FLAPPER (PLUS A MANSFIELD PARK PREVIEW)

For nonfiction, I (along with K, S, and Librarian A) have been reading Flapper: A Madcap Story of Sex, Style, Celebrity, and the Women Who Made America Modern. Unfortunately, although it’s anecdotally interesting and the author draws some pretty interesting cause-and-effect connections between broad social trends, it’s not terribly well written overall. I am still seething because within the first 20 pages, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s accent is described as a “flat Minnesotan burr.” Can I just point out that Merriam-Webster describes “burr” as “a trilled uvular \r\ as used by some speakers of English especially in northern England and in Scotland”? There is nothing, absolutely nothing burr-like about the Minnesotan accent. (I would hesitate to even call it flat, considering the “o”s are deep enough to fall into, but that’s personal opinion.) Maybe I should just blame the editor, considering that later in the book O. Henry’s name is for some reason written “O’Henry.” The Irish and the Scots are just sneaking into this book at every turn! Still, I shouldn’t nitpick. There’s a lot of fun, juicy gossip and interesting social commentary in the book—plus I learned that the Fitzgeralds’ drink of choice was, of all things, gin and tomato juice. Ew!

For fiction, I’m about halfway through Mansfield Park, as is friend AH, with whom I am reading and discussing long-distance. I’m going to have to write an entire separate treatise on this later, but let me just say that it’s a very oddly structured book. And it strangely complements Flapper. You might not think there would be a lot of overlap between a book in which Zelda Fitzgerald pins mistletoe to her ass and one in which people spend entire chapters discussing who should ride in the barouche to view the landscape improvements at a gentleman’s manor, but for one thing, Mansfield Park contains a bona fide dirty joke—a pun, in reference to admirals of the British navy, on the words “rear” and “vice.” According to my edition’s end notes, it’s fully as dirty as it sounds. Jane, you naughty girl, you!

MORE MISCELLANY

I read Calvin Trillin’s sweet, funny, sad little tribute to his late wife, About Alice, and a recently-rediscovered favorite childhood book, Betsy’s Up-and-Down Year by Anne Pellowski. (Does anyone else remember these books, about Polish-American girls growing up during various time periods on farms near Winona, Minnesota? Other titles include Willow Wind Farm: Betsy’s Story, and Stairstep Farm: Anna Rose’s Story.) I’m still working on Awake in the Dark: The Best of Roger Ebert, and have been suckered into reading yet another shiny new library book, Simon Winder’s fizzy and fascinating The Man Who Saved Britain: A Personal Journey Into the Disturbing World of James Bond, which examines James Bond in his sociopolitical context; i.e., the fall of the British empire. I’m really enjoying it—I expected it to be entertaining, but am surprised to also find it so enlightening.