Entertainingly, Semi-Frustratingly … Adverbs Sunday, Sep 30 2007 

Bay Area and Novels RC 4:21 pm

I am rooting for Daniel Handler because: (1) he lives in San Francisco, (2) I adore the name Lemony Snicket, and (3) I have read hilarious little snippets from/interviews with him in the Media.

This is a book for grown-ups, unlike the famous Series of Unfortunate Events. And I am somewhat reluctant to call it a novel because for me it never really coalesced into a coherent whole — it was more like a series of short stories about people with the same names. The theme, also, was something cheesy like: That’s How Love Is. Now, Mr. Handler/Snicket, I am sure that the author of last month’s hilarious piece in Ready Made — an article about redecorating one’s fridge that made me laugh out loud — could come up with something better or more interesting than that. Or am I just totally insensitive and unromantic, as usual?

This was too uneven to be an especially good book. Parts of of it, however, are very good and most of it is fun, which all in all is more important than consistency or coherence in my book. I hope Mr. Handler/Snicket keeps cranking out the books because I am sure one of them will be excellent. I have now resolved to read the Lemony Snicket books.

 

Breaking News! Frustrated men live vicariously through James Bond. Saturday, Sep 22 2007 

New Journalism and Pop sociology RC 9:56 pm

I adore old James Bond movies, I think for simple reasons like the set design and pretty clothes and cars and how it is sort of relaxing because you know he will always do exactly the right thing for the context and he will never embarrass either one of you. And there are no heartwarming moments, which is also kind of relaxing.

The British have much more complicated reasons for loving James Bond, reasons having to do with the End of Empire and social anxiety. This is not surprising, but Mr. Winder’s synopsis here is very thorough, often funny, and the author’s devotion to James Bonds’ social, artistic, and political importance is rather touching.

I have read a couple of the Bond books, but according to Winder not the good ones. He adores “From Russia with Love,” which I have never read. He despises “The Spy Who Loved Me,” a “shameful disaster which [Fleming] himself later disowned,” which I sort of enjoyed. (I must admit, however, that Winder’s criticisms of it — small-time gangster villains are unworthy of Bond, weird that it’s written from the point of view of the Bond girl, sex scenes convey this creepy sense of Fleming making sweet love to his cooler alter ego — are all true.) He likes “Dr. No” and “Goldfinger,” and has this theory that the books were actually Important because they helped England keep her chin up through the loss of her colonial imperialism and other indignities.

Anyway, reading this book was entertaining and made me want to watch some more James Bond movies, even the ones which are apparently beneath notice. And isn’t the cover awesome? I love early James Bond-era Connery.

 

One City, One Boring Book Monday, Sep 3 2007 

Novels RC 7:47 pm

As I mentioned, I love the idea of the One City, One Book program, even though I am sure it will lead to lots of strange conversations with my fellow crackpots on Muni who are reading the same book. (This can’t be worse than what happens when you read any Pynchon book on Muni — strange old men coming up to you and mumbling about crocodiles in the sewers and postal service through dumpsters etc. etc.) I mainly read this book on Caltrain, so there was not much community bonding.

Unfortunately, this is classic New Yorker/MFA literature: well-researched and well-written, but without any underlying sense of fun or of having anything to say.

For example, when I read my chick lit earlier this week, I think I understand Mr. Maupin’s motive in writing it: he loves his characters, he loves San Francisco, he wants to depict a social group — gay culture & the sort of extended, bohemian urban family — that is not well represented in mainstream lit. Similarly, to use the example of a more serious book that I loved, “The Known World” seems like it has a similar motive: he loves his characters, he loves the South, he wants to depict a social phenomen — slavery — in a more nuanced way than it has been represented in the past.

Allegra Goodman, however, does not seem to care that much about her characters or their social context (science/research/academia). Instead, it is like she thought, “Hmm, I haven’t seen one of those trite New Yorker stories about the shifting nature of truth in a long time. Also, I would really like to impress my peers by learning everything there is to know about doing scientific experiments on mice.”

And to that I say: eh. I hope next month’s selection is better.

 

Thai Prisons, Naval Defections, Nipple-Ringed Aristocracy, and Mr. Darcy Sunday, Sep 2 2007 

Bay Area and Novels and Serial novels RC 7:41 pm

Last Sunday, I was sick and in bed with two scions of chick lit, Armistead Maupin and Helen Fielding. Good times.

First, Maupin’s “Babycakes.” (Am trying to get up to date so I can read his latest in the series, which for some reason is neither available in my local library nor from my estranged friends at booksfree.com.) He is in his usual fine form in this book. It is the 1980s now, so Mary Ann is into aerobics and everyone in England has that awful Princess Diana haircut. I love the subplot with the errant British navyman and his secret carny/midget bloodline; the whole Michael/Mona/Lord whatsisname plot is hilarious; and all the bad local television in the book made me miss the days when I had access to the hilarity of the newscast on KRON 4. (Are they even still around? I fear they are not because I can never find it when I’m watching TV at the gym.) Good stuff — I highly recommend it.

Having whetted my appetite for light, entertaining fare, I moved on to “Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason,” which for those not in the know is the sequel to “Bridget Jones.” The book is a little embarrassing in those rare moments when it takes itself too seriously, but much of it was funny enough that I was laughing aloud on the train. (B at pompous dinner party full of lawyers: “The point is that you are supposed to vote for the principle of the thing, not the itsy bitsy detail about this percent and that percent. And it is perfectly obvious that Labour stands for the principle of sharing, kindness, gays, single mothers, and Nelson Mandela as opposed to braying bossy men having affairs with everyone shag-shag-shag left, right, and center and going to the Ritz in Paris and then telling all the presenters off on the Today program.”)

I found it so poignant how B.’s relationship is nearly spoiled by her application of the knowledge gleaned from self-help books to which she is addicted; I myself reach the brink of divorce nearly every day because certain people in my life do not appreciate the wisdom that I glean about relationships from the ladies’ magazines I can’t stop reading. You know, What Men Want and so forth. Apparently, what they want is for us to stop quizzing them with questions about their commitment level from the popular media, but that is impossible because it is so fun to do that. Anyway, Bridget at least prevails in the end.

 

Stationer’s Review Reviews Stationer Correspondence Sunday, Aug 26 2007 

History RC 9:35 pm

…Or: My Love Affair w/ Nancy Mitford, Part II (III? IV? Hell, who’s counting?)

Another thing to love about Miss Mitford: apparently she was an actual stationer during World War II. This book is a collection of correspondence between her and Heywood Hill, super handsome owner of the bookstore/stationary purveyor where she used to work. It includes detailed correspondence regarding her evolving stationary needs (gold edged, usually, and at some point she replaced her address with an engraved mole — a good signature for someone who made her living writing catty, thinly-veiled novels about all her friends).

Many years, ago I determined that I didn’t want to be a writer, based on the following vision of my life: sitting around in my PJs alone all day, impoverished, reading gofugyourself.com all day and otherwise procrastinating because that is what I would do. But I love the idea of being a lady writer as depicted by Miss M. in this book: waking up in gorgeous apartment in Paris or as a guest in someone’s lavish European estate, answering witty written correspondence, then working on research or writing a hilarious, sure-to-be financially successful novel or biography, with occasional breaks for writing magazine articles or being interviewed for yet another profile of my family’s writing dynasty or my own glamorous social life. Also occasional breaks to take in a Lanvin fashion show, escorted by a young beatnik friend. When can I start?

I enjoyed the correspondence but now am OM’d (over-Mitforded). I went to the library yesterday and checked out a bunch of books, with nary a Mitford in sight: some Daniel Handler, some Bridget Jones (I know, I know), a book that appears to be critical theory about James Bond (“more fun than it has any right to be,” says the New Statesman), and whatever the One City, One Book is for San Francisco for July and August because I have always wanted to participate in that.

 

Mistress or bureaucrat? Madame de Pompadour Sunday, Aug 26 2007 

Biography RC 1:08 am

My love affair* with the Mitford ladies continues with Nancy’s biography of Madame du Pompadour, Louis XV’s favorite mistress.

This book is pretty good. It is like spending a long, boozy afternoon with your friend who has just finished an exhaustive research project and is just telling you the juiciest anecdotes from her research. She lets you know who all the fun people were, who was boring and/or priggish (the Queen, the Dauphin, some guy named Prince de Croy who sends hilariously detailed memoranda to everyone, including the Versailles gardener).

I suspect that Miss Mitford is one of those people whose summary of a party is way more fun than the party itself. That said, I trust her research methods. Even though it doesn’t have law review-style footnotes at the end of each sentence, the bibliography shows you which sources are quoted in each chapter. She also clearly visited every site and surviving artwork that the book discusses, and will tell you which of them have been spoiled and by whom (Germans or New Money, generally).

I was impressed, as my title indicates, by the bureaucratic nature of being a royal mistress in 1750s France. Apparently, everyone married at like 12 and they all had lots of mistresses (and misters, or whatever the term is). Madame du Pompadour was Louis XV’s fourth interesting mistress (the first three were a set of sisters! Scandalous!). She was sort of the mistress in chief, installed with a role in the court and official recognition and various sort of diplomatic duties — no running around in secret; it was like being a member of the cabinet or something. And then, esp. as she got older and because, as Miss Mitford observes, “[s]he was not strong enough for continual lovemaking and it exhausted her,” there were various lesser mistresses in mistress middle management, and then below them these young prostitutes the King would just sleep with once and send on their way. The French are funny. I recommend this book.

*Actually, this has a lot to do with my queue management issues at booksfree.com. I keep forgetting to cancel my membership and they keep forgetting to cancel it for me, even though they have an expired credit card. So books show up and I read them. But for some reason they only send me Mitford-related books. Perhaps it is some bug in their software. At least they do not send me books that are not on my list.

 

My insensitive review of the Kite Runner Saturday, Aug 18 2007 

Bay Area and Novels RC 9:48 pm

Everybody loves this book, and I agree that it is fairly well written, provides a fascinating insight into history of Afghanistan, and it is great to see Fremont and Bernal Heights featured in new Oprah’s Club lit, etc. etc.

However. Perhaps because I have been tainted by the extremely brave heroes of children’s literature (hello, Harry Potter!) — I never really got over my semi-disgust for the protagonist of this book. Early in the book, he stands by and watches something really bad happen to his best friend out of a combination of fear and misplaced elitism.

Now, this is probably realistic and everything, and I am not claiming to be braver than the narrator. But at the same time, it is morally reprehensible. And I personally had a hard time getting over this and mustering up any sympathy for him for the rest of the book. Is that unfair?

 

Harry Potter: this is not a spoiler Thursday, Aug 16 2007 

Novels RC 5:50 am

As I have mentioned repeatedly, I have a very long commute and I love long books because then I am not all worried that I will finish before I get where I’m going — or God forbid, that there will be a fatality on the tracks and I will wind up sitting in Palo Alto, reading the same articles from the Economist, even the horribly boring bits about actual economics, over and over for three hours.

Accordingly, I don’t really mind that this book was about 300 pages longer than it needed to be.  The rest of you, however, might seriously consider reading one out of every 10 pages during the middle of the book, like a very wise friend advised me to do with Henry James my sophomore year in college.

When I was reading the book, I kept wondering whether JK Rowling was influenced by the actors in the Harry Potter movies. Like, she mentions that Ron has gotten really tall and I have noticed that the actor has gotten really, unexpectedly tall (and also that he looks sort of 1960s Rolling Stone-ish these days). She says something similar about Neville Longbottom, who got so unexpectedly skinny as he went through puberty in the movies, so unlike how I had pictured him but I guess you never really know how these things will go with the kids.

In any event, I liked this book. As the New York Times review pointed out, it has Closure. I will not say anything else about the end except that it faintly reminded me of the last episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and, felicitously, that my very worst fears of a cliched, hackneyed ending were not realized. Yay, Harry Potter!

 

Charles Bukowski is so gritty and real Thursday, Aug 16 2007 

Novels RC 5:31 am

Another book I got from the library is Bukowski’s “Ham on Rye..” Man, how I would have enjoyed this book in high school. I can see myself now, sitting at cafe pergolesi in embarrassing clothes, half chewing and half smoking my cigarette, anxious to get started with the gritty realness of my tortured life, possibly in college.

Oh, the inappropriate yet exciting boys who would be lured by the book in my hand.

Anyway, in that vein, I think I read the entire book in one long boring afternoon while the chief recorded the same song over and over in the living room, which I guess is where that sort of behavior gets you, eventually. I kept thinking about how much I would have enjoyed this book in high school or college, what with all its meaningful prose about overdrinking and having a bad attitude in college and loving the language and all. It was fine, but somehow less satisfying, to read as an adult. I love the title of the book, though.

 

The Enchanting Mitford Girls and their weird biographers Monday, Jul 30 2007 

Biography and History RC 4:24 am

I think I mentioned my Mitford binge from earlier this year. I bought this book that contained both Nancy Mitford’s Love in a Cold Climate and the Pursuit of Love — so good! I read them a million times.

She is a little like Evelyn Waugh, with whom she was apparently good friends, also a little like a very rich aristocratic Dorothy Parker. Then I read Jessica Mitford’s book of letters (surely as long as Bleak House but finished in one greedy gulp) that came out earlier this year, which was also excellent and fascinating, and a source of funny anecdotes about the Bay Area in the 1950s onward.

I was at the library earlier and saw this book, “The Sisters: The Saga of the Mitford Family” by Mary S. Lovell, whose cover looks almost exactly like Love in a Cold Climate so I had to read it. The book is fastidiously researched, but deeply weird. She will have five sentences in a row that are carefully sourced like, “She dated so-and-so for five years. She always made him roast beef for dinner on Thursdays,” each one carefully footnoted to a letter or interview, but always followed by something totally from left field like “but it’s unlikely that they ever had sex” or “I don’t think she knew Hitler was a Nazi” (two of the girls ended up as these sort of Hitler acolytes) with no attribution whatsoever. Very weird.

Also, the authoress seems to have fallen under the sway of the fascist sister Diana, so there are long sections about how beautiful Diana is to this day, how fascism is not so bad, and in the creepiest bit of all, something about how Oswald Mosley (which, by the way, seems like a great name for a Jackie Collins character) was not particularly racist or anti-Semitic; he just had an agenda of in favor of European unification and against “non-European immigration” into Europe.

In sum, a very creepy little book, but the pictures are good. Also, I recommend Nancy and Jessica’s books and correspondence.

 

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