But I digress!  March Violets!

I really liked this book.  I was reading a review of this somewhere online where the criticism was that Kerr incorporates every stereotype of the noir genre into the book.  Well, uh, if he didn’t, then I suppose it wouldn’t be ‘noir’ would it?  It would be Nick Sparks or that Twilight lady.  Whatever, I thought it was a great story, with an albeit, VERY dark ending.  My only criticism is there were just so many damn characters and all the German names started sounding the same so I’d have to go back and figure out who they actually were.  Same with all the street names and places in Berlin (ahem, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, anyone?)  But these days I can’t remember a damn thing anymore anyways, so it could just be my own mental deficiencies.

Anyways, I just started Homer and Langley by E.L. Doctorow, a fictionalized account of 2 real New York brothers – crazy hoarders!  How can you not love a story about hoarders?  Well, we may find out – I’ve only just started.

First, I read “Typhoid Mary,” by Anthony Bourdain (yes, the guy from the food network). For some reason, I’ve had a weird fascination with Typhoid Mary for some time. I read a book review (perhaps of this very book) in the Washington Post probably 15 years ago and that piqued my interest, though I never read the book. Anyway, I was at the library looking for Anthony’s new book, which wasn’t there. In fact, the only one stocked by him was this one, so I checked it out. It’s a skinny book and a quick read. Frankly, even though I do love the cocky and irreverent Bourdain, I wasn’t very impressed with this book. It was interesting enough and I feel like I have a firm grasp on the few details of the case that are generally known. The things I didn’t like about this book were: 1) Even though he claimed to bring the unique viewbook of a cook (Mary was also) a cook, except in a few instances, I don’t think he really pulled this off. 2) He made some strange assumptions about how Mary may have reacted to certain things. Of course, she may have had the feelings he prescribed to her - to me, they seem more like emotions a cocky, easily offended New Yorker named Anthony bourdian may have felt. And 3) I think his research was lazy. There, I said it.

Second up: Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, by John Berendt. I know I’m a decade or so behind the bandwagon on this one, but I was going to Savannah so I thought this would give me a good feel for the city. It did! I really enjoyed this book. It’s like a novel, but basically true. I have learned that some things in the book were a bit creative – for example some of the relationships did not exist, and some of the timeline was a bit skewed. That bothers me a bit, but I certainly understand wanting to mold true events into a neater and plusher version. The story was good, the descriptions and character depictions were excellent, and the timing was impeccable. I finished this 2 days before I got to Savannah, and then visited many of the places in the book, and even met one of the characters in person.

 And 3rd, while I was on vacation and had just finished Midnight, I had a sudden hankering for some chick lit. I tend to read quite a lot of books by women, and when I hit a string of men, I get a little bit of withdrawal. After Bourdain and Berendt, I needed a good dose of estrogen, so I went to Barnes and Noble looking for something good. Though I had already given myself mental permission to buy something silly or even trashy, I ended up buying a biography of Cleopatra by Stacy Schiff. I already had an interest in Cleopatra, and it was written by a woman, so I thought this qualified as good chick lit. It’s VERY good. She seems to make a point to say what is known and what is likely or unlikely, rather than speculating and pulling it off as fact. She also quotes historians who have written about Cleopatra and says who is most likely to be telling the truth based on their agenda and time period ,etc. Her descriptions are wonderful and they make me want to go to Egypt. Of course, it wouldn’t be anything like Cleopatra’s Alexandria, and besides, it’s probably not  the safest place in the world right now.

On antoher note, I’ve gotten into the bad habit of watching movies based on books I’ve just read. They’ve been pretty disappointing (Garp, Midnight, etc). Most of the film, I say to Jon “yeah, that didn’t happen in the book,” or “wrong!” or just an irritated sigh. However, last night I watched “The Door in the Floor,” based on John Irving’s “A Widow for One Year.” In this one, they took the intelligent step of not trying to cover the whole book. They took the first 3rd of the book and made that a story in itself (which it really was). I thought it was quite good.

Not sure what I”ll read next, but probably something lovely and made up. I’m thinking a trip to the library is in my future.

So it was interesting, and makes me want to read some more Henry James in the future, but for now I need something completely different.  Like:

Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver

I’m not sure exactly where this book is going, but based on the book jacket blurb, it ties together themes of nature and human love.  I can’t imagine not liking anything by the author of The Poisonwood Bible, so I’m feeling good about this one.

March Violets by Philip Kerr

This is part of trilogy called Berlin Noir – it’s kind of like Raymond Chandler meets Nazi Germany.  Ja!

(Spoiler Alert!)

This is your typical ‘girl clone meets boy clone and fall in love despite the interference of their other clone friend, then boy clone has all of organs harvested, while girl clone awaits the same fate’ story.  It’s a very interesting premise told through the eyes of Kathy (aka, girl clone) and while there are some things about the plot that I’m not quite sure I understand…

For example, the clones go through 4 separate ‘donations’, presumably of major organs, and yet some seem fairly functional after the first 3 – I mean, aren’t ALL of our organs vital?  You can’t be gallivating around without say, your heart, lungs, a functioning kidney,  etc., you know?  Along those same lines, why not just get it all over with at once, instead of having 4 donations?  Why prolong it?  But you know what?  This whole thing about 4 donations is pivotal to the plot, so I’m just going to let it go.

Anyways, it was a very touching story and towards the end, I was reminded of the animal advocacy movement, and how many people turn their eyes away from the cruelty that is associated with say, the factory farming industry, not because they approve of it or because they’re bad people, but because it’s just easier to not think about where that steak on the table actually came from.

So in summary:  no factory farming! no cloned humans for organ harvesting!

I’ve also been reading Washington Square by Henry James which is extremely short, but I know it’s going to end badly so I’ve been reading a page every 3 days or so.

The wife (Helen) in an attempt to get rid of her college student lover, decides to give him a quick BJ in her driveway while Garp (who has just found out that she is having an affair) take their 2 sons to the movies. Ugh, I hate even writing about this… well, it ends up with one kid dying, one kid getting an eye poked out, and the lovers penis being bitten off. Ok, GROSS! It took a lot to get over that scene. In fact, I haven’t. Can I read John Irving again? I”m sure I can, in time. It WAS a good book and he is such an amazing writer, but it does not even compare to A Widow for One Year, which I think is such a good book. I guess all John Irving books have dead children, prostititues, copious affairs, and similar things. Fine. BUT THE PENIS? Was that NECESSARY? Yuk.

Anyway…moving on. I also finished Crossing the HEart of Africa. I’ll be honest, this wasn’t great literature, but it was interesting, and I’ll read pretty much anything about Africa. Actually, the story was good and I even started to “like” the narrator/author by the end. He came off as kind of a prick. The basic premise was that he was engaged to be married to a girl who, to me anyway, seemed quite wonderful despite his asshole-ish behavior. Nervous about getting married, he decides to “find himelf” in Africa, chasing the trail of some other asshole who lived in teh 1800s or some time. The older asshole at least seemed more interesting, but then there was the fact that he liked to shoot all the animals he came across. That depressed me. In the end though, the wimpy narrator won me over with his honest assessment of himself as a wimpy asshole. There’s nothing I like more than self-effacement. I am an Ebinger after all.

I’m going to Savannah in a few weeks, so in preparation I’m reading “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.” I’ve HEARD of this before, but didn’t realize what it was about. It’s a true crime non-fiction “novel” and so far it is GOOD. Lovin’ it! It reminds me of that TV show on A&E that I used to be obsessed with called City Confidential, where it talks about a murder but also delves into the personality of the city where it happened. I don’t know why, but I love that shit. And this book is just like it. So far it has really captured the personality of Savannah (at least I think so…I”ll tell you if it’s accruate in a few weeks). I HAVE been to Savannah before, but it was nearly 20 years ago! And I was just a young little kitten with a broken heart at the time. I’m pretty sure I’ll have more fun this time.

I’m reading bits and pieces of other books, which I will never finish by the time they are due back at the library, but that’s ok. There’s one called Sahara: A Natural History of the Sahara (or something)…Interesting but rather text-book like. I did learn where Volkswagen got the name Tuareg from though (desert nomads). So all was not lost. Also, got one by Anthony Bourdain (of cooking fame) called Typhoid Mary, which is very short and I plan to read. (I’m kind of in love with him)

That’s all for now!

L

Here are my top 5 of 2010 in no particular order:

1. A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor

This lady clearly had some issues.  This is a collection of dark dark stories of the south and I love them all.

2. Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout

Another collection of short stories but this time in a little town in Maine.   Lovely.

3. Dubliners by James Joyce

More short stories!  Until this year, I was convinced that I didn’t care for short story collections.  Clearly I was wrong!

4. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

Yeah, the last chapters of the book drag on a little (Die already, cold blooded killers!) but I found this book very compelling.  A senseless tragedy – an innocent family destroyed for no reason.  Capote is a master story teller.

5. On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan

A young couple undone before they’ve even hardly started.  Sad and beautiful.

What will 2011 bring?  Well, I’ve decided not to create a list of books to read, because, you know, I never ever stick to it.

I’ll play it by ear and see what happens.

The first one is Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout.  This is a collection of stories that take place in a small town in Maine, which I finished reading in…a small town in Maine.  Wee-id!  The title character sometimes plays a lead role in the stories – other times she simply make a brief appearance, and her fellow townspeople instead are featured in deceptively simple stories of everyday life.

I loved this book.  The way Strout paints her characters, even those who initially seem somewhat unpleasant and unlikable, end up sucking up your empathy.  Olive herself is a great example of this – a moody old lady who’s spent a lifetime taking out her frustrations on her husband and son, and is now seemingly alone.

I couldn’t put this book down.  Sure, Crosby, Maine seems to have an unusually high rate of infidelity and unrequited love, but I don’t care.  This is a great book, and worthy of the Pulitzer Prize it won.

My second completed book is On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan.  I read this book over the course of 4 or 5 hours during My Endless Day of Travel back in 2010.  I’m a big fan of McEwan, but I’ve always been a little reticent to read this one, because it was a) about a failed marriage and b) very very sad.  This combination just didn’t really appeal to me.  But the book was free and I think Larisa liked it so I figured I’d give it a shot.  And I really liked it.  It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting in that I originally thought it was about an old married couple reflecting on their years of marriage.  Instead it’s about a newlywed couple in the early 1960s who clearly love each other, but due to a uh, misfunction on their wedding night and the words spoken and not spoken in the aftermath, these crazy kids call it quits.  One of the things I like about McEwan’s stories are how seemingly small things, be it actions or words (or lack thereof)  can have huge repercussions all the while unbeknownst to the players involved (Atonement is another great example of this).

Anyhow, me likey very much.  I haven’t read a McEwan book I haven’t liked.

So not sure what next.  I’m about to give up on The Savage Detectives.  It reminds me of a beat novel a la Kerouac or Ginsburg, but much less coherent and less of a plot (as if that were possible).  And I like Jack Kerouac!

So in the last few months, I’ve read a few books, but have also abandoned quite a few, which is unusual for me. I do like to finish things once I start, but checking books out from the library has required me to read things faster than I would like. Even with multiple renewals, I was unable to finish The Toad, by Gunther Grass. Grass is apparently the best German writer since sliced weinerschnitzel, so I felt like I should read him. I picked this particular book since it was the shortest one that the library had. I made it about a third of the way through and just didn’t like it enough to continue. It wasn’t terrible. Part of the problem was that I got bogged down in history. It’s about Germany and Poland and Lithuania. Apparently during WWII, there were people displaced from all of those places. I don’t know enough to know why, but I suspect some of them were Jews. The book, being written for Germans I presume, makes assumptions that you know something about the history of the region. Assumptions which in my case are ill founded. Plus, places are alternatively referred to by their German names and Polish names, so one city may be called Danzig or Gdansk, Vilnius or Wilna. Holy confusing!

I still want to read Grass, but I’ve decided to go for his best known work, The TinDrum, when I have more time.

I also finally read “In defense of food,” by Michael Pollan, which I think Samara had left with me a long time ago. I’m a big fan of Pollan’s books and have enjoyed all of the ones I’ve read. This one was no different. In fact, I loved it. Although I’ve read many books in this genre and like to think I know pretty much everything about industrial food, I think he actually has some original thoughts and opinions. And his rules for eating are very useful, and ones that I already try to follow, such as “Don’t eat things your great grand-mother wouldn’t recognize as food.”

Right now, I’m reading one called “Crossing the Heart of Africa: An odyssey of love and adventure.” This week’s library trip had me leaving with about 10 books. 2 books on how to mud and tape drywall (for the basement), a book about “reading like a writer,” the world according to garp by John Irving (my new favorite writer), and another book on Africa. I love going to the library but sometimes I get overwhelmed by all of the interesting books I want to read. I usually resist the urge to get random books, but this time I decided to give in to temptation and get a few “wildcard” books. If I don’t get a chance to read them, I return them unread and nobody dies. Crossing the Heart of Africa was one of these and I’m liking it a lot so far. It’s about a guy in the late 1800s who decides to explore the middle part of africa from cape town to Cairo in order to impress his girlfriend’s stepfather and win her hand. In a paralel story, the author is retracing this man’s steps months before his own wedding. It seems, to me, that for both men it’s just a good excuse to go to Africa on an adventure. But whatever. It makes for a good story anyway, and that’s all I care about.

Anyway, I’m definitely in a reading mood this winter. I think I would be content to do nothing but read, sitting here in my captain’s chair by the fire, with a glass of red wine on the little table next to me and a cat curled up at my feet. It’s just heaven.

Now, in my last post, I’d commented about the blurb on the back of the copy of the book I own – referring to Stingo as “the horniest would-be writer in New York.”  Well, folks, the blurb wasn’t kidding – and at first I found the counterpoint between Stingo’s obsession with getting laid and the tragedy of Sophie’s past very strange.  However, Styron brings it together at the end (when Stingo finally gets laid – I was relieved – 600 pages of build up – oy vey!)  His partner is Sophie of course – tortured Sophie who cannot let go of the past.

I was inexhaustible because I was twenty-two, and a virgin, and was clasping in my arms at last the goddess of my unending fantasies.  Sophie’s lust was as boundless as my own, I’m sure, but for more complex reasons; it had to do, of course, with her good raw natural animal passion, but it was also both a plunge into carnal oblivion and a flight from memory and grief.  More than that, I now see, it was a frantic and orgiastic attempt to beat back death.

Frankly, I found the parts of the books where Sophie is recounting the horrors of the war, her attempts to keep herself and her children safe in war-torn Warsaw, and the hell of Auschwitz the most compelling.  The parts that focused on her embattled relationship with Nathan I found difficult to read – the abuse she endured – but I understand that.  Her survivor guilt and the need to punish herself.  And Stingo, good ole Stingo – he just annoyed the hell out of me.  From what I’ve read about Styron, it sounds very much like an autobiographical sketch.  But, hell, aren’t all 22 year olds pretty much insufferable?  Including myself, back in the day, of course.

So, anyways, my other 600 page book?  The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano.  Honestly, I think I”m on page 100 so it could be a while before I have another new post, heh!  I’ve also just started a shorter book “Olive Kitteridge” by Elizabeth Strout.  This is a collection of short stories that are set in Maine.  It did win the Pulitzer Prize, so it’s possible, I could end up hating it, given my past track record.  I’ll let you know.

I finished “Born to Run,” which is a running book that Jon coerced me to read. It was actually pretty interesting though. It’s about long distance runners and these indians in the Copper Canyon of Mexico who are known as the best runners in the world. A race was organized between some of America’s best ultra long distance runners and the indians (the indians won). It was an interesting glance into the world of ultra running (which I think Jon longs to be part of), plus some fascinating characters. He’s a decent writer but had an annoying habit of ending chapters with melodramatic sentences like “But who knew that the world was about to explode into vaporless dust?!” Ok, I just made that one up, but that’s the idea. And the next chapter never really lived up to the promise.

But the most interesting thing about the book is the idea that modern day running shoes have caused the slew of running injuries in the last few decades. Because of this book (or perhaps coincidentally in line with this book), there is a big trend now toward “minimalist” running or barefoot running. The theory is that we evolved as running animals and our feet are perfectly designed as they are. “High heeled” running shoes were designed to increase your stride length (thus making you a faster runner) but cause you to land on your heel, which is a recipe for injuries, apparently. Anyway, kinda interestin’ stuff. I run about 10 miles a week and I have to say, my feet hurt all the time. Maybe I should just kick those shoes off, eh?

Now I’m reading “Travels with My Aunt,” by Graham Greene. It took me a while to warm up to this one. It’s about a boring old bank manager who retires and then meets his Aunt at his “mother’s” funeral. She tells a lot of stories and is very eccentric. He starts to travel with her but still, mostly it’s just her telling stories. As I’m more than half way now, some of the stories are starting to fit together into a more interesting plot. But mostly, his utterly dry British humor is starting to crack me up. This was written in 1969, and like other British things I’ve read from that time period or slightly before, it’s so hard to imagine the time. It seems so old fashioned and yet so modern at the same time. I feel like I’m reading Jane Austen but then they’re talking about marajuana. Barbara Pym novels feel that way to me too.

I have quite a few others in the queue too. I got a Gunther Grass one from the library called “The Call of the Toad.” I feel like I should read him. And some ones about meat/vegetarianism for the book I’m trying to write. One is called “The Meat Market,” and the other is called “Farm Sanctuary.” And finally, one called “A Small Farm in Maine,” about, um, farming in Maine.

And that’s the update (I’m also terrible at conclusions).

L