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Stefani's review

(Not That You Asked): Rants, Exploits, and Obsessions
by Steve Almond

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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/208616._Rants_Exploits_and_Obsessions?utm_medium=api&amp;utm_source=blog_review" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="(Not That You Asked): Rants, Exploits, and Obsessions" border="0" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/photo.goodreads.com/books/1184531755m/208616.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/208616._Rants_Exploits_and_Obsessions?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review">: Rants, Exploits, and Obsessions</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/28596.Steve_Almond">Steve Almond</a> 
 <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/7528721?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review"><h3>My review</h3></a>
 rating: 2 of 5 stars I really like Steve Almond's short stories. This makes it difficult for me to review these "Rants, exploits, and obsessions," because I think they can't hold a candle to the fiction. 
 
 There are great moments in this book, though, and it's overall wonderfully readable, so there. I have a sense that Almond's writing is best where it rises beyond the autobiographical and addresses broader issues. That's why the essay on Vonnegut is more than a fun "my abortive attempts at researching for a biography" anecdote, and "Death by Lobster Pad Thai" is more than a drawn out "what I did on my holidays" assignment: Both pieces are relevant and moving beyond their literal content. They take these stabs at finding word for the unmentionable (integrity, idealism, the purpose of literature, friendship, mortality, and lobster poo). Sure, I'm willing to read pages after pages of rambling memoirs as long as I have the sense that the book is really about something else, something impersonal and elusive.
 
 I thought some pieces here were too rushed & sloppy to be anything more than sort-of-fun. The thing about the girl with the fake tits, the ruminations about Heavy Metal, the silly 'rant' against pretty authors...come on. That's padding for a book that could have been so much thinner and so much more impressive. 
 
 The 'rants, exploits & obsessions' label sounds seductively easy & all-encompassing. Everyone can come up with some rants about something, right? And if that person is a masterful writer, like Steve Almond, where can they go wrong? The thing is, as this book shows, that being opinionated and entertaining doesn't make for a resonating, satisfying read. I find it hard to say why. I love "effortlessly beautiful" prose. This book reads, or "feels" effortless, but in this particular instance I found it aggravating instead of admirable. I'm pondering the difference between "effortless" and "careless" or even "lazy" or "half-baked." 
 
 It's just sad to see a writer of Almond's calibre (and this goes for his short fiction as well as for parts of the novel, and Not That You Asked) reduced to enthusing over baby poo.
 
 Which brings me to the part of the book that irked me most: The family stories at the end. The 'Baby Daddy" segment in particular. An epic account of his wife's pregnancy and his daughter's first days. I found these pieces so self-absorbed I was tempted to leave the (virtual room), since I was obviously intruding. 
 
 Sure, there was the icky component: His wife's vomit, the baby's various emissions, the narrative equivalent of the obligatory birth scene in each "family values comedy," complete with cutting of the umbilical cord, etc.
 But what really annoyed me about this piece was a nagging feeling of "why is he telling me all this?" (Not that you asked), indeed!) I seriously couldn't tell. Occasionally, the account tries to tear itself away from minuscule chronicling of the pregnancy (including the amazing growth of his wife's pregnancy boobs) and attain some relevance beyond Almond family lore, but even then, the reflections don't rise above standard "family = sacrifice, goodbye immature narcissism, oh, and perhaps we are micro-managing pregnancies just a tad too much here in the U.S." fare. 
 "There is nothing on earth to equal Mother Love." I just threw up in my mouth a little bit...
 
 Okay, I wouldn't be so harsh if I didn't love the man's fiction (and some of his essays). Just for the record. (Not that you asked!)
 <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/144161?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review">View all my reviews.</a>

Stefani's review
rating:

I really like Steve Almond's short stories. This makes it difficult for me to review these "Rants, exploits, and obsessions," because I think they can't hold a candle to the fiction.

There are great moments in this book, though, and it's overall wonderfully readable, so there. I have a sense that Almond's writing is best where it rises beyond the autobiographical and addresses broader issues. That's why the essay on Vonnegut is more than a fun "my abortive attempts at researching for a biography" anecdote, and "Death by Lobster Pad Thai" is more than a drawn out "what I did on my holidays" assignment: Both pieces are relevant and moving beyond their literal content. They take these stabs at finding word for the unmentionable (integrity, idealism, the purpose of literature, friendship, mortality, and lobster poo). Sure, I'm willing to read pages after pages of rambling memoirs as long as I have the sense that the book is really about something...more I really like Steve Almond's short stories. This makes it difficult for me to review these "Rants, exploits, and obsessions," because I think they can't hold a candle to the fiction.

There are great moments in this book, though, and it's overall wonderfully readable, so there. I have a sense that Almond's writing is best where it rises beyond the autobiographical and addresses broader issues. That's why the essay on Vonnegut is more than a fun "my abortive attempts at researching for a biography" anecdote, and "Death by Lobster Pad Thai" is more than a drawn out "what I did on my holidays" assignment: Both pieces are relevant and moving beyond their literal content. They take these stabs at finding word for the unmentionable (integrity, idealism, the purpose of literature, friendship, mortality, and lobster poo). Sure, I'm willing to read pages after pages of rambling memoirs as long as I have the sense that the book is really about something else, something impersonal and elusive.

I thought some pieces here were too rushed & sloppy to be anything more than sort-of-fun. The thing about the girl with the fake tits, the ruminations about Heavy Metal, the silly 'rant' against pretty authors...come on. That's padding for a book that could have been so much thinner and so much more impressive.

The 'rants, exploits & obsessions' label sounds seductively easy & all-encompassing. Everyone can come up with some rants about something, right? And if that person is a masterful writer, like Steve Almond, where can they go wrong? The thing is, as this book shows, that being opinionated and entertaining doesn't make for a resonating, satisfying read. I find it hard to say why. I love "effortlessly beautiful" prose. This book reads, or "feels" effortless, but in this particular instance I found it aggravating instead of admirable. I'm pondering the difference between "effortless" and "careless" or even "lazy" or "half-baked."

It's just sad to see a writer of Almond's calibre (and this goes for his short fiction as well as for parts of the novel, and Not That You Asked) reduced to enthusing over baby poo.

Which brings me to the part of the book that irked me most: The family stories at the end. The 'Baby Daddy" segment in particular. An epic account of his wife's pregnancy and his daughter's first days. I found these pieces so self-absorbed I was tempted to leave the (virtual room), since I was obviously intruding.

Sure, there was the icky component: His wife's vomit, the baby's various emissions, the narrative equivalent of the obligatory birth scene in each "family values comedy," complete with cutting of the umbilical cord, etc.
But what really annoyed me about this piece was a nagging feeling of "why is he telling me all this?" (Not that you asked), indeed!) I seriously couldn't tell. Occasionally, the account tries to tear itself away from minuscule chronicling of the pregnancy (including the amazing growth of his wife's pregnancy boobs) and attain some relevance beyond Almond family lore, but even then, the reflections don't rise above standard "family = sacrifice, goodbye immature narcissism, oh, and perhaps we are micro-managing pregnancies just a tad too much here in the U.S." fare.
"There is nothing on earth to equal Mother Love." I just threw up in my mouth a little bit...

Okay, I wouldn't be so harsh if I didn't love the man's fiction (and some of his essays). Just for the record. (Not that you asked!)...less

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message 1: by Stefani (last edited 12/11/2007 08:27AM)

12/11/2007 08:26AM

I have a little addendum to my review, which didn't fit in the main, er, review box:

I wonder why I liked the "sexual failures" chapter, and didn't like the "baby daddy" chapter. I *think* it's because the anecdotes involving childhood experiences are so far away in time that they lose the flavor of immediate autobiography -- they are already covered with the veneer of fiction, which makes them more graceful and poignant than they probably were. In fact, the tone in these pieces reminded me of the short stories and the novel (of course, the autobiographical roots of these works has now become more evident.)

I also think that time washes away the irrelevant and leaves us with the memories and scenes that are profound and beautiful, or painful...in that sense, the 'sexual failures' have undergone (is that even a word) some serious editing, while the Baby Daddy section is still fresh & shiny. Certainly, this chapter would have been just as beautiful and wise and heartfelt and funny, had it been written a couple of years from now.

And a last thing: If you're interested in an account of the Condi Debacle, I recommend the hilarious piece in Tin House (Winter reading 06/07) rather than the more pedestrian (and whiny) story in the book.

That was all I guess.