin in the heady days of the 1950s and has rapidly picked up speed since. Schlosser connects the dots between any number of multinational companies, some of which would not seem to be related to the fast food industry, but are, even if only peripherally. In this vein, Schlosser delves into some of Disney's darker history, including the employment of literal Nazis in the immediate post-war years. He explores how the concept of franchising has changed business in this country - and around the world - as well as the impact of globalization. In Plauen, Germany, the former East German town with the distinction of having been more heavily bombed than even Dresden in World War II, globalization, and specifically the arrival of a McDonald's, seems to have heralded positive change. In Greeley, Colorado, not so much.
When I told Ben I what I was reading, he was surprised I hadn't already read it. I suppose it's possible I'm among the last to have discovered this book. For anyone else who hasn't - and doesn't mind the possibility of having fast food spoiled in their minds forevermore - I can definitely recommend it.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
An African in Greenland
One of the more memorable reads from my 2011 list was The Magnetic North: Notes from the Arctic Circle. The author, Sara Wheeler, visited native communities across the north - Alaska, Siberia, Greenland, Canada, and Scandinavia - to take a pulse on life in the furthest reaches of the planet. She also did a lot of research, thereby introducing her reader to any number of works on life in the north.
One of those books is Tété-Michel Kpomassie's personal account of the time he spent living in Greenland in the 1960s, An African in Greenland. This was not an easy book to come by, but I eventually found a copy on Amazon and, after letting it sit on my bookshelf for a few months, finally cracked it open and really, really enjoyed it.
Tété-Michel is a teen in Togo when he is bitten by a snake, cured by a priestess of the snake cult, and then promised to said cult by his father, as payment and in gratitude for their services. You couldn't make this stuff up. Only days before he is enter the cult once and forever, he finds a book about Greenland in an evangelical bookshop and determines to runoff to the Great White North rather than face the fate of a life among pythons deep in the West African forest.
By turns, and over the course of six years, he works his way from Togo to Greenland by way of Ghana, Senegal, France, Germany, and Denmark, learning the customs and languages of the locals, working whatever jobs he can find, and, evidently, charming the socks off of everyone he meets. Time after time he is housed gratis and he even manages to find a sort of fairy grandfather who finances the trek to, and months in, Greenland.
Once he reaches his promised land the fun continues: dinners of seal, whale blubber and boiled reindeer; sledging across mile after frozen mile of land, building an igloo and sleeping with sled dogs when the way is lost; hunting for seals and fishing with the natives, you name it. All while obviously keeping meticulous notes on his thoughts and experiences and even comparing and contrasting the West African cultures of his childhood to the European and Inuit cultures of his travels. It's a marvelous little book, honestly, and while I don't expect too many others will bother to find and read it, those who do will be richly rewarded.
One of those books is Tété-Michel Kpomassie's personal account of the time he spent living in Greenland in the 1960s, An African in Greenland. This was not an easy book to come by, but I eventually found a copy on Amazon and, after letting it sit on my bookshelf for a few months, finally cracked it open and really, really enjoyed it.
Tété-Michel is a teen in Togo when he is bitten by a snake, cured by a priestess of the snake cult, and then promised to said cult by his father, as payment and in gratitude for their services. You couldn't make this stuff up. Only days before he is enter the cult once and forever, he finds a book about Greenland in an evangelical bookshop and determines to runoff to the Great White North rather than face the fate of a life among pythons deep in the West African forest.
By turns, and over the course of six years, he works his way from Togo to Greenland by way of Ghana, Senegal, France, Germany, and Denmark, learning the customs and languages of the locals, working whatever jobs he can find, and, evidently, charming the socks off of everyone he meets. Time after time he is housed gratis and he even manages to find a sort of fairy grandfather who finances the trek to, and months in, Greenland.
Once he reaches his promised land the fun continues: dinners of seal, whale blubber and boiled reindeer; sledging across mile after frozen mile of land, building an igloo and sleeping with sled dogs when the way is lost; hunting for seals and fishing with the natives, you name it. All while obviously keeping meticulous notes on his thoughts and experiences and even comparing and contrasting the West African cultures of his childhood to the European and Inuit cultures of his travels. It's a marvelous little book, honestly, and while I don't expect too many others will bother to find and read it, those who do will be richly rewarded.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
In DC earlier this summer, I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon at one of the few historical sites I'd not yet visited: Ford's Theater. Browsing through the gift shop, my eyes fell on a "staff pic": Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith. It's not my usual fare. There are definite elements of fantasy and reality is often suspended, if not entirely forsaken. The entire premise of the book is that Old Abe Lincoln fought a decades' long battle with vampires, killing scores, before waging the entire Civil War to prevent them taking over America. It's nuts, really. And yet, unlike other fantasy-esque books that I've previously read and disparaged, I actually kind of like this one. Why?
I loved the way Grahame-Smith wove historical events, speeches and writings by Lincoln, and other facts into his tall tale. In many ways, at heart this is Lincoln's story...modified to fit with the vampire theme. It's like he wanted to tell his readers about Lincoln, realized most would never make it past page five of anything resembling a real biography, and had this brilliant, subversive idea to seed his Lincoln story with vampires. Vampires, after all, seem to be the fare of choice these days for those who don't suffer from the suspension-of-reality-blues. From start to finish real and important elements of Lincoln's life and work form the cornerstones of this work, a non unimpressive feat for a vampire story.
This is not a deep, thinking read. I tackled it, start to finish, on a travel day. I started in the airport and finished before the Pacific hove into view. It is a light - and, yes, fun - refresher on the life and times of our 16th president.
4 stars.
I loved the way Grahame-Smith wove historical events, speeches and writings by Lincoln, and other facts into his tall tale. In many ways, at heart this is Lincoln's story...modified to fit with the vampire theme. It's like he wanted to tell his readers about Lincoln, realized most would never make it past page five of anything resembling a real biography, and had this brilliant, subversive idea to seed his Lincoln story with vampires. Vampires, after all, seem to be the fare of choice these days for those who don't suffer from the suspension-of-reality-blues. From start to finish real and important elements of Lincoln's life and work form the cornerstones of this work, a non unimpressive feat for a vampire story.
This is not a deep, thinking read. I tackled it, start to finish, on a travel day. I started in the airport and finished before the Pacific hove into view. It is a light - and, yes, fun - refresher on the life and times of our 16th president.
4 stars.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
French Lessons
French Lessons, by Alice Kaplan, was a University of Chicago Press free e-book of the month that I downloaded several months ago and have ploddingly worked my way through for most of the summer. The briefest description is this: it is the memoir of a Duke French professor. In truth, it is a bit more than that, particularly for anyone who has ever navigated the vagaries of a university department, searched for a dissertation topic, or wondered how life might be different had they never traveled to a far off land or learned another language.
I came to see this book as neatly divided into three parts. Part one is the story of a young girl growing up in suburban Minneapolis in the 1950s and 1960s. That her father was a lawyer at the Nuremburg trials lends interest, and that he dies of a heart attack when she is still in elementary school lends tragedy, but at its heart part one is about being a kid in the midwest in the halycon days after World War II (and then attending a boarding school in Switzerland, but I digress).
Part two is the story of a graduate student searching for a topic, trying to understand theories and the people who create them, and forging an identity as an intellectual and scholar. Honestly, this is the part of the book where I almost gave it. Kaplan spends a bit too long, in my opinion, covering the theories of French literature, for a mainstream audience. (Or even an engaged, knowledgeable one. I was a French major, and I've only just read this book, but I'm drawing a blank trying to name a single theory that was described in detail over dozens of pages.)
Part three is the story of a professor, sometimes young, sometimes not, making her way through the politics of departments and universities, connecting with students, and asking herself questions that I myself have often wondered: how would my life have been different if I'd never spent time in a foreign country when I young? How would my life have been different if I'd never learned French? In what ways has it changed how I think about the world? Can I even separate it from the other parts of my life? (The answer to all four, for Kaplan as well as for me, is pretty strongly, "I don't know.")
I liked this book. If I were to read it again - or recommend it to someone else to read - I'd say to skip the theory. Ultimately, for this book - as for most of life - theory doesn't really matter.
I came to see this book as neatly divided into three parts. Part one is the story of a young girl growing up in suburban Minneapolis in the 1950s and 1960s. That her father was a lawyer at the Nuremburg trials lends interest, and that he dies of a heart attack when she is still in elementary school lends tragedy, but at its heart part one is about being a kid in the midwest in the halycon days after World War II (and then attending a boarding school in Switzerland, but I digress).
Part two is the story of a graduate student searching for a topic, trying to understand theories and the people who create them, and forging an identity as an intellectual and scholar. Honestly, this is the part of the book where I almost gave it. Kaplan spends a bit too long, in my opinion, covering the theories of French literature, for a mainstream audience. (Or even an engaged, knowledgeable one. I was a French major, and I've only just read this book, but I'm drawing a blank trying to name a single theory that was described in detail over dozens of pages.)
Part three is the story of a professor, sometimes young, sometimes not, making her way through the politics of departments and universities, connecting with students, and asking herself questions that I myself have often wondered: how would my life have been different if I'd never spent time in a foreign country when I young? How would my life have been different if I'd never learned French? In what ways has it changed how I think about the world? Can I even separate it from the other parts of my life? (The answer to all four, for Kaplan as well as for me, is pretty strongly, "I don't know.")
I liked this book. If I were to read it again - or recommend it to someone else to read - I'd say to skip the theory. Ultimately, for this book - as for most of life - theory doesn't really matter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)