CREATED IN DARKNESS BY TROUBLED AMERICANS

I am reading Creating in Darkness By Troubled Americans: The Best of McSweeney’s Humor Category, which is a mixed bag with its share of clunkers, but contains a few gems. I particularly like the list called “As a Porn Movie Titler, I May Lack Promise,” which includes:

When Harry Met Sally, They Had Sex With One Another
Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines Are Humping
All Quiet on the Western Front Except for All the People Having Sex on the Western Front

WORD SPY

I’m reading a fun book called Word Spy: The Word Lover’s Guide to Modern Culture, by Paul McFedries (there is also a website here), and one of the new terms I learned is highly applicable to me:

A kind of temporal New Math comes into play: “If I sleep six hours a night during the week instead of eight, that’s an extra ten hours a week! Nothing will stop me then, bwah ha ha ha!” We become a new kind of creature: sleep camel n. (1999) A person who gets little sleep during the week and then attempts to make up for it by sleeping in and napping on the weekend. Silicon Valley refers to the pressured people who store up enough sleep on weekends to manage a 60-hour-plus week as sleep camels. The term brings to mind beasts of burden, expendables expected to die beneath you in pursuit of some higher purpose. (Business Day, July 11, 2000)

Other words I like include “speako” (an error in speaking), “time porn” (“television shows and other media that portray characters as having excessive amounts of spare time”), and “dining al desko” (eating at one’s desk).

HOME COOKING AND MORE HOME COOKING

Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen and More Home Cooking: A Writer Returns to the Kitchen, by Laurie Colwin: LOVE. She’s like the Natalie Goldberg of cooking—simple, practical, confident, eminently reassuring. She celebrates plain old food like Goldberg encourages plain old words, eschewing formality and promoting the idea that cooking is something anyone can do if they try. Also like Writing Down the Bones et al., her books are short and episodic, a mix of memoir, meditation, and instruction (she includes recipes). I devoured each one in about a day, came away feeling warm and fuzzy and hungry, and immediately ordered myself some used copies through Amazon.com. Here is my favorite Colwin quote:

It always seems to me that cooking is like love. You don’t have to be particularly beautiful or very glamorous, or even very exciting to fall in love. You just have to be interested in it. It’s the same thing with food. You do not have to be a genius. You don’t have to come from a long culinary tradition....You just have to figure out what it is you like.

Take my word for it: if she can inspire me to bake, she actually may have magical powers. If you like food at all (liking cooking is not required), read these books, preferably over a piping-hot meal.

OUR MOTHERS’ WAR

I’m reading a fun, fascinating history book called Our Mothers’ War: American Women at Home and at the Front During World War II, by Emily Yellin. You hear a lot about WASPs and WACs and Rosie the Riveter, but this book covers every possible facet of women’s wartime experience, from housewives to movie stars to prostitutes as well as the usual female factory workers and military units. It’s chock-full of personal testimonials, very well organized and informative, and far and away more lively than the book I read about women of the OSS a few years ago. I really recommend it. Also, it supplied me with an unexpected giggle this morning while I was brushing my teeth, as I read this passage about banter between Dorothy Lamour and Bob Hope:

The joke played off a line in Johnny Mercer’s popular 1944 wartime song “Accentuate the Positive,” which spoke of eliminating the negative and latching on to the affirmative, but not messing with “Mr. In-Between.” So Lamour made her own light quip about something mundane and then in front of all the soldiers she said innocently, “Don’t take me seriously, Bob, I was just pulling your leg.” Hope reportedly replied with a glint in his eye, “Listen, Dottie, you can pull my right leg and you can pull my left leg, but don’t mess with Mr. In-Between.”

THE GRIM GROTTO

When I stopped at the library on Tuesday night to pick up some books I had on hold, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had beaten out all the little children of Pasadena for a copy of the new installment in Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events. There’s not much else to say except that as usual, I devoured it in a day, chuckling. I mostly just wanted to share this quote with you:

Having a personal philosophy is like having a pet marmoset, because it may be very attractive when you acquire it, but there may be situations when it will not come in handy at all.

POPLORICA

Poplorica: A Popular History of the Fads, Mavericks, Inventions, and Lore That Shaped Modern America, by Martin J. Smith and Patrick J. Kiger: An assortment of short essays about important historical moments that influenced modern culture, including the invention of the air conditioner, the introduction of permanent-press clothing, the creation of the disposable diaper, and the first product placement. It was full of the same nuggets of trivia and broad analysis of social-history trends I used to love about the books I edited at my former job—that sense that even the smallest things can have far-reaching effects and that everything is connects. It was still a relatively light read, though. I did notice some small errors that started to irritate me by the end of the book: for instance, in a single chapter, E.T. was described as “a green alien” (he's brown...right?) and Reese’s Pieces as “chocolate and peanut-butter candies” (GAH THERE IS NO CHOCOLATE!).

MR WILSON’S CABINET OF WONDER

Mr. Wilson’s Cabinet of Wonder: Pronged Ants, Horned Humans, Mice on Toast, and Other Marvels of Jurassic Technology, by Lawrence Weschler: I finished this great little book while brushing my teeth this morning. (Do you do that? I always read while tooth-brushing.) It’s about the Museum of Jurassic Technology in L.A., one of the most memorable and perplexing places I’ve ever been, and where I will most certainly drag any out-of-town visitors at the slightest provocation. I really liked the author’s thesis that the MJT is simultaneously a premodern and postmodern museum—it emulates the unscientific collections of oddities popular in the Renaissance, while at the same time playing with subjectivity and perception, commenting on itself, and parodying (though sincerely) the whole concept of museums. Plus, there really are mice on toast.

NEVER MIND THE POLLACKS

I’m reading Neal Pollack’s Never Mind the Pollacks: A Rock and Roll Novel right now, and it’s pretty darn funny. I was afraid I wouldn’t really get the music in-jokes, and suspected it wouldn’t be as good as The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature (it isn’t), and it gets a bit repetitive, but it still makes me giggle. It follows a fictional rock critic, “Neal Pollack,” through his life and career from the 1950s to the 1990s, during which he is of course conveniently in the right place at the right time to participate in all the great moments in rock history (Elvis plays at his bar mitzvah, he has a brief career as “Smokey, the elusive fifth Ramone,” etc.). I particularly love that he has a brief affair with Wanda Jackson:

“I love you, Wanda,” he said one night as they lay beneath the stars because they couldn’t afford a hotel.

“I know you do, baby,” she said. “Could you pass me the bourbon?”

BOOK LUST

Are you looking for something to read? Because I just finished this book, Book Lust: Recommended Reading for Every Mood, Moment, and Reason by Nancy Pearl, and now my to-read list is about 35 books long. I love that the online library catalog has a handy feature that lets you make a sort of “wish list”—it’s saving me a lot of paper—but then it’s way too easy to hit the handy “Reserve” button next to each book. And so I totally lost control and put 7 (!!!!!!!) of them on hold, and of course they all came in at once, and I apparently I’ll have to quit my job now so I can read them. Reading books about books always does this to me—makes me exhilarated and then totally overwhelmed with the realization that I’ll never, ever read them all, let alone reread all my favorites. I was shamed by Pearl; she included hundreds of books in this book and had obviously them all, plus she’d often make offhand remarks like, “I reread this book every year.” Granted, she’s a librarian and a book reviewer, so there’s some happy occupational overlap there. But still. In the 12 years or so that I’ve been keeping track (yes, I keep track, OK? Not so much for the statistics, but because I want to remember what I read and when—it’s helpful when recommending to others, remembering what books I want to buy myself, or feeling nostalgic), I’ve read roughly 40 to 100 books per year (the higher numbers are from the days of yore, when I read shorter books, had fewer friends, was assigned books for school, and didn’t hold down a full-time job—or at least had that summer job at the beach concession stand, where I read all day), and maybe less than half of those are ones I’d bother even recommending to people. And I’d only read a tiny fraction of the books she discussed. Despair! Anyway, not all the books sounded good or up my alley (she covers every imaginable genre), but often I was reminded about books I’d always been meaning to read, or her recommendation reinforced good things I’d heard about a book from elsewhere. So in turn I recommend this book. Certainly it’s something I’d like to have around the house—just in case I ever get through all the books on my list and need more suggestions.

GIRLS ON THE VERGE

Girls on the Verge by Vendela Vida: A look at different coming-of-age rituals for girls, including debutante balls, quinceneras, sororities, gangs, and teen marriage. I found it compelling (devoured it in one day, in fact), but mainly because of the content, not the writing. I enjoyed her first-person observations (which reminded me of Susan Orlean’s Saturday Night, one of my favorite nonfiction books, though without the wonderful style)—especially her description of going undercover to infiltrate sorority rush at UCLA—but the analysis fell a bit flat (luckily, there wasn’t much of it). I’d recommend this book, but expect a series of vignettes rather than a comprehensive study.

THE NO. 1 LADIES’ DETECTIVE AGENCY

The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, by Alexander McCall Smith: A quick and enjoyable read, but better-written than I expected. The blurb on the front cover, which described the book as “The Miss Marple of Botswana,” was reductive—it was as much or more about character and local color than solving a mystery (or actually, a collection of various small mysteries). I’ve already put the sequel on hold at the library. I loved Precious Ramotswe’s quiet competence, and the simple, straightforward-yet-lyrical tone of the writing. Here’s my favorite passage:

It was time to take the pumpkin out of the pot and eat it. In the final analysis, that was what solved these big problems of life. You could think and think and get nowhere, but you still had to eat your pumpkin. That brought you down to earth. That gave you a reason for going on. Pumpkin.

THE NEW MOON WITH THE OLD

I started reading The New Moon With the Old by Dodie Smith, who is best known as the author of 101 Dalmatians. I love her book I Capture the Castle, which you should read. You should also see the movie that came out recently. (Actually, I recommend that you follow my preferred plan of action in these matters and watch the movie first, then read the book, then see the movie again. That way, you can accept the movie on its own terms instead of obsessing about what was changed or left out, and then reading the book just amplifies and expands on the movie—because of course the book is always better—and then you can go back to the movie and look at it with your increased knowledge and calmly examine the filmmakers’ choices in adapting the book.) So I started tracking down other books by her, wondering what they would be like. The New Moon With the Old is out of print; I got it at the library. It’s newer than ICC (from the 1960s, I think), but the plot is similar: A family of four quirky, precocious teenage/young-adult siblings has to make their way in the world after their father flees the country to escape prosecution for fraud. The book is sort of charming, sort of odd. I like how unconventional the characters are: so far the 14-year-old sister has run off to London to be an actress, passing as a 21-year-old, and gotten engaged to a 50ish nobleman and then broken it off, and the younger brother has gone to be a companion to an elderly lady (traditionally a girl's job) because he wants to get inspiration for the Edwardian-era novel he's writing. It isn’t as compelling yet as ICC, but I’m still hooked.

THE SLATE DIARIES

The Slate Diaries is a collection of weeklong diaries kept by people from Beck to Bill Gates. This book has been on my want-to-read list for at least two years, but it wasn’t available at any of the five library systems (yes, I’m a junkie) I had access to in Minnesota. I’m a voyeur, and I wish more people I know would keep diaries and let me read them, but I can be satisfied by the diaries of strangers. Here is a good excerpt from the diary of Jim Holt, a magazine editor:

There are two marine creatures that I have always identified with. One of them is the juvenile sea squirt. This is a little thing that wanders through the sea looking for a nice rock or hunk of coral to make its home for life. When it finds the right spot and takes root, it no longer has any use for its brain. So it eats it. In much the same way, I have been wandering through Manhattan these 20 years in search of a suitable hunk of coral to attach myself to. A month ago I found it. It is a magazine called the New Leader. Finally, I can eat my brain.

I think we all know how that feels.

I’ve started and abandoned many diaries, myself. I have trouble maintaining them because I begin to get anxious that they’re dull as dirt. Even if they’re meant for my eyes only, I can’t stop thinking about an historian unearthing them someday, getting all excited at first, and then tossing them aside after a few entries, sighing, “What a bore.” I always end up recording (sometimes superficial) sights and events and never seem to have the time, ambition, or material for the witty diatribes, clever intellectual analysis, and lyrical emotional examinations I plan out during idle moments in the shower or sitting in traffic. But then I read this passage from David Sedaris’s Slate diary with recognition (for my pretentious adolescent journals) and relief (for my current mundane missives):

I’d like to know what I ate when I was 19 years old. How much did it cost for a pound of chicken or a pack of cigarettes? What did I carry in my wallet, and who did I talk to on the telephone? My earliest diaries tell me none of these things. They tell me not who I was, but who I wanted to be. That person wore a beret and longed to ride a tandem bicycle with Laura Nyro.

THE WELL OF LOST PLOTS

I'm enjoying some light fare, The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde. It's the third book in a series about a detective named Thursday Next who lives in a parallel universe where the Crimean War never ended and dodos are popular pets and literature is incredibly important. Next and different fictional characters jump between the real world and various books to solve mysteries. Sometimes the writing can be gimmicky and the stories chaotic, but the literary jokes are worth it. Take this, for example, when Next visits an unfinished fantasy novel (all setting, no characters or plot) that has become a sanctuary for fictional animals:

“There seem to be an awful lot of rabbits,” I observed, looking around.
“Ah, yes,” replied Perkins . . . “we never did get the lid on reproduction within Watership Down—if left to their own devices, the book would be so full of dandelion-munching lagomorphs that every other word would be rabbit within a year. Still, Lennie enjoys it here when he has some time off.”

But then, I love, love, love cheap Of Mice and Men jokes.

MR SKEFFINGTON

Dear Elizabeth von Armin: I know you are dead, but I want to let you know that I really like your books. Even though your strong, independent female characters end up sort of compromising themselves in the end, they do it in such nice, happy, and probably realistic ways. Mr. Skeffington is a bit darker than The Enchanted April, but also more mature, like Persuasion versus Pride and Prejudice. I especially like these passages:

When the host is annoyed, and the hostess upset, and the hostess’ mother suspicious, and the hostess’ father an autobiographer, it is time for a guest to go.

****

Oh, so boring; oh, so senseless. Should she go in for good works? Or attend lectures? Or learn languages? Or interest herself in the European situation? Bleak, bleak. But wasn’t the alternative even more bleak, indeed grisly, to dribble idly into old age by slow stages of increasing depression and discontent, punctuated—what fun!—by things like rheumatism and being deaf?