Nancy Pearl's Blog, page 2

Stuffed: Adventures of a Restaurant Family

 by Patricia Volk

In Stuffed: Adventures of a Restaurant Family, Patricia Volk delivers an affection-filled tribute to both family and food. In a series of vignettes, she lovingly describes her adored extended family. Each chapter, titled for a different food, from Butter Cookies to Caviar, is primarily devoted to one of her relatives. Among them are her great-grandfather, who was the first to import pastrami to New York; her grandfather, who invented the wrecking ball; her mother, forever trying to improve her daughters ("Mom made me, and now she will make me better"); her beautiful and best beloved older sister, Jo Ann; her embittered Aunt Lil, who embroidered a pillow with the phrase, "I've never forgotten a rotten thing anyone has done to me"; and her magnetic father, who taught her:

…how to swim, speak French, drive, eat using the utensils American-style (which nobody in America seems to do), spot welder, solder, emboss, ride English, ride western, merengue, sing pop songs from World War I's "Keep Your Head Down Fritzie Boy" up through his favorite—the one that chokes him up, although he's not sure why—"Younger Than Springtime," remove a splinter, sap a blister by sticking a sterilized threaded needle through it then tying the exposed ends in a knot, carve a Thanksgiving turkey, chop, dice, and mince, make canapés, deglaze a pan, suck meat off a lobster a lobster doesn't know it has, blind a mugger, kill a rapist with a rabbit punch, remove stains, cloisonné, and intimidate a tennis opponent by clenching my teeth then drawing my lips back and growling like a gas-station dog.

Volk's family is sufficiently odd enough to keep anyone's attention, while her writing (she's also the author of a novel and two collections of stories) is both witty and tender. I pored over the all-too-few family photographs, and wished that that I, too, could be part of the whole Volk/Morgen clan.

Half a Life

by Darin Strauss

Darin Strauss's moving memoir, Half a Life ,is painfully honest and inherently dramatic without seeming either precious or self-pitying. When the car he was driving hit and killed Celine, a high school classmate whom he knew only casually, Strauss's life was, as one might suspect, altered forever.  Although he was held to be blameless in Celine's death (what insurance companies refer to as "a no fault fatality"), Strauss found that this event—which occurred nearly 20 years ago—has now shaped almost half his life.  In prose that is introspective, evocative, and unaffected, Strauss shares with us his musings on life, death, blame, and self-doubt. I wondered, as I read it, how I would have lived the rest of my life after the parent of someone for whose death I was, however innocently, responsible, says this to you:

I know it was not your fault, Darin. They all tell me it was not your fault . . . But I want you to remember something. Whatever you do in your life, you have to do it twice as well now . . . Because you are living it for two people . . . Can you promise me? Promise.

So how do you live your life after that?

Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life

by Amy Krouse Rosenthal

There are so many memoirs being published these days that the ones I read sometimes blend into one gigantic life story in my head, but there's no way I'm going to confuse Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life with any other memoir any time soon.  I had forgotten, until I reread it recently, what a delight it was to spend time with this self-described "ordinary" person, learning her quirks and hang-ups, her likes and dislikes, her everyday (and not) adventures (including the inspired way she attempted to get out of paying a parking ticket—you'll love it, trust me), all arranged, encyclopedia-style, from A ("Amy" ;"Anxious, Things That Make Me"; "Ayn Rand") to Y ("You"), with appropriate cross-references and clever drawings to supplement the text.  To get a sense of Rosenthal's writing style (and humor), here's how the Foreword to the book begins:

I was not abused, abandoned, or locked up as a child. My parents were not alcoholics, nor were they ever divorced or dead. We did not live in poverty, or in misery, or in an exotic country.  I am not a misunderstood genius, a former child celebrity, or the child of a celebrity. I am not a drug addict, sex addict, food addict, or recovered anything. If I indeed had a past life, I have no recollection of who I was.

I have not survived against all odds.

I have not lived to tell.

I have not witnessed the extraordinary.

This is my story.

Cakewalk

by Kate Moses

I am not a foodie, although some of my best friends are.  Thus, there's no way I would have picked up Kate Moses's Cakewalk to read but for the photograph on the cover, which made me smile.  (See, you can judge a book by its cover!) I continued reading it because Moses is a writer of salutary talents.  And if I hadn't read it, I would have missed not only an affecting memoir, but also some recipes that I feel sure—if I were a baker— I would immediately try out. If my oven works. Luckily, those friends of mine who do bake have—in return for lending them the book—let me try  samples of the ever-so-tasty results of several of Moses's recipes.  Mainly focused on her life during the 1960s and 70s, her memoir is marked by parental discord and differences (her mother and father were spectacularly unsuited to one another), frequent moves, and a thorny family history.  Cooking (and reading) were her lifelines out of the unhappy situations she found herself in.  Each chapter includes a recipe, and each—from cheese cake to linzer tort, from spiced pecan cake to chocolate truffles—sounds more scrumptious than the one before.  One bit of advice I feel compelled to give:  brownies, page 209.  Thanks to my friend Jeanette, I know the first version (with walnuts) is amazing.

Memoirs of Eugenia Ginzburg

by Eugenia Ginzburg

Anyone with the least interest in 20th century history shouldn't miss Eugenia Ginzburg's two memoirs, Journey Into the Whirlwind and its sequel, Within the Whirlwind. I first read them about a quarter of a century ago.  I still remember how reading them knocked the breath out of me, as though I'd been run over by an out-of-control truck. I first learned, from reading them, of the true horrors of Stalin's reign of terror.  As I turned the pages, I was forced to consider how one can never predict how a friend or a foe, or oneself, for that matter, will behave under the most extreme circumstances. In Ginzburg's accounts, she presents both the highs and lows of human behavior, and by extension, humanity itself.  Ginzburg spent 18 years caught up in the nightmare that gripped the Soviet Union during the height of Stalin's powers, when he turned on loyal Communist Party members, religious minorities, and anyone else who displeased him.  The picture I have in my mind is that of a paranoid Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland, screaming almost randomly, "off with his head," in a world in which nothing makes sense.  Only Stalin's era was no fantasy, and the consequences of his paranoia were terribly real.  The great, staying power of these accounts arises partly from the stark facts of history, but mostly from Ginzburg's unadorned and unaffected writing about her situation. From her arrest (for not speaking up against a colleague who was later accused of being a Trotskyist) to her incarceration in prisons and jails and huts (unheated) in Siberia's Gulag, we are with Ginzburg every step of the way.  And I was struck by how often she finds consolation in the poetry she remembers.

Time on My Hands

Dana Kaplan, who emailed me recently, describes herself as "a recently retired marketing and business development professional living in Watertown, Massachusetts, who enjoys reading, writing, gardening and cooking—and now has lots more time for all of these interests." She's the official record-keeper for a book discussion group that has been meeting monthly for over 30 years.  She goes on to write, "My book group reads fiction and non-fiction, but I'm the only one with a passion for books (and movies) about time travel. Here's one I wanted to share with your readers."

 As a big fan of time travel books myself, I was thrilled to meet another fan.  And once you read Dana's suggestion, try Robert Heinlein's The Door Into Summer, which remains one of my all time favorites, though it was written over 30 years ago.

Here's her review:

Guest Blog by Dana Kaplan

If you could go back in time and change things, where—and when—would you go? Would you try to eliminate a historical monster like Hitler or an assassin or serial killer? Would you try to prevent a personal tragedy or save a loved one? Or would you give in to greed and set yourself up financially, say by taking advantage of the stock market? Peter Delacorte's Time on My Hands is about going back in time to rewrite political history, specifically 20th century American political history. The history to be rewritten is Ronald Reagan's presidency, thus eliminating, in the novel's words, "all the vulgarity, hypocrisy, all that banality, that occurred between 1980 and 1988." The hero, an itinerant travel writer, is challenged to go back in time, not to kill Reagan, but to "take care of things so he doesn't become president." Set in 1994, the book reflects its time and the politics of its author, who isn't shy about voicing his opinions.  Reagan, to Delacorte, is "a shell, a charming automaton with lots of rich, nasty people. . . plutocratic sociopaths. . . standing over him, pulling the strings."

The book takes its time setting out the premise, describing the device (a cross between a speedboat and a bicycle), and dealing with the nuts and bolts of surfing the time dimension. But once our hero, Gabriel Prince, arrives in 1938 Hollywood and hooks up with a luscious (but apparently doomed) starlet and a B-list supporting actor fresh from Illinois, things happen quickly. This is a view of the 40th president few of us know. He's "Dutch," not Ronnie; Ree-gun, not Ray-gun; and he's distinctly to the left of center on the political spectrum.

For classic film buffs, Delacorte captures the period detail well and the pictures are a hoot. The author has fun setting up Gabriel as a screenwriter pitching a new concept in westerns. It's about a sheriff, on his wedding day, facing a gang of bad guys out for revenge, due to arrive on the afternoon train. The movie moguls love the concept, the script, all but the incessant shots of the clock. "The audience may be stupid," says the studio head, "but they can tell time!"  

The book takes a surprising direction midway through when Dutch accidentally drowns. Going back to the future, Gabriel ends up in 1984, not 1994—a  1984 without Ronald Reagan. Remorseful about his role in the death of his friend, Gabriel heads back to 1938. Unfortunately, it seems there are many parallel threads of history, not just one. To make matters worse, the time machine has become unreliable; its space/time GPS system is in serious need of a tune-up. Furthermore, two French punks from the early 22nd century show up and claim ownership of the time machine.  Worst of all, the time machine may only be good for so many trips—or so many years—but how many?  You can see why Gabriel ends up with "time on his hands."

The Hare with Amber Eyes

by Edmund de Waal

Every once in a while, I run across a book that has such wide appeal that I can easily imagine giving copies to nearly everyone on my gift list.  One such book—and my favorite work of non-fiction this year—is The Hare with Amber Eyes: A Family's Century of Art and Loss by Edmund de Waal.  The author, a potter and curator of ceramics at the Victoria & Albert Museum, contemplates the history of his ancestors—a fabulously wealthy Jewish banking family—from the latish 19th century through World War II.  He uses as the linchpin for his discussion a collection of 246 netsukes, miniature ornamental carvings (including one of a hare with amber eyes), which were originally collected by the first Charles Ephrussi, and handed down from generation to generation.  In the process, the collection moved from Japan to Paris to Vienna, back to Japan, and thence to the author, in London.  The Ephrussis were a cultural force both in Vienna and Paris. You can see what was once their house on Vienna's Ringstrasse even now. Charles was a patron of many artists and writers; he was also the model for Swann in Proust's great novel, and he appears in Renoir's The Luncheon of the Boating Party (he's the man in the back, in profile, with a top hat and a reddish beard).  I'm giving this book to friends and family who love history or biographies or art or visiting and/or reading about Paris or Vienna; to those who enjoy family sagas and, especially, to anyone who appreciates graceful, understated writing.  And those who love books with family trees.  Kudos to the publisher, FSG, for producing a book that's both a pleasure to hold and behold.

The Bill from My Father

by Bernard Cooper

In The Bill from My Father, Bernard Cooper takes a familiar trope—a complex and unreliable parent—and gives it a unique spin as he looks back on his stormy relationship with his father.  Edward Cooper was a prominent Los Angeles divorce attorney, once seemingly invincible (at least to the author) but now sinking into dementia, whose constant philandering was hardly a secret from his sons (or presumably, his wife).  Now, with his mother and all three of his older brothers dead, Cooper attempts to understand the complicated bond with this most difficult man, which means trying to come to grips with his father's strong disapproval of both his choice of career as a writer (the elder Cooper wanted Bernard to become a lawyer, as all three of his brothers did) and his homosexuality.  As you might imagine, the father/son relationship did not noticeably improve when his father sent him a bill for nearly 2 million dollars—the cost of raising him.  This moving account is liberally leavened with humor and never morphs into the oh-poor-me school of autobiography.

Blue Blood

 by Edward Conlon

Truth to tell, I have a real love/hate relationship with memoirs.  Because I very much enjoy reading about people's lives (an unappreciative therapist might term my predilection voyeurism), I gravitate toward the biography and memoir section of libraries and bookstores.  But despite the fact that memoirs are, by definition, self-referential and are therefore—to one degree or another—filled with variations of me, me, me, I don't really enjoy (and therefore tend not to read) what I call the "Children of Job," sub-genre of memoir-writing. You know the type, and I don't need to name any names.  Rather, what I'm looking for are engaging characters, enlightening and/or entertaining stories, and good writing.  Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing some of my favorites. Here's the first:

If you, like me, could watch "Law and Order" reruns eight hours a day, or if you've ever been curious about the inner workings of police departments, you'll want to rush right out and read Edward Conlon's Blue Blood. After graduating from Harvard, Conlon came home and joined the New York City Police Department, walking a beat in some of the worse housing projects in the South Bronx. His wide-ranging book is partly a memoir of his experiences (he is now working as a detective for the NYPD); the effects— pro and con—of the Giuliani anti-crime years; the Abner Louima and Amadou Diallo cases; 9/11; and the scandals and the triumphs, both large and small, that mark the history of the NYPD.  Nicely written (some of it appeared in the New Yorker as "Cop Diary," written under the pseudonym Marcus Laffey) and filled with interesting characters (both cops and perps— wait, make that suspected perps), this is both a pleasure (and an education) to read.

The Remarkable and Very True Story of Lucy and Snowcap

My nine-year-old friend Sydney and I get together once a month or so to discuss a book that we've both read, the writing life, and (sometimes) school.  To me, Sydney in all her realness is the future of reading, writing, bookstores, and libraries; and it's always a treat for me to hear her ideas, comments, and insights into the books we've chosen to read together. 

She sent me a book review that she wrote for school of H. M. Bouwman's The Remarkable and Very True Story of Lucy and Snowcap, the novel we just discussed last week (over lunch at a Thai restaurant).  Sydney liked this book better than I did. I felt that in some ways it was two different novels, one about Snowcap and one about Lucy; and I wasn't convinced the author combined them effectively.  Sydney definitely saw my point. And we both agreed that there was too much foreshadowing.  We wanted to discover what happened as we turned the pages: we didn't want someone telling us what was coming.  (That's why I tend to ignore the jacket copy of anything I'm about to start reading.)

Here is Sydney's book report.  If I were her teacher (and not her friend), I would definitely grade this with an A. You will note that she gave the novel a very high rating (8 ¾ out of a possible 10).  After we talked for a while, Sydney allowed as though this might be a tad too high a rating—I'm using my own words here, not hers. 

Our next book? Betty Macdonald's recently re-issued Plum and Nancy.

Now, over to Sydney:

Guest Blog by Sydney Armstrong

This book is about two girls who live on the Colay Islands. Snowcap is the English Child Governor of one big island,Tathenland, which the British have taken over. Lucy is from the native Colay tribe. They are much alike: they both love telling stories; they both love Lucy's baby brother, Rob; and they both have a birthmark on their faces. They meet one day when Lucy takes Rob for a walk.

The evil Protector and his helper, Renard, are searching for Snowcap to murder her so he can become king of Tathenland; and the Colay are being blamed for it. Lucy also is told by the Gray Lady of the Mountain that because her brother will be the last baby boy to be born on their island, Sunset, she must take him to a desert shaman called Beno.

Philip, Snowcap's tutor who dreams of becoming what he calls a Great Author, gets together with Adam, who takes care of the horses, and together they embark on their own ambitious journey to find Snowcap and punish her malicious Protector. The two girls wander back into Tathenland and steal or, as they call it, "borrow" Snowcap's gentle, kind, horse, Peat. The friends travel on him to the desert, where they find Beno (who is the Gray Lady's son) and learn healing and other very important lessons under his guidance. 

Meanwhile, Philip and Adam struggle to survive in the vast and enormous wilderness. When Snowcap and Lucy come back, they meet up with Philip and Adam, who are more than relieved to see them, though they are not so sure about Lucy at first, since she is Colay. They all go back to Tathenland and turn Sir Markham, the Protector, and Renard in.

I like this book because as the story intertwines, you really start to care for the characters and see through their eyes.  Sometimes I didn't like it because at times it was very difficult to understand why something could happen. I learned that two people who you believe are quite different actually sometimes are very alike and form the best friendships of all. I am also discussing this book with some one else, which will be extremely interesting. It made me wonder that if somebody was trying to poison me, if I would be as brave as Snowcap and run away. I am not entirely sure about what I would rate it, but I think I would give it an eight and three quarters.