Colum McCann's Let the Great World Spin is a novel written as a series of wonderfully crafted and subtly linked stories. The common denominator running throughout the book is the true story of French acrobat Philippe Petit who walked a tightrope between the World Trade Center's Twin Towers in August 1974, not long after it was built.
The stories, though, are not about the acrobat but about the ordinary but extraordinary people 110 stories below, the people whose lives intersect whether through wars, telephone lines, wrecks, charity or simply family. These people are drug-addicted hookers, a Bronx mother who grieves her son who died in Vietnam, a Park Avenue woman who mourns her son who also didn't come home from the war. There is a wealthy judge hearing a series of routine criminal cases until he gets the acrobat's. And there are two very different Irish brothers. One devotes his life to helping prostitutes while the other tends a bar and cannot comprehend his brother's seemingly misguided charity.
McCann takes the reader back to a time when computers were in their infancy, before Richard Nixon had resigned, when the nation was as divided perhaps even more than today. He gives us a realistic glimpse of New York in the 1970s, from Park Avenue to the Bronx. And in so doing, he gives us a truly great work of literature.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Quick Reviews: Cooking a Wolf, Growing a Tomato, Rooting for ME
Rather than try to write more detailed reviews of books I read more than a month ago, I'm offering this quick rundown as a way to get caught up so to speak. Here goes:
How to Cook a Wolf by M.F.K. Fisher. I did not read the original edition, written during World War II when Americans were not free to waste a single stick of butter or a pricey cut of meat. Rather, I read an edition in which Fisher came back and updated her original book with a few after-thoughts, after times had improved. Fisher's sense of humor and helpful thoughts on food and cooking make for an informative and fun read.
Unlike Fisher, William Alexander, author of The $64 Tomato, wasn't looking for ways to save money on food when he set out to raise some homegrown tomatoes. And that's a good thing because this amateur gardener learned that those tomatoes cost a lot more than manpower and patience. They also cost money, big money by the time he bought the electrical fencing to ward off the groundhogs and a possum, paid for expensive gardening-design advice, fertilized, watered, added other plants and .... well, you name it. Alexander has a great self-effacing humor, and the book is a winner.
Anthem by Ayn Rand offers a quick way to get an introduction to Ayn Rand's writing and her beliefs, her obsession with individualism vs. the greater good as some might call it. Unlike some of her other novels, this one is slender. It's basically a novella.
Still to come: Kitchen and Gourmet Rhapsody, both wonderful books.
How to Cook a Wolf by M.F.K. Fisher. I did not read the original edition, written during World War II when Americans were not free to waste a single stick of butter or a pricey cut of meat. Rather, I read an edition in which Fisher came back and updated her original book with a few after-thoughts, after times had improved. Fisher's sense of humor and helpful thoughts on food and cooking make for an informative and fun read.
Unlike Fisher, William Alexander, author of The $64 Tomato, wasn't looking for ways to save money on food when he set out to raise some homegrown tomatoes. And that's a good thing because this amateur gardener learned that those tomatoes cost a lot more than manpower and patience. They also cost money, big money by the time he bought the electrical fencing to ward off the groundhogs and a possum, paid for expensive gardening-design advice, fertilized, watered, added other plants and .... well, you name it. Alexander has a great self-effacing humor, and the book is a winner.
Anthem by Ayn Rand offers a quick way to get an introduction to Ayn Rand's writing and her beliefs, her obsession with individualism vs. the greater good as some might call it. Unlike some of her other novels, this one is slender. It's basically a novella.
Still to come: Kitchen and Gourmet Rhapsody, both wonderful books.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Night Bookmobile by Audrey Niffenegger
I had not read a single graphic novel until I recently bought a copy of Audrey Niffenegger's The Night Bookmobile. I read it in a few moments. Yet days later, I'm still thinking about it and recommending it to friends.
Niffenegger, who wrote the novels The Time Traveler's Wife and more recently Her Fearful Symmetry, is a gifted artist and writer with an imagination like no other author I've read.
In The Night Bookmobile, Niffenegger's main character is a young woman named Alexandra. She is a book lover who apparently lives on Chicago's North Side, Niffenegger's hometown, and who enjoys long walks in the middle of night. Once, in the predawn hours at the corner of Ravenswood and Belle Plaine, Alexandra happens on a battered Winnebago driven by a Mr. Openshaw who runs a most unusual library inside it. Readers do not check out books from this library. Rather, they find copies of books identical to those they have read since childhood, even their own diaries.
Years pass before before Alexandra, who becomes obsessed with books and the bookmobile, sees it and Mr. Openshaw again. By then, her boyfriend has left her, she has become a regular librarian and all the time been reading, reading, reading -- in a comfortable chair, with a flashlight at night, in the tub while she bathes. Ultimately, Alexandra's obsession takes a bizarre, tragic turn -- one that readers will far better understand if they read Niffenegger's "After Words" at the end of this short book whose the pages are appropriately black and the words are white.
Without giving away any spoilers, we learn in the "After Words" that Niffenegger not surprisingly has always loved books and that she based this graphic novel, the first of a series she plans, on an H.G. Wells' short story, "The Door in the Wall," and on a book-filled dream she had as a teenager. The Night Bookmobile, she writes, is ultimately "a cautionary tale" and one about "the claims that books place on their readers."
For me, though, books remain a pleasant alternative to television, the Internet and the like. Through a book club, they gave me a way to make friends in a new hometown. They've given me cause to think about other ways of life, other cultures and ideas. And they have allowed me to travel to places many times, places I might never get to go any other way.
Still, a cautionary note of my own: This is not a book for children. It is clearly for adults, not because of language or sexual content, but because of the theme and the tragedy that takes place within it.
Niffenegger, who wrote the novels The Time Traveler's Wife and more recently Her Fearful Symmetry, is a gifted artist and writer with an imagination like no other author I've read.
In The Night Bookmobile, Niffenegger's main character is a young woman named Alexandra. She is a book lover who apparently lives on Chicago's North Side, Niffenegger's hometown, and who enjoys long walks in the middle of night. Once, in the predawn hours at the corner of Ravenswood and Belle Plaine, Alexandra happens on a battered Winnebago driven by a Mr. Openshaw who runs a most unusual library inside it. Readers do not check out books from this library. Rather, they find copies of books identical to those they have read since childhood, even their own diaries.
Years pass before before Alexandra, who becomes obsessed with books and the bookmobile, sees it and Mr. Openshaw again. By then, her boyfriend has left her, she has become a regular librarian and all the time been reading, reading, reading -- in a comfortable chair, with a flashlight at night, in the tub while she bathes. Ultimately, Alexandra's obsession takes a bizarre, tragic turn -- one that readers will far better understand if they read Niffenegger's "After Words" at the end of this short book whose the pages are appropriately black and the words are white.
Without giving away any spoilers, we learn in the "After Words" that Niffenegger not surprisingly has always loved books and that she based this graphic novel, the first of a series she plans, on an H.G. Wells' short story, "The Door in the Wall," and on a book-filled dream she had as a teenager. The Night Bookmobile, she writes, is ultimately "a cautionary tale" and one about "the claims that books place on their readers."
For me, though, books remain a pleasant alternative to television, the Internet and the like. Through a book club, they gave me a way to make friends in a new hometown. They've given me cause to think about other ways of life, other cultures and ideas. And they have allowed me to travel to places many times, places I might never get to go any other way.
Still, a cautionary note of my own: This is not a book for children. It is clearly for adults, not because of language or sexual content, but because of the theme and the tragedy that takes place within it.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Ghost at the Table by Suzanne Berne
Suzanne Berne's bittersweet novel is set during Thanksgiving week but makes timely reading during any holiday season, especially one where families and friends come together -- like it or not.
The Ghost at the Table is the story of the Fiske family. Separated by hundreds of miles, years of bitterness and more than a little lack of communication are the anything-but-objective narrator, Cynthia Fiske, a single woman and author living in San Francisco, and her 82-year-old father, whose much-younger second wife has grown tired of him and decides he should go to a nursing home.
Cynthia reluctantly agrees to come home for Thanksgiving to see her older sister, Frances, an ever-chipper, domestic-minded doctor's wife and mother of two rebellious daughters whose idea of high fashion includes combat boots and tattoos. Cynthia and Frances drive to pick up their father and discover his wife hasn't told him that he's headed to a nursing home. But it turns out to have "no room at the inn" for the man whose falls asleep in his wheelchair and speaks few words. So, he, too, joins the holiday celebration, one that quickly deteriorates into a drunken lecture of sorts from Cynthia, a bizarre turkey-defrosting experience, a wreck and a fire that could have easily been prevented.
As the story's narrator, Cynthia tells readers that her mother was seriously ill for much of her childhood and that, even before her death, Cynthia's father brought Ilse, the woman who would become his next wife, into their home. Cynthia has for years suspected that her father killed her mother and also dislikes him because of his failure even to feign concern when his oldest daughter, Helen, later died.
There's also the typical sibling rivalry between Cynthia and Frances -- each envying the other's lifestyle yet each professing contentment with their own. Seen from only Cynthia's eyes, though, readers may justifiably question whether they know all of the facts and whether they have been interpreted properly. Frankly, Cynthia is neither a likable nor trustworthy narrator. I sometimes wished the author had allowed us to learn of the family's past from Frances' perspective as well. As it is, some questions remain unaswered, unclear.
For Mark Twain fans, the book includes quite not-always-pleasant history about Twain and his children. As part of her job writing books for children, Cynthia has studied Twain's family, especially his daughters, extensively. It's hard to miss the similarities between Twain's life ane the leading characters in Berne's novel.
I enjoyed the book but least liked the final 70 or so pages, which include a scenario about what happened during the mother's final hours. You need not worry about a spoiler here: The scenario was so confusing, I could not begin to understand it much less retell it.
q2
Further, the idea of this family suddenly coming to terms with the past after so much time and after so little success at communicating even when they do reunite frankly seemed anything but credible to me. Otherwise, the book is a good one that deserves reading.
The Ghost at the Table is the story of the Fiske family. Separated by hundreds of miles, years of bitterness and more than a little lack of communication are the anything-but-objective narrator, Cynthia Fiske, a single woman and author living in San Francisco, and her 82-year-old father, whose much-younger second wife has grown tired of him and decides he should go to a nursing home.
Cynthia reluctantly agrees to come home for Thanksgiving to see her older sister, Frances, an ever-chipper, domestic-minded doctor's wife and mother of two rebellious daughters whose idea of high fashion includes combat boots and tattoos. Cynthia and Frances drive to pick up their father and discover his wife hasn't told him that he's headed to a nursing home. But it turns out to have "no room at the inn" for the man whose falls asleep in his wheelchair and speaks few words. So, he, too, joins the holiday celebration, one that quickly deteriorates into a drunken lecture of sorts from Cynthia, a bizarre turkey-defrosting experience, a wreck and a fire that could have easily been prevented.
As the story's narrator, Cynthia tells readers that her mother was seriously ill for much of her childhood and that, even before her death, Cynthia's father brought Ilse, the woman who would become his next wife, into their home. Cynthia has for years suspected that her father killed her mother and also dislikes him because of his failure even to feign concern when his oldest daughter, Helen, later died.
There's also the typical sibling rivalry between Cynthia and Frances -- each envying the other's lifestyle yet each professing contentment with their own. Seen from only Cynthia's eyes, though, readers may justifiably question whether they know all of the facts and whether they have been interpreted properly. Frankly, Cynthia is neither a likable nor trustworthy narrator. I sometimes wished the author had allowed us to learn of the family's past from Frances' perspective as well. As it is, some questions remain unaswered, unclear.
For Mark Twain fans, the book includes quite not-always-pleasant history about Twain and his children. As part of her job writing books for children, Cynthia has studied Twain's family, especially his daughters, extensively. It's hard to miss the similarities between Twain's life ane the leading characters in Berne's novel.
I enjoyed the book but least liked the final 70 or so pages, which include a scenario about what happened during the mother's final hours. You need not worry about a spoiler here: The scenario was so confusing, I could not begin to understand it much less retell it.
q2
Further, the idea of this family suddenly coming to terms with the past after so much time and after so little success at communicating even when they do reunite frankly seemed anything but credible to me. Otherwise, the book is a good one that deserves reading.
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Hundred-Foot Journey by Richard C. Morais
Richard C. Morais has created a wonderful story that blends the cultures and tastes of two very different parts of the world in his new book, The Hundred-Foot Journey.
The novel opens in Mumbai and focuses on an Indian boy named Hassan Haji whose life began in a room above his grandfather's restaurant. Tragedy leads the Haji family to move to London where they set up an humble kitchen serving the likes of spicy fish curry, hot kadai and Kingfisher beer. Across the street is Madame Mallory's Le Saule Pleureur's, a French restaurant where the waiters serve wine, not beer, and where silver spoons and forks are positioned not just on the dining tables, but perfectly on them.
One evening, Madame Mallory and her companion, Monsieur Leblanc, visit the Indian restaurant, decorated with plastic roses and Air India posters. They dine, not on a bouillabaisse, but on "thick and gooey" Goa fish stew, chicken tikka marinated in pink spices and lemon, yogurt-marinated lamb liver sprinkled with pine nuts, yellow rice, unleavened bread and much more. There, even as Madame Mallory complains of the diner's lack of sanitation, she marvels about the young chef Hassan's cooking abilities, saying simply, "He has it. ... Talent. ... Talent that cannot be learned."
After anything-but-typical negotiations, Madame Mallory persuades Hassan to walk the short distance from his family's restaurant to hers and work for her. That hundred-foot journey leads Hassan into a new world of etiquette and food. There, he learns how to set the table as a fine French restaurant would. He learns the difference between a Pacific oyster and a Brittany oyster. He learns not just of kholrabi but of its varieties. He prepares stewed hares marinated in white wine, sweet German mustard and more, accompanied by mint-infused couscous and a cucumber-and-sour-cream salad topped with a handful of lingonberries.
Through Madame Mallory, Haji meets a young woman who will play a key role now and later in his life. And through Madame Mallory, Haji also meets -- and becomes part of -- the world of fine French cuisine.
Haji's journeys, as told by Morias, should interest those with a love of food, travel and just plain good writing. It's a fast read, not one with recipes or maps, but one replete with slightly eccentric characters (Haji's father and Madame Mallory among them) and incredible imagery ("... gradually the hardness in Papa's face dissolved, and it was something quietly miraculous, like watching a chilled lump of goose fat warming in a hot pan."). It's the kind of book you'll want to keep on a shelf nearby.
The novel opens in Mumbai and focuses on an Indian boy named Hassan Haji whose life began in a room above his grandfather's restaurant. Tragedy leads the Haji family to move to London where they set up an humble kitchen serving the likes of spicy fish curry, hot kadai and Kingfisher beer. Across the street is Madame Mallory's Le Saule Pleureur's, a French restaurant where the waiters serve wine, not beer, and where silver spoons and forks are positioned not just on the dining tables, but perfectly on them.
One evening, Madame Mallory and her companion, Monsieur Leblanc, visit the Indian restaurant, decorated with plastic roses and Air India posters. They dine, not on a bouillabaisse, but on "thick and gooey" Goa fish stew, chicken tikka marinated in pink spices and lemon, yogurt-marinated lamb liver sprinkled with pine nuts, yellow rice, unleavened bread and much more. There, even as Madame Mallory complains of the diner's lack of sanitation, she marvels about the young chef Hassan's cooking abilities, saying simply, "He has it. ... Talent. ... Talent that cannot be learned."
After anything-but-typical negotiations, Madame Mallory persuades Hassan to walk the short distance from his family's restaurant to hers and work for her. That hundred-foot journey leads Hassan into a new world of etiquette and food. There, he learns how to set the table as a fine French restaurant would. He learns the difference between a Pacific oyster and a Brittany oyster. He learns not just of kholrabi but of its varieties. He prepares stewed hares marinated in white wine, sweet German mustard and more, accompanied by mint-infused couscous and a cucumber-and-sour-cream salad topped with a handful of lingonberries.
Through Madame Mallory, Haji meets a young woman who will play a key role now and later in his life. And through Madame Mallory, Haji also meets -- and becomes part of -- the world of fine French cuisine.
Haji's journeys, as told by Morias, should interest those with a love of food, travel and just plain good writing. It's a fast read, not one with recipes or maps, but one replete with slightly eccentric characters (Haji's father and Madame Mallory among them) and incredible imagery ("... gradually the hardness in Papa's face dissolved, and it was something quietly miraculous, like watching a chilled lump of goose fat warming in a hot pan."). It's the kind of book you'll want to keep on a shelf nearby.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
What Becomes by A.L. Kennedy
What Becomes by the award-winning Scottish writer A.L. Kennedy has been billed as one of the 10 best works of fiction in 2010. Indeed, a couple of the selections in Kennedy’s short-story collection are truly good. Others left me wondering what I had just read, what the story really was or really meant.
An emotional thread running throughout the stories is the loneliness felt by the brokenhearted -- the kind that is worst when people are not physically alone, the kind that makes people do silly, crazy, even dangerous things.
In “Sympathy,” for example, two strangers have sex in a hotel room. The graphic dialogue reflects more than the things they are doing but also their hope for something better even though, rationally, they know this meeting won’t bring them the happiness they crave.
Sometimes, the emotional connections sought, if not obtained, rely on tangible objects. In the story "Edinburgh," books are the vehicle. One of my favorite passages goes like this: "She gave him books. The same words that were in her mind, now in yours, still warm."
When I read that, I realized that's one reason I enjoy certain books -- used books with the scribblings, underlining of long-ago readers, books recommended by authors I respect. Books can provide a common thread between the ordinary and the extraordinary, the prince and the pauper, the parent and the far-away, homesick child.
The namesake of Kennedy's book and the title story is an old Jimmy Ruffin song, “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted.”
“I’ll be searching everywhere
Just to find someone to care.”
The title story, the first of 12, is about a man named Frank. He’s in a bad marriage and goes to the movies, only to find himself the only person in the theatre, one where the film’s sound isn’t even working.
Kennedy’s book reminds me a bit of the film, Short Cuts, based on a collection of Raymond Carver stories. If you like Carver, you’ll probably like this book as well. If not, go on to something else.
An emotional thread running throughout the stories is the loneliness felt by the brokenhearted -- the kind that is worst when people are not physically alone, the kind that makes people do silly, crazy, even dangerous things.
In “Sympathy,” for example, two strangers have sex in a hotel room. The graphic dialogue reflects more than the things they are doing but also their hope for something better even though, rationally, they know this meeting won’t bring them the happiness they crave.
Sometimes, the emotional connections sought, if not obtained, rely on tangible objects. In the story "Edinburgh," books are the vehicle. One of my favorite passages goes like this: "She gave him books. The same words that were in her mind, now in yours, still warm."
When I read that, I realized that's one reason I enjoy certain books -- used books with the scribblings, underlining of long-ago readers, books recommended by authors I respect. Books can provide a common thread between the ordinary and the extraordinary, the prince and the pauper, the parent and the far-away, homesick child.
The namesake of Kennedy's book and the title story is an old Jimmy Ruffin song, “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted.”
“I’ll be searching everywhere
Just to find someone to care.”
The title story, the first of 12, is about a man named Frank. He’s in a bad marriage and goes to the movies, only to find himself the only person in the theatre, one where the film’s sound isn’t even working.
Kennedy’s book reminds me a bit of the film, Short Cuts, based on a collection of Raymond Carver stories. If you like Carver, you’ll probably like this book as well. If not, go on to something else.
Random Thoughts
The book MMommy, Are We French Yet by Shawn Underwood is OK for light -- I mean, very light, very very light -- reading but little more. It comes across largely as the story of two families with money and time on their hands who decide to spend a year in France. Written much like a journal, Underwood does have a knack for self-effacing humor. There were times when I laughed. But there were more times when I rolled my eyes. If you're in France already on somewhat of a vacation, a side trip to Italy is one thing. But to Egypt? No, these are not typical families. They make Peter Mayle, the British author who has made a home and career out of life in Provence, look like an ordinary fellow. In short, you'll be better off reading Mayle, Frances Mayes or others to get an idea of life in western Europe. And they can write better, too.
Objects of Our Affection by Lisa Tracy, a former editor at The Philadelphia Inquirer, could have been a wonderful book. As it is, it's mediocre. Tracy is telling the story of how she and her sister packed up and ultimately dispensed with most of their mother's furniture, dishes and other items when she entered a nursing home and died soon afterward. Tracy seems to mourn the fact that they auctioned off a Sandai chest and didn't even get that much for it, but she never clearly explains why they had to auction off that piece or some others for that matter. She seems focused on what's valuable and what's not but less focused on explaining why some pieces are meaningful to her and others not. Only near the end of the book does Tracy explain why such family possessions are the "Objects of Our Affection." The book would have been far more interesting had she focused on that concept more throughout the story and helped us better understand her own decisions. The book is replete with family photos as well as pictures of the objects going up for sale. But the book is lacking in the last word of the title -- affection.
Around the House and in the Garden by Dominique Browning is a slender book that I enjoyed but soon forgot. You know the kind of book I mean. It just doesn't leave a lasting impression. Browning is a former editor of the now-defunct Home & Garden magazine and previously was editor of Mirabella. This book, written after Browning's divorce, is, as its subtitle says, A Memoir of Heartbreak, Healing, and Home Improvement. Browning does not cast blame but seeks to restore her own love of house and home after her divorce, which tore both apart for a time. If you are going through difficult times and want to care again about house and home but don't want to be scolded for a lack of interest right now, this book would make a good, even helpful read.
Objects of Our Affection by Lisa Tracy, a former editor at The Philadelphia Inquirer, could have been a wonderful book. As it is, it's mediocre. Tracy is telling the story of how she and her sister packed up and ultimately dispensed with most of their mother's furniture, dishes and other items when she entered a nursing home and died soon afterward. Tracy seems to mourn the fact that they auctioned off a Sandai chest and didn't even get that much for it, but she never clearly explains why they had to auction off that piece or some others for that matter. She seems focused on what's valuable and what's not but less focused on explaining why some pieces are meaningful to her and others not. Only near the end of the book does Tracy explain why such family possessions are the "Objects of Our Affection." The book would have been far more interesting had she focused on that concept more throughout the story and helped us better understand her own decisions. The book is replete with family photos as well as pictures of the objects going up for sale. But the book is lacking in the last word of the title -- affection.
Around the House and in the Garden by Dominique Browning is a slender book that I enjoyed but soon forgot. You know the kind of book I mean. It just doesn't leave a lasting impression. Browning is a former editor of the now-defunct Home & Garden magazine and previously was editor of Mirabella. This book, written after Browning's divorce, is, as its subtitle says, A Memoir of Heartbreak, Healing, and Home Improvement. Browning does not cast blame but seeks to restore her own love of house and home after her divorce, which tore both apart for a time. If you are going through difficult times and want to care again about house and home but don't want to be scolded for a lack of interest right now, this book would make a good, even helpful read.
Alex & Me by Irene Pepperberg
Alex & Me by Irene Pepperberg is the sweet story of the amazing relationship between Pepperberg, a scientist who studies birds, and one of her subjects -- an African Grey parrot named Alex.
Alex is one smart bird. He not only can talk but seems to understand what he says. In other words, the little guy isn’t always just mimicking words he hears.
Pepperberg is obviously good when it comes to working with birds. She’s not as good a writer but still gets her thoughts across simply and ably enough without getting the reader too bogged down in scientific jargon.
Pepperberg wrote the book after Alex died prematurely at age 31, apparently from a previously undiagnosed heart condition. Among Alex’s last words to his owner as she prepared to leave work the night he unexpectedly died were these, “You be good. I love you.” If those words do not make us better appreciate the wildlife around us, I’m not sure anything will.
On a side note, I sadly am uncertain, but I think I had the honor of meeting Master Alex many years ago when he was just a young bird. I was working at The Associated Press in Chicago and Alex was living at Northwestern University, where I seem to recall visiting to do a story on him. The little bird was less of a celebrity then. I wish I could find any story I might have written about him.
I recommend Pepperberg’s book as a light and somewhat inspirational read, especially for bird lovers such as myself.
Alex is one smart bird. He not only can talk but seems to understand what he says. In other words, the little guy isn’t always just mimicking words he hears.
Pepperberg is obviously good when it comes to working with birds. She’s not as good a writer but still gets her thoughts across simply and ably enough without getting the reader too bogged down in scientific jargon.
Pepperberg wrote the book after Alex died prematurely at age 31, apparently from a previously undiagnosed heart condition. Among Alex’s last words to his owner as she prepared to leave work the night he unexpectedly died were these, “You be good. I love you.” If those words do not make us better appreciate the wildlife around us, I’m not sure anything will.
On a side note, I sadly am uncertain, but I think I had the honor of meeting Master Alex many years ago when he was just a young bird. I was working at The Associated Press in Chicago and Alex was living at Northwestern University, where I seem to recall visiting to do a story on him. The little bird was less of a celebrity then. I wish I could find any story I might have written about him.
I recommend Pepperberg’s book as a light and somewhat inspirational read, especially for bird lovers such as myself.
A Novel Bookstore by Laurence Cosse'
A Novel Bookstore by Laurence Cosse' is a book for book lovers, especially those who appreciate great literature.
Set in Paris, the book tells the story of a bookstore whose owners decide to sell only “good” books. The owners -- a man who has worked in bookshops before and a wealthy woman, the silent, even concealed partner -- select a secret committee of authors to choose the novels they will sell.
The bookstore surprises everyone and at first does a great business but soon faces harsh criticism, even violence from detractors who accuse the owners of literary snobbery and elitism (Sound familiar?) and begin attacking their credibility. Meantime, bizarre accidents start happening to one committee member after another.
I enjoyed the novel, translated from the French by Alison Anderson, but found the ending disappointing. The deus-ex-machina solution was a bit disturbing. Couldn’t Cosse' have come up with something more plausible? Simply leaving the crimes totally unsolved, which Cosse' pretty much did anyway, would have been a better, more realistic ending to an otherwise fine book.
Set in Paris, the book tells the story of a bookstore whose owners decide to sell only “good” books. The owners -- a man who has worked in bookshops before and a wealthy woman, the silent, even concealed partner -- select a secret committee of authors to choose the novels they will sell.
The bookstore surprises everyone and at first does a great business but soon faces harsh criticism, even violence from detractors who accuse the owners of literary snobbery and elitism (Sound familiar?) and begin attacking their credibility. Meantime, bizarre accidents start happening to one committee member after another.
I enjoyed the novel, translated from the French by Alison Anderson, but found the ending disappointing. The deus-ex-machina solution was a bit disturbing. Couldn’t Cosse' have come up with something more plausible? Simply leaving the crimes totally unsolved, which Cosse' pretty much did anyway, would have been a better, more realistic ending to an otherwise fine book.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Cutting For Stone by Abraham Verghese
Abraham Verghese's bestselling book is long -- 650 pages or so. It spans 50 years in the life of Marion Praise Stone, who was born in Ethiopia with his conjoined twin, Shiva Praise Stone. They were the sons of a beautiful Indian nun who dies in childbirth and a brilliant British surgeon who flees, leaving twins Marion and Shiva (named after the Hindu god) to be raised by another physician and a nurse.
The brothers are mirror-image twins, identical in physical appearance only. In life, Shiva sees everything -- even the loss of his virginity -- from a biological perspective, while Marion sees the emotional elements of life. Both become successful surgeons, Shiva even brilliant. Shiva's career reflects one of the few times he was emotionally stricken by a young Ethiopian girl's plight.
As adults, the twins eventually meet their biological father. That's no spoiler. What brings all three together is, however, key to the novel's outcome.
Verghese is a physician, and his novel is none-too-short on medical terminology, description and details. Details to no end.
Cutting for Stone is a good book. I wept near the end. But I do believe I could have wept a bit sooner had Verghese kept his writing more concise.
The brothers are mirror-image twins, identical in physical appearance only. In life, Shiva sees everything -- even the loss of his virginity -- from a biological perspective, while Marion sees the emotional elements of life. Both become successful surgeons, Shiva even brilliant. Shiva's career reflects one of the few times he was emotionally stricken by a young Ethiopian girl's plight.
As adults, the twins eventually meet their biological father. That's no spoiler. What brings all three together is, however, key to the novel's outcome.
Verghese is a physician, and his novel is none-too-short on medical terminology, description and details. Details to no end.
Cutting for Stone is a good book. I wept near the end. But I do believe I could have wept a bit sooner had Verghese kept his writing more concise.
52 Loaves by William Alexander
So, you want to bake some bread. I mean, you want to go a bit more from scratch than popping open a can of Grand's biscuits or buying a loaf of bread at Kroger's and warming it up in the oven. Well, that's exactly what William Alexander wanted to do, except he wanted to re-create the perfect loaf of bread from scratch. And he decided to do so by baking one loaf per week for an entire year.
So, with a book advance in hand no doubt, Alexander took his quest to his kitchen, to an outdoor oven he constructed, to other states, to Morocco and even to a French monastery where he set up camp for a few weeks and gained a new respect for faith. Did I mention Alexander was a self-professed atheist? Did I mention that he agreed to teach the monks how to bake bread even though his only credential was a second-place baking prize in a fair contest?
Now, this would-be bread baker takes his task quite seriously. No Biscquick, no frozen loaves for this man. Why, he even tries to grow his own wheat! Granted, the wheat crop produces enough only for about one loaf of bread. And on a recent NPR program, he suggested most folks might not want to get quite that down to basics.
Alexander is also the author of the $64 Tomato. Both books take a self-effacing, humorous approach to his current project, whether it's growing Brandywine tomatoes or baking the perfect loaf of bread. He's a good writer and by now no doubt a good baker. He offers the reader a couple bread recipes, but be prepared to convert from the metric system.
So, with a book advance in hand no doubt, Alexander took his quest to his kitchen, to an outdoor oven he constructed, to other states, to Morocco and even to a French monastery where he set up camp for a few weeks and gained a new respect for faith. Did I mention Alexander was a self-professed atheist? Did I mention that he agreed to teach the monks how to bake bread even though his only credential was a second-place baking prize in a fair contest?
Now, this would-be bread baker takes his task quite seriously. No Biscquick, no frozen loaves for this man. Why, he even tries to grow his own wheat! Granted, the wheat crop produces enough only for about one loaf of bread. And on a recent NPR program, he suggested most folks might not want to get quite that down to basics.
Alexander is also the author of the $64 Tomato. Both books take a self-effacing, humorous approach to his current project, whether it's growing Brandywine tomatoes or baking the perfect loaf of bread. He's a good writer and by now no doubt a good baker. He offers the reader a couple bread recipes, but be prepared to convert from the metric system.
Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen
This memoir of a self-styled Mennonite who has "mainstreamed" is funny, serious and even educational all at once. Rhoda is a 30-something college professor working on her PhD who has just overcome a serious illness, only to be injured in a car wreck the same week her hubby dumps her for a guy he met via Gay.com. She shouldn't have been as stunned as she was, but the reader doesn't learn why until near the book's end.
In any event, these events lead Rhoda to go back home for a visit with her faithful Mennonite parents -- her ever-chipper, ever-cooking-in-the-kitchen mother and her very serious, quiet father who prays out loud at Denny's. They don't drive horses and buggies anymore. But they don't dance, they don't view keeping a woman's maiden name after marriage as an option, and they think a good mate for their daughter would be one of her first cousins.
Janzen does evoke a few laughs out of her parents' lifestyle and religion, yet she is not condescending. Her family and her former belief help her heal and give her reason to laugh again. She even meets a nice, very young Mennonite guy along the way. She is a tad less kind to her brothers who seem less tolerant of her mainstreamed beliefs.
Janzen also uses the book to inform readers about the Mennonite religion and its history. She tells us that the Amish broke off from the Mennonites because the Mennonites were just too downright "liberal." Yes, liberal! Even Janzen is aghast. For readers who might be considering a conversion to the Mennonite faith, she offers plenty of information on what to expect so they can't say, Well, nobody told me THAT was off-limits.
Read the book: It's one of those fun, informative, even heartwarming stories that can and really did happen.
In any event, these events lead Rhoda to go back home for a visit with her faithful Mennonite parents -- her ever-chipper, ever-cooking-in-the-kitchen mother and her very serious, quiet father who prays out loud at Denny's. They don't drive horses and buggies anymore. But they don't dance, they don't view keeping a woman's maiden name after marriage as an option, and they think a good mate for their daughter would be one of her first cousins.
Janzen does evoke a few laughs out of her parents' lifestyle and religion, yet she is not condescending. Her family and her former belief help her heal and give her reason to laugh again. She even meets a nice, very young Mennonite guy along the way. She is a tad less kind to her brothers who seem less tolerant of her mainstreamed beliefs.
Janzen also uses the book to inform readers about the Mennonite religion and its history. She tells us that the Amish broke off from the Mennonites because the Mennonites were just too downright "liberal." Yes, liberal! Even Janzen is aghast. For readers who might be considering a conversion to the Mennonite faith, she offers plenty of information on what to expect so they can't say, Well, nobody told me THAT was off-limits.
Read the book: It's one of those fun, informative, even heartwarming stories that can and really did happen.
The Peculiar Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender
I read this book after seeing a good review in, I confess, People magazine. I don't belong to the Jonathan Franzen literary snob school of thought. And if that turns you off, so be it. If we can get more people to read whether through reviews in People, book clubs on Oprah or reviews in the New York Times, what does it matter?
Bender's book was good but not as great as I had expected based on the story premise -- namely a girl discovers in adolescence that she has the "gift" of detecting the cook's emotions when she eats the chef's food -- even if that chef is her mother, hired help at the local bakery or someone from afar.
Gifts, of course, do not always bring happiness. Through this gift, the child in Bender's book soon realizes the mother she had thought was so content is anything but that. Years, time passes, and her mother's food yields a different emotion, one of happiness, for she now has a lover that no one else other than the daughter realizes.
Along the way, the girl's brother reveals he has a special "gift," too. His gift is even more amazing and yet disturbing. And then there's the father and his "gift." What is it? Should he find out and reveal it? Before you say of course, remember: There are some things we are better off not knowing.
Bender's book was good but not as great as I had expected based on the story premise -- namely a girl discovers in adolescence that she has the "gift" of detecting the cook's emotions when she eats the chef's food -- even if that chef is her mother, hired help at the local bakery or someone from afar.
Gifts, of course, do not always bring happiness. Through this gift, the child in Bender's book soon realizes the mother she had thought was so content is anything but that. Years, time passes, and her mother's food yields a different emotion, one of happiness, for she now has a lover that no one else other than the daughter realizes.
Along the way, the girl's brother reveals he has a special "gift," too. His gift is even more amazing and yet disturbing. And then there's the father and his "gift." What is it? Should he find out and reveal it? Before you say of course, remember: There are some things we are better off not knowing.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
I was a bit dubious when a friend gave me a copy of Audrey Niffenegger's new novel, Her Fearful Symmetry. After all, I rarely enjoy any science fiction, whether in a book or on film. The same goes for fantasy and, as I often put it, anything that's not possible. So, Niffenegger surprised me with her eerily suspenseful, quietly romantic, simple but elegant prose, and frankly implausible story -- implausible unless you believe in ghosts and modern-day resurrections, that is.
The book is the tale of Edie and Elspeth, identical twin sisters, and the identical twin sisters to whom one of them gave birth, Valentina and Julia. The novel is set mostly in London in a a two- or three-flat abutting the aging Highgate Cemetery, where the likes of Karl Marx, Christina Rossetti and the parents of Charles Dickens are buried. ... not to mention Elspeth, who dies in the first chapter. Or does she?
The cemetery has been the setting of other novels and is the place where one of Count Dracula's victims is buried in Bram Stoker's classic book. Niffenegger, who lives in Chicago and who wrote the bestseller The Time Traveler's Wife, has been a tour guide a the cemetery.
The novel also weaves in a likable researcher who's a hoarder with an obsessive compulsive disorder, a cemetery guide who's a harmless stalker, romance and sisterly love even to the point of obsession, and more than a couple ghosts who amazingly come across as highly plausible characters.
Some of the characters in Her Fearful Symmetry are, shall we say, more than a tad flawed. So don't read this novel with the expectation of finding a hero, a saint or even a normal person for that matter.
My only complaint with the book is the ending. I'm OK with Hollywood endings. I'm also fine with more realistic, even tragic endings. But like one of Niffenegger's ghosts, I hate to be left out of the loop, in the dark, with no clue as to what is happening. And that's exactly how her ending left me. I'd love to read your comments on what you think happened to Robert in the end if you've read the book.
The book is the tale of Edie and Elspeth, identical twin sisters, and the identical twin sisters to whom one of them gave birth, Valentina and Julia. The novel is set mostly in London in a a two- or three-flat abutting the aging Highgate Cemetery, where the likes of Karl Marx, Christina Rossetti and the parents of Charles Dickens are buried. ... not to mention Elspeth, who dies in the first chapter. Or does she?
The cemetery has been the setting of other novels and is the place where one of Count Dracula's victims is buried in Bram Stoker's classic book. Niffenegger, who lives in Chicago and who wrote the bestseller The Time Traveler's Wife, has been a tour guide a the cemetery.
The novel also weaves in a likable researcher who's a hoarder with an obsessive compulsive disorder, a cemetery guide who's a harmless stalker, romance and sisterly love even to the point of obsession, and more than a couple ghosts who amazingly come across as highly plausible characters.
Some of the characters in Her Fearful Symmetry are, shall we say, more than a tad flawed. So don't read this novel with the expectation of finding a hero, a saint or even a normal person for that matter.
My only complaint with the book is the ending. I'm OK with Hollywood endings. I'm also fine with more realistic, even tragic endings. But like one of Niffenegger's ghosts, I hate to be left out of the loop, in the dark, with no clue as to what is happening. And that's exactly how her ending left me. I'd love to read your comments on what you think happened to Robert in the end if you've read the book.
Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin
I looked hard for this book. After all, my book club was reading it, and it had been on bestseller lists for, like, forever. And I had to admit: Three Cups of Tea is a great title. I went to three or four stores before I found it. When I finally did, I grabbed it. Then, I started the book, only to discover Mortenson and Relin can't write. Mortenson may have inspired others with this book, but he definitely didn't inspire me. I gave up after a few chapters and re-sold the boring book. I have no intention of wasting my too-short life reading such poor writing. I don't know if it's true, but I heard that the U.S. military requires people being stationed in Afghanistan to read this book. If so, maybe those forced purchases help account for the book's reign on bestseller lists.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Tenth Muse by Judith Jones
For many years, Judith Jones was the editor behind the scenes. Now, she is the writer sharing her memoirs and food insights with readers. Jones was the New York editor who noticed the previously rejected Diary of Anne Frank and got it published. She was also the editor who helped Julia Child choose the title of Child's breakout cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
If that's not enough of a resume, Jones has worked with such legends and cookbook authors as James Beard, Elizabeth David, Lidia Bastianich, Claudia Roden and Edna Lewis.
The small book abounds in wonderful stories of how Jones and her late husband, Evan, enjoyed cooking and experimenting with food together both in Paris and in the United States. It's also abundant with juicy tidbits about some of the cookbook authors. She quotes a snooty note David wrote her in response to a seemingly legitimate editing question. Jones' memories of Child reflect friendship but especially respect. The same goes for James Beard, although she does mention his reputation for endorsing products perhaps a bit too easily for some of his colleagues' comfort. She tells how cooking helped Marion Cunningham of Fannie Farmer fame give up alcohol and overcome agoraphobia.
Jones' book kept me reading late into the night. As a bonus, she includes several photos of herself with her husband, other family members and authors. There's a great one showing the late Southern cooking icon Edna Lewis and Cunningham chatting together.
Several recipes are another bonus. Beware, though: Jones seems to have more exotic tastebuds than many people. Sweetbreads and kidneys are especially alluring to her.
If that's not enough of a resume, Jones has worked with such legends and cookbook authors as James Beard, Elizabeth David, Lidia Bastianich, Claudia Roden and Edna Lewis.
The small book abounds in wonderful stories of how Jones and her late husband, Evan, enjoyed cooking and experimenting with food together both in Paris and in the United States. It's also abundant with juicy tidbits about some of the cookbook authors. She quotes a snooty note David wrote her in response to a seemingly legitimate editing question. Jones' memories of Child reflect friendship but especially respect. The same goes for James Beard, although she does mention his reputation for endorsing products perhaps a bit too easily for some of his colleagues' comfort. She tells how cooking helped Marion Cunningham of Fannie Farmer fame give up alcohol and overcome agoraphobia.
Jones' book kept me reading late into the night. As a bonus, she includes several photos of herself with her husband, other family members and authors. There's a great one showing the late Southern cooking icon Edna Lewis and Cunningham chatting together.
Several recipes are another bonus. Beware, though: Jones seems to have more exotic tastebuds than many people. Sweetbreads and kidneys are especially alluring to her.
Every Day in Tuscany by Frances Mayes
I loved Frances Mayes' first bestseller, Under the Tuscan Sun. I really liked her sequel, Bella Tuscany. Subtract the tedious sections where Mayes seems to be filling space and giving readers an unsolicited art-history course and I can truthfully say I enjoyed but didn't love her newest non-fiction book of travel and food writing, Every Day in Tuscany: Seasons of an Italian Life.
Unlike the two previous works, this book focuses less on the house Mayes and her husband, Ed, have restored and much more on the Italian way of eating -- meaning the slow-food movement was in Italy long before the movement was invented. Not only slow-food, but slow-eating, too. Mayes speaks of five-hour dinners mingled with family, friends and casual acquaintances, fresh but simple food galore and enough conversation and laughter to keep a talk-show host entertained. Food is first. Work is second. Dinners and lunches with friends and friends are not something relegated to the 1950s or to celebrity cooks like Bobby Flay and Ina Garten. As Mayes tells it, such feasts are a staple of life in Tuscany.
This book gives a bigger presence to Mayes' family -- her writer husband; her grandson Willie, a little boy with an adventuresome palate; and her daughter -- not to mention her friends and even a few unidentified enemies. The house, effectively the main character of Frances Mayes' previous books, takes on a supporting role in this work. I don't think her previous books ever stated she was married to Mayes. This one makes it clear.
Mayes' latest work also explores her fascination with the Italian artist Signorelli. I love art and art literature but did not find Mayes to be the best story-teller when it comes to this subject. In fact, her chapters that focused on Signorelli's works and life were downright boring at times.
Some of Mayes' words seem self-contradictory. She questions whether there's a hereafter and doesn't come off as particularly religious. Yet, she seeks comfort in lighting candles in a cathedral. Is it the place, the ritual or the intangible beliefs these things represent to her?
I enjoy the book and recommend it to Mayes' fans. But they shouldn't expect a memoir of the same quality as Under the Tuscan Sun. They can expect some more good recipes, though, and another taste of Tuscany.
Unlike the two previous works, this book focuses less on the house Mayes and her husband, Ed, have restored and much more on the Italian way of eating -- meaning the slow-food movement was in Italy long before the movement was invented. Not only slow-food, but slow-eating, too. Mayes speaks of five-hour dinners mingled with family, friends and casual acquaintances, fresh but simple food galore and enough conversation and laughter to keep a talk-show host entertained. Food is first. Work is second. Dinners and lunches with friends and friends are not something relegated to the 1950s or to celebrity cooks like Bobby Flay and Ina Garten. As Mayes tells it, such feasts are a staple of life in Tuscany.
This book gives a bigger presence to Mayes' family -- her writer husband; her grandson Willie, a little boy with an adventuresome palate; and her daughter -- not to mention her friends and even a few unidentified enemies. The house, effectively the main character of Frances Mayes' previous books, takes on a supporting role in this work. I don't think her previous books ever stated she was married to Mayes. This one makes it clear.
Mayes' latest work also explores her fascination with the Italian artist Signorelli. I love art and art literature but did not find Mayes to be the best story-teller when it comes to this subject. In fact, her chapters that focused on Signorelli's works and life were downright boring at times.
Some of Mayes' words seem self-contradictory. She questions whether there's a hereafter and doesn't come off as particularly religious. Yet, she seeks comfort in lighting candles in a cathedral. Is it the place, the ritual or the intangible beliefs these things represent to her?
I enjoy the book and recommend it to Mayes' fans. But they shouldn't expect a memoir of the same quality as Under the Tuscan Sun. They can expect some more good recipes, though, and another taste of Tuscany.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Home Cooking & More Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin
If Laurie Colwin were living and writing in today's food-obsessed culture, her food essay collections would likely be bestsellers. The woman with the cheerful face and the frizzy hair could write. Oh, how she could write!
In her first collection, Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, Colwin made eggplant not only interesting but sound like the tastiest thing aside from chocolate candy.
In these two collections of food essays, Colwin, who died in 1992, offers more than good recipes. She offers a few good recipes, cooking wisdom and large dashes of humor. In the essay "Feeding the Fussy," Colwin waxes wise on entertain fussy eaters, from those with food allergies to finicky eaters and others. "Vegetarians, for example, are enough to drive anyone crazy. Like Protestants, they come in a number of denominations," she writes, as she proceeds to distinguish between lactovegetarians and vegans. "And some people say they are vegetarians when they mean they do not eat red meat, leading you to realize that for some people chicken is a vegetable."
In her second collection, More Home Cooking: A Writer Returns to the Kitchen, Colwin's subjects range from the glories of tomatoes to the virtues and sins of butter to her obsession with raspberries.
"A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins," she writes.
Colwin also writes that "God created raspberries in large part so that we would preserve them in glowing jars to stack smugly in the cupboard ... But raspberry picking is not invariably about jam making, any m ore than sex is invariably about procreation."
Colwin is the writer who first pointed me to the wonderful literary food writing of Elizabeth David. In the essay, "Why I Love Cookbooks" Colwin concludes, "And for those of you who are suffering from sadness or hangover, or are feeling blue or tired of life, if you're not going to read Persuasion, you may as well read Italian Food by Elizabeth David."
Colwin, by the way, also is the author of a few novels, among them Shine On, Bright and Dangerous Object and Goodbye Without Leaving.
In her first collection, Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, Colwin made eggplant not only interesting but sound like the tastiest thing aside from chocolate candy.
In these two collections of food essays, Colwin, who died in 1992, offers more than good recipes. She offers a few good recipes, cooking wisdom and large dashes of humor. In the essay "Feeding the Fussy," Colwin waxes wise on entertain fussy eaters, from those with food allergies to finicky eaters and others. "Vegetarians, for example, are enough to drive anyone crazy. Like Protestants, they come in a number of denominations," she writes, as she proceeds to distinguish between lactovegetarians and vegans. "And some people say they are vegetarians when they mean they do not eat red meat, leading you to realize that for some people chicken is a vegetable."
In her second collection, More Home Cooking: A Writer Returns to the Kitchen, Colwin's subjects range from the glories of tomatoes to the virtues and sins of butter to her obsession with raspberries.
"A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins," she writes.
Colwin also writes that "God created raspberries in large part so that we would preserve them in glowing jars to stack smugly in the cupboard ... But raspberry picking is not invariably about jam making, any m ore than sex is invariably about procreation."
Colwin is the writer who first pointed me to the wonderful literary food writing of Elizabeth David. In the essay, "Why I Love Cookbooks" Colwin concludes, "And for those of you who are suffering from sadness or hangover, or are feeling blue or tired of life, if you're not going to read Persuasion, you may as well read Italian Food by Elizabeth David."
Colwin, by the way, also is the author of a few novels, among them Shine On, Bright and Dangerous Object and Goodbye Without Leaving.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
South Wind Through the Kitchen: The Best of Elizabeth David Edited by Jill Norman
This hefty book of "best" food-writing selections from Elizabeth David's cookbooks reflects a woman who could not only offer a good recipe but could write ever so appetizingly about it. Unlike most cookbook authors, David, who died in 1992, blended her recipes into her essays. She writes about the simplest and the most popular of Provencal dishes, aioli. She gives the concisest of recipes for such dishes as Piselli Al Prosciutto -- aka green peas and ham. She slso ventures into the likes of Rabbit Cooked in Marsala, Ratatouille Nicoise, Cinnamon Ice Cream and Cornish Saffron Cake. She was ahead of her time in many ways but also of a generation didn't shy from using lard as an ingredient.
The selections are chosen by the likes of Anne Willan, a celebrated cookbook author and teacher herself whom I've been honored to meet and interview; and cookbook author and TV personality Barbara Kafka. Of David, Kafka writes, "When I finally met her, I received another gift, the surprise of her physical beauty. She remained Mrs. David to me, not a friend but a respected and graceful mentor, as she was to much of my generation."
The book is far more than cookbook selections. It's a glimpse at some of David's best writing and food memoirs.
The selections are chosen by the likes of Anne Willan, a celebrated cookbook author and teacher herself whom I've been honored to meet and interview; and cookbook author and TV personality Barbara Kafka. Of David, Kafka writes, "When I finally met her, I received another gift, the surprise of her physical beauty. She remained Mrs. David to me, not a friend but a respected and graceful mentor, as she was to much of my generation."
The book is far more than cookbook selections. It's a glimpse at some of David's best writing and food memoirs.
Alone in the Kitchen With an Eggplant Edited by Jenni Ferrari-Adler
A John Grisham novel would not have kept me as spellbound as did this wonderful collection of essays about cooking and dining alone. Contributors include the Italian matriarch of good cooking, Marcella Hazan, who writes, "I have thought about the apparent contradiction that someone who has dedicated most of her working life to cooking should be so reluctant, when she eats alone, to cook for herself. The explanation is that I consider cooking an act of love. ... What I love is to cook for someone."
There's an essay by the much younger Amanda Hesser, best known for her food features in the New York Times and her books such as Cooking for Mr. Latte. Hesser shares a recipe for Truffled Egg Toast. It serves one and is easy to prepare as long as white truffle oil and creme fraiche are handy.
The book opens with an essay by the late food writer and novelist Laurie Colwin who advises, "People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone. A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon
sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce, or spaghetti with butter and grape jam." The book appropriately ends with an essay by Colwin's daughter, Rosa Jurjevics.
In between are essays by the likes of Nora Ephron, M.F.K. Fisher, Paula Wolfert, Ann Patchett and others. Read this book when you're alone and hungry.
There's an essay by the much younger Amanda Hesser, best known for her food features in the New York Times and her books such as Cooking for Mr. Latte. Hesser shares a recipe for Truffled Egg Toast. It serves one and is easy to prepare as long as white truffle oil and creme fraiche are handy.
The book opens with an essay by the late food writer and novelist Laurie Colwin who advises, "People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone. A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon
sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce, or spaghetti with butter and grape jam." The book appropriately ends with an essay by Colwin's daughter, Rosa Jurjevics.
In between are essays by the likes of Nora Ephron, M.F.K. Fisher, Paula Wolfert, Ann Patchett and others. Read this book when you're alone and hungry.
Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
Olive Kitteridge is not only a glimpse into the writing of a Pulitzer Prize winner. It's also a glimpse into the life of a real woman -- a retired teacher, a wounded mother, a good friend, an opinionated Democrat, a caring but tired and often inattentive wife. Olive's imperfections are what make her depiction absolutely perfect.
Author Elizabeth Strout invites the reader into Olive's life in a series of short stories. In some, Olive is no more than a minor supporting player. In others, she is the leading woman -- the widow falling in love again, to her own dismay, with a wealthy Republican. Even her name is perfect. Olives come in pale green, dark green, purple, even black. Some olives are small, even skinny; others are big, downright plump. But they all have one thing in common: They're an ingredient that rarely goes unnoticed.
In one story, Olive tells two drug-crazed robbers holding her, her complaining husband Henry and a praying nurse hostage that her husband can't help his constant criticism. He's just like his mother, Olive says. Who hasn't heard our own parents or ourselves say that? And like Olive, who hasn't lived to regret saying something in anger, under stress -- the kind of statement that, while perhaps true, is best left unsaid? Olive is flawed but good, and that's what makes her perfectly real. So are the wonderful stories woven together by Strout.
Author Elizabeth Strout invites the reader into Olive's life in a series of short stories. In some, Olive is no more than a minor supporting player. In others, she is the leading woman -- the widow falling in love again, to her own dismay, with a wealthy Republican. Even her name is perfect. Olives come in pale green, dark green, purple, even black. Some olives are small, even skinny; others are big, downright plump. But they all have one thing in common: They're an ingredient that rarely goes unnoticed.
In one story, Olive tells two drug-crazed robbers holding her, her complaining husband Henry and a praying nurse hostage that her husband can't help his constant criticism. He's just like his mother, Olive says. Who hasn't heard our own parents or ourselves say that? And like Olive, who hasn't lived to regret saying something in anger, under stress -- the kind of statement that, while perhaps true, is best left unsaid? Olive is flawed but good, and that's what makes her perfectly real. So are the wonderful stories woven together by Strout.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Satisfied With Havoc by Jo McDougall
Former Arkansan Jo McDougall's Satisfied With Havoc, is a collection of simple yet elegant poems. All are about life; some are about death. "To My Daughter, Who Refuses To Meet Me Halfway" was inspired by her daughter, who died of cancer. In "On That Beautiful Shore," McDougall recalls her mother and wonders how the dead fare in "the sweet bye and bye." And there's the four-line poem titled "Watching A Grandson Play Little League Ball The Day Ted Williams Died."
McDougall does not waste words or images. She writes, says what others only think. In "Oaks," for example, she remembers the wake after her daughter's death and writes, "When friends came,/ bringing food and sympathy,/ I asked them to speak of my daughter/ in the present tense.' When I visited her grave,/ the oak trees,/ casting their ferny shadows,/ set me straight."
Enough said....
McDougall does not waste words or images. She writes, says what others only think. In "Oaks," for example, she remembers the wake after her daughter's death and writes, "When friends came,/ bringing food and sympathy,/ I asked them to speak of my daughter/ in the present tense.' When I visited her grave,/ the oak trees,/ casting their ferny shadows,/ set me straight."
Enough said....
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay
I was working on a feature about gardens -- the kind that only time, wealth and attention can create -- when I saw a book lying on a woman’s bed. Sarah’s Key was the title. The cover depicted two children, a mansion and the Eiffel Tower in the background.
Something about the title intrigued me and, after finishing that interview, I went to a nearby bookstore to see what this novel was about. The topic was an all-too-familiar one: the Holocaust. But this book would focus on an all-too-unfamiliar topic: France’s role in the Holocaust.
The novel, by Tatiana de Rosnay, opens on July 16, 1942, in occupied France with a young girl and her parents being hauled away by the French police with Auschwitz intended to be their final destination. The child locks her 4-year-old brother in their favorite hiding place, a cupboard, takes the key with her and tells him she will get him out when she gets back home....
I tend to read slowly. I rarely scan. I read some passages more than once. But this book was so well-written that I found myself reading into the night when I should have been asleep. I loved the simple but hard-hitting style of the narrator telling the child’s story.
The book has a secondary plot and a second narrator -- a contemporary journalist who is researching the French police’s much-forgotten Velodrome d’Hiver roundup, which took place in Paris in 1942.
De Rosnay says the novel’s characters are fictitious, though several events are real -- the Velodrome d’Hiver raids, for instance. If you’ve not heard of this event, read this book, and you shall not soon forget it as much as you may wish you could.
Indeed, after I finished the book, I first thought, now it’s time for something light, something happy. But then I remembered some of de Rosnay’s elderly French characters who would say they did not want to remember, to talk about the events. And I thought, no, we -- I -- must think about these things, these parts of our history.
So, I looked at my living-room bookshelf and I noticed a slender book I’d bought but not yet read. Titled I Never Saw Another Butterfly, it consists of children’s drawings and poems from the Terezin Concentration Camp from 1942-44. It’s time for me to quit procrastinating and read that book.
Something about the title intrigued me and, after finishing that interview, I went to a nearby bookstore to see what this novel was about. The topic was an all-too-familiar one: the Holocaust. But this book would focus on an all-too-unfamiliar topic: France’s role in the Holocaust.
The novel, by Tatiana de Rosnay, opens on July 16, 1942, in occupied France with a young girl and her parents being hauled away by the French police with Auschwitz intended to be their final destination. The child locks her 4-year-old brother in their favorite hiding place, a cupboard, takes the key with her and tells him she will get him out when she gets back home....
I tend to read slowly. I rarely scan. I read some passages more than once. But this book was so well-written that I found myself reading into the night when I should have been asleep. I loved the simple but hard-hitting style of the narrator telling the child’s story.
The book has a secondary plot and a second narrator -- a contemporary journalist who is researching the French police’s much-forgotten Velodrome d’Hiver roundup, which took place in Paris in 1942.
De Rosnay says the novel’s characters are fictitious, though several events are real -- the Velodrome d’Hiver raids, for instance. If you’ve not heard of this event, read this book, and you shall not soon forget it as much as you may wish you could.
Indeed, after I finished the book, I first thought, now it’s time for something light, something happy. But then I remembered some of de Rosnay’s elderly French characters who would say they did not want to remember, to talk about the events. And I thought, no, we -- I -- must think about these things, these parts of our history.
So, I looked at my living-room bookshelf and I noticed a slender book I’d bought but not yet read. Titled I Never Saw Another Butterfly, it consists of children’s drawings and poems from the Terezin Concentration Camp from 1942-44. It’s time for me to quit procrastinating and read that book.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Muriel Barbery's The Elegance of the Hedgehog
Muriel Barbery's The Elegance of the Hedgehog is both a thought-provoking and moving book, one with a bittersweet ending. I confess that I found the first half or so of the novel, translated from the French, a bit tedious. But it's one of those books I've learned to stick with, for the reward lies just ahead. I also had some trouble at times following who the narrator was and more importantly keeping up with who's who among the supporting characters.
The book deals with two self-taught, closet intellectuals, one a middle-aged concierge and the other a 12-year-old girl who lives in the hotel where the concierge works and also lives. The concierge works hard to maintain the stereotype that concierges are boring non-intellectuals. The child, from the start of the book, reveals her intention to commit suicide on June 16. (James Joyce fans, is it a coincidence that's Bloomsbury Day?)
One passage in the book brought back memories, both fond and sad, of my own. Near the end of the novel, Renee, the concierge, is preparing to get dressed for the wonderful Japanese man whose own life has a profound impact on both her life and the child's. "I smeared my lips with 1 layer of 'Deep Carmine' lipstick that I had bought 20 years ago for a cousin's wedding," Renee says. "The longevity of such a useless item when valiant lives are lost every day, will never cease to confound me."
That passage reminded me of a small, inexpensive perfume stick my paternal grandmother, Mammaw, had. At some point, she either gave it to me, or I found it among her possessions after she died. I held on to it and its fading scent for years and years. I may even still have it somewhere. I don't recall discarding it. I know I couldn't seem to throw it away. It was a memory, a smell, of a loved one long gone, and I didn't want to give up that memory.
Read the book; it's not a cookie-cutter creation. It's just that, a creation and a thoughtful one.
The book deals with two self-taught, closet intellectuals, one a middle-aged concierge and the other a 12-year-old girl who lives in the hotel where the concierge works and also lives. The concierge works hard to maintain the stereotype that concierges are boring non-intellectuals. The child, from the start of the book, reveals her intention to commit suicide on June 16. (James Joyce fans, is it a coincidence that's Bloomsbury Day?)
One passage in the book brought back memories, both fond and sad, of my own. Near the end of the novel, Renee, the concierge, is preparing to get dressed for the wonderful Japanese man whose own life has a profound impact on both her life and the child's. "I smeared my lips with 1 layer of 'Deep Carmine' lipstick that I had bought 20 years ago for a cousin's wedding," Renee says. "The longevity of such a useless item when valiant lives are lost every day, will never cease to confound me."
That passage reminded me of a small, inexpensive perfume stick my paternal grandmother, Mammaw, had. At some point, she either gave it to me, or I found it among her possessions after she died. I held on to it and its fading scent for years and years. I may even still have it somewhere. I don't recall discarding it. I know I couldn't seem to throw it away. It was a memory, a smell, of a loved one long gone, and I didn't want to give up that memory.
Read the book; it's not a cookie-cutter creation. It's just that, a creation and a thoughtful one.
Loving Frank by Nancy Horan
Loving Frank is a simple yet complex and sometimes disturbing work of historical fiction by Nancy Horan. Horan brings more fact than fiction to her work about Frank Lloyd Wright, the Oak Park, Illinois, architect and the lesser-known, early 20th-century feminist he loved, Mamah Borthwick Cheney.
The book offers glimpses into the couple's private yet at times all-too-public lives. It also touches on early feminist philosophies of the time and raises ethical, even moral questions on whether the characters were right -- or wrong -- to leave not only their spouses but their children.
I found Mamah a likable yet sometimes infuriating not to mention perplexing woman. I found Wright most unlikable and infatuated with himself. Without giving away the ending, I found it so incredible that I could not believe I had never heard about this event. A bit of quick research verified it was all too real.
The book is an easy, fast read if you can keep from stopping to look up more detailed information about some of the supporting characters. The locations included places I've lived and visited -- Chicago, Oak Park, Paris, Germany and rural Wisconsin.
While we all bring our varied experiences into our reading and writing, I do believe that the reader's gender and especially her/his state of marital bliss -- or the total lack thereof -- will likely affect how much the reader empathizes with Mamah and Frank. But woman or man, happily married or not, readers can enjoy this book and learn some juicy architectural history along the way. And when was the last time you read "juicy architectural history," I ask.
The book offers glimpses into the couple's private yet at times all-too-public lives. It also touches on early feminist philosophies of the time and raises ethical, even moral questions on whether the characters were right -- or wrong -- to leave not only their spouses but their children.
I found Mamah a likable yet sometimes infuriating not to mention perplexing woman. I found Wright most unlikable and infatuated with himself. Without giving away the ending, I found it so incredible that I could not believe I had never heard about this event. A bit of quick research verified it was all too real.
The book is an easy, fast read if you can keep from stopping to look up more detailed information about some of the supporting characters. The locations included places I've lived and visited -- Chicago, Oak Park, Paris, Germany and rural Wisconsin.
While we all bring our varied experiences into our reading and writing, I do believe that the reader's gender and especially her/his state of marital bliss -- or the total lack thereof -- will likely affect how much the reader empathizes with Mamah and Frank. But woman or man, happily married or not, readers can enjoy this book and learn some juicy architectural history along the way. And when was the last time you read "juicy architectural history," I ask.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
House of Windows by Adina Hoffman
I read House of Windows: Portraits From a Jerusalem Neighborhood by Adina Hoffman for a review for Hadassah Magazine and an AP news-feature. I found Hoffman's work at times slow but overall refreshing. I was impressed by her own objectivity in relating the reasons behind the conflicts between the Israelis and the Arabs of Jerusalem. Her book did not dwell on politics, but on the people directly affected by the politics and by individuals' actions toward each other -- from shop owners to a Palestinian refugee with whom she and her husband take a cab ride one day. The book takes off on little details that can lead to insightful stories: Hoffman's quest for olive oil as the Sabbath begins and the Jewish shop owners shut down their businesses. This collection of essays offers exactly what its title promises: glimpses into the lives of the people who live in and near Hoffman's neighborhood. This is an excellent and different book -- one people would do well to read before rendering too many thoughts on the Middle Eastern conflict, especially if they've never been to Jerusalem.
Hoffman, by the way, is a daughter of author Rosellen Brown. I've had the privilege to talk with both women and found them to be humble, intelligent and most interesting.
Hoffman, by the way, is a daughter of author Rosellen Brown. I've had the privilege to talk with both women and found them to be humble, intelligent and most interesting.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Pat Conroy's South of Broad
Because I belong to a book club, I sometimes read books that I might not otherwise choose. This novel is one. I'd never read a Pat Conroy book before, though I remember enjoying the film, The Prince of Tides.
Reviews of Conroy's latest novel, South of Broad, have been mixed. Indeed, my own view of it is mixed. At first, I was turned off by Conroy's over-the-top, anything-but-concise description of scenery, people, just about anything. I don't frankly care if the tide is coming in or out, if the sky is blue or gray. I would, however, have liked to understand better how this unlikely group of characters became such close friends. Conroy never adequately explains that to my satisfaction. Further, I found the main character too good to be true (when he bathes and cleans up the ailing, elderly man, for instance) and too eloquent and witty for a teenager.
All that said, I thoroughly enjoyed this book and read it much faster than I do most novels. In short, it entertained me. Conroy can tell a good story; there's no doubt about that. Like the many writers, he just needs to tighten up his writing a tad. And that's just for starters.
Reviews of Conroy's latest novel, South of Broad, have been mixed. Indeed, my own view of it is mixed. At first, I was turned off by Conroy's over-the-top, anything-but-concise description of scenery, people, just about anything. I don't frankly care if the tide is coming in or out, if the sky is blue or gray. I would, however, have liked to understand better how this unlikely group of characters became such close friends. Conroy never adequately explains that to my satisfaction. Further, I found the main character too good to be true (when he bathes and cleans up the ailing, elderly man, for instance) and too eloquent and witty for a teenager.
All that said, I thoroughly enjoyed this book and read it much faster than I do most novels. In short, it entertained me. Conroy can tell a good story; there's no doubt about that. Like the many writers, he just needs to tighten up his writing a tad. And that's just for starters.
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