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Powell's Staff:
Five Book Friday: In Memoriam
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Every year, the booksellers at Powell’s submit their Top Fives: their five favorite books that were released in 2023. It’s a list that, when put together, shows just how varied and interesting the book tastes of Powell’s booksellers are. I highly recommend digging into the recommendations — we would never lead you astray — but today...
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Brontez Purnell:
Powell’s Q&A: Brontez Purnell, author of ‘Ten Bridges I’ve Burnt’
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Rachael P.:
Starter Pack: Where to Begin with Ursula K. Le Guin
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lesismore9o9 has commented on (22) products
Man Who Loved Books Too Much
by
Allison Hoover Bartlett
lesismore9o9
, May 26, 2010
In the Rare Book Room of Powell's City of Books, sealed behind a glass door and bordered by two faded brown texts, sits an unassuming blue-covered copy of John Keats' complete poetry. While it may seem indistinguishable from volumes you'd find on a garage sale card table, this book is worlds above them for the name scrawled on the inside page: Jack Kerouac. This volume was owned by Kerouac in 1949, the same year he and Neal Cassady drove across country in the journeys that would become “On The Road,” and contains various underlines and marginal comments the great author made. It's a book saturated in history – and kept out of my hands by an $8,000 price tag. But as much as I eye the book and lovingly run my fingers over the glass border, thoughts of larceny never once cross my mind. Even if all the store's employees were on a smoke break and no legal consequences existed, the thought of stealing this book – or any book – is abhorrent to me no matter how deep my passion runs. It's a moral code that many serious book lovers share, but one that sadly doesn't extend to everyone. Allison Hoover Bartlett's discursive “The Man Who Loved Books Too Much” explores how that bibliomania drives the lives of thieves and collectors – and what happens when the two go into conflict over one volume too many. The titular man who loved books too much is one John Charles Gilkey, a California native who was gripped at an early age by the fever of book collecting. Unable to afford the titles he wanted and furnish the grand library of his dreams, Gilkey moved into the world of fraud, using bad checks and stolen credit card numbers to defraud sellers. Establishing a system – harvesting credit card numbers from his job at Saks, calling ahead to order titles as gifts and picking them “in a hurry” – Gilkey soon became one of the most successful book thieves in operation, filching over $100,000 worth of first additions and rarities from rare book dealers. Such a string of thefts eventually gained attention in this passionate community, and the growth of “pink sheets” (dealer theft reports) became the pet cause of Antiquarian Booksellers Association of America security chair/Utah rare books dealer Ken Sanders. In the process of modernizing the ABAA's theft system, he brought Gilkey's efforts to the attention of other dealers – an effort not helped by the police's apathy what they saw as petty book thefts, and Gilkey's utter refusal to turn away from his habit after being caught. Bartlett presents her narrative from a first-person perspective, interviewing both men extensively and casting herself in reactions to their stories. In the case of the fiery Sanders, Bartlett is drawn into the world of book collecting, painting the immersion of antiquarian book fairs and stores with towering shelves. The dealers she meets offer all the right war stories: their start in the field, the joy of a Holy Grail title discovered in a back drawer or brought in by an unknowing seller, the deep betrayal felt when a previously trusted customer liberates titles without paying. It can be a dry subject for the non-bibliomaniac, but Bartlett keeps it relevant by discussing her own reactions, experiences in collecting and volumes that mean something to her. She may not care as deeply as Sanders, but she does care, and her enthusiasm for these stories carries over. The varied anecdotes on book sales and book thefts keep “The Man Who Loved Books Too Much” interesting, but it is the inclusion of Gilkey's stunning amorality with his bibliomania that makes it compelling. Gilkey is a fascinating figure – very knowledgeable about his passion and completely swept up in the image of “his library,” paradoxically wanting to show off a collection that would land him back in jail if the right person saw it. His complete lack of regret for any of his thefts, as well as his often childish conviction that going to jail for stealing books he can't afford is a personal slight against him by the booksellers, will set any librarian's blood boiling but make him a character worth studying. His brazen nature also allows for some particularly memorable scenes during the interviews: in one, Gilkey casually wanders the halls of a bookstore he's robbed before, firing off random details on titles for sale as the owner and Bartlett look on with respective suspicion and horror. Similar scenes do provide “The Man Who Loved Books Too Much” with tension, but it does lack the punch of other true crime stories. Some of this stems from the fact that this story isn't a traditional cat-and-mouse structure of two men purposely trying to outsmart each other (though Sanders spearheaded a sting effort to catch Gilkey the two have never met, and Gilkey can't even remember Sanders' last name when asked), but there is a feeling that Bartlett could have dug deeper. She never seeks a concrete answer from Gilkey on how deeply his father was involved in the thefts despite mentioning her curiosity more than once, nor does she take Sanders' advice and try investigating where Gilkey stashed his ill-gotten library. True, such efforts would have likely destroyed the rapport she built with Gilkey, but the story feels like it would have been improved from more interactions outside the two men. But that will likely only disappoint readers looking for a taut crime thriller, and “The Man Who Loved Books Too Much” has far more to offer than that. Gilkey and Sanders represent two very different sides of the same obsession, and Bartlett as intermediary stirs up not only the deep allure books represent to them but a plethora of stories perfect for anyone who has more than a passing interest in maintaining their bookshelf. If you're like me, it might even make you take a more serious look at how you value your own collecting elements – at time of writing, I've got a mason jar collecting coins so in three years, that Kerouac/Keats might move into my own hands.
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Pacific Agony
by
Bruce Benderson
lesismore9o9
, May 23, 2010
At the time of writing this review, I have been a resident of Portland, Oregon for nearly two years. Desperate to get out of the Midwest I chose the city based on random whims and recommendations, and have since fallen completely in love with the Pacific Northwest. Bordered by mountains and forests, containing a hodgepodge of architectural styles and rife with solid beers and bookstores, it comes across as a welcome change from endless farmland. As much as I love my adopted homeland, however, I’m not blind to its varied faults, most of which center around how smugly self-satisfied it seems with itself as forward-thinking despite being overwhelmingly suburban and Caucasian. I’m certainly not alone in writers pointing this out: Christian Lander of “Stuff White People Like” dubbed Portland “a ‘Lord of the Flies’ scenario … whereby a homogenous group of people is left in an area with no one to keep them in check,” and local author Katherine Dunn said in one “Slice” column from Willamette Week that she sees the city as “a swamp of cracker bigotry dotted by islands of attempted sanity.” And now, with his novel “Pacific Agony,” Bruce Benderson has presented possibly the most brutal evisceration of the Pacific Northwest’s culture – and presented it so well residents will have a hard time taking too much offense. Benderson’s voice for this criticism is Reginald Fortiphton, a writer of middling success who is contracted to write a travel book based on his impressions of West Coast hubs such as Seattle, Portland and Vancouver. However, Fortiphton’s penchant for aggravating his hosts, popping morphine tablets and lusting after dangerous young men quickly prove he’s a poor choice to write positively of anything. The novel – presented as Fortiphton’s final manuscript to his editor – presents a caustic and biting assessment of the region, as he blasts its suburban comforts with unrestrained vitriol. Despite having a name more at home in a P.G. Wodehouse novel, Fortiphton is a character with little in the way of good humor or even likability. He treats his assignment of viewing the region’s landmarks as a license to assault them, dismissing Seattle as “a squeaky-clean dormitory for fledgling dot-com-ers” and Eugene as a “minor city… true to that stunning, almost contemptuous neutrality.” When forced out into the rain to smoke, he takes a morbid view of it, proud of his “lethal weapon” and spitting at the restrictions such a supposedly liberal region implements. It’s unapologetic, and very refreshing. This might make the book seem like nothing but railing, but “Pacific Agony” is special more for what it says about its characters than the region. As I mentioned in my review of his excellent “Sex and Isolation,” one of the things that distinguishes Benderson as a writer is his unabashed support and sympathy for a lifestyle most people would cross the street to avoid. Fortiphton disregards the touristy locations to seek out anarchists, primitivists and street hustlers, and Benderson affectionately offers up some prime examples – an anarchistic street hustler named Judas, a heroin addict descended from the Quileute tribe, a Finnish centenarian with a Communist past. As in “Sex and Isolation,” there is palpable nostalgia for a more dangerous past, as when Fortiphton bitterly curses the monotony of his whitewashed surroundings: “Wasn’t anyone aware that the incestuous urges, Oedipal hostility and sepulchral disciplines of family life could only implode if they were kept in such an isolated state? Didn’t anybody but me miss the glory days of public transportation and public space when the city was indeed a spectacle to walk through and provided the flâneur his wonderfully tainted bath?” And bathing in this environment leads Fortiphton to become even more depressed and delusional, eventually becoming convinced a conspiracy of Interzone proportions is being spearheaded by his editors. The last chapters of “Pacific Agony” take on a more surreal edge, as Fortiphton completely abandons his schedule and takes up residence with the homeless of British Columbia and supplanting his morphine reserves with “other substances that I will not describe in detail.” It does make the book feel somewhat unfocused, but the language also becomes more haunting as he weaves Native American myth and natural beauty into his “great, sweeping gestures of fatality.” The book’s acerbic tones and harsh themes may be off-putting to some but Benderson cleverly balances them through the use of footnotes, presented as manuscript comments by Fortiphton’s editor Narcissa Whitman Applegate. A proud historian and descendant of Oregon pioneers, Applegate grows more and more outraged as the book progresses, to the point where she almost gloats when his lusts get the better of him. Her defensive remarks clarifying the thriving industries and historical culture in Eugene and Oregon City forms a hilarious contrast to Fortiphton’s rants, and the haughty tone she takes serves to unintentionally prove her author’s point on the region’s collective stick-up-the-ass. In her closing remarks, Applegate lambastes the book as “A compendium of perversity and viciousness, full of distortions, sarcasm – and even obscenities!” That’s certainly all there in “Pacific Agony,” but what she clearly misses is the fantastic phrasing Benderson displays, and how the cracked lens he holds up to the region also cuts to the core of his narrator’s soul. It’s certainly not a book that will serve as an argument for moving to the Pacific Northwest, but it’s a stirringly well-done character study and a wake-up call our staid culture could use more of.
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Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter
by
Seth Grahame Smith
lesismore9o9
, May 17, 2010
It’d be hard to find a classic monster more annoyingly reinvented in the last few years than the vampire. Thanks to novel series like “Twilight,” “The Vampire Diaries” and “The Southern Vampire Chronicles” (better known by its TV incarnation “True Blood”) the public perception of vampires has shifted away from the shadowy children of the night into gleaming fashion model types with more concern for snark and sexual tension. The quiet power and authority of Dracula has been supplanted with the brooding of Edward Cullen, and the archetype has suffered as a result, inspiring dread for all the wrong reasons. Despite the genre’s bad reputation, the announcement of “Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter” remained intriguing to me. First of all, it was written by “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” author Seth Grahame-Smith, who proved that he is capable of smartly meshing a historical time period with fantasy elements beyond a good title. Additionally, it promised to do something new with the fledgling mash-up literary trend, emulating the biographical styles of authors like David McCullough and Doris Kearns Goodwin for some potentially deeper fiction. It was a title rife with potential – unfortunately, the result shows only about half of that potential was in reach. “Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter” is exactly what it promises on the title – a retelling of the life of the sixteenth President of the United States, with the added caveat that the great orator and wartime president was also an accomplished dispatcher of the undead. After losing his mother to a vampire’s power, he cultivates himself into a slayer without peer, hunting vampires with axe and stakes as they move secretly amongst us. As he uncovers proof of their deep influence, Lincoln finds himself carried to the highest office in the land, forced to enter a war to keep the fledgling United States from turning into an exsanguinatory buffet. The Quirk Classics series (“PPZ” and its spiritual successors) proved that there is an important balance that needs to be struck between the established setting and the mythological construction, and Grahame-Smith once again finds that niche. Vampires hide in plain sight – their dark glasses and parasols the only indicator of their true nature – and have found a ready-for-purchase source of food in the slave markets. They pull the strings of the politics between North and South to keep the institution legal, serving as undead lobbyists who support Southern politicians to the point that vampires are whispered about in the halls of Congress as a political concern. It’s an argument that extends its premise logically, and serves to further justify Lincoln’s political decisions. But while the book does competently weave vampiric mythology into American history, the method in which it tells its story disappoints. While branding itself as a biography, “ALVH” comes across more frequently as a pulp fiction dime novel, given to some overwrought sentences for suspense’s sake (“Too frightened to warn his father that it was coming. Right above him. Right now”) and moving rather quickly over the political climate Lincoln had to navigate. It’s also willing to indulge in some historical crossover fan fiction, making Edgar Allen Poe an occasional friend of Lincoln and a friend of vampires, who are impressed by his skill in capturing death on the page. None of these additions is a deal-breaker by itself, but “ALVH’s” meshing of history with fantasy make it seem continually uncertain about what kind of book it wants to be. At times it seems to be going for solid biography as sections of Lincoln’s journal or letters from his vampire-hunting allies are reprinted to give hints as to his motives and mindset, and footnotes allude to political figures or Shakespeare references. To his credit Grahame-Smith does manage to establish Lincoln’s voice in these entries, and the language feels appropriate for the time and the author. Almost immediately after these sections though, this capital is squandered as “ALVH” segues into traditional suspense, with lines like “These are the last seconds of my life” and “Judge us not equally” cropping up in constant fight scenes. Conversations between Lincoln, his vampire-hunting allies and his political rivals are presented as straight dialogue a biographer would have no way of knowing, and there’s an annoying over-reliance on presenting Lincoln’s dreams, showing plantation manors as houses of torture or a demon staked through the heart in his son’s crib. (Particular admonishment goes to the book’s prologue, where a fictionalized version of Grahame-Smith is given the diaries of Lincoln by a vampire who wants the story told, and he emphasizes how the quest to write this book nearly destroyed his sanity. It derails the historian’s voice a book should have possessed before it even gets started, and adds nothing to the core narrative.) These complaints don’t make “ALVH” necessarily a bad book – the fight scenes are competently done and Lincoln’s journals do have their tense moments – but it fails to make the lightning strike in the same way “PPZ” did. It restores some subtlety to vampires but completely removes that subtlety in the rest of its presentation, choosing to indulge itself in purple prose rather than paying serious homage to the books that inspired it. The upcoming film version is likely to be entertaining (despite Tim Burton’s track record on literary adaptations) but one can’t shake the feeling that if done right this idea would have inspired its own miniseries.
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Abyss Of Human Illusion
by
Sorrentino, Gilbert
lesismore9o9
, April 25, 2010
Having spent more than a few years in the world of book criticism and surrounded by literary friends, it's been my observation that anyone who's more than a casual reader not only has their favorite author but their favorite lesser-known author. Spend enough time amongst the Hemingways and Kerouacs and Vonneguts who stand astride the realm of what is considered popular literary culture, and you eventually uncover the writers who fall through the cracks, influencing the titans or doing what they do better minus the accolades. They might only have one title to their name, or they might be known only for works published postmortem, but the bond they form with their fans is a devotion frequently stronger than any author with more awards or higher sales figures. For me, that niche author is Gilbert Sorrentino. I was swayed into reading him back in 2006 by catching the New Yorker's review of his “A Strange Commonplace,” a novel they defined as “fifty-two discrete parts—a dazzlingly original deck of cards” (the first review I ever read where one line served as the hook for purchase). The praise proved more than deserved, and since then I've been an unrestrained admirer of his books despite the occasionally trying effort of actually finishing one. With a career spanning four decades, Sorrentino was a titan of experimental fiction, effortlessly picking at the genre's conventions with humor and a mastery for dialogue both internal and external. Given Sorrentino's death of lung cancer in May of 2006, I assumed that we'd regard “Commonplace” – published that same month – as the coda to his career, but it turns out he wasn't quite finished. Early that year he presented his son Christopher with a heavily corrected sheath of typings and a composition notebook, a bundle he referred to as “my last book” and that has now come to life as “The Abyss of Human Illusion.” And while it usurps the place of honor “Commonplace” held, it is every bit as worthy to wear the mantle, a book at turns funny and lonely and one that speaks to the remarkable skill at Sorrentino's disposal. “Abyss” follows the same template of Sorrentino's later works “Commonplace” and “Little Casino,” in that it falls into the shadow between novel and short story collection. The book is made up of fifty vignettes, taken from low points and turning points in the lives of their unnamed characters: a man thinks in disgust of his friend's new poetry book, a New Year's Eve party turns into an adulterous brawl, a man seduces his neighbor's wife and takes her to his pious Oklahoma family to sleep in the bathtub. There's no stated connection between any of them, though several of the stories do seem to have unsettling overlaps ranging from marital circumstances to salad dressing. “There are more serious insanities to ponder, surely, but we are, for the moment, caught in the toils of this one,” is how Sorrentino opens one of these vignettes, and this serves as a fitting descriptor for the book's theme. What we have here are not grand questions and scenes, but moments where characters are facing personal failures, their own mortality and closure not to their liking – the little things that get to them, revealing the pettiness and the loneliness behind their lives. One old man can sit alone in their apartments with his only purpose remembering past slights, and another old man fondly recalls a one-night stand decades ago to an old friend only to have her laugh dismissively (“You've been thinking of that all these years?”). As the saying goes, when you stare into the abyss it stares back into you, and “Abyss” is no different – it's a bleak book in many ways and one that takes an effort despite being made up of so many parts. The characters may not seem likeable, but that's most likely because the lack of names makes it easier for readers to be drawn uncomfortably in, seeing themselves in broken marriages or listening to the radio in an empty apartment. This is a book about the complexities of being human, a “tideless deep” as Henry James put it in the line the title comes from, and one that demands the reader be willing to put their head under. Sorrentino doesn't even seem to consider himself exempt from the experience, as one story visits an old writer whose “each gluey additional phrase made made more awkward and unwieldy, and worse, egregiously literary and important,” feeling foolish but almost amused at himself for continuing. But the perceptions of that character translate in no way to the quality of writing in “Abyss,” which has a precision with words on par with Raymond Carver. While Sorrentino's earlier work was distinguished for its English explosions (his magnum opus “Mulligan Stew” was full to bursting with lists and asides, and “Crystal Vision” sparked with back-and-forth drugstore banter) later books had a greater economy, filled with scenes and images that could be taken in part or as a whole. “Abyss” keeps the trend with no vignette longer than five pages, but each feels so full and vivid as the narrator's thoughts play out. Sorrentino was obviously careful with his word choice, but he was even more meticulous with the details. To make up for the loss of his father as final editor, Christopher Sorrentino included his father's loose thoughts from the notebook rough draft, which expand the stories' depth in the spirit of the excellent afterthoughts to “Little Casino's” vignettes. Commentaries show that he considered every detail and phrase closely, from the trivial details cut in editing (the exact brand of green paint or English muffin) to the significant social context behind the scene (the predilections of the Devil and the decline of the Lower East Side). The reader is warned that “some of these commentaries may not be wholly reliable,” but even so they force one to go back and reconsider each of the chapters' minutae. And reconsideration is something that “Abyss” invites in droves – not just reconsideration of the brief scenes, but reconsideration of the reader's own life and reconsideration of Sorrentino's books that have come before. This is a stunningly potent book, one that not only shows the culmination of its author's career but also creates what could be his most accessible work, distilling his language and plot points to the core exploration of how strange it is to be human. Sorrentino closed his career in perfect fashion with “The Abyss of Human Illusion,” and once again secured his place as my favorite niche author.
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Year of Living Biblically One Mans Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible
by
A J Jacobs
lesismore9o9
, July 21, 2009
While the concept of gonzo journalism is most regularly associated with excessive drug use and acts of mayhem while reporting, the founding ideas are a bit more serious. Hunter S. Thompson defined his creation as the pinnacle of engagement, comparable to “a film director who writes his own script, does his own camera work and somehow manages to film himself in action.” The driving principal is that in this deep level of engagement, the author cannot remove himself from the story and as such greater depth can be attained than through straight reporting. From this technical perspective, it’s easy to consider A.J. Jacobs as some form of gonzo practitioner. Jacobs’ writing career regularly involves chronicling a series of social experiments he subjects himself to, ranging from outsourcing his daily life to India to striving for honesty in all cases to studying every last piece of information in an encyclopedia. Not content with these lengths though, he moved from the collected knowledge of man to the collected knowledge of God in his book “The Year of Living Biblically” – and the journey proves to be entertaining and surprisingly poignant. The book’s title summarizes its intent perfectly: for one year, Jacobs strove to follow the Bible to the letter, ranging from its most basic commandments to the most obscure proverbs. Visibly, this meant donning all-white single-fiber garments and growing a beard resembling the brush outside a haunted house; and behaviorally it meant regular prayer, never lying and giving away 10 percent of his salary. He presents his findings in a journal format, tackling a new issue each day and recording his results. Of course, the issue with following these rules is that many of them aren’t truly applicable in modern life, and therein lies the real humor of “Living Biblically.” Not eating fruit unless the tree is five years old, not wearing any garments that have more than one fiber, not touching any woman for a week after her period (his wife Julie is not amused) – Jacobs tries to keep to all of these and more, often going to great lengths and annoying those around him. He never betrays any frustration at the limitations, only an increasing curiosity at their origins and how he can work them into his daily life. The real problem – from his perspective at least – comes up in the variety of instances where the Bible seems to contradict itself, especially when moving from Old to New Testament. A key instance comes in what should be one of the simplest rules, the Sabbath: “A friend of mine once told me that even observing the Sabbath might be breaking the Sabbath, since my job is to follow the Bible. That gave me a two-hour headache.” Jacobs come across as neurotic and yet likable, determined to find an answer no matter what crazy direction it takes him. Jacobs doesn’t try to work these issues out alone, consulting with a wide variety of scholars and professors to seek interpretations of the Bible and interpretations of those interpretations. He runs the gamut from a sect of snake handlers to openly gay Christian fundamentalists, and even makes a pilgrimage to Israel where he herds sheep and speaks with his “spiritual omnivore” guru Uncle Gil. As with the proverbs he judges none of them beforehand, but simply admires and comments on the strength of their faith. His neutrality is helped by his own lack of religious background – raised in a secular family and a self-defined agnostic – but as the year goes on he finds that immersion in faith is starting to rub off on him, creating an alter ego dubbed Jacob. Jacob scolds him for paying attention to Rosario Dawson’s sex life, puts olive oil in his hair and pays attention to every little moral choice made during the day. With every prayer or simple “God willing” he inserts into conversation, it’s clear as the book goes on that his journey has changed him, not dramatically but in very subtle ways of thought and appreciation. At one point in the book, as Jacobs begins to show some frustration at why the Bible can be so contradictory or hard to understand, one of his spiritual advisers offers him a key piece of wisdom: “Life is a jigsaw puzzle. The joy and challenge of life – and the Bible – is figuring things out.” In many ways, “Living Biblically” is defined by this wisdom – a book that confronts hundreds of challenges, and winds up being a joy for the sheer fact that the journey is being undertaken.
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Losing Mum & Pup A Memoir
by
Christopher Buckley
lesismore9o9
, June 15, 2009
Ever since the death of William F. Buckley Jr. in February 2008, his son Christopher appears to have a target painted on his back. Although he chiefly works as a humorist, with satirical government-based novels such as “Supreme Courtship” and “Thank You For Smoking,” a rather vocal group seems to think he is under a moral obligation to preserve the family legacy in the ways they deem appropriate. When he joined the ranks of Republican intellectuals endorsing Barack Obama for the 2008 presidential election, the backlash was so voluminous that he was forced to resign from the very magazine that his father founded and which he still owns one-seventh of. But that excoriation pales in comparison to some of the comments directed at his latest book, “Losing Mum and Pup,” which has been criticized as full of selfish, petty smears against parents who are no longer around to defend themselves. Once again, the reaction is overblown and completely missing the spirit of his actions, as it’s hard to think of a book that feels more like saying a fond farewell. Mixing his trademark wry humor with sentimental honesty, it’s not an insult but a tribute to people who may have been difficult to live with but never impossible to respect or love. Between April 2007 and February 2008, Buckley suffered the loss of both his parents – a loss whose difficulty was compounded by their public reputations. His father was credited as the founder of modern conservative thought (as well as National Review and “Firing Line” and over 50 books); and his mother was “the chic and stunning” Patricia Taylor Buckley, queen of New York socialites for decades. They were people of immense reputation and charm, and Buckley was their only son – a relationship regularly strained by faith, black humor and intellect. Buckley traces over these difficult months, from his mother’s deathbed to the final memorial service for his father in Connecticut. He was pushed into a variety of roles, ranging from nursemaid to an often obstinate patient to literary executor to organizer of elaborate memorial services (the book has regular asides on the minutiae of cremation costs and military honors). Along the way we also see how his parents’ loss touched the political world, with vignettes on his father’s close friends from Henry Kissinger to George McGovern. Detractors will make the claim that Chris Buckley is kicking out the pedestal his parents were placed on, and to some extent this is correct. He does not skimp over his mother’s acid tongue, treating us to uncomfortable dinner scenes where she humiliated her granddaughter’s best friend and refused Ted Kennedy a car (“There are bridges between here and Gstaad”). His father is shown as distant and difficult, not at his son’s sickbed or graduation and reviewing “Boomsday” in a uncomplimentary sentence (“This one didn’t work for me. Sorry”). But none of these comments really ever comes across as mudslinging, more presenting pieces of what made his parents such a complicated package. As Buckley himself says, “larger-than-life people create larger-than-life dramas,” and he more than counters their dramas with the reasons they were larger than life. Pat Buckley could be cruel but she was also a hostess without peer, backing every one of her husband’s ventures without hesitation (after first trying to talk him out of it) and ripping into anyone who dared to insult her son. And WFB was for all his faults “the world’s coolest mentor,” teaching his son how to navigate by the stars and then pushing his limits by sailing in a borderline-monsoon storm. And the complaints by the indignant reviewers also gloss over the fact that this is probably Buckley’s best-written book to date. He has publicly stepped away from “channeling” his father’s ghost, but between the brisk precision of the word choice and the speed of composition (he has said he wrote it in 40 days) it’s easy to picture WFB offering a spiritual boost. Opening with an Oscar Wilde quote on losing ones parents (“looks like carelessness”), literacy permeates the text with references on everything from P.G. Wodehouse to Joseph Conrad to the labors of Hercules. His mother’s ghost also makes an appearance with various barbs to break the tension: “Oh, do pull yourself together and stop carrying on in this fashion.” But it’s in the moments where he realizes his looming orphanhood that “Losing Mum and Pup” takes on a singular power, needing no narrative devices other than straight reaction. He may portray his parents as weak but he is in almost as much pain, seeking to rationalize his own thoughts and leave things on as even a keel as is possible. The instance where he gets the call on his father’s death is painfully immersive, showing a war with instincts and emotions and wondering if he should continue what he was doing before, the taxes: “Maybe if I do them, this won’t have happened.” If there are conflicting opinions about “Losing Mum and Pup,” they may be justified as Buckley’s own opinions were conflicted – but anyone who despises him for daring to show William and Pat Buckley as flawed is blind to the wash of affection he shows them, and the affection they had for each other. “Losing Mum and Pup” is a beautiful piece of work, funny and touching, giving a view of Buckley’s own coming to terms and the universal pain of saying goodbye to your parents.
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Ramen King & I How the Inventor of Instant Noodles Fixed My Love Life
by
Andy Raskin
lesismore9o9
, May 31, 2009
The odds are better than average that if you have ever been in college, unemployed, lived in a bad apartment or been in any other circumstance that limited your funds, you have eaten at least one bowl of instant ramen in your lifetime. One of the cheapest meals available – costing less than a dollar per serving – instant ramen has inspired hundreds of variant recipes, spread to almost every single country in the world and even inspired its originating country of Japan to rate it as the most important invention of the last century. For all the billions of instant ramen servings that have been consumed, it’s a safe bet that few people have ever considered where it came from, or even realized that one man created it: Momofuku Ando, the founder of Nissin Food Products. Andy Raskin was curious about this fact, and in the process of learning about Ando realized the creation of ramen may hold the secret to putting his life back together. “The Ramen King and I” is his memoir of that journey – a stunningly personal, occasionally funny and regularly appetizing story proving the adage that the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. At the time he began learning about Ando, Raskin was in a state of emotional collapse. Unable to maintain a long-term romantic relationship, he had been consistently unfaithful to his girlfriends and suffering in his professional life, compulsively running through Craigslist and AOL personal ads to fill the gaps. After getting into a recovery program, a series of Japanese food-related coincidences led him to use Ando as a sort of guiding figure, eventually taking him all the way to Nissin to attempt to meet the man in person. The journey proves to be not at all what he expected, finding Ando’s life and writings may in fact hold the answer to how he can free himself from a vicious cycle. The thought of picking a 94-year-old food tycoon as your spiritual guide certainly seems like a strange one, but Raskin – a regular contributor to NPR – cooks the disparate ingredients together well. Rather than explaining the results of his journey immediately and recounting the experience, “Ramen King” goes into the story with much the same spirit he did, a feeling that there was something connected he needed to track down. Readers come to the truth at the same pace he does, presented with all the same cues and ideas he was, and the presented results are as satisfying and stunning as they must have been to Raskin at the time of discovery. This vagueness makes the book feel somewhat random or rough at the start, but Raskin quickly counters this by letting readers very deeply into his life. The main story is interspersed with his “letters” to Ando (not sent but written as part of his recovery program) along with journal entries during a abstinence “detox” period. The entries are very emotional, showing his flaws with no attempt to hide or justify – a stunning honesty that makes one much more inclined to see if he’s capable of finding redemption. If his entries on his personal life add feeling to the book, then his discussion of Japanese food and culture adds the flavor. Raskin has lived in Japan several times (a decision almost always based on the women he was seeing), can speak the language and has a keen appreciation for the culture. He discusses the interaction between customer and chef at a sushi restaurant – a relationship as important as the one between the fish and the rice – and locates a legendary ramen restaurant with portions so rich they burst his gallbladder. There is even a bit of literary discussion worked in as he critiques various food-related manga comic books, mixing their storylines with quotes from Ando’s biographies. And it is all these elements that push Raskin to his final discovery, answering the question that plagues him from San Francisco to Osaka: why did Ando suddenly devote his life to making instant ramen, and why does that matter so much to him? He refuses to answer it until the very last sentence of the book, when he and the reader are ready, and its revelation is as satisfying as slurping the last noodle from the bowl. “The Ramen King and I” is a memoir of rare depth and honesty, a journey embarked on with some misgivings but which makes perfect sense in the end.
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End of the World Book
by
Alistair McCartney
lesismore9o9
, May 25, 2009
While the Internet has wreaked its share of havoc on the newspaper and magazine industries, a less prolific casualty of its spread has been the encyclopedia. The format itself is certainly still popular – moreso than ever in fact with the advent of wikis – but hard-copy, multi-volume encyclopedias have essentially been phased out in favor of easily updated online editions. The new format may be more convenient, but it removes the physical feeling of having complete knowledge in front of you, and the youthful belief that you can learn everything from A to Z. It’s this feeling that Alistair McCartney clearly longs for, and pays homage to, in his first novel “The End of the World Book.” Well, “novel” doesn’t quite cover it – it’s a work that’s part memoir, part essay, part collection of poetry, part social commentary and part compendium of knowledge. It’s certainly like no book that has ever been written before, an experiment that may not be for all readers but is certainly to be commended for its scope and creativity. Like an encyclopedia, “The End of the World Book” is split into 26 alphabetical chapters and filled with entries on historical figures and events, professions and religions, activities and items. Unlike a traditional encyclopedia, however, McCartney’s entries are heavily dependent on his own interests and connections, mixing in the names of loved ones and personal totems. Additionally, none of the entries are presented as straight fact, but rather brief prose where he considers just why it is matters. McCartney falls on this classification system because to him “when faced with existence, it seemed the only thing to do was to describe and categorize.” A melancholy, almost fatalistic tone permeates the entirety of the book, regularly trying to escape into a dreamlike state where each item cataloged can achieve some sense of permanency. While the writing style comes across as overdone for some entries (“you can always find me in the space halfway between the world and its destruction”), the fact that there are hundreds of topics means readers shift easily to the next and not be turned off by the work. And it’s truly surprising the amount of things that matter to McCartney and what he can write about. In one letter alone – F for example – entries range from the mortality of fingerfucking to flies cutting their wrists to the Dominican monk Fra Angelico to Marie Antoinette’s taste in furniture. It’s random but creative at the same time, each entry going off in a direction sometimes only tangentially related to its topic. As a result some absurd extensions result, such as comparing the Bronte sisters to Los Angeles cholo gangs or speculating on how Franz Kafka would have written gay pornography. While the format may not lend itself to a narrative, McCartney manages to tell stories by linking up the various entries, using successive articles on hair and dreams as mini-biographies for his childhood. There are also several recurring items: “Anna Karenina” and Kafka make multiple appearances, as do several almost Burroughsian references to young men and assholes (one particularly entertaining section points out no two are the same and they identify as well as fingerprints). Ironically, “The End of the World Book” ends up something very hard to classify under one word or even one letter. At various points inspiring and frustrating, and by definition not the sort of book to be read in one sitting, it’s an ambitious work that occasionally gets bogged down in pretension but immediately makes you laugh or think with the next entry. McCartney’s entry on the world itself states he loves “every object and every hairline crack in every object,” and that fascination shines through and makes his book as weighty and interesting as any gold-edged encyclopedia volume.
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Beat The Reaper
by
Josh Bazell
lesismore9o9
, May 16, 2009
When you look at mainstream television and wade past the slew of reality shows and generic comedies, scripted drama tends to be dominated by two genres. First is the criminal world, represented by epic series like “The Sopranos” or “Law and Order”-style procedurals; and second is the medical field, headed by the “ER” juggernaut and a slew of comedic dramas such as “House” or “Grey's Anatomy.” Both series have their own distinct traits but also share common threads: overly tense environments, a heavy dose of gallows humor and a professional lingo that takes a few episodes to understand. Despite the similarities between and popularity of both genres, the two rarely come together – which is a mistake, if Josh Bazell's first novel “Beat the Reaper” is any indication. A mix of “ER” and “A History of Violence,” casting a hitman in the role of a downtrodden medical resident, “Beat the Reaper” is a book with a distinctive voice, an educated grasp of its subject matter and a talent for delivering some truly shocking scenes. The hitman in question is Pietro “Bearclaw” Brnwa, alias “Peter Brown” – a contract killer for a New York crime family who has been placed in witness protection and now works agonizingly brutal graveyard shifts at Manhattan Catholic. At the start of one of these shifts, he finds out a terminal cancer patient not only recognizes him, but has contacted a friend to put the word out in the event of his death. With the patient about to go under the knife, Brnwa has to feverishly find a way to keep him alive – while at the same time dealing with every other demand an understaffed hospital encompasses. Obviously there's a big difference between the Hippocratic oath and murder for hire, but Bazell does a surprisingly solid job of melding the two. The story, told in first-person present tense, shows how Brnwa's mind processes the situation from a medical standpoint, such as when he downs mugger with brutal efficiency and goes through the anatomy of breaking the elbow. It's a wry, cynical voice reminiscent of Edward Norton's narration in “Fight Club,” and it drives the story on through his narration and a variety of wry footnotes rattling off medical facts and legalese. Brnwa makes for an interesting character, but it's the hospital he operates in that commands your attention. Bazell, who holds both an MD and an English literature degree, has stocked the book full of details that could only be known by someone operating in the healthcare trenches. Readers will learn how residents function during obscenely long shifts (stimulants procured from drug reps, Milk of Magnesia poured over cold cereal), see just how sexist an oncologist can be in the operating room and how a doctor can tell how old you are at first glance. All of these asides are offered in the same cynical and resigned tone, resembling the narration for “Scrubs” as read by Mel Gibson. The medical terminology is so well mastered that the mob chapters regularly come up short. There's a fair share of gratuitous violence and commentary on the state of America's legal system, but many of the characters depicted lack the realism and personality of the hospital residents. A few scenes are simply over-the-top even in the book's context and there are also one or two unnecessary plot twists – one in particular involving the background of Pietro's grandparents – that feel like Bazell is reaching for impact. And reaching isn't something he needs to, as the book is ripe with truly disturbing scenes. Beyond the burnout and apathy of the general hospital staff, Manhattan Catholic is rife with events that require a strong constitution to even witness. Syringes of unidentifiable contents, legs that swell up with blood for unknown reasons and clearly unsanitary surgical equipment all populate the area, and give Brnwa more immediate concerns than mafia shooters. The last few chapters are particularly macabre, with a trapped Brnwa once again falling back on medical school to create the most wincingly painful improvised weapon in literature. While the book is a bit too eager to set up a sequel – the epilogue chapter is almost ham-handed in presenting plot threads – the majority of the volume is so well done that its continuation is encouraged. “Beat the Reaper” is entertaining and fast-paced, a thinking man's suspense novel with enough of the real world in it to make readers even more uncomfortable about their next visit to the hospital.
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Stuff White People Like A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions
by
Christian Lander
lesismore9o9
, May 07, 2009
I have used the expression “God I’m white” many times over my life, typically whenever I try to dance, jokingly rap or act as if I know what I am talking about in an urban setting. Beyond the obvious pigmentation reason for saying so, it tends to be a useful expression for a lack of poise in social settings and a taste for things that lack risk, implying a mainstream quality that goes along with being pale. But while I always knew I was white, I never realized just how white until taking a good look at Stuff White People Like. Started by Christian Lander in January of 2008, the site is an ethnographic satire of the light-skinned, pointing out how “shockingly predictable” they are in their love of organic food and living by the water. Lander has now made the rare leap from blog to print, producing a book of the same name and good-natured sardonic focus. “Stuff White People Like” is exactly what it says on the cover: a guide to the preferences of left-leaning semi-affluent to affluent Caucasians of the type usually classified as yuppies or hipsters. There are 150 entries on this group’s various interests in dining, hobbies and social situations, written in an academic tone that “teaches” the reader why they like the things they do and the best way to communicate with them in a social setting. The idea holding the book together is that while white people are loudly opposed to the mainstream and like to feel they are unique, most of them tend to like the same things for the same shallow reasons. They read The New Yorker because it makes them sound informed, support recycling because it “saves the planet” with no effort on their part and threaten to move to Canada the first time things get rough. Lander lists these and more, offering up everything trendy and poking fun in perfectly deadpan tone. So is this a book worth owning? Well, that depends on two criteria, the first being if you think the joke is funny. I personally do, but that could be because I was able to count 83 of the listed items as things I like and Lander’s description is uncomfortably close to the truth about why I like them. It’s certainly a joke that depends on the maxim “it’s funny because it’s true,” so if you have these preferences or know people who do it’s easy to appreciate. (Personal acknowledgment: Being a resident of Portland, Oregon, it was hard not to be amused by its place on the list and its entirely appropriate classification as “a ‘Lord of the Flies’ scenario … whereby a homogenous group of people is left in an area with no one to keep them in check … but there is a strong likelihood that the city will have mass riots and murder when the local grocery store co-op runs out of organic salmon.”) The concept has earned criticism for being racist – mostly in indignant comments posted to the blog – but not a single one of the entries qualifies as such. It’s void of malicious intent or smears, guilty only of bursting the bubble of smugness white people have in thinking they are better for enjoying these things. It does caution against associating with the “wrong kind” of white person, but the difference is based on such trivial things (Dane Cook and faux vintage shirts) it can’t be taken as offensive. The second criteria of owning the book is if you are willing to pay for something where much of the content is already free online. The first half of the book is printed verbatim from the blog entries, discussing the more traditional interests of coffee and marijuana and home renovations. It doesn’t hurt in terms of content (considering how amusing the original entries were), but does have a degree of repetition. To his credit, Lander does include a considerable amount of new content beyond entries, making use of the book format to include charts and tables for how white people make decisions. There is a timeline of gentrification from indie coffee shop to Whole Foods, a blueprint for dinner party autobiographies and how to name children based on whether or not you studied abroad. Particularly clever are checklists on the bookshelves/DVD racks/iPod playlists of white people, as well as appropriate comments to make them feel assured in their choice of edgy yet socially acceptable media. If you meet these criteria, then “Stuff White People Like” is worth your time – it’s a fine ribbing at a group that could use some mockery, and has the benefit of also being very cleverly written. At the very least it will be a perfect set piece on your coffee table during your dinner party, where over microbrews and cheese you can enjoy your willingness to laugh at yourself prior to a Wes Anderson film viewing.
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Interzone
by
William S Burroughs
lesismore9o9
, May 07, 2009
It’s a writer’s curse that out of everything they write and devise and concoct, they will be lucky if even a quarter of it sees publication. Stories and essays can be rejected by dozens of publishers before they finally give up trying, a first novel sits in a desk drawer for years, and projects will be raised and rejected before something finally sees acceptance. Past that, there are first and second and third drafts, letters to friends floating ideas, and countless notebooks and scraps of paper filled with notes that are sometimes not even legible to the writer. Every so often though, an author’s thoughts and drafts are the audience for a complete revolution of style, finding something new and experimenting with it in a variety of curious ways. Few writers have undergone such a revolution as William S. Burroughs, who went from drug novelist to visionary in only a few years, and whose transitional work has been collected in “Interzone.” Essentially the bridge between “Junky” and “Naked Lunch,” “Interzone” is a truly energetic piece of work that shows an evolution (or possibly mutation) of thought. Fittingly for an author who pioneered the “cut-up” technique, “Interzone” is more a loose scrapbook than a proper collection, consisting of journals and stories Burroughs wrote from 1954 to 1956. At this time, he was living in Tangier, indulging his opium addiction and trying to sell short stories through his friend Allen Ginsberg. As time went on he began to go deeper into his subconscious, using his writing to fracture and rebuild the world in his own surreal image. What makes “Interzone” such a fascinating part of the Burroughs canon is it reflects all sides of his brilliant persona. His first books “Junky” and “Queer” were straightforward, almost deadpan novels that took a historical view to drugs and homosexuality in 1940s New York; while “Naked Lunch” and successive novels ripped apart those topics into sci-fi depravity. “Interzone” is a work that maps the process of coming to that viewpoint, as well as seeing the hints of literary theory and spiritualism that marked much of his later works. Fans of Burroughs’ more conventional style will be rewarded by the early short stories and articles, pitched to Ginsberg in the hope he could sell them. “The Finger” has an almost Kafkaesque humor to it, relating a real-life anecdote wherein he cuts off a finger joint to impress a girl and finds himself committed as a result. “International Zone,” written as a magazine feature on Tangier’s strange situation (split up between four countries) has “Junky’s” anthropological eye for a place, while “In the Café Central” captures the cast which populates it. Use of opiates and the withdrawal symptoms began to alter Burroughs’ viewpoint, and the style change gradually makes itself clear in the journals and later stories – a move that builds a terrific energy as the book progresses. Characters begin to take on a more inhuman angle, resembling insects and growing “auxiliary assholes” in their foreheads (“Spare Ass Annie”). The borders between dreams and reality gradually break down, with “The City” gradually turning into a living thing and paranoia an everyday occurrence. Burroughs himself acknowledges the shift, speaking of an abstract novel constructed as a mosaic, a work that has a life of its own, a guide for the future. Even with this gradual evolution, the tonal shift was so extreme that a breakthrough effort was needed, and “Interzone” contains this in the section “WORD.” Essentially a rough draft of “Naked Lunch,” the section is a rapid profane stream-of-consciousness effort mixing all the images of sex, drugs and control that would come to dominate his later work. This section isn’t for the faint of heart – or for anyone who thought “Naked Lunch” was too nonsensical or garbled to enjoy – but it continues the build of energy the journals started and is fascinating from an aesthetic standpoint, seeing the castoff embryonic thoughts that led him to reach his conclusions. “Interzone” is chiefly a historical curiosity and a book for Burroughs devotees who want to track their hero’s evolution, but it’s also a useful primer for anyone who wants to experience his thought process in smaller doses. It’s a book that is at varying times dryly humorous, intentionally shocking and borderline illegible, but never able to hide the crackling energy of the voice that was finding itself.
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Spook Country
by
William Gibson
lesismore9o9
, May 07, 2009
There aren’t many writers alive today who are credited with creating an entire genre of literature, but the realm of cyberpunk still has its founder in William Gibson. He didn’t invent the term – author Bruce Bethke coined it in 1980 with the eponymous short story – and authors such as Bruce Sterling and Pat Cadigan also made significant contributions, but it’s Gibson who made it mainstream and earned the title of “noir prophet.” 1984’s “Neuromancer” was an imaginative epic, seeing ideas of cyberspace and virtual reality before personal computers were even mainstream. After following “Neuromancer” with a series of equally speculative novels, Gibson has turned his vision into the modern world, where advancements in technology has caught up with several of his innovations – but also verified his predictions of control and paranoia. “Spook Country” is the second of these novels, and it proves everything readers have come to expect from him: tense, innovative and superbly written. Set in February 2006, “Spook Country” centers on the activities of three very different individuals. Hollis Henry, former lead singer of punk band The Curfew, is now a music journalist assigned to cover the elusive technical genius Bobby Chombo, a pioneer of creating virtual reality artwork. Tito, a musician and member of a Cuban criminal family, is contracted to deliver coded iPods to an old man with intelligence background. And Milgrim, a drug addict with a penchant for stolen coats, is abducted by a government official and forced to translate Russian code in exchange for continual drug doses. All three of these characters find themselves involved in a strange plot, involving a “phantom” shipping container that seems to pop up in various locations. Eccentric entrepreneur Hubertus Bigend (first seen in Gibson’s earlier “Pattern Recognition”) simply wants to know what it is, the old man wants to get Tito close to it and a shady maybe-government operative wants Milgrim to help him learn what Tito knows. It’s a constantly vague tale, with the true intent and content never clear to the players even when they think their lives could be in danger. Even with an overarching conspiracy the book could easily become fragmented, but it’s held together by the same fact that made “Neuromancer” so popular 25 years ago: Gibson is a writer of remarkable skill. His phrasing is descriptive without being overwhelming, and creates a sense of immersion in both the grime of New York City and the unsettling modernity of Los Angeles. On the character side the dialogue is terse and realistic, conversations feeling natural and each character’s voice defined. With the exception of Chombo’s virtual reality art (images broadcast in public places, only visible with VR helmets) Gibson doesn’t spend his time speculating on future technology. Rather, his focus is on how current technology infiltrates our lives and changes the order of business, ranging from iPods encoded with secret data to portable door alarms to tracking devices in cell phone scramblers. The feeling established is one of paranoia and disconnect, a sense that you’re never quite sure if you’re being watched or if it even matters. And dealing with this paranoia is “Spook Country’s” strength. Hollis, Tito and Milgrim aren’t even featured in the same chapter until two-thirds of the way in (and even then only share one scene) but each one deals with their strange circumstances in their own solitary way, be it faith or drugs or attempting to apply reason. Each character fixates on certain objects throughout the course of the book – envelopes of money, blue vases and books on European religion – and this adds to the feeling each is trying to stay grounded in unfamiliar circumstances. There are many other threads – the threat of government control after 9/11, information lost in the shuffle of bureaucracy, celebrity gone by and the oddities of the rich – and the tension in each goes to make our own world as immersive as “Neuromancer’s” cyberspace. It’s to Gibson’s credit that he can not only perceive the way these influences have shaped us, but express it in such a dark, eminently readable piece of literature as “Spook Country.”
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Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance-Now with Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem
by
Seth Grahame-Smith and Jane Austen
lesismore9o9
, May 07, 2009
It’s hard to imagine a 2009 title more anticipated than “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.” The concept is nothing short of brilliant, combining Jane Austen’s classic novel of society and romance with “ultraviolent zombie mayhem.” The possibilities seemed endless, ranging from half the main characters having their heads cracked open to windows of a manor house cracked open with decaying fists. Indeed, it seemed like something that could go so over the top it would make Austen herself rise from the grave in complaint. So does it measure up to that promise of madcap zombie fun, or does the gimmick burn out less than half-way through? The answer is neither – but that turns out to be to the book’s benefit. Rather than sacrifice a work of literature to Internet memes, “Zombies” actually spends more time with the original story than expected, reshaping the characters but never excising the plotlines. It’s not what most readers would expect going in, but in many ways it makes for a much better book, regardless of whether you favor Jane Austen or George Romero. For the uninitiated, the original “Pride and Prejudice” is the story of Elizabeth Bennett, the most willful of a country gentleman’s five daughters. Continually badgered by her mother’s desire to marry her off and the flighty attitudes of her younger sisters, she finds a new target for her ire after the haughty Mr. Darcy dismisses her at a ball. As the two continue to interact, they find their terse reactions might be only a cover, masking an attraction that must overcome pride and social circumstances. The new version keeps the original narrative, but adds a twist in that the countryside is crawling with the living dead. For the past five decades England has been besieged by hordes of the “unmentionables,” which rise from their graves in tattered suits and gowns to swarm manor houses and crack open the skulls of those within. Elizabeth and Darcy, along with several other characters, are now highly trained warriors who are capable of decapitating their enemies and feel no qualms about setting the bodies ablaze. What is interesting about this undead invasion is that while they retain many of the more fearful aspects – passing zombie infection through bites, pitiful moaning and feasting on brains – it never becomes the overarching concern of the story. Most of the recent efforts in the genre have focused on the apocalyptic aspect, but the world of “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” still considers social norms and inheritance the greatest of concerns, and Austen’s verbal sparring is supplemented by actual combat rather than replaced. Keeping the language turns out to be the smartest decision the book could make, as mixing the free indirect speech of the original book with nightmarish threats makes it funnier than any gore-splattered zombie film. The precise verbal patterns see characters encountering the “sorry stricken,” weapons are drawn and they are “promptly dispatched to Hell,” and given “a proper Christian beheading.” A variety of incongruously humorous scenarios ensue, such as when two zombies slaughter an entire staff of servants in the kitchen and the party’s host can only observe “a delightful array of tarts, exotic fruits, and pies, sadly soiled by blood and brains, and thus unusable. The subtleness of the zombie humor keeps the altered narrative going, but the book’s real strength is in the indirect changes the threat provides. Elizabeth and her sisters have been trained in the deadly arts by Master Liu of China, and are capable of walking on their hands, administering cuts of shame in times of failure and fight with “a razor-sharp dagger with one hand, the other tucked modestly into the small of her back.” They and other characters have grown up with the zombie threat, and as a consequence match breeding with battle skills. With the characters tooled in this fashion, it enlivens the original’s conflicts considerably. Elizabeth sees Darcy’s slights not merely social but an insult to her warrior honor, and vows to take his head after their first meeting, and when he confesses his lover her first reaction is to kick his head into a fireplace mantel. Lady Catherine, the preeminent noble in the book, is respected as much for her elite guard of ninjas as her extreme wealth, and Darcy’s dispute with Mr. Wickham is less about money and more about severe beatings. The moves seem to make the characters more interesting, as they can act on their feelings rather than just talking. In the end, the real victor of this parody appears to be Jane Austen herself, as her book has been reanimated in a way not even Keira Knightly could pull off. Fans of the original will be both taken aback and charmed by their beloved characters talking casually about ripping out an enemy’s heart, and those who haven’t read it before will be intrigued as to how the story could work without. “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” has not only had a brilliant idea, but handled it in the most competent fashion.
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Dumbocracy: Adventures with the Loony Left, the Rabid Right, and Other American Idiots
by
Marty Beckerman
lesismore9o9
, November 19, 2008
Unless you have been living in a commune for the blind/deaf/mute with neither basic cable nor Internet access, you know that America recently concluded the most excruciating presidential election in its history. It was a novel-worthy affair loaded with grand promises, ancient history and truly absurd moments – Hillary Clinton’s sniper snafu and Sarah Palin’s shopping spree are personal favorites – but regularly distinguished by an extremist tone. Barack Obama painted the Republicans as irrevocably shackled to the single-minded Bush doctrine, while John McCain’s campaign came just short of calling Obama a pinko commie. This is nothing new in the political climate, but it’s yet another reflection of the fact that our society loves to split itself apart. Left and right, red and blue – all with an “I’m better than you are” attitude disguising the fact that in virtually all cases they’re not. Few books illustrate this as well as Marty Beckerman’s “Dumbocracy: Adventures with the Loony Left, the Rabid Right, and Other American Idiots,” a breath of fresh air to clear out some of the smoke regularly blown up our asses. In the spirit of gonzo journalism, Beckerman inserts himself directly into the poles of America. He walks through the March for Women’s Lives in Washington D.C. to confront marchers and protestors, watches right-wing preachers on New York streets before ducking into a gay bar, receives placid stares from college kids who support Palestine and weathers “righteous” indignation at a conservative conference. He looks at the effort to regulate our vices – pornography, cigarettes, marijuana, fast food and alcohol – and takes a trip to Jerusalem in an effort to understand what makes believers tick. With an introduction titled “Douche Bag Nation,” “Dumbocracy” makes it clear from the start this search takes neither sides nor prisoners. Beckerman argues that the majority of those who hold zealous views on a subject turn out to be selfish morons, using both the implausibility of their arguments and the bile of their tone to leave readers wishing he’d made these points up. Magazine editors, talk show hosts, student activists and government officials are all seen taking matters into their own hands, and the resulting emotion is a desire to slap those hands with a ruler. Its direct tone may make “Dumbocracy” appear little more than a diatribe against die-hards, but Beckerman gets past the jingoism of his subjects with two strengths. First is impressive research – he cites dozens of books, articles, interviews and broadcasts, from sources ranging from Fox News to “Fast Food Nation.” The research mostly serves to prove his point rather than open up debate, but it proves he’s not basing his point on isolated incidents the way his subjects do. His second strength is his “smartass pipsqueak Jew” personality, which is refreshingly amusing when placed next to narrow-minded zealots. He regularly poses direct questions to his subjects but never attacks their beliefs, only offering a rational point that causes a fuse to pop in their heads when they see their rhetoric ignored. And while the writing does try too hard in some places – particularly with sarcastic replies interjecting fact lists – it’s never in a manner too grating to remove observer status or earn him a punch in the face. Additional gonzo credit is also awarded for a drunken postscript to the prohibition section and downing hallucinogenic liquor during his Jerusalem visit. To paraphrase Voltaire, Beckerman’s argument can be boiled into: “I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death my right to call you a jackass for saying it.” And that’s an argument desperately needed in today’s partisan culture, one that points out the common denominator of extreme left and extreme right is being extremely wrong. “Dumbocracy” is a compelling case for being a moderate in today’s world, and yet another reason to hope our new president means what he says about restoring America’s common purpose.
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Open Line
by
Ellen Hawley
lesismore9o9
, November 19, 2008
An interesting paradox of modern media is that while there is a glut of information from podcasts, blogs and news networks, it always seems to be the little ideas that cultivate the highest interest. It’s a concept seen in elections where one quote or recording dominates the news cycle for at least three days, or when one video released on YouTube can build thousands of viewers just by word of mouth. And of course, the problem with so many of these ideas is that most of them are ones that people are better off not paying any attention to, either founded on false pretense or being simply idiotic. Christopher Buckley explored this idea in “Boomsday” where a blogger suggests exterminating the baby boomers to save the government funds, and Ellen Hawley has now explored it in her novel “Open Line,” an intriguing yet unsatisfying look at saying the wrong thing at the right time. Trapped in the echo chamber that is late-night Midwest talk radio, Annette Majoris finally succumbs to her boredom and off-handedly suggests to a caller that the Vietnam War never actually happened. As the topic begins to generate calls from veterans and conspiracy nuts, it also attracts the attention of the equally disaffected Stan Marlin, who quickly sees that her theory can be a unifying issue for his conservative political group. Soon, thanks to Stan’s research and a rapidly growing listener base, Annette finds herself turning into a star. She begins dating the wealthy Republican lobbyist Walter Bishop, engages in serious talks with the governor about putting her listeners on his side and finds her show pulling in listeners on all ends of the political spectrum. As her fame grows, so does the level of protest and her own ambitions, everyone forgetting that it’s built around a train of thought alone. It’s a compelling idea, both in concept and in the paranoia it suggests, but it quickly gets quashed under the foibles of its cast. Bishop has an odd fascination with puzzle toys, Stan’s thought process periodically centers on popping open the buttons on Annette’s blazer and Annette remains fixated on New York like some sort of promised land. They’re more realistic than Buckley’s unsubtle cast, but there’s nothing to make them endearing or even likeable – in fact, “creepy” is the most appropriate word. A great deal of this is credited to the fact that the book focuses more on the reaction to Annette’s idea than the idea itself, and as a result the characters and the plot feel shallow. The back cover implies that there may be some truth in it but the shadow government idea never even begins to materialize, and it’s never answered whether or not it exists beyond bored people looking to march behind any issue. Other side plots, such as a power play between Stan and a zealot member of his group, are pushed under the rug in favor of Annette’s accelerated growth. Though the base of “Open Line” is unsteady, it does have some strong supporting elements. Hawley, who used to work for a Minnesota radio station herself, makes Annette’s broadcasts realistic down to the assertive clip of her voice and the calculations inside her head to avoid dead time. Several passages are well-crafted, particularly one instance in the upward phase of Annette’s fame where she feels trapped in a hotel stairway despite no real evidence that anyone is after her. When exploring paranoia or showing the growth of popular opinion, “Open Line” does provide a bleak satire of how the media can make a great deal from almost nothing. However, like most mass media, when it comes to digging deeper or creating people of any substance, the book just tends to make a reader feel uncomfortable.
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More Information Than You Require
by
John Hodgman
lesismore9o9
, October 14, 2008
If you only know John Hodgman as the perennially outclassed PC of Apple’s “Mac vs. PC” ads, you are missing so much of who he is. If your knowledge extends to his recurring role as resident expert of Comedy Central’s “The Daily Show,” you’re still only scratching the surface. And if you’ve gotten to his 2005 faux almanac “The Areas of My Expertise,” you know he captures the title of the most oddly brilliant writer in literature today. And if you haven’t gotten to his new book “More Information Than You Require,” shame on you. Once again, Hodgman has written a book filled with made-up facts on subjects ranging from gambling to presidential elections to how he plans to spend his enormous wealth. The book is a direct sequel to “The Areas of My Expertise” in every way: it begins exactly where that book left off (page 237), has the same format of lists/predictions/hoboes and is once again a book you can’t read in public because everyone stares at you for laughing so hard. The closest equivalents to Hodgman’s fiction-masquerading-as-truth style are The Daily Show’s “America: The Book” and Stephen Colbert’s “I Am America (And So Can You!),” but his books avoid being limited to one area of study. His topics oscillate between counting how many United States presidents have had hooks for hands (eight), the best way to cook an owl (goat sacrifice is involved) and racing hermit crabs for money (the winning strategy is to use trained falcons against the competition). In the hands of a lesser author these facts would fall apart into babble, but Hodgman – a Yale graduate and professional literary agent – has a rare gift for holding it all together. He admits at the beginning that every single fact in the book is one he made up himself, and then goes on to state each one in a matter-of-fact tone, even supplementing them with footnotes that call back to facts even more patently absurd. The footnotes help hold his structure together, as does the addition of a “Today in History” feature where every page has an additional fact about what happened during that day. These facts are more random than the rest of the book, though it does contain an interesting narrative on raining teeth and dead frogs on two major American cities back in 1981. The overlay of multiple facts in “More Information” also means that it has endless potential for re-reading, as – for example – you’ve likely been so caught up in learning that you cannot eat oysters in months that lack the letter “R” (their screaming months) you missed the note that Amelia Earhart and Quetzalcoatl sit on the blood thrones and will soon judge us all. Special mention goes to Hodgman’s section on the mysterious world of the mole-men, a follow-up to his previous anthropological study of hoboes (and the 700 accompanying hobo names that inspired the illustrations of e-hobo.com). It’s the most cohesive of the sections, building a narrative that reveals how the mole-men not only collaborated with Thomas Jefferson to write the Declaration of Independence, but they also access the surface world through Paris catacombs, ride a variety of hideous steeds such as dirt pumas and really like doing it “molely-style.” And of course, the book contains 700 mole-man names sure to inspire another illustrative website. I eagerly await seeing artistic renditions of names such as Drew Danglemites, Tremont Crawsalong and Nick Nolte. It’s prudent to start with “Expertise” (particularly to follow footnotes referring back to the first book) but doing so isn’t essential to enjoying “More Information.” In fact, nothing is essential to enjoying the book beyond simply opening it. It’s as Hodgman has been writing down all the random late-night conversations you’ve ever had thanks to drugs or boredom or sleep deprivation, and compiled them into one whole text – except he’s been far cleverer with it than you could ever hope to be.
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A Strange Commonplace
by
Gilbert Sorrentino
lesismore9o9
, October 13, 2008
When author and essayist Gilbert Sorrentino passed away on May 18, 2006, it was a tragedy that didn’t even gather headlines outside the literary community. There were no accolades and praise of the kind that followed the deaths of Douglas Adams or Hunter S. Thompson, or that will surely salute the death of Kurt Vonnegut. This lack of tribute is insulting, for Sorrentino has done as much with the English language as any of the more public authors. In over 30 collections of poetry and prose Sorrentino mastered the art of experimental fiction, with titles such as “Mulligan Stew” and “Odd Number” cutting a manic swathe of words in a way to make any creative writing major fall to their knees. Thankfully, Sorrentino left a final masterpiece behind to seal his legacy: the harrowing and poignant novel “A Strange Commonplace.” Named for a William Carlos Williams poem, Sorrentino’s work replicates the poem’s image of “Long, deserted avenues with unrecognized names at the corners” with a dreamlike version of his native Brooklyn. In the vein of his darkly entertaining “Little Casino,” “A Strange Commonplace” blends elements of poetry, short fiction and the novel to create a book that can be read all at once or in various intervals depending on mood. The book, split into two sections of 27 short chapters – each section using the same 27 titles – follows the private lives of adulterers, criminals and the disillusioned. Human folly is Sorrentino’s medium, and he is unrelenting in how many snapshots he can take. In “Cold Supper” a woman bakes a gourmet meal and dresses in her best, then proceeds to lock her son outside and walk out the front door to never return. An old man decides to kill himself if he draws a flush in “An Apartment,” while three young men devour their meals and molest a waitress simultaneously in “In the Diner.” Much like the cut-up surrealism of William S. Burroughs, Sorrentino has several recurring elements in each of his pieces. However, while Burroughs used sadistic doctors and rusted revolvers to show junk sickness, Sorrentino’s images are tied with heartbreak – a pearl-grey homburg hat, Worcestershire sauce, a children’s jungle story. These elements give the novel an odd sense of continuity, each possessed by a pained character. Of course, not all readers will be entranced at the start by Sorrentino’s style, as the experimental prose requires a careful reading to obtain full understanding. Often, as in the ethereal “In Dreams,” his characters become unstuck in reality, the world changing the minute they look away. Additionally, the work’s dark tone leaves not a single character happy at the end, sucked into alcoholism and untimely death. But happiness is not the image Sorrentino is trying to pull off in this book – these stories are 52 “magical route[s] to oblivion.” In many ways it fits the original meaning of commonplace, a book designed to compile all different forms of knowledge that capture the author’s interest – and at the very end of his life, Sorrentino was trying to compile the sense of “the man in the casket is the same … as the man at the casket.” It is very depressing that Sorrentino is no longer around to write fiction of this caliber, but anyone who is sucked in by “A Strange Commonplace” can be comforted by the fact that he left a vast body of work behind to explore. As Sorrentino’s final work, “A Strange Commonplace” is like the last bite of an exotic dessert – not suited for every palate, but for those who acquire a taste for it indescribably delicious.
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Human Goodness
by
Yi-Fu Tuan
lesismore9o9
, October 13, 2008
In both journalism and fiction writing, there’s a list of words experienced writers warn against using and “good” is usually at the top. It’s a word that seems weak and overly broad, applicable to any situation or object that finds any approval. Additionally, it’s an unspecific word that can be substituted easily: high-quality, superior, excellent, noble, worthy and virtuous are only a few of the dozens of options in any basic thesaurus. But when “good” disappears under a wash of synonyms, the core meaning of the word tends to be obscured – and it’s that meaning Yi-Fu Tuan explores in the simply titled volume “Human Goodness.” Refreshingly, it’s not a solicitation to undertake charity or a lamentation on how much of the world has abandoned the path of rightness, but rather a well-researched meditation on what a good act means and its effect on the surrounding world. Tuan, in exploring the topic of what goodness is, begins by splitting the idea into the variety of ways it takes form. Generosity and basic decency are the most practical ones, but it also becomes visible in the observation of manners, an indifference to pride and self-image in favor of other topics, and showing moral courage in the face of difficult circumstances. These are not new concepts, but Tuan reinforces them with an impressive depth of examples, ranging from real-life sightings of kindness to literary references ranging from Charles Darwin to George Orwell. Part of what makes Tuan’s study of goodness so compelling is the fresh eyes he seems to have for his subject, particularly for a man who was 75 at the time of writing. Again, he avoids bemoaning how it was “back in the day,” but has an almost childlike fascination with the performance of good acts he observes in his daily life. A man trudges two miles in the snow of Minnesota, periodically stopping to free stalled cars; a fisherman pushes him on a bike through a swamp and disappears once the journey is complete; a student offers him a shoulder to rest his head on during a travel. Following these everyday examples Tuan delves into history, providing character studies of six individuals he considers having lived truly good lives: Confucius, Socrates, Mozart, John Keats, Albert Schweitzer and Simone Weil. Each of these individuals, he argues, exemplified the traits of being a good person in areas ranging from their role as teachers, moral philosophers, crafters of beauty and self-appointed duty to others. His research is strengthened here as well by personal vignettes: Keats caring for his deathly ill mother, Weil offering free lessons to laborers, Mozart writing love letters to his wife. But even after showing these exemplars “Human Goodness” doesn’t suggest that the reader spend their entire lives trying to match them in terms of output and quality. Tuan’s argument goes more to illustrating that good actions are far more captivating than we would expect, particularly in a world that is so often gripped by negativity. His viewpoint of goodness is almost an aesthetic one, treating it as if it were to be placed on a pedestal for multiple interpretations. And like art, regardless of what criteria you use to measure them, Tuan argues that acts of good deserve to be appreciated for what they bring to the world, and it’s that genial tone that makes “Human Goodness” such an encouraging work of philosophy. Maybe the word “good” can’t escape its technical weakness, but Tuan’s scholarship shows it retains a significance that far outweighs that aspect.
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Wordy Shipmates
by
Sarah Vowell
lesismore9o9
, October 06, 2008
Sarah Vowell is the sort of person you desperately wish taught your high school American history class: smarter than anyone else in the room, a quirky sense of humor, full of random trivia and a genuine enthusiasm for her topic. Her 2005 effort “Assassination Vacation” may be one of the best books of this decade, looking at the macabre side of our executive branch with the voice of a skeptical fangirl. Now, with her latest title “The Wordy Shipmates,” Vowell has graduated from being the ideal high school teacher to the ideal college professor. It’s a more professional work than her earlier titles, more akin to an academic essay than a road trip diary, but that doesn’t keep it from being one of the best recent books on pre-Founding Fathers America. The “wordy shipmates” in question are the Puritans, most particularly a section which set sail from England in 1630 to settle in what would eventually become Boston. Vowell looks beyond the stereotype, viewing them as an optimistic, highly literate people who gave America more than a reputation for sexual repression. Their desire to write and express thought would give precedent for the First Amendment, and their leader John Winthrop would advocate “a city upon a hill” and lay the groundwork for America’s centuries of self-importance. Winthrop, the political head of the settlement, is one of the main characters Vowell plays along with: he is a compassionate authoritarian who ordered a man’s ears cut off, but postponed his exile until the harsh winter ended. He tried to keep his colony independent without agitating the English monarchy, but found himself up against personalities equally as forceful. On one hand was Roger Williams, a rabble-rouser who advocated separation of church and state to protect the church and whom Vowell sees as a perfect talk-show host in modern times. On the other was Anne Hutchinson, who challenged religious order and would have won all debates if she could only shut up for the closing statement. Vowell’s books have been moving from essay collections to more cohesive history texts, and “The Wordy Shipmates” reflects this shift in style. There are no chapters or major separations between sections, and it focuses chiefly on analyzing documents such as Winthrop’s journals and Williams’ letters. It has the feel of a masters’ thesis, which is not a condemnation – Kurt Vonnegut earned a master’s in anthropology for “Cat’s Cradle” after all – but after the ambling pace of “Assassination Vacation” it’s certainly a shift to see Vowell spend most of her time in the library. The literary fascination of the Puritans may have rubbed off a little too heavily on Vowell, but a more formal structure isn’t enough to silence her droll tone: she can recall enacting the fires of hell at Bible camp with puppets and flashlights and say how genuinely excited she was about a sitcom depicting the harsh winters Pilgrims had to endure. Fans of “Assassination Vacation” will be pleased to see she continues touring with her sister and niece, dragging them to Pilgrim reenactment villages and a museum neighboring an Indian casino. And these examples get to the core of what makes Vowell’s writing such a treat: they’re accessible in a way no other history writer is. She weaves mass media into these historical actions, comparing the founding of Massachusetts to a Bugs Bunny cartoon and Winthrop’s feud with his deputy governor to a Nancy Drew mystery. Her analogies aren’t there to distract a reader but draw them in further, doing exactly what a teacher should do: make you understand the argument. One passage in particular showcases her style, able to make a thesis statement in one sentence and convert it to pop culture in the next: “They personify what would become the fundamental conflict of American life – between public and private, between the body politic and the individual, between we the people and each person’s pursuit of happiness. At his city-on-a-hill best, Winthrop is Pete Seeger, gathering a generation around the campfire to sing their shared folk songs. Williams is Bob Dylan plugging in at Newport, making his own noise.” It’s passages like that one that reaffirm Vowell’s position as the maven of American history, and that keep “The Wordy Shipmates” an accessible and amusing read. The more formal structure and occasionally thick text may offset fans of “Assassination Vacation,” but Vowell keeps it flowing with her trademark wit and a cast interesting enough to change anyone’s definition of “puritan.”
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When You Have to File for Bankruptcy: Step-By-Step Instructions to Take Control of Your Financial Future
by
Pelc, Matthew J.
lesismore9o9
, September 15, 2008
Bankruptcy is considered one of the more frightening words in the English language, implying financial ruin and personal failure to an extent that few people would dare to approach it unless they had no other hope. Matt Pelc's "When You Have to File for Bankruptcy" does a remarkable job of taking that fear away from its readers, working past the mythos of the process and providing some genuinely practical advice. Pelc's book is a step-by-step analysis of the bankruptcy proceedings, beginning with a look at how you found yourself in this situation and asking if this is the right course of action. If it is, he then takes you through the paperwork you will need to collect before speaking to an attorney and the extensive forms a case requires. He encourages that you have access to the Internet while reading, and there are several helpful links available if you want to use his book as the manual for your own filing. The most noticeable aspect of this book is the almost comforting tone Pelc takes. He seems aware that anyone who picks up this book is likely in serious financial trouble, repeatedly assuring them that he is not going to point any fingers at them for being in the situation. He also doesn't try to overwhelm with the steps for rebuilding your life after the case is complete, breaking it into sections and offering simple suggestions such as changing your grocery habits and charting your daily expenses. Alternatives to bankruptcy are suggested, but he makes sure to point out that nothing is a cure-all and the problems cannot simply disappear by shuffling your assets around. No one ever wants to go through the bankruptcy procedure, but if you find yourself in a bind "When You Have to File for Bankruptcy" serves as an invaluable reference to get it started. It educates you without making you feel stupid and makes a very conscious effort to separate the process from the natural tension and fear it produces.
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Your Complete Guide to Leaving an Inheritance for Your Children and Others: What You Need to Know Explained Simply
by
Valles, Mike
lesismore9o9
, September 15, 2008
"You can't take it with you" is the first thing you need to remember when planning for your future, so unless you want it to all be bled away in taxes and legal expenses you need a plan. "Your Complete Guide to Leaving an Inheritance for Your Children and Others" by Michael A. Valles provides several key insights and suggestions for putting this plan together, getting you the best bang for your buck and making sure that your funds go to the family members you want. The guide takes readers through what seems like every option for setting up an inheritance, as Valles breaks down how to calculate exactly what you have and what sort of wills and trusts are necessary to protect specific resources. His arguments are strengthened with various attorney-provided case studies, ranging from clients who relied too heavily on the Internet to clients who knew exactly how much they wanted per year in retirement. Each of his cases also hits upon the main theme that no relationship or law is a constant, so all your wills and plans should be open to change if they aren't already. My one complaint was I found the book became a bit abstract and preachy in some areas, particularly when Valles began talking about how it is important to emphasize to whomever you will be leaving the inheritance the values that allowed you to get it. I agree it's important to make sure your heirs don't squander what you left them, but it seems more practical to set up conditions in the will rather than lecture to your immediate family. No one should ever set an inheritance plan without consulting attorneys or other estate planners, but anyone starting to look at their declining years and related expenses would be advised to take a look at "Your Complete Guide to Leaving an Inheritance for Your Children and Others." Valles collects the essentials of what your future requires and pools it into an accessible text which will point you in the right direction to making sure your loved ones are taken care of.
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The Complete Guide to Creating Your Own Living Trust: A Step-By-Step Plan to Protect Your Assets, Limit Your Taxes, and Ensure Your Wishes Are Fulfill
by
Fisher, Steven D.
lesismore9o9
, September 15, 2008
In economic times such as these, securing your assets is quickly turning from a good idea to absolutely crucial, as the odds are growing it can all go away between the taxman and rising expenses. One of the more viable options, aptly covered by Steven D. Fisher in his book "The Complete Guide to Creating Your Own Living Trust" is to set that property into a living trust - a legal arrangement that sets property aside to be managed for another's benefit, with a good share of tax benefits connected. Trusts can be complex issues, so Fisher keeps the book in order by dividing the sections into concise and readable chapters that answer the main questions you may have if you want to open a trust. He gives the rundown on trusts for (among others) single people, couples, families, the especially wealthy and those who would like to give to charity, setting each one up so the relevant information is easy to find. The book concludes with genuinely practical information, such as a rundown on living trust scams and sample forms to give you a more personal picture of what a living trust agreement will look like. The strongest part of this book is its accessibility. He lets you know right away if this book is for you (for example, someone young and unmarried like me shouldn't consider a trust) and walks you through each of the appropriate terms with the acceptance that you may not know any of this to begin with. None of the text is bogged down in enough legalese to be inaccessible, and while some of the information seems excessive- an early section on taxes slows the book considerably - but none of it is ever beyond understanding. I would certainly not advise anyone to set up a trust without consulting an attorney, but "The Complete Guide to Creating Your Own Living Trust" ensures you will know what you are talking about when you begin the process. Anyone who has a large amount of property and wants to make sure the government doesn't take the lion's share of it would be wise to review it, at the very least to see if a trust is the right idea.
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