|
April 30
|
|
James
gave
to:
The Happiest Man in the World: An Account of the Life of Poppa Neutrino (Hardcover)
by Alec Wilkinson
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
recommended for: people who like getting book recommendations
read in April, 2008
James said:
"I was disappointed in reading The Happiest Man in the World to learn that it was not about me.
I have felt certain, for some years now, that I have been followed off and on by a writer from the New Yorker who has been clandestinely observing and r...more
I was disappointed in reading The Happiest Man in the World to learn that it was not about me.
I have felt certain, for some years now, that I have been followed off and on by a writer from the New Yorker who has been clandestinely observing and recording my life so that he could later filter it into gripping, affecting prose that would convincingly illuminate my unassuming, humble happiness.
Instead, Alec Wilkinson had been tailing one David Pearlman, or Poppa Neutrino.
And for the better. This compact telling of Neutrino’s many odd and divergent adventures makes for a remarkable biography; a biography distinctly detached from the traditional regurgitations of war heroes and world leaders and celebrities that often serve little more than to reinforce sentimental nostalgia and hackneyed myth.
Similar to the way Schulz and Peanuts mustered a decent tale out of a boring man’s life, The Happiest Man in the World is an entirely fascinating read about a bum. Yes, a bum. Nothing against bums, forgive my predetermined assumption about the interest-quotient and book-worthiness of bums, but I’m not the one writing and publishing the glut of biographies on war heroes, world leaders, and celebrities.
And Poppa Neutrino really isn’t a bum. Well, he is, but in reading The Happiest Man in the World, you’ll learn many other great phrases for these get-a-job-get-married-get-a-house-challenged individuals, like “modern day aborigine.” But for all intents and purposes, Neutrino is what most of us would consider a bum. He is often homeless, he panhandles and performs on the street for money, he hitchhikes, and salvages discarded materials. After reading this book, you will think twice before sticking your nose up at that bum on the corner asking you for loose change. He or she may very well be famously profiled in a book by a writer from the New Yorker detailing their diverse life of serving in the Korean War, becoming an ordained Baptist pastor, inventing football plays, working as a painter, musician, and in the circus, and sailing across the Atlantic Ocean in a home-made raft.
Wilkinson’s brief encapsulation of Poppa Neutrino’s life is captivating. The chapters are short, the subject is enchanting, and the storytelling is detailed without being exhaustive and burdened by analysis and judgment. That’s not to say it is completely objective (God, wouldn’t that be boring!). Wilkinson does allow himself some sparse commentary, but mostly confines it to Chapter 1 of Part Two with observations like, “If he had in him a shred of materialism, I am persuaded that his cleverness, his resourcefulness, and his vitality would have made fortunes, and his story would be conventional.”
Reading Wilkinson’s account of Neutrino, I got the feeling that he was committed to Neutrino the man and not just Neutrino the character of his next book that, please for the love of god I hope sells so I better try to make this really fucking interesting and spice it up with every last speck of dirt I have dug up on the guy. Wilkinson must have done some extensive interviewing and research, sure, but it is his subject, the interminable Poppa Neutrino, that shines through.
So thank god for Alec Wilkinson having the good sense to get out of the goddamned way of such a singular person and doing us all a service by sharing Neutrino’s life in clean, simple sentences that are precise and refreshingly void of any elegiac schmaltziness.
The Happiest Man in the World is damn fine storytelling.
And I look forward to “The Happiest Woman in the World.”...less
"
|
|
April 29
|
|
James
is currently reading:
Hatchet Jobs: Writings on Contemporary Fiction (Hardcover)
by Dale Peck
bookshelves:
currently-reading
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
|
|
April 23
|
|
James
gave
to:
Black Hole (Hardcover)
by Charles Burns
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in April, 2008
James said:
"As novels go the way of five-act plays written in iambic pentameter, graphic novels have emerged to provide a glimmer of hope. Graphic novels have gained much relevance and respect as a legitimate art form in the past years thanks to the undeniable b...more
As novels go the way of five-act plays written in iambic pentameter, graphic novels have emerged to provide a glimmer of hope. Graphic novels have gained much relevance and respect as a legitimate art form in the past years thanks to the undeniable brilliance of artists like Christopher Ware and champions like Michael Chabon and Jonathan Lethem.
And there just might be some money to be made as well. Graphic novel sales were up 12% in 2007 over 2006.
Black Hole by Charles Burns will not find itself included in the Whitney Bicentennial as a lauded, official Work of Art like Christopher Ware’s masterwork Jimmy Corrigan, but it is just as equally obsessed with sex as every single other graphic novel.
The Salon. Shortcomings. Daniel Boring. Sex. Sex. Sex.
Graphic novelists love them some sex. And unlike traditional writers, they’re not confined to just describing it. They get to show it; in all its awkward, pubic hair-filled glory.
Charles Burns is no different by any means. Black Hole is absolutely full of penises and vaginas. Especially vaginas. And I mean to the brim, overflowing, and maxed out with sex.
Burns’ dramatic black and white illustrations are vivid and stirring; but mostly stirring, vivid images of penises and vaginas. Lots and lots of vaginas. And pubic hair. Don’t forget the pubic hair.
Why are graphic novelists so obsessed about sex?
Because they’re nerds.
Why are graphic novels so popular/successful? Because they’re written by nerds about nerdy things that nerds can relate to. And nerds are the only demographic reading these days. Any cool person is playing a sport or getting laid or getting drunk or getting high or getting paid. The nerds are in the bookstores nerding out to nerdy things like graphic novels.
But nerds run the world. So it all evens out. The true dopes peaked in high school. Poor saps.
I would like to think that graphic novels are also popular/successful, and will continue to be, because they tend to be well-crafted, worthwhile works of artistic entertainment. As their name suggests, they are novels, yes, like any other novel with a decent story, but they’re illustrated so they’re fun and enjoyable to read. And they typically don’t take forever to get through. Even Black Hole, coming in at 400 some-odd pages, only took me a handful of sittings to finish (I don’t know how many pages it is because the pages are not numbered. Those graphic novelists, so artsy with their formalist reinforcements of themes.)
When I was done with Black Hole, that bizarre thing, I was truly confused and disturbed. But I’d prefer to praise Mr. Burns for his marvelous tour de force than reveal my own ignorance of what exactly he was doing with all that weird coming-of-age, sexually transmitted disease, drug, sex, violence, freak show weirdness.
So bravo, Charles Burns!
Reading is sexy, indeed!
Thanks for all the penises and vaginas!
And pubic hair!!!...less
"
|
|
April 17
|
|
James
gave
to:
Hell's Angels (Paperback)
by Hunter S. Thompson
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in April, 2008
James said:
"Hunter S. Thompson’s first book, Hell’s Angels is not nearly as “gonzo” or as good as his later writings and not nearly as fresh and fascinating as, say, Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Hell’s Angels is a far more straightforward piece of jour...more
Hunter S. Thompson’s first book, Hell’s Angels is not nearly as “gonzo” or as good as his later writings and not nearly as fresh and fascinating as, say, Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Hell’s Angels is a far more straightforward piece of journalism than HST’s later work but it is still an interesting read some 45 years on (certainly no small feat).
For one, it is cursorily interesting in how Hell’s Angels has quickly become outdated with references like, “Hell, eight dollars was a case of beer and gas back to Oakland.” Because now eight dollars will probably get you a 6-pack or enough gas to get out of the station.
But more importantly than that, Hell’s Angels, written about a 3-year period (‘64-‘66), describes a country’s utter fixation and fear about a perceived menace. And reading it in 2008, it all seems rather quaint and foolish. Motorcycle gangs? Really? The subtitle is “A Strange and Terrible Saga.” Reading it now, it just doesn’t seem very strange and terrible at all. And not much of a saga either.
And that makes me wonder about our current era’s perceived threats. Terrorists. Immigrants. Religious Fundamentalists. Health Care. Global Warming. Food Production. Disease. Radical Economists. Nefarious CEOs. Dwindling Natural Resources. Greedy and Compromised Politicians. Will they all seem quaint and insignificant in forty years?
I read books like The Shock Doctrine and Under the Banner of Heaven and Fiasco, and confidently throw them across the room in a violent rage knowing that I have found our age’s plague. How naïve and simple am I?
So what wicked monsters wait for us in the future to render our current perils dust bunnies in a dollhouse?
Hell’s Angels is important, like all of Thompson’s writing, for his uncanny ability to summarize the consequence of whatever it is he has set his special acuity upon, this case motorcycle gangs. In Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas it was the American Dream and the 70s hippie movement. In Hell’s Angels, Thompson does not, nor did he ever, shy from bludgeoning his subjects with the cruel truth. HST had a special ability to place his topics in context, which, if you read Pierre Bayard, is all that matters....less
"
|
|
April 13
|
|
James
is currently reading:
Armageddon in Retrospect (Hardcover)
by Kurt Vonnegut
bookshelves:
currently-reading
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
|
|
James
gave
to:
Then We Came to the End (Hardcover)
by Joshua Ferris
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in April, 2008
James said:
"The much-acclaimed Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris is a story about stories. Which should be enough to keep English Professors masturbating to its meta/post-modern/post-colonial pages for quite some time to come.
But it’s also set in t...more
The much-acclaimed Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris is a story about stories. Which should be enough to keep English Professors masturbating to its meta/post-modern/post-colonial pages for quite some time to come.
But it’s also set in the contemporary workplace of an advertising agency. So with all of its witty talk of coveting office furniture, stealing office supplies, gossip, layoffs, pranks, and meetings, it’s a story most of us can all identify with, and, most importantly, laugh along with.
Plus Then We Came To The End is written in the First Person Plural.
Whaaaaa???
First Person Plural!
“Who writes in First Person Plural?” you ask.
“I know. Like, seriously,” I answer. “Joshua Ferris does.”
The novel opens thusly:
“We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise. At least those of us who smoked had something to look forward to at ten-fifteen. Most of us liked most everyone, a few of us hated specific individuals, one or two people loved everyone and everything. Those who loved everyone were unanimously reviled. We loved free bagels in the morning. They happened all too infrequently.”
Then We Came To The End is written in dense prose that is as cramped as the cubicle-confined characters it portrays. Dialogue of gossip, chit-chat, small talk, and office pleasantries is often nestled into the paragraphs and denied the spacious importance of its own line that it is so often afforded in most novels:
“Okay, I never go to McDonald’s,” said Karen. “I haven’t been to a McDonald’s probably since college. I wake up this morning, I have the biggest jones for a Filet-O-Fish.” “That’s weird,” said Jim. “Isn’t it?” said Karen. “So random. It’s seven in the morning, and I have the biggest jones. So, okay, I have to wait till lunch. I make it to eleven-thirty. But it’s still only eleven-thirty! I can’t go over to McDonald’s at eleven-thirty and order a Filet-O-Fish. That’s gross.” “Is it really called Filet-O-Fish?” asked Jim.
But beyond a cunningly captured illumination of the minor thrills and sweeping defeats of our modern working existence, Then We Came To The End is also a story about stories because it is a story of dark humor told via stories (office gossip, chit-chat, small talk). And since the narrator speaks in the First Person Plural, and therefore identifies themselves as one of the characters, they consequently lack just as much authority. So the book becomes a story of stories. Which makes for something fun and delightful that those English Professors and us Good Novel Appreciators can get our rocks off to.
So read Then We Came To The End. It’s hot....less
"
|
|
March 25
|
|
James
gave
to:
Everything That Rises: A Book of Convergences (Hardcover)
by Lawrence Weschler
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in April, 2008
|
|
James
gave
to:
Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72 (Paperback)
by Hunter S. Thompson
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in March, 2008
James said:
"From Hillary to how we eat, this cruel prose, now 36-years-old, is still as relevant and incisive as it ever was. Everyone deserves a dose of HST’s literary LSD-25 These Days, the ol’ fear and loathing. Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’...more
From Hillary to how we eat, this cruel prose, now 36-years-old, is still as relevant and incisive as it ever was. Everyone deserves a dose of HST’s literary LSD-25 These Days, the ol’ fear and loathing. Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 is a raw, worthwhile Thompson-hit of black acid. So stick your tongue out.
Thompson’s political pondering is comprised mostly of the literary equivalent of adrenaline, bile, and dark humor. Until you realize that HST is being absolutely serious. It’s like Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, some realities are so sick and twisted that you can’t play them straight. I can’t imagine anyone being able to untangle and analyze American Culture without having at least an iota of the paranoia, fear, and vindictiveness that Thompson naturally displays:
“And how many more of these stinking, double-downer sideshows will we have to go through before we can get ourselves straight enough to put together some kind of national election that will give me and the at least 20 million people I tend to agree with a chance to vote for something, instead of always being faced with that old familiar choice between the lesser of two evils?”
Bush and Gore? Bush and Kerry? McCain and Clinton?
“The assholes who run politics in this country have become so mesmerized by the Madison Avenue school of campaigning that they actually believe, now, that all it takes to become a Congressman or a Senator – or even a President – is a nice set of teeth, a big wad of money, and a half-dozen Media Specialists.”
As a betting man, a sports fan, and a sportswriter, politics and a presidential campaign are a perfect venue for HST.
“Political analysis was never my game, anyway. All I do is wander around and make bets with people, and so far I’ve done pretty well.”
He acerbically cuts through the bullshit with his wit and panache to reveal all the dirty details, maneuvers, statistics, and back-alley backstabbing of a presidential campaign.
“Superstar politicians and superstar quarterbacks have the same kind of delicate egos, and people who live on that level grow accustomed to very thin, rarified air. They have trouble breathing in lower altitudes; and if they can’t breathe right, they can’t function.”
Thompson’s imagery makes for the perfect metaphors to politics. His intimacy with subcultures, dark sects, and the dirty secrets of society come to a nice head when his potent powers converge to examine the ruthless world of politics. His fascination and enjoyment of guns, violence, explosions, and the rougher side of life find a worthy match when he is thrown into the brutal, unforgiving, outlaw landscape that is an American Presidential Election:
“A man on the scent of the White House is rarely rational. He is more like a beast in heat: a bull elk in the rut, crashing blindly through the timber in a fever for something to fuck. Anything! A cow, a calf, a mare – any flesh and blood beast with a hole in it.”
And beyond the paranoia, the drug-fueled ramblings, and indulgent digressions, Thompson is one smart sonofabitch. His analysis, journalism, and sheer unrivaled, unrequited gumption is not something to ignore or dismiss:
“This may be the year when we finally come face to face with ourselves; finally just lay back and say it – that we are really just a nation of 220 million [300 million?] used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns, and no qualms at all about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable.”
Thompson is a fascinating writer to read because of his unforgiving honesty, his crude humanity. Reading him, you ride the roller coaster of his depression, his anger, his child-like excitement, and his incessant doubt and fear. His prose tumbles along with him, a textual mirror of his obsessive criticism. His diction oscillates from rambling diatribes to poignant observations to hilarious conjectures and dark, brooding epiphanies. His words remain remarkably fresh and true, the authentic thoughts of an uncompromised man, an individual continually mesmerized and haunted by the tortuous labyrinth of civilization that man had built around him.
“Liberalism itself has failed, and for pretty good reason. It has been too often compromised by the people who represented it.”
“The time had [has?] come to abolish the whole concept of the presidency as it exists now, and get a sort of City Manager-type president…We’ve come to the point where every four years this national fever rises up – this hunger for the Saviour, the White Knight, the Man on Horseback – and whoever wins becomes so immensely powerful, like Nixon [Bush?] is now, that when you vote for President today you’re talking about giving a man dictatorial power for four years. I think it might be better to have the President sort of like the King of England – or the Queen – and have the real business of the presidency conducted by…a City Manager-type, a Prime Minister, somebody who’s directly answerable to Congress, rather than a person who moves all his friends into the White House and does whatever he wants for four years. The whole framework of the presidency is getting out of hand.”...less
"
|
|
March 20
|
|
James
gave
to:
The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason (Paperback)
by Sam Harris
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in May, 2007
James said:
"This is the one to read. Better than God Delusion. Better than God is Not Great. Better than Atheist Manifesto. Though Harris' Letter to a Christian Nation is a must as well.
"
|
|
March 19
|
|
James
marked as to-read:
Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Hardcover)
by Marisha Pessl
bookshelves:
to-read
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
|
