In twelve chapters, Walker touches on a dozen great mysteries of Western lore. He does not set out to solve any of them, but think again if you expect this book to do nothing but regurgitate old facts.
You may have heard of many of the stories in this book, since more than a few of them have been subjects of later books and documentaries. The "real" death of Davy Crockett, what happened at the Battle of Little Big Horn, and who is buried in Jesse James' tomb have all been covered on television, too, which lends credence to Walker's research. But what about some cases you learned about in school, and find out later things may not have happened the way your teacher said?
I am writing of the strange suicide of famed explorer Meriwether Lewis in Tennessee in 1809. All my life, I was told he killed himself, and that was that. Reading Lewis' book, we find he killed himself after being attacked by an unknown assailant. He was shot in the head (exposing his brain), and offed himself before anyone else could come back and finish the job...um, yeah.
You may know that writer Ambrose Bierce wandered into revolutionary Mexico, and was never seen alive again, but did you know Boston Corbett, the man who killed John Wilkes Booth, also vanished in the American heartland? Or Black Bart, the famed stagecoach robber, also disappeared somewhere on the west coast?
What about the strange two deaths of Lewis and Clark's guide, Sacajawea (or Sakakawea, as she is known in the Great Plains)? Or the Mountain Meadows Massacre, where Mormon Church militia members and local Native Americans wiped out close to one hundred and fifty members of a wagon train, all because of lies and rumors spread all over Utah?
Was Jesse James really shot in the 1880's? Did Billy the Kid really die in Arizona? Or did both men live into their nineties, getting to know each other in their new lives, and reluctantly coming out in the 1930's and 1940's? Okay, according to DNA testing, that is Jesse in his grave, lending little help to Brushy Bill Roberts' claims that he was Billy the Kid.
Living in North Dakota, I have always had an interest in Western history. George Custer left his house near present day Mandan and died in Montana. Lewis and Clark and Sakakawea spent winters here, also near Mandan, on their great trek west and back. Teddy Roosevelt, after his mother and wife died on the same day, came to ranch near Medora, claiming he never would have had the courage to become president if it was not for his trials and tribulations in North Dakota. His presidential library is currently being constructed.
Walker's book is interesting, even to laypeople who have a passing interest in American history. The twelve chapters are evenly paced and never dull. There is an immense bibliography at the back of the book. After a kind foreword by John Jakes, Walker plunges us into the "old days," writing expertly and with enough description to read like fine fiction.
Legends and Lies: Great Mysteries of the America West is a fantastic starting point if you want to start reading more about Western history. There is such a variety of true stories, you can pick and choose your subject and become an armchair expert like I thought I was, until this book opened my eyes and has led me to do more reading. A good book will do that to you.
Thursday, July 3, 2025
Book & Film Review: "How to Judge Motion Pictures, and How to Organize a Photoplay Club" by Sarah McLean Mullen/"Gent Video Centerfold #4: Stacey Owen" (1987)
You remember the scene, I know you do. In 1989's "Dead Poets Society," teacher John Keating (Robin Williams) is leading his new class in how to measure the enjoyment of a poem. The exercise involves graphs which students dutifully copied, and measurements strictly observed, when suddenly Keating insists that the students rip this section out of the textbook and toss it. Poetry cannot be measured like you would a temperature, or a quantity of liquid. It's inherent beauty comes from what it does to your head and your heart.
Well, while I was skulking around my alma mater's library, I was browsing in the film books section which was impressively diverse for a college with no film studies program at that point. Tucked among the larger books by James Agee, and old Halliwell's Film Guides, I found a 63-page pamphlet entitled "How to Judge Motion Pictures, and How to Organize a Photoplay Club" by Sarah McLean Mullen. The pamphlet trumpeted its foreword by a William L. Lewin and was published by Scholastic, a weekly newspaper for high school students. I sat down to read, and found the copyright date for this revised edition- 1936. Oh, this was going to be good.
While the yawny foreword talked of Lewin's nationwide research into using films for education, Mullen's material was the best part to digest. In the back of the pamphlet, I found what Mullen has called a "Scholastic Score Card For Rating Photoplays." Ten aspects of a judged film is rated on a weighted scale, the scores are totaled, and the total weighted score, after a little more math, gives you a percentile rating that tells you whether a film is good or not. As an audience, we all have expectations when seeing a photoplay, their irritating term for movies, and the Score Card slices through all the physical discomforts we experience at the theater, giving us a true indication of a film's worthiness.
The ten items judged are: Entertainment Value, Basic Theme, Story, Title, Dramatic Plot Structure, Social Value, Direction, Characterization, Settings-Costuming-Make-up-Properties, Lighting and Photography, and Sound and Musical Effects. Interestingly enough, the sample Score Card printed is for a real 1935 film featuring Henry Fonda called "I Dream Too Much." Someone named Syms C. Armstrong of the Burr High School Photoplay Club paid 35 cents to see this, and the film's final percentile score is 63-1/3%. Mullen warns us that very few ever pass the 90% mark, much less score a perfect 100 percentile. When I looked up "I Dreamed Too Much" on IMDB.com, only a few hundred people had seen it, but it's weighted average score was 5.5 out of 10. Apparently, Syms found more to like than today's jaded audiences.
So, which film should I test Mullen's hypothesis out on? Last year's Best Picture Oscar winner? A contemporary film from Frank Capra or John Ford? No, I'm going for a short film, so I can look back and forth between Mullen's ingredients for good photoplay-making, and the screen. Yes, I believe 1987's "Gent Video Centerfold #4: Stacey Owen" on VHS will do just fine. Don't judge me.
The video is just twenty-six minutes. For Entertainment Value, a big-busted Scottish lass waking up nekkid and going through her day before posing for a pretend photo shoot does have some Entertainment Value. On the +3 to -1 scale, I scored this a +1. The Basic Theme has no significance, so a -1. No Story, either, so we'll goose-egg that section. The Title onscreen is different from the video box, and none of them is listed on IMDB, so I score it a -1. While the Dramatic Plot Structure is stupid, there is some, so +1. Social Value? Um, yeah, zero. Direction gets a +1, Peter Kay does his job and shows off every aspect of Owen's physical talents. Characterization is supposed to include Acting and Speech. The film is narrated by Owen, and photographer James Campbell, but Owen doesn't do very well even playing herself, so another zero. The Settings, Costumes, Make-Up, and Properties are all consistent with a direct-to-video centerfold tape that served as an introduction for Owen to eventually move to more hardcore efforts, so a +2. Lighting and Photography were both blinding and bleached out, so another zero. The Sound and Musical Effects were horrendous. When Owen isn't pleading with you to look her up the next time you are in Scotland, some song I think was called "When a Woman's Alone" assaults your ears. Definitely, a -1. Now then, I multiply the scores by the weight, add the weighted scores, and then divide the total by three. According to the Sarah McLean Mullen Scholastic Score Card For Rating Photoplays, "Gent Video Centerfold #4: Stacey Owen" gets a pitiful 8.33%. Sorry, love.
The rest of the pamphlet covers how to start a photoplay club in high school, which involves complicated parliamentary procedures, and sexism- girls will appreciate the social aspects of the club, while boys will be more interested in how the film equipment runs. The main focus is Mullen's formula, and it was a hoot to read aged passages like "we are all familiar with climaxes. We have sat breathless during many of them, and have slumped back with a sense of deep relief when they were over," which had me laughing so hard, I did slump back.
I thought about following the inspiring civil disobedience of John Keating, and ripping this pamphlet to shreds, but this was the original 1936 copy. It is so old, I looked at the yellowed library card in back, and it was signed by a humanities professor who taught at the university so long ago, they died, and then had a building constructed and named for them. Oh, Syms, if you only knew what photoplays would be like in almost another one hundred years! Book: (* * *)/Video: (*) out of five stars.
Well, while I was skulking around my alma mater's library, I was browsing in the film books section which was impressively diverse for a college with no film studies program at that point. Tucked among the larger books by James Agee, and old Halliwell's Film Guides, I found a 63-page pamphlet entitled "How to Judge Motion Pictures, and How to Organize a Photoplay Club" by Sarah McLean Mullen. The pamphlet trumpeted its foreword by a William L. Lewin and was published by Scholastic, a weekly newspaper for high school students. I sat down to read, and found the copyright date for this revised edition- 1936. Oh, this was going to be good.
While the yawny foreword talked of Lewin's nationwide research into using films for education, Mullen's material was the best part to digest. In the back of the pamphlet, I found what Mullen has called a "Scholastic Score Card For Rating Photoplays." Ten aspects of a judged film is rated on a weighted scale, the scores are totaled, and the total weighted score, after a little more math, gives you a percentile rating that tells you whether a film is good or not. As an audience, we all have expectations when seeing a photoplay, their irritating term for movies, and the Score Card slices through all the physical discomforts we experience at the theater, giving us a true indication of a film's worthiness.
The ten items judged are: Entertainment Value, Basic Theme, Story, Title, Dramatic Plot Structure, Social Value, Direction, Characterization, Settings-Costuming-Make-up-Properties, Lighting and Photography, and Sound and Musical Effects. Interestingly enough, the sample Score Card printed is for a real 1935 film featuring Henry Fonda called "I Dream Too Much." Someone named Syms C. Armstrong of the Burr High School Photoplay Club paid 35 cents to see this, and the film's final percentile score is 63-1/3%. Mullen warns us that very few ever pass the 90% mark, much less score a perfect 100 percentile. When I looked up "I Dreamed Too Much" on IMDB.com, only a few hundred people had seen it, but it's weighted average score was 5.5 out of 10. Apparently, Syms found more to like than today's jaded audiences.
So, which film should I test Mullen's hypothesis out on? Last year's Best Picture Oscar winner? A contemporary film from Frank Capra or John Ford? No, I'm going for a short film, so I can look back and forth between Mullen's ingredients for good photoplay-making, and the screen. Yes, I believe 1987's "Gent Video Centerfold #4: Stacey Owen" on VHS will do just fine. Don't judge me.
The video is just twenty-six minutes. For Entertainment Value, a big-busted Scottish lass waking up nekkid and going through her day before posing for a pretend photo shoot does have some Entertainment Value. On the +3 to -1 scale, I scored this a +1. The Basic Theme has no significance, so a -1. No Story, either, so we'll goose-egg that section. The Title onscreen is different from the video box, and none of them is listed on IMDB, so I score it a -1. While the Dramatic Plot Structure is stupid, there is some, so +1. Social Value? Um, yeah, zero. Direction gets a +1, Peter Kay does his job and shows off every aspect of Owen's physical talents. Characterization is supposed to include Acting and Speech. The film is narrated by Owen, and photographer James Campbell, but Owen doesn't do very well even playing herself, so another zero. The Settings, Costumes, Make-Up, and Properties are all consistent with a direct-to-video centerfold tape that served as an introduction for Owen to eventually move to more hardcore efforts, so a +2. Lighting and Photography were both blinding and bleached out, so another zero. The Sound and Musical Effects were horrendous. When Owen isn't pleading with you to look her up the next time you are in Scotland, some song I think was called "When a Woman's Alone" assaults your ears. Definitely, a -1. Now then, I multiply the scores by the weight, add the weighted scores, and then divide the total by three. According to the Sarah McLean Mullen Scholastic Score Card For Rating Photoplays, "Gent Video Centerfold #4: Stacey Owen" gets a pitiful 8.33%. Sorry, love.
The rest of the pamphlet covers how to start a photoplay club in high school, which involves complicated parliamentary procedures, and sexism- girls will appreciate the social aspects of the club, while boys will be more interested in how the film equipment runs. The main focus is Mullen's formula, and it was a hoot to read aged passages like "we are all familiar with climaxes. We have sat breathless during many of them, and have slumped back with a sense of deep relief when they were over," which had me laughing so hard, I did slump back.
I thought about following the inspiring civil disobedience of John Keating, and ripping this pamphlet to shreds, but this was the original 1936 copy. It is so old, I looked at the yellowed library card in back, and it was signed by a humanities professor who taught at the university so long ago, they died, and then had a building constructed and named for them. Oh, Syms, if you only knew what photoplays would be like in almost another one hundred years! Book: (* * *)/Video: (*) out of five stars.
Book Review: "Gothic: Four Hundred Years of Excess, Horror, Evil, and Ruin" by Richard Davenport-Hines
Subtitled "Four Hundred Years of Excess, Horror, Evil, and Ruin," this book is not what you should buy for your weird teen Goth nephew who wears a nose ring, black fingernail polish, listens to Marilyn Manson, and hangs out at the food court in the mall. Davenport-Hines' book is strictly a historic work, tracing Gothicism from the Middle Ages to today. While most of the book is interesting, the field is so big that the author can only bring surface examples to light without analyzing them too deeply. He has a section on the music of the Cure, and the literature of Poppy Z. Brite, but chose not to, or just could not, interview either one of them.
The author's biggest mistake is the amount of pages spent on Gothic architecture. The first half of the book is full of castle names, earls and dukes, and is of little interest to those who want to read about the Gothic lifestyle. The author does deconstruct the literature of Edgar Allan Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne rather well, in addition to a myriad of British authors whose names I am not familiar with, but might be interested in now. His coverage of Gothic art is average. The book includes photographs of many pieces of art, but the author must resign himself to describing pieces he could not include in the pictures, leading to reader frustration. I do slightly recommend this book, but do not be fooled by its dark cover. This covers four hundred years of Gothic HISTORY (despite the cover and marketing), not four hundred years of your Emo nephew hanging out at the mall and listening to Marilyn Manson, who is not covered here.
The author's biggest mistake is the amount of pages spent on Gothic architecture. The first half of the book is full of castle names, earls and dukes, and is of little interest to those who want to read about the Gothic lifestyle. The author does deconstruct the literature of Edgar Allan Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne rather well, in addition to a myriad of British authors whose names I am not familiar with, but might be interested in now. His coverage of Gothic art is average. The book includes photographs of many pieces of art, but the author must resign himself to describing pieces he could not include in the pictures, leading to reader frustration. I do slightly recommend this book, but do not be fooled by its dark cover. This covers four hundred years of Gothic HISTORY (despite the cover and marketing), not four hundred years of your Emo nephew hanging out at the mall and listening to Marilyn Manson, who is not covered here.
Book Review: "Sons..." by Helen Exley
"Sons..." is one of those innocuous little books, the size of your cell phone, you would find at a pharmacy or hospital gift shop that you could buy for that special someone whose birthday you had forgotten.
The little book features nostalgic artwork of little boys, and quotations from famous writers and celebrities as diverse as Plato, Charles Dickens, and Suzanne Somers; Dickens' and Somers' quotes appear on the same page. The champion of the quote quota is Pamela Gray, who gets more credits than anyone else. One bittersweet quote is from persona non grata Bill Cosby, talking about his only son Ennis, who was murdered a year after this little book was released.
There are dozens, if not hundreds, of these little gift books all over the country, usually found at grandmothers' homes, and estate or rummage sales (where I found this one in a box of physical media I purchased). Coming in at sixty-four pages, it can be read in one sitting in just a few minutes. The quotes are all fine, some are a little bland with no context, and the best quote by far is from Erma Bombeck. Trust me, I've read worse books, you can always use this to boost your "Books Read" count online. Middling book, middling reaction.
The little book features nostalgic artwork of little boys, and quotations from famous writers and celebrities as diverse as Plato, Charles Dickens, and Suzanne Somers; Dickens' and Somers' quotes appear on the same page. The champion of the quote quota is Pamela Gray, who gets more credits than anyone else. One bittersweet quote is from persona non grata Bill Cosby, talking about his only son Ennis, who was murdered a year after this little book was released.
There are dozens, if not hundreds, of these little gift books all over the country, usually found at grandmothers' homes, and estate or rummage sales (where I found this one in a box of physical media I purchased). Coming in at sixty-four pages, it can be read in one sitting in just a few minutes. The quotes are all fine, some are a little bland with no context, and the best quote by far is from Erma Bombeck. Trust me, I've read worse books, you can always use this to boost your "Books Read" count online. Middling book, middling reaction.
Book Review: "Guide to Home Videos and Movies" by Ryan Reed
Video and film guides are nothing new. I remember picking up Leonard Maltin's thick paperback way back in elementary school, before internet and IMDB. Roger Ebert and Pauline Kael, among many others, released books of review collections. Back in the video explosion of the 1980's and 1990's, everyone seemed to be releasing guides- from the Videohound to the Phantom of the Movies.
A small publishing house called Santa Monica Press decided to put their fingers in the pie. I have seen their product before in thrift shops. Their guides are cheap paperbacks, filled with vague film descriptions, questionable opinions, and more misspellings than a third grade class' grammar pop quiz. I once found two of their video guides, with different covers, titles, and authors, yet opened them up and discovered the reviews were identical, word for word. It was with some trepidation that I plopped down a quarter for Ryan Reed's 1993 "Guide to Home Video and Movies," knowing what I did about the Press. It did not disappoint.
I actually am not sure what the title of the book is. The cover and spine read "Guide to Home Video and Movies," but the introduction refers to the tome as "Guide to Home Video Movies," without the 'and.' Reed, or whoever wrote this, uses a four star rating system...but hold on, one star does not necessarily mean the film is bad. Reed writes that even a two-star film has merit, but not enough "artistry" to render a three or four star rating. Already, the ratings are on shaky ground, but Reed is confident enough to call his 128 page book the "ultimate guide to the most popular and critically acclaimed films available..." so he must know what he is talking about. By the way, Reed's name is printed in a different font at the bottom of the introduction, making me wonder how long the publishers waited before coming up with the name "Ryan Reed."
Right away, I found misspellings. In the first review, for "Adam's Rib," Katharine Hepburn's first name is misspelled. Turn the page and find out how good John "Houston's" direction was in "The African Queen." I read this whole book in one sitting, and found at least one mistake every two pages. The reviews themselves may have been written years after the films were seen. The reviews are one paragraph, but padded with Oscar winning stats- come on, only four sentences on "2001: A Space Odyssey"? The choice of films is bizarre. "Aliens" is here, but not "Alien." In the review for "Back to the Future," Reed writes "...the first installment of one of the most successful film series of all time..." but neglects the two sequels. Factually, Reed or whoever, gets a lot wrong. Michael Douglas was not nominated for an Oscar for "Fatal Attraction," and saying Susan Sarandon makes a "remarkable major film debut" in "Atlantic City," ignores her previous work in such little pictures as "Joe," "Pretty Baby," "The Other Side of Midnight," "The Great Waldo Pepper," and "The Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Ending with "Zorba the Greek," I did not come away with any sort of individual tastes from Mr. Reed. He either writes grandiose statements about films, or semi-trashes them (in the case of "Pretty Woman," rightfully so) with the reader unable to take his opinions seriously. "Guide to Home Video and Movies" is lousy, try any other critic instead.
A small publishing house called Santa Monica Press decided to put their fingers in the pie. I have seen their product before in thrift shops. Their guides are cheap paperbacks, filled with vague film descriptions, questionable opinions, and more misspellings than a third grade class' grammar pop quiz. I once found two of their video guides, with different covers, titles, and authors, yet opened them up and discovered the reviews were identical, word for word. It was with some trepidation that I plopped down a quarter for Ryan Reed's 1993 "Guide to Home Video and Movies," knowing what I did about the Press. It did not disappoint.
I actually am not sure what the title of the book is. The cover and spine read "Guide to Home Video and Movies," but the introduction refers to the tome as "Guide to Home Video Movies," without the 'and.' Reed, or whoever wrote this, uses a four star rating system...but hold on, one star does not necessarily mean the film is bad. Reed writes that even a two-star film has merit, but not enough "artistry" to render a three or four star rating. Already, the ratings are on shaky ground, but Reed is confident enough to call his 128 page book the "ultimate guide to the most popular and critically acclaimed films available..." so he must know what he is talking about. By the way, Reed's name is printed in a different font at the bottom of the introduction, making me wonder how long the publishers waited before coming up with the name "Ryan Reed."
Right away, I found misspellings. In the first review, for "Adam's Rib," Katharine Hepburn's first name is misspelled. Turn the page and find out how good John "Houston's" direction was in "The African Queen." I read this whole book in one sitting, and found at least one mistake every two pages. The reviews themselves may have been written years after the films were seen. The reviews are one paragraph, but padded with Oscar winning stats- come on, only four sentences on "2001: A Space Odyssey"? The choice of films is bizarre. "Aliens" is here, but not "Alien." In the review for "Back to the Future," Reed writes "...the first installment of one of the most successful film series of all time..." but neglects the two sequels. Factually, Reed or whoever, gets a lot wrong. Michael Douglas was not nominated for an Oscar for "Fatal Attraction," and saying Susan Sarandon makes a "remarkable major film debut" in "Atlantic City," ignores her previous work in such little pictures as "Joe," "Pretty Baby," "The Other Side of Midnight," "The Great Waldo Pepper," and "The Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Ending with "Zorba the Greek," I did not come away with any sort of individual tastes from Mr. Reed. He either writes grandiose statements about films, or semi-trashes them (in the case of "Pretty Woman," rightfully so) with the reader unable to take his opinions seriously. "Guide to Home Video and Movies" is lousy, try any other critic instead.
Book Review: "Edward Albee: A Singular Journey" by Mel Gussow
The late Edward Albee, the author of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," and other plays, is given a deluxe biographical treatment here from a man who has known him for almost forty years- and sometimes worships him a little too much. Albee was adopted by a wealthy, emotionless set of parents. His father, Reed, was absent, and his mother, Frankie, was cool and detached. This upbringing, where he was seen more as a possession than a family member, would, of course, affect his writings. Constantly kicked out of schools, and never graduating from college, Albee turned to writing, his first success being "Zoo Story."
"Zoo Story," a short play about a fateful meeting of two men in a park, received mixed notices from assorted playwrights and critics. Here, biographer Gussow overextends his protection of his subject too much. He dismisses the honest critiques of two playwriting giants- Thornton Wilder and William Inge, because they did not understand or like Albee's works. However, a bland positive response by Samuel Beckett is treated like a Dead Sea Scroll, to be picked apart and treasured. I have read "Zoo Story," and it is wordy and preachy. Albee's next big success was "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," which was turned into the powerhouse film by Mike Nichols. Again, Gussow is flagrant in his criticism of someone involved with the film in order to placate Albee and Nichols. The film's screenwriter, Ernest Lehman, is harshly criticized for opening the play slightly, yet just copying Albee's words. The bio's author, and Albee, make a point of needling Lehman's screenwriting credit on the film. Mike Nichols' former partner, Elaine May, copied the French film "La Cage Aux Folles" word for word, adding what could be described as copious scenes at best, then took a big giant screenwriting credit for Nichols' "The Birdcage." Watch both of those films back to back sometime, it is eye opening.
Gussow also fumbles in his outline of Albee's life. In Albee's less successful years, he is writing weird experimental plays with subjects like a man with three arms, and one play where two of the characters are sea creatures. After mounting all of these failures, Albee is defended endlessly by Gussow, who suddenly contributes an entire chapter about Albee's alcoholism. The alcohol is both a reason his plays were not celebrated, and a defense of the brilliant man. The entire beginning of the book chronicles the complete lack of love Albee's parents had for him, yet the death of Albee's father is glossed over and barely mentioned. I had to reread the sentence a few times, since no followup is made about Albee's reaction. A whole chapter is devoted to his mother's demise, and her revenge on her own son in her will. More is written about a frustrated musician who was one of Albee's former lovers and honest critics; this "A Star is Born" redux reads nicely. Gussow does do well in describing Albee's assorted forays into theater, as playwright and director. Dirt about Donald Sutherland and Frank Langella is dished. The bio's author is honest in Albee's lacking skills as a director, coming to the theater as a playwright and not an actor.
Albee, who preferred to be called a writer who is gay, as opposed to a gay writer, also has kind words for his longtime partner of over twenty years. Albee says a gay writer writes about being gay, whether the work is good or not is moot, since the writer knows the subject and is putting in the final word. A writer who is gay is not tied down to just homosexual topics, and is free to explore society without audiences looking for gay subtexts that do not exist. "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" is a searing look at two heterosexual couples, the sexuality of the playwright is not essential in light of his characters and their actions. Gussow wisely keeps talk of Albee's lesser known plays, and the ones readers probably have not read anyway, to a minimum. Albee's triumphant comeback play, "Three Tall Women," is covered extensively. The play is about his mother, and so much more. Reading this biography will make you curious to seek out some of Albee's other plays, just to see what makes him tick. He was definitely an interesting man, and Gussow does catch that fact better than anything. I recommend this book to theater lovers, and any writer who needs a little inspiration.
"Zoo Story," a short play about a fateful meeting of two men in a park, received mixed notices from assorted playwrights and critics. Here, biographer Gussow overextends his protection of his subject too much. He dismisses the honest critiques of two playwriting giants- Thornton Wilder and William Inge, because they did not understand or like Albee's works. However, a bland positive response by Samuel Beckett is treated like a Dead Sea Scroll, to be picked apart and treasured. I have read "Zoo Story," and it is wordy and preachy. Albee's next big success was "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," which was turned into the powerhouse film by Mike Nichols. Again, Gussow is flagrant in his criticism of someone involved with the film in order to placate Albee and Nichols. The film's screenwriter, Ernest Lehman, is harshly criticized for opening the play slightly, yet just copying Albee's words. The bio's author, and Albee, make a point of needling Lehman's screenwriting credit on the film. Mike Nichols' former partner, Elaine May, copied the French film "La Cage Aux Folles" word for word, adding what could be described as copious scenes at best, then took a big giant screenwriting credit for Nichols' "The Birdcage." Watch both of those films back to back sometime, it is eye opening.
Gussow also fumbles in his outline of Albee's life. In Albee's less successful years, he is writing weird experimental plays with subjects like a man with three arms, and one play where two of the characters are sea creatures. After mounting all of these failures, Albee is defended endlessly by Gussow, who suddenly contributes an entire chapter about Albee's alcoholism. The alcohol is both a reason his plays were not celebrated, and a defense of the brilliant man. The entire beginning of the book chronicles the complete lack of love Albee's parents had for him, yet the death of Albee's father is glossed over and barely mentioned. I had to reread the sentence a few times, since no followup is made about Albee's reaction. A whole chapter is devoted to his mother's demise, and her revenge on her own son in her will. More is written about a frustrated musician who was one of Albee's former lovers and honest critics; this "A Star is Born" redux reads nicely. Gussow does do well in describing Albee's assorted forays into theater, as playwright and director. Dirt about Donald Sutherland and Frank Langella is dished. The bio's author is honest in Albee's lacking skills as a director, coming to the theater as a playwright and not an actor.
Albee, who preferred to be called a writer who is gay, as opposed to a gay writer, also has kind words for his longtime partner of over twenty years. Albee says a gay writer writes about being gay, whether the work is good or not is moot, since the writer knows the subject and is putting in the final word. A writer who is gay is not tied down to just homosexual topics, and is free to explore society without audiences looking for gay subtexts that do not exist. "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" is a searing look at two heterosexual couples, the sexuality of the playwright is not essential in light of his characters and their actions. Gussow wisely keeps talk of Albee's lesser known plays, and the ones readers probably have not read anyway, to a minimum. Albee's triumphant comeback play, "Three Tall Women," is covered extensively. The play is about his mother, and so much more. Reading this biography will make you curious to seek out some of Albee's other plays, just to see what makes him tick. He was definitely an interesting man, and Gussow does catch that fact better than anything. I recommend this book to theater lovers, and any writer who needs a little inspiration.
Book Review: "Turn Back the Night" by Jennifer Drew
Jennifer Drew is the pen name for a mother-daughter writing team. This is a relief, since I cannot imagine just one person could come up with a romance novel this unromantic. I got this paperback in a box of books I bought from a local recycling center. It mentioned a ghost hunter on the back, so I figured this might be a cut above some of the pulp Harlequin/Silhouette is known to publish. I was wrong.
Dawn is a Chicago resident who goes to visit her sister Laura in the boonies of rural Wisconsin. Dawn is an antiques mall manager and dealer, and her business partner's name is Jane. Laura's husband Gary is away on business in Japan, leaving Laura in a large country farmhouse on her own. All of the aforementioned facts pelt the reader in the first two pages of exposition. Also staying at the house is a psychologist, Aaron. It seems Laura heard some strange noises one night, and immediately called Aaron to investigate the paranormal phenomenon. Dawn is immediately suspicious of Aaron's motives, but attracted to Aaron. Aaron is just trying to help Laura, but is attracted to Dawn. Laura is a worrywart, and doesn't have a clue. The following one hundred pages are an absolute waste of paper. Aaron investigates, Dawn is suspicious of everything, yet the two kiss and fall in love. The grand finale is scareless and predictable.
One of the many problems is that Aaron, Dawn, and Laura are the only characters for dozens of pages, and they are not interesting enough to read about. The authors also have an irritating way of switching points of view, even on the same page, so you are reading about Dawn's sexy summer outfit, her ability to bid well at auctions, and her thick brown facial hair- before realizing Dawn is now describing Aaron. Another annoyance: one character will ask a simple question like "do you really believe in ghosts?", and by the time the characters bombard the reader with their internal thoughts, everyone's clothing is described, vocal inflections are analyzed, and the two lovers make goo-goo eyes at each other, someone answers "I can't answer that question," and you must turn back the page to remind yourself what the original query was in the first place. "Turn Back the Night" is one hundred and eighty five pages of hot air. I had a relative who used to plow through this type of novel in a couple of hours, it took me three weeks to read this.
Dawn is a Chicago resident who goes to visit her sister Laura in the boonies of rural Wisconsin. Dawn is an antiques mall manager and dealer, and her business partner's name is Jane. Laura's husband Gary is away on business in Japan, leaving Laura in a large country farmhouse on her own. All of the aforementioned facts pelt the reader in the first two pages of exposition. Also staying at the house is a psychologist, Aaron. It seems Laura heard some strange noises one night, and immediately called Aaron to investigate the paranormal phenomenon. Dawn is immediately suspicious of Aaron's motives, but attracted to Aaron. Aaron is just trying to help Laura, but is attracted to Dawn. Laura is a worrywart, and doesn't have a clue. The following one hundred pages are an absolute waste of paper. Aaron investigates, Dawn is suspicious of everything, yet the two kiss and fall in love. The grand finale is scareless and predictable.
One of the many problems is that Aaron, Dawn, and Laura are the only characters for dozens of pages, and they are not interesting enough to read about. The authors also have an irritating way of switching points of view, even on the same page, so you are reading about Dawn's sexy summer outfit, her ability to bid well at auctions, and her thick brown facial hair- before realizing Dawn is now describing Aaron. Another annoyance: one character will ask a simple question like "do you really believe in ghosts?", and by the time the characters bombard the reader with their internal thoughts, everyone's clothing is described, vocal inflections are analyzed, and the two lovers make goo-goo eyes at each other, someone answers "I can't answer that question," and you must turn back the page to remind yourself what the original query was in the first place. "Turn Back the Night" is one hundred and eighty five pages of hot air. I had a relative who used to plow through this type of novel in a couple of hours, it took me three weeks to read this.
Book Review: "English Diarists: Evelyn & Pepys" by Margaret Willy
This slim volume, included in the "Writers and Their Work" series from the 1960's, gives a nice overview of the Seventeenth century diarists John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys, and their lives in London.
Willy writes a nice introduction about why men and women used to write diaries, especially when they were meant for no one else's eyes (Pepys wrote in shorthand and encryption that wasn't deciphered until the nineteenth century). Evelyn and Pepys knew each other, and sometimes mentioned each other in their respective diaries. Their lives are summarized after the introduction, but more attention is paid to what the men wrote about their lives, as opposed to just reciting dates and names. Pepys seems to be the most entertaining of the two, but his philandering and vanity hardly put him on a pedestal. The Great London Fire of 1666 was observed by both men, as well as the Plague, and the English Civil War. Willy is correct, Pepys' minutiae about his casual life is fascinating- trashing performances of Shakespeare's plays, and seeing the untimely deaths of relations' children. On the other hand, he attends public executions, and constantly seemed to be on the prowl, bedding many women he was not married to.
Although this was first published in 1963, there is an excellent bibliography about both men in the back of the book. Pepys wrote about the Plague almost three hundred years ago, but he could be talking about pandemics of today:
"Commenting on the callousness bred of panic, he observed 'this disease making us more cruel to one another than . . . to dogs'. After weeks at his post in a city 'distressed and forsaken', with grass growing in Whitehall and the river and quays deserted, Pepys reported it 'a delightful thing' to see London gradually repopulating as the menace abated, and shops and taverns beginning to open their doors."
This booklet, 47 pages, came in a boxed lot (the way I get most of my books), so it may be a little hard to come by today. It makes the perfect start to a new reading project I've been mulling over, and it might prompt someone out there to shut off the computer or phone, pull out a pen and paper, and start a diary of their own.
Willy writes a nice introduction about why men and women used to write diaries, especially when they were meant for no one else's eyes (Pepys wrote in shorthand and encryption that wasn't deciphered until the nineteenth century). Evelyn and Pepys knew each other, and sometimes mentioned each other in their respective diaries. Their lives are summarized after the introduction, but more attention is paid to what the men wrote about their lives, as opposed to just reciting dates and names. Pepys seems to be the most entertaining of the two, but his philandering and vanity hardly put him on a pedestal. The Great London Fire of 1666 was observed by both men, as well as the Plague, and the English Civil War. Willy is correct, Pepys' minutiae about his casual life is fascinating- trashing performances of Shakespeare's plays, and seeing the untimely deaths of relations' children. On the other hand, he attends public executions, and constantly seemed to be on the prowl, bedding many women he was not married to.
Although this was first published in 1963, there is an excellent bibliography about both men in the back of the book. Pepys wrote about the Plague almost three hundred years ago, but he could be talking about pandemics of today:
"Commenting on the callousness bred of panic, he observed 'this disease making us more cruel to one another than . . . to dogs'. After weeks at his post in a city 'distressed and forsaken', with grass growing in Whitehall and the river and quays deserted, Pepys reported it 'a delightful thing' to see London gradually repopulating as the menace abated, and shops and taverns beginning to open their doors."
This booklet, 47 pages, came in a boxed lot (the way I get most of my books), so it may be a little hard to come by today. It makes the perfect start to a new reading project I've been mulling over, and it might prompt someone out there to shut off the computer or phone, pull out a pen and paper, and start a diary of their own.
Book Review: "Hollywood Babylon II" by Kenneth Anger
These days, the Golden Age of Cinema (the 1930's-1950's) seems pretty tame. Everyday people humiliate themselves on reality television just to achieve fleeting recognition. The names disappear into our attention-deficient collective and we latch on to the next Contender or Idol or Masked Whatever or the sad woman Who Wants To Marry My Dad. Thank goodness for Kenneth Anger. While the internet allows us to replay celebrity "news" ad nauseam, we must rely on faded memories and rumors when it comes to those icons we normally see in black-and-white on basic cable television. Then came "Hollywood Babylon."
As a child, Anger appeared in the 1935 film "A Midsummer Night's Dream," and grew up in Tinseltown, eventually becoming know for his avant-garde film work like "Scorpio Rising." He was privy to many a juicy story, and dragged many a skeleton out of the closet in the book. Every film fan knows a big hit deserves a sequel, and in 1984, a tinted photo of a fat Liz Taylor beckons us into the world of "Hollywood Babylon II". Here, while Anger defends that he in fact does like movies, we are again privy to over three hundred pages of often hilarious gossip, which I easily went through in one sitting.
It does help to have some knowledge of classic Hollywood. I have seen actor Paul Kelly in many a picture, and had no idea he once served time for manslaughter. The name Pantages is synonymous with grand movie palaces, but I never knew Joseph Kennedy once framed Alexander Pantages on assault charges. Was gay George Cukor really fired from "Gone With the Wind" so Clark Gable could get manly man director Victor Fleming to do the job right and turn this chick flick into an action-studded romance? Or did Cukor have some knowledge that a younger Gable would submit to some same sex situations in order to further his career?
While most of the dirt flung is serious (the Black Dahlia murder complete with explicit crime scene photos, a whole section on who committed suicide and how), Anger rises above it all with morbidly colorful writing. On choreographer/director/drunk vehicular manslaughter criminal Busby Berkeley: "He made surrealistic, voyeuristic, erotic musical dream fantasies which made eyes pop and pr!cks stand up around the world." On the two women who betrayed character actor Lionel Atwill's confidence and blabbed about his infamous house orgies:"...two Judases in skirts did their best to drag their host by the short hairs all the way up the hill to Golgotha." When speaking of James Dean, Anger asks: "And yet, today, if Richard Gere, or Matt Dillon- or any of the other members of the boring regiment of James Dean clonettes spewed out by Francis Ford Coppola in 'The Outsiders'- were to suffer Dean's fate, would cults arise, fans commit suicide, would mash notes arrive thirty years after their demise? Doubtful." Anger shows no love for Gloria Swanson (celebrating her death in a strange half page rant), Joan Crawford (publishing nude photos from her modeling days), or the Reagans (we are all going to die in a nuclear holocaust that never came about).
Another sequel to complete a trilogy has not been forthcoming, Anger died, so we must live with this forbidden volume, readily available at some public libraries, and suffer through today's celebrity marketing: which celebrity starlet (otherwise famous for nothing) has been seen in a recently discovered (but by no means planted) sex tape or "hacked" nude photos? Color me bored, I'd rather read about the mind-blowing coupling of Tallulah Bankhead and Hattie McDaniel any old day.
As a child, Anger appeared in the 1935 film "A Midsummer Night's Dream," and grew up in Tinseltown, eventually becoming know for his avant-garde film work like "Scorpio Rising." He was privy to many a juicy story, and dragged many a skeleton out of the closet in the book. Every film fan knows a big hit deserves a sequel, and in 1984, a tinted photo of a fat Liz Taylor beckons us into the world of "Hollywood Babylon II". Here, while Anger defends that he in fact does like movies, we are again privy to over three hundred pages of often hilarious gossip, which I easily went through in one sitting.
It does help to have some knowledge of classic Hollywood. I have seen actor Paul Kelly in many a picture, and had no idea he once served time for manslaughter. The name Pantages is synonymous with grand movie palaces, but I never knew Joseph Kennedy once framed Alexander Pantages on assault charges. Was gay George Cukor really fired from "Gone With the Wind" so Clark Gable could get manly man director Victor Fleming to do the job right and turn this chick flick into an action-studded romance? Or did Cukor have some knowledge that a younger Gable would submit to some same sex situations in order to further his career?
While most of the dirt flung is serious (the Black Dahlia murder complete with explicit crime scene photos, a whole section on who committed suicide and how), Anger rises above it all with morbidly colorful writing. On choreographer/director/drunk vehicular manslaughter criminal Busby Berkeley: "He made surrealistic, voyeuristic, erotic musical dream fantasies which made eyes pop and pr!cks stand up around the world." On the two women who betrayed character actor Lionel Atwill's confidence and blabbed about his infamous house orgies:"...two Judases in skirts did their best to drag their host by the short hairs all the way up the hill to Golgotha." When speaking of James Dean, Anger asks: "And yet, today, if Richard Gere, or Matt Dillon- or any of the other members of the boring regiment of James Dean clonettes spewed out by Francis Ford Coppola in 'The Outsiders'- were to suffer Dean's fate, would cults arise, fans commit suicide, would mash notes arrive thirty years after their demise? Doubtful." Anger shows no love for Gloria Swanson (celebrating her death in a strange half page rant), Joan Crawford (publishing nude photos from her modeling days), or the Reagans (we are all going to die in a nuclear holocaust that never came about).
Another sequel to complete a trilogy has not been forthcoming, Anger died, so we must live with this forbidden volume, readily available at some public libraries, and suffer through today's celebrity marketing: which celebrity starlet (otherwise famous for nothing) has been seen in a recently discovered (but by no means planted) sex tape or "hacked" nude photos? Color me bored, I'd rather read about the mind-blowing coupling of Tallulah Bankhead and Hattie McDaniel any old day.
Book Review: "Rich Dad's Retire Young, Retire Rich: How to Get Rich Quickly and Stay Rich Forever!" by Robert T. Kiyosaki with Sharon L. Lechter
If you have seen the old infomercials Robert Kiyosaki has made about retiring and making millions of dollars, you get the gist of this book. It is a three hundred and thirty five page ad for all of his other products under his Rich Dad moniker. Most frustrating is Kiyosaki's complete lack of skills as a writer. He freely admits he is not a great writer, and proceeds to prove it. He repeats himself constantly throughout the book, and writes pages of dialogue scenes he swears are from memory, but play like the worst staged scenes in an aforementioned infomercial.
Kiyosaki manipulates the reader with his constant berating. If you are doubtful of his methods, or if you question whether you can go running out and buying real estate with no money down, then that is your problem. You are wrong, and he is right. I was consistently made to feel stupid as I read this thing, and that was confirmed by the authors' smug attitude toward people who actually must work for a living.
Kiyosaki doesn't get specific about how to retire young and rich. He dances around the subject, throwing out little helpful hints here and there, but never gets down to the brass tacks when it comes to sitting down and doing it. Recommending I go to seminars and hire a bookkeeper are lovely ideas but then what? If anyone is retiring young and rich, it is the people behind this book length ad for other get-rich-quick products. If anything, reading this will inspire you to go it on your own, and ignore the advice of "experts" like this. Don't waste your money, or self-esteem, and avoid "Rich Dad's Retire Young, Retire Rich."
Kiyosaki manipulates the reader with his constant berating. If you are doubtful of his methods, or if you question whether you can go running out and buying real estate with no money down, then that is your problem. You are wrong, and he is right. I was consistently made to feel stupid as I read this thing, and that was confirmed by the authors' smug attitude toward people who actually must work for a living.
Kiyosaki doesn't get specific about how to retire young and rich. He dances around the subject, throwing out little helpful hints here and there, but never gets down to the brass tacks when it comes to sitting down and doing it. Recommending I go to seminars and hire a bookkeeper are lovely ideas but then what? If anyone is retiring young and rich, it is the people behind this book length ad for other get-rich-quick products. If anything, reading this will inspire you to go it on your own, and ignore the advice of "experts" like this. Don't waste your money, or self-esteem, and avoid "Rich Dad's Retire Young, Retire Rich."
Book Review: "Verses That Hurt: Pleasure and Pain from the POEMFONE Poets", edited by Jordan Trachtenberg and Amy Trachtenberg
A few years ago a voice mail was set up in New York City, and poets were brought in every month to read a new poem everyday onto the message. Then the public could call in everyday, listen to the poem, and respond after the beep with anything they had to say. The poems were recorded on an album, and the best printed in this wonderful book.
The book came out in 1997. The poets in this book are: Penny Arcade, Tish Benson, Nicole Blackman, David Cameron, Xavier Cavazos, Todd Colby, Matthew Courtney, M. Doughty, Kathy Ebel, Anne Elliot, Janice Erlbaum, Allen Ginsberg, John Giorno, John S. Hall, Bob Holman, Christian X. Hunter, Shannon Ketch, Bobby Miller, Wanda Phipps, Lee Renaldo, Shut-Up Shelley, Hal Sirowitz, Sparrow, Spiro, Edwin Torres, and Emily XYZ. All the poets get at least three poems, and very good portraits by photographer Christian Lantry. The poems are short enough that you can probably get through this in one sitting, or read a poet or poem a day.
Penny Arcade starts the book off with a bang, using some really incredible verse. Tish Benson is next with poems that read like lazy blues songs, but filled with so much detail and activity, you can almost hear Billie Holliday gruffly whispering this in your ear. Nicole Blackman and her section is also incredible as she seems to speak for so many women who cannot find their own voice except hers. David Cameron's writing, while readable, is a little bland, like a freshman creative writing class. Despite his obvious emotion, I felt he was holding back. Xavier Cavazos's section is slightly better, except for an entire poem that slams Rush Limbaugh. It may have been very clever when written and read, but it just give Conservatives more ammunition to go after art that they do not like. Todd Colby does better work with paragraph poems than traditional verse poetry. Matthew Courtney reads like poorly written Allen Ginsberg, full of "shocking" imagery and without a point. M. Doughty's work is scary and involving, and not your traditional stuff. Kathy Ebel left me with no response. I read it, I was done, and I was not moved. Anne Elliot reads like poorly written Matthew Courtney. Janice Erlbaum is wonderful, filling a sonnet and sestina with modern situations, turning antiquity on its ear. Ginsberg is Ginsberg. Being a little familiar with his work, I expected to see poems about sex, followed by verses about a frog- Ginsberg is so Ginsberg. John Giorno's two poems are shocking, about more sex, and taking drugs. He seems to be shocking without TRYING to be shocking, I guess you could say his shock is natural?
John S. Hall also seems to be writing without getting to the heart of his point. His verse is so much posturing. Bob Holman is a bit of a bore, with quite a few poems here. Again, none stuck with me. Christian X. Hunter takes me into his world and it was hard to get out. He is probably my favorite poet here. Shannon Ketch reads like John S. Hall. Bobby Miller's very personal poems made me nostalgic for a time I could never experience. He writes about his first sexual experience and protesting Vietnam so vividly, you swear you are there. Wanda Phipps opens with an angry poem, and never lets up. She is not threatening, but she has a lot to say. Lee Ranaldo also did not do it for me, his listed words seemed glossy and packaged. Shut-Up Shelley is fun because she is so different. Her changing font size on the page just screams at you, yet her photograph by Lantry shows her so whimsically. She is my second favorite poet here. Hal Sirowitz is my third favorite poet here, writing deeply personal poems about everyday things that had an obvious effect on his life. He is a blast to read aloud. Sparrow is weird. His first poem, involving possible sex with a cow, is a hoot, and his possible middle names for Bill Gates is a riot. Spiro is also very funny, especially his opening poem about heroin addiction. Edwin Torres also had me scratching my head for a while after I read him. His poetry is not hard, just inaccessible, and I was not interested enough in what he was saying to dig deeper. Emily XYZ reads like good Edwin Torres.
The 26 poets here are quite a variety, and I recommend this tome to any poetry lovers. I also repeat my mantra to read more poetry and keep buying those little chapbooks you might see in used bookstores or at flea markets. There is always time in your day to smarten up. This does contain a lot of profanity, drug references, and sexual content, so giving it to your five year old to practice reading may not be a good idea.
The book came out in 1997. The poets in this book are: Penny Arcade, Tish Benson, Nicole Blackman, David Cameron, Xavier Cavazos, Todd Colby, Matthew Courtney, M. Doughty, Kathy Ebel, Anne Elliot, Janice Erlbaum, Allen Ginsberg, John Giorno, John S. Hall, Bob Holman, Christian X. Hunter, Shannon Ketch, Bobby Miller, Wanda Phipps, Lee Renaldo, Shut-Up Shelley, Hal Sirowitz, Sparrow, Spiro, Edwin Torres, and Emily XYZ. All the poets get at least three poems, and very good portraits by photographer Christian Lantry. The poems are short enough that you can probably get through this in one sitting, or read a poet or poem a day.
Penny Arcade starts the book off with a bang, using some really incredible verse. Tish Benson is next with poems that read like lazy blues songs, but filled with so much detail and activity, you can almost hear Billie Holliday gruffly whispering this in your ear. Nicole Blackman and her section is also incredible as she seems to speak for so many women who cannot find their own voice except hers. David Cameron's writing, while readable, is a little bland, like a freshman creative writing class. Despite his obvious emotion, I felt he was holding back. Xavier Cavazos's section is slightly better, except for an entire poem that slams Rush Limbaugh. It may have been very clever when written and read, but it just give Conservatives more ammunition to go after art that they do not like. Todd Colby does better work with paragraph poems than traditional verse poetry. Matthew Courtney reads like poorly written Allen Ginsberg, full of "shocking" imagery and without a point. M. Doughty's work is scary and involving, and not your traditional stuff. Kathy Ebel left me with no response. I read it, I was done, and I was not moved. Anne Elliot reads like poorly written Matthew Courtney. Janice Erlbaum is wonderful, filling a sonnet and sestina with modern situations, turning antiquity on its ear. Ginsberg is Ginsberg. Being a little familiar with his work, I expected to see poems about sex, followed by verses about a frog- Ginsberg is so Ginsberg. John Giorno's two poems are shocking, about more sex, and taking drugs. He seems to be shocking without TRYING to be shocking, I guess you could say his shock is natural?
John S. Hall also seems to be writing without getting to the heart of his point. His verse is so much posturing. Bob Holman is a bit of a bore, with quite a few poems here. Again, none stuck with me. Christian X. Hunter takes me into his world and it was hard to get out. He is probably my favorite poet here. Shannon Ketch reads like John S. Hall. Bobby Miller's very personal poems made me nostalgic for a time I could never experience. He writes about his first sexual experience and protesting Vietnam so vividly, you swear you are there. Wanda Phipps opens with an angry poem, and never lets up. She is not threatening, but she has a lot to say. Lee Ranaldo also did not do it for me, his listed words seemed glossy and packaged. Shut-Up Shelley is fun because she is so different. Her changing font size on the page just screams at you, yet her photograph by Lantry shows her so whimsically. She is my second favorite poet here. Hal Sirowitz is my third favorite poet here, writing deeply personal poems about everyday things that had an obvious effect on his life. He is a blast to read aloud. Sparrow is weird. His first poem, involving possible sex with a cow, is a hoot, and his possible middle names for Bill Gates is a riot. Spiro is also very funny, especially his opening poem about heroin addiction. Edwin Torres also had me scratching my head for a while after I read him. His poetry is not hard, just inaccessible, and I was not interested enough in what he was saying to dig deeper. Emily XYZ reads like good Edwin Torres.
The 26 poets here are quite a variety, and I recommend this tome to any poetry lovers. I also repeat my mantra to read more poetry and keep buying those little chapbooks you might see in used bookstores or at flea markets. There is always time in your day to smarten up. This does contain a lot of profanity, drug references, and sexual content, so giving it to your five year old to practice reading may not be a good idea.
Book Review: "Shot in the Heart" by Mikal Gilmore
This nonfiction effort, written by the younger brother of executed murderer Gary Gilmore of "The Executioner's Song" fame is one of the best books ever written about the downfall of a family.
Gilmore delves into the lives of his parents and brothers. His father, Frank Sr., was an older man who would run scams and con games, moving from town to town. He also married a half dozen times and fathered as many children under different aliases. Mikal's mother, Bessie, was a Mormon who grew up in another strange family, filled with death, and belief in hauntings and spirits. Both parents beat their first three sons unmercifully. Frank Jr., Gary, and Gaylen seemed like normal little boys until their parents got done with them.
Mikal was the fourth son born, and probably got better treatment than the others. Frank Jr. disappeared after his brother Gary's execution, and was missing from Mikal's life for about ten years. Gary Gilmore spent most of his life in reform school and prison, before murdering two young men in Provo and being executed in Utah by firing squad. Gary's experiences in reform school, especially on his first night, is so horrible it is hard to forget, especially considering this is happening to children. Gaylen was the third son, and almost as much of a criminal as Gary. He would end up dying young, the roundabout result of a mysterious stabbing that would not heal.
Gilmore's book, coming in at over 400 pages, is a fast-paced read. He never tries to explain his brothers' behavior, and he does not defend them, he merely lays out the facts of their family's upbringing, and the reader experiences the shocking life the Gilmores went through. Mikal talks about his own experiences, and how his love of music eventually led to his career as a music journalist, writing for Rolling Stone.
There are revelations here that would seem right at home on a daytime soap opera if they were not real. Paternity, babies thought dead, extramarital affairs, greed- all are covered here, but in a manner that makes these incidents very sad. Reality television and old "Jerry Springer"-type "talk shows" take these same kinds of lives and turn them into a big joke and ratings booster, but when Mikal spits a half page venomous paragraph about an offhand comment by Maury Povich of "A Current Affair," you realize those shows are put on the air to hurt, not inform or enlighten.
"Shot in the Heart" is a terrific book, and might be able to help put your own family's problems in perspective. Mikal Gilmore has written a powerful and passionate book about a subject he knows better than anyone. Later dramatized in a film.
Gilmore delves into the lives of his parents and brothers. His father, Frank Sr., was an older man who would run scams and con games, moving from town to town. He also married a half dozen times and fathered as many children under different aliases. Mikal's mother, Bessie, was a Mormon who grew up in another strange family, filled with death, and belief in hauntings and spirits. Both parents beat their first three sons unmercifully. Frank Jr., Gary, and Gaylen seemed like normal little boys until their parents got done with them.
Mikal was the fourth son born, and probably got better treatment than the others. Frank Jr. disappeared after his brother Gary's execution, and was missing from Mikal's life for about ten years. Gary Gilmore spent most of his life in reform school and prison, before murdering two young men in Provo and being executed in Utah by firing squad. Gary's experiences in reform school, especially on his first night, is so horrible it is hard to forget, especially considering this is happening to children. Gaylen was the third son, and almost as much of a criminal as Gary. He would end up dying young, the roundabout result of a mysterious stabbing that would not heal.
Gilmore's book, coming in at over 400 pages, is a fast-paced read. He never tries to explain his brothers' behavior, and he does not defend them, he merely lays out the facts of their family's upbringing, and the reader experiences the shocking life the Gilmores went through. Mikal talks about his own experiences, and how his love of music eventually led to his career as a music journalist, writing for Rolling Stone.
There are revelations here that would seem right at home on a daytime soap opera if they were not real. Paternity, babies thought dead, extramarital affairs, greed- all are covered here, but in a manner that makes these incidents very sad. Reality television and old "Jerry Springer"-type "talk shows" take these same kinds of lives and turn them into a big joke and ratings booster, but when Mikal spits a half page venomous paragraph about an offhand comment by Maury Povich of "A Current Affair," you realize those shows are put on the air to hurt, not inform or enlighten.
"Shot in the Heart" is a terrific book, and might be able to help put your own family's problems in perspective. Mikal Gilmore has written a powerful and passionate book about a subject he knows better than anyone. Later dramatized in a film.
Book Review: "Bush Must Go" by Bill Press
(I picked up this book over a decade ago when I was being brow-beaten into "reading the other side" of my conservative political views. I'm not a fan of Bush anymore, but I still hold this tome up as a reason to not read the other side again. I'm presenting my original review in its entirety):
While George W. Bush has not been our president since January 20, 2009, the disease Bush Derangement Syndrome will be around for a long time to come. Bush Derangement Syndrome (BDS) is a mental disorder suffered mostly by Democrats. They believe that everything wrong in the world is George W. Bush's fault. War in Iraq? Bush's fault. 9/11? Bush's fault. The economy? Bush's fault. Big giant hurricane destroys New Orleans while Louisiana state government sat on their hands? Bush's fault. Dog just pee on the rug? Bush's fault. It is a victimhood mindset that many liberals suffer from when afflicted by BDS. The government coddles them, takes care of them, is smarter than them, and promises to give them everything they could ever need. When a conservative Republican gets elected president, "independence," "self-reliance," and "personal responsibility" become evil buzzwords. "Look, I bought a house" becomes "It's Bush's fault the nefarious predatory lender didn't let me read my mortgage agreement thoroughly" and so on and so on.
I thought it would be interesting in this era of Obama's "change" and "hope"- where Californians voted to "change" to a Democrat in the White House, then voted to "change" the law that allowed gays to marry; where Obama "hopes" his new cabinet nominees aren't all tax cheats- to look back at an early case of BDS- Bill Press, unashamed liberal and former co-host of CNN's "Crossfire." Press, who is not a victim but only lives with BDS, since there is no cure, comes up with ten reasons George W. Bush was supposed to lose the White House four years ago: the War in Iraq, the War on Terror, Jobs, the Deficit, the Patriot Act, Crony Capitalism, Foreign Policy, the Environment, Broken Promises, the Credibility Gap, and a bonus reason- the "stolen" 2000 election. While these are the chapter titles, Press likes to bounce around and combine the subjects. I cannot go into all that much detail on each reason because they have been covered in dozens of books since this volume's 2004 copyright date. I can go into Press' writing style, or lack thereof.
Instead of presenting reasons for a John Kerry victory in 2004, Press probably couldn't find any, our brave author used anti-Bush books and websites to make the case that Bush cannot be reelected. The bibliography and organizations/websites lists in the back of the book run nine pages and feature well-known left-wing names like Moore, Franken, Begala, moveon.org, and others. Press even states that it does not matter what Kerry believes, BUSH MUST GO (he puts that phrase in all-capital letters at the end of each chapter, a mantra you come to hate until you see your next Obamantra like YES WE CAN or CHANGE or HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR ALL THESE PROMISES I MADE TO GET ELECTED?). Press does not get specific with footnotes when citing Bush's evils. We might get a speech date, book source title, or something equally vague. This entire book's content feels like it was forwarded from an even longer email, and Press took out all the juicy bits to fit his needs. Press' tome is a hissy fit in print. He repeats himself often, uses personal attacks- I counted three or four Rush Limbaugh drug addiction slams, tries to sound tough with the "s-word", and basically throws a juvenile, published temper tantrum. Strange to read in this "bipartisan era of hope and change."
According to Press, Bill Clinton did no wrong even when he did, and Al Gore's only flaw was giving up too easily in the Florida recount. It was mind numbing to read about Bush's "errors," just to have Press gloss over Clinton's identical "errors." Alright, one example- let me find it, this thing isn't even indexed, okay, page 75 in the Jobs chapter, Press writes: "Fact: George Bush did not inherit a recession. The National Bureau of Economic Research, which keeps track of such things made it official: The recession started in March 2001. George Bush took office in January 2001. From the get-go, this was a Bush recession. He had already spooked Wall Street after only two months in office." Wow! The truth is out! The minute your hand hits that Bible and you are sworn in, you bear all responsibility and blame! With this logic, Obama is already the worst president in history the minute he took that oath. Funny, though, I remember Bill Clinton blaming Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush for all those deficits he got stuck with back in 1993, and Obama uses the word "inherited" more often than a Anna Nicole Smith estate hearing- surely Press wouldn't contradict his Bush recession myth in his own book...what's this? On pages 115 and 116 in the Deficit chapter, Clinton ran deficits from 1993-1998, with surpluses only from 1999-2001- hey, Bush was in office in 2001! What a great job he did! For the record, every one of Carter's years in office was also marred by deficits. When did Reagan bring that up? Sure I can wait- the entire book is filled with this kind of contradiction.
Press also gets rabid about our environment. Evil lumber companies are raping the land as coal burning electric plants spew poison into the air. What many global warming advocates have not figured out yet is that they are doing more environmental harm than I am, while telling me how much environmental harm I am doing. I checked, this book is printed on acid-free, but not recycled, paper. How many trees had to die for Press to tell you Bush is in the lumber industry's back pocket? Does your computer come with a hand crank? Well that's okay, visit one of the many websites listed in the back of the book, burning precious electricity, to find out how Bush is too friendly with power companies. The environmental double standard is maddening, from the "Today" show jetting all around the world in great big airplanes to cover how YOU are killing Mother Earth to Al Gore's limo service to and from lectures about how YOU are making us all sick with your combustion engines. I have a feeling people are realizing greenhouse gases are not warming the earth as much as the politicized hot air is.
We know from history that Press' book did not work, despite anti-Bush quotes from such credible, moral men as Senators Edward Kennedy and Robert Byrd. Of course, liberals argue that Bush stole the 2004 election, too. Press's sour book, with his angry pinched face on the cover, went right back to the library donation drive the next week. I just realized I may be the last person in the country to read this mad diatribe.
Conservatives are personas non grata, I won't be baited into the same old tired "Bush is Hitler" arguments, and I do not support our new president (Obama), I did not vote for him, and his first couple of months in office have only confirmed by beliefs about him. Liberals have had a certain Theodore Roosevelt quote to themselves for the past eight years, excusing their hit jobs, like this book, so now let Libertarians and Republicans dust that sucker off and let it loose: "To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public." You keep drinking that Kool-Aid.
(Little did I know when I wrote this that the wrath a President Donald Trump would unleash on the Left makes Bush bashing look like child's play. Seriously, you derangers look ridiculous and a little creepy.)
While George W. Bush has not been our president since January 20, 2009, the disease Bush Derangement Syndrome will be around for a long time to come. Bush Derangement Syndrome (BDS) is a mental disorder suffered mostly by Democrats. They believe that everything wrong in the world is George W. Bush's fault. War in Iraq? Bush's fault. 9/11? Bush's fault. The economy? Bush's fault. Big giant hurricane destroys New Orleans while Louisiana state government sat on their hands? Bush's fault. Dog just pee on the rug? Bush's fault. It is a victimhood mindset that many liberals suffer from when afflicted by BDS. The government coddles them, takes care of them, is smarter than them, and promises to give them everything they could ever need. When a conservative Republican gets elected president, "independence," "self-reliance," and "personal responsibility" become evil buzzwords. "Look, I bought a house" becomes "It's Bush's fault the nefarious predatory lender didn't let me read my mortgage agreement thoroughly" and so on and so on.
I thought it would be interesting in this era of Obama's "change" and "hope"- where Californians voted to "change" to a Democrat in the White House, then voted to "change" the law that allowed gays to marry; where Obama "hopes" his new cabinet nominees aren't all tax cheats- to look back at an early case of BDS- Bill Press, unashamed liberal and former co-host of CNN's "Crossfire." Press, who is not a victim but only lives with BDS, since there is no cure, comes up with ten reasons George W. Bush was supposed to lose the White House four years ago: the War in Iraq, the War on Terror, Jobs, the Deficit, the Patriot Act, Crony Capitalism, Foreign Policy, the Environment, Broken Promises, the Credibility Gap, and a bonus reason- the "stolen" 2000 election. While these are the chapter titles, Press likes to bounce around and combine the subjects. I cannot go into all that much detail on each reason because they have been covered in dozens of books since this volume's 2004 copyright date. I can go into Press' writing style, or lack thereof.
Instead of presenting reasons for a John Kerry victory in 2004, Press probably couldn't find any, our brave author used anti-Bush books and websites to make the case that Bush cannot be reelected. The bibliography and organizations/websites lists in the back of the book run nine pages and feature well-known left-wing names like Moore, Franken, Begala, moveon.org, and others. Press even states that it does not matter what Kerry believes, BUSH MUST GO (he puts that phrase in all-capital letters at the end of each chapter, a mantra you come to hate until you see your next Obamantra like YES WE CAN or CHANGE or HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR ALL THESE PROMISES I MADE TO GET ELECTED?). Press does not get specific with footnotes when citing Bush's evils. We might get a speech date, book source title, or something equally vague. This entire book's content feels like it was forwarded from an even longer email, and Press took out all the juicy bits to fit his needs. Press' tome is a hissy fit in print. He repeats himself often, uses personal attacks- I counted three or four Rush Limbaugh drug addiction slams, tries to sound tough with the "s-word", and basically throws a juvenile, published temper tantrum. Strange to read in this "bipartisan era of hope and change."
According to Press, Bill Clinton did no wrong even when he did, and Al Gore's only flaw was giving up too easily in the Florida recount. It was mind numbing to read about Bush's "errors," just to have Press gloss over Clinton's identical "errors." Alright, one example- let me find it, this thing isn't even indexed, okay, page 75 in the Jobs chapter, Press writes: "Fact: George Bush did not inherit a recession. The National Bureau of Economic Research, which keeps track of such things made it official: The recession started in March 2001. George Bush took office in January 2001. From the get-go, this was a Bush recession. He had already spooked Wall Street after only two months in office." Wow! The truth is out! The minute your hand hits that Bible and you are sworn in, you bear all responsibility and blame! With this logic, Obama is already the worst president in history the minute he took that oath. Funny, though, I remember Bill Clinton blaming Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush for all those deficits he got stuck with back in 1993, and Obama uses the word "inherited" more often than a Anna Nicole Smith estate hearing- surely Press wouldn't contradict his Bush recession myth in his own book...what's this? On pages 115 and 116 in the Deficit chapter, Clinton ran deficits from 1993-1998, with surpluses only from 1999-2001- hey, Bush was in office in 2001! What a great job he did! For the record, every one of Carter's years in office was also marred by deficits. When did Reagan bring that up? Sure I can wait- the entire book is filled with this kind of contradiction.
Press also gets rabid about our environment. Evil lumber companies are raping the land as coal burning electric plants spew poison into the air. What many global warming advocates have not figured out yet is that they are doing more environmental harm than I am, while telling me how much environmental harm I am doing. I checked, this book is printed on acid-free, but not recycled, paper. How many trees had to die for Press to tell you Bush is in the lumber industry's back pocket? Does your computer come with a hand crank? Well that's okay, visit one of the many websites listed in the back of the book, burning precious electricity, to find out how Bush is too friendly with power companies. The environmental double standard is maddening, from the "Today" show jetting all around the world in great big airplanes to cover how YOU are killing Mother Earth to Al Gore's limo service to and from lectures about how YOU are making us all sick with your combustion engines. I have a feeling people are realizing greenhouse gases are not warming the earth as much as the politicized hot air is.
We know from history that Press' book did not work, despite anti-Bush quotes from such credible, moral men as Senators Edward Kennedy and Robert Byrd. Of course, liberals argue that Bush stole the 2004 election, too. Press's sour book, with his angry pinched face on the cover, went right back to the library donation drive the next week. I just realized I may be the last person in the country to read this mad diatribe.
Conservatives are personas non grata, I won't be baited into the same old tired "Bush is Hitler" arguments, and I do not support our new president (Obama), I did not vote for him, and his first couple of months in office have only confirmed by beliefs about him. Liberals have had a certain Theodore Roosevelt quote to themselves for the past eight years, excusing their hit jobs, like this book, so now let Libertarians and Republicans dust that sucker off and let it loose: "To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public." You keep drinking that Kool-Aid.
(Little did I know when I wrote this that the wrath a President Donald Trump would unleash on the Left makes Bush bashing look like child's play. Seriously, you derangers look ridiculous and a little creepy.)
Book Review: "The Horror Film Handbook" by Alan Frank
I'll give you a spoiler alert right here at the beginning, since the book's author neglected to. Alan Frank's book came out in 1980, before the home video boom. He sums up horror films released in Great Britain, gives a small plot summary, an even smaller review, and then quotes a contemporary review that sometimes disagrees with his own assessment. On the positive, the book is full of films that I have never heard of, and I consider myself to be as big a horror fan as Frank claims to be. The book is sprinkled with some good black and white stills from some of the films reviewed. There is also a standard index, as well as some lacking biographical profiles of some of the major players in the horror genre, and brief, hurried essays on consistent themes in the genre, such as Baron Frankenstein or the Mummy.
**SPOILERS** The biggest problem, and the main reason I cannot recommend the book, is Frank's constant use of spoilers in his reviews. Here is the entire entry for the 1973 classic "Don't Look Now," directed by Nicolas Roeg and starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie:
"Numbed by grief after their daughter drowns, a couple go to Venice where they meet two weird sisters who claim to be able to 'see' the dead child. They warn against staying in the city but when the husband ignores them, a dwarf stabs him to death. Critically overrated, the film is confused and pretentious and its sex scenes undoubtedly helped its commercial success. Only the photography and the Venice locations are memorable."
There are then two review quotes from a couple of magazines. This is actually one of the longer plot summary/reviews, yet it gives away the shocking surprise ending of the film. Not only that, his spoiler makes the horrific murder sound ridiculous. I liked the film better than he did, but come on, he not only ruins it, but gets the ending's context all wrong. **END SPOILERS**
Frank also does not hide his hatred of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, blasting the comedy duo for using famous Universal Studios monsters in their comedies. He ignores the fact that the monsters' respective series were declining, and the comedies actually brought about renewed interest in the horror genre. All of the review quotes are credited simply to the magazine or periodical they were written for, not an individual reviewer. Some of the review quotes are better than Frank's opinions, I would have been curious to see who wrote them. Frank also attempts to list all the credits for the films, but sometimes leaves out important information like a film's director or screenwriter. Misspellings populate every page, actress Donna Reed becomes Donna Read, the film "Berserk" is spelled "Beserk," and some of the running times of the films are replaced with how long the actual film is, for example: 2400 feet. Did Frank really see these films? Couldn't he set his watch instead of copying down how long unspooled celluloid might be? I have seen so many horror films, it is ridiculous but for someone to come along boasting of an even greater love and respect for the genre, then to skewer it with a sloppy "definitive" book on the subject makes me mad. Horror film books are a dime a dozen these days, and Alan Frank's tome is worth about that price.
**SPOILERS** The biggest problem, and the main reason I cannot recommend the book, is Frank's constant use of spoilers in his reviews. Here is the entire entry for the 1973 classic "Don't Look Now," directed by Nicolas Roeg and starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie:
"Numbed by grief after their daughter drowns, a couple go to Venice where they meet two weird sisters who claim to be able to 'see' the dead child. They warn against staying in the city but when the husband ignores them, a dwarf stabs him to death. Critically overrated, the film is confused and pretentious and its sex scenes undoubtedly helped its commercial success. Only the photography and the Venice locations are memorable."
There are then two review quotes from a couple of magazines. This is actually one of the longer plot summary/reviews, yet it gives away the shocking surprise ending of the film. Not only that, his spoiler makes the horrific murder sound ridiculous. I liked the film better than he did, but come on, he not only ruins it, but gets the ending's context all wrong. **END SPOILERS**
Frank also does not hide his hatred of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, blasting the comedy duo for using famous Universal Studios monsters in their comedies. He ignores the fact that the monsters' respective series were declining, and the comedies actually brought about renewed interest in the horror genre. All of the review quotes are credited simply to the magazine or periodical they were written for, not an individual reviewer. Some of the review quotes are better than Frank's opinions, I would have been curious to see who wrote them. Frank also attempts to list all the credits for the films, but sometimes leaves out important information like a film's director or screenwriter. Misspellings populate every page, actress Donna Reed becomes Donna Read, the film "Berserk" is spelled "Beserk," and some of the running times of the films are replaced with how long the actual film is, for example: 2400 feet. Did Frank really see these films? Couldn't he set his watch instead of copying down how long unspooled celluloid might be? I have seen so many horror films, it is ridiculous but for someone to come along boasting of an even greater love and respect for the genre, then to skewer it with a sloppy "definitive" book on the subject makes me mad. Horror film books are a dime a dozen these days, and Alan Frank's tome is worth about that price.
Book Review: "An American Dream" by Norman Mailer
Stephen Rojack is a former congressman, a contemporary of John F. Kennedy, a popular TV talk show host- and he has just strangled his estranged wife to death.
To cover his crime, he tosses her out a tenth story window, then meets up with a gangster's moll/lounge singer named Cherry. If ever a character was written to be played by Charlize Theron, this is it. The police suddenly drop their suspicions of murder against Rojack because they have bigger fish to fry- namely some of Cherry's mobster friends. The novel takes a look at a day and a half in the life of Rojack, following his rendezvous with Cherry, Ruta (his wife's maid), and his eventual meeting with his wife's father, culminating with his own high rise theatrics.
This book moves very fast. The reader loves to hate Rojack. The novel is from his point of view, so we see the inner workings of his alcohol-soaked mind. Mailer's descriptions are lucid, dense, and brilliant. You feel like you are in 1963 New York City, running from the police, smelling the smells of the squad room, and making love to exotic women. What does not work here are the kind of mobsters that were threatening in 1963, but come off like characters in a bad mafia comedy today. There is a subplot involving some of the characters' involvement in the CIA that is also dated, and Mailer's attempts at magical fantasies that Rojack takes us on in his mind are over-the-top and dull. Other reviews I have read have mentioned this is a good starter to a Mailerphyte, and I would agree.
"An American Dream" is entertaining, but not a perfect tome. Also adapted into a film.
To cover his crime, he tosses her out a tenth story window, then meets up with a gangster's moll/lounge singer named Cherry. If ever a character was written to be played by Charlize Theron, this is it. The police suddenly drop their suspicions of murder against Rojack because they have bigger fish to fry- namely some of Cherry's mobster friends. The novel takes a look at a day and a half in the life of Rojack, following his rendezvous with Cherry, Ruta (his wife's maid), and his eventual meeting with his wife's father, culminating with his own high rise theatrics.
This book moves very fast. The reader loves to hate Rojack. The novel is from his point of view, so we see the inner workings of his alcohol-soaked mind. Mailer's descriptions are lucid, dense, and brilliant. You feel like you are in 1963 New York City, running from the police, smelling the smells of the squad room, and making love to exotic women. What does not work here are the kind of mobsters that were threatening in 1963, but come off like characters in a bad mafia comedy today. There is a subplot involving some of the characters' involvement in the CIA that is also dated, and Mailer's attempts at magical fantasies that Rojack takes us on in his mind are over-the-top and dull. Other reviews I have read have mentioned this is a good starter to a Mailerphyte, and I would agree.
"An American Dream" is entertaining, but not a perfect tome. Also adapted into a film.
Book Review: "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff...and it's all small stuff" by Dr. Richard Carlson
Dr. Richard Carlson has the best intentions in this fluff-filled little book, suggesting to people how to live a stress-free, happy life. Unfortunately, Carlson often doubles up on his suggestions and offers up some strange strategies that often conflict with his own sage advice.
There are 100 little one-and-two page strategies to improve your life. The title comes from some advice Carlson was once given, that many little things in our lives are blown up into huge things. However, Carlson gives the exact same length to topics like being nice to others as he does to the joys of taking care of a house plant. It often is not enough. In one strategy, he will suggest listening to another's problems and letting them vent, and then later suggest not trying to solve everyone's problems. We should spend all of our free time with those we love, but keep time out for yourself. Cut back on your activities and reflect, yet get involved with charity and service and give something back. Carlson will often repeat topics as well, mentioning the same Mother Teresa quote twice. One of his strategies calls on the reader to write heartfelt letters telling others how much you love them. If I received a letter like this from someone I have not had much contact with lately, I would be more worried about whether that person was saying goodbye to this cruel world than anything else. I had seen Carlson on TV talk shows (he died far too young in 2006), and he came off as very knowledgeable and sincere, but after many dozen one and two page strategies, your eyes will finally glaze over as the helpful sap gets a little deep.
Don't sweat the small stuff, and this book is just that. I cannot recommend it.
There are 100 little one-and-two page strategies to improve your life. The title comes from some advice Carlson was once given, that many little things in our lives are blown up into huge things. However, Carlson gives the exact same length to topics like being nice to others as he does to the joys of taking care of a house plant. It often is not enough. In one strategy, he will suggest listening to another's problems and letting them vent, and then later suggest not trying to solve everyone's problems. We should spend all of our free time with those we love, but keep time out for yourself. Cut back on your activities and reflect, yet get involved with charity and service and give something back. Carlson will often repeat topics as well, mentioning the same Mother Teresa quote twice. One of his strategies calls on the reader to write heartfelt letters telling others how much you love them. If I received a letter like this from someone I have not had much contact with lately, I would be more worried about whether that person was saying goodbye to this cruel world than anything else. I had seen Carlson on TV talk shows (he died far too young in 2006), and he came off as very knowledgeable and sincere, but after many dozen one and two page strategies, your eyes will finally glaze over as the helpful sap gets a little deep.
Don't sweat the small stuff, and this book is just that. I cannot recommend it.
Book Review: "Tijuana Bibles: Art and Wit in America's Forbidden Funnies, 1930s-1950s" by Bob Adelman
From the 1930's through the 1950's, small eight page underground comics were distributed all over the United States. They were crudely drawn, even more crudely written, and usually involved popular icons of the day engaged in sexual acts, accompanied with some very blue humor in the form of dirty jokes and puns. These were called Tijuana Bibles, and also known as Eight-Pagers, Two-by-Fours, Gray-Backs, Bluesies, Jo-Jo Books, Tillie-and-Mac Books, Jiggs-and-Maggie Books, and F**k Books, this according to introduction writer Art Spiegelman. Author Bob Adelman has collected dozens of these rare bits of cartoon history and republished them here, adding a commentary by Richard Merkin, and putting these into a quasi-historical and sociological context.
Ever wonder what Popeye looked like while having sex? What about Donald Duck and Minnie Mouse talking dirty? What did Cary Grant and Alger Hiss look like during lovemaking? All of this and more are here. This book does a better job of reprinting the Tijuana Bibles than anything, but reading a bunch of them in a row gets very tedious. The introduction warns against this, as well. The drawings are often very crude, and the humor is very old, since their prime era was in the 1930's. Also, all but a few of the artists were anonymous, and the printings were not done in the exotic locales of Havana, Tijuana, or London as the little booklets claimed, but probably in some basement with a mob type watching over the production.
This is not just a book of dirty pictures, but a very interesting look at what the author calls early sex education. While body parts are rather exaggerated, young men could look at these in the days before government and school sponsored sex-ed, transitioning, and indoctrination and have a vague idea of what to do. If you have any of these dirty little books around, then hold on to them, they are rare. If you have this overview of the history of Tijuana Bibles around, keep it away from the kids, unless they are curious about the sex lives of Dick Tracy or Dagwood Bumstead. I recommend this thin book to anyone who claims to be a fan of underground comics, or erotic art and cartoons.
Ever wonder what Popeye looked like while having sex? What about Donald Duck and Minnie Mouse talking dirty? What did Cary Grant and Alger Hiss look like during lovemaking? All of this and more are here. This book does a better job of reprinting the Tijuana Bibles than anything, but reading a bunch of them in a row gets very tedious. The introduction warns against this, as well. The drawings are often very crude, and the humor is very old, since their prime era was in the 1930's. Also, all but a few of the artists were anonymous, and the printings were not done in the exotic locales of Havana, Tijuana, or London as the little booklets claimed, but probably in some basement with a mob type watching over the production.
This is not just a book of dirty pictures, but a very interesting look at what the author calls early sex education. While body parts are rather exaggerated, young men could look at these in the days before government and school sponsored sex-ed, transitioning, and indoctrination and have a vague idea of what to do. If you have any of these dirty little books around, then hold on to them, they are rare. If you have this overview of the history of Tijuana Bibles around, keep it away from the kids, unless they are curious about the sex lives of Dick Tracy or Dagwood Bumstead. I recommend this thin book to anyone who claims to be a fan of underground comics, or erotic art and cartoons.
Book Review: "Come Swiftly to Your Love: Love Poems of Ancient Egypt", translated by Ezra Pound and Noel Stock
This very thin book of poetry shows us that even 3,000 years ago, men and women were going through the exact same issues we go through today when it comes to love.
Ezra Pound gets the opening verses, a piece called "Conversations in Courtship." I don't know how much liberty was taken with the placement of this conversation, but it is comical that after a few obsessive statements about a man's love for a woman, the woman barely gets to respond before we have to hear from her disapproving mother- "the mere thought of him is revolting". The couple watch each other from afar, afraid to expose their infatuation to the public. This is a nice set of lyrics that captures perfectly the internal turmoil love can bring. Some of the situations are odd- the girl being possibly passed around by the boy's friends, and the praying to multiple gods and goddesses, but Pound's voice comes through. "Love Lyrics" opens with a little more sensuality, also showing the extremes a man and a woman would go through to be with their soulmate. "More Love Lyrics" is more of the same, comparing being in love to being drunk without wine. "Pleasant Songs of the Sweetheart Who Meets You in the Fields" is a sad story of a young woman so in love, her field work suffers. She finally becomes the mistress of her man's house, first among his women, before he meets someone else. "Pleasant Songs" offers some nice fragments, while "Garden Songs" follows the courtship from the point of view of an actual garden, it seems. The problem is in the conjugation of some of the verbs, common with most of these poems. The ironically titled "Sweet Phrases" shows the downside of love. Drunkenness, infidelity, and seduction are touched upon in this angry set. "Haste" is simply two lovers trying to meet as soon as possible.
Only the opening conversation is credited to Pound, so I must assume the other verses were done by Stock. The accompanying artwork, by Tom di Grazia, is very good, and the introduction explains that while many of the poems are only found in fragments, they are presented here as complete. "Come Swiftly to Your Love: Love Poems of Ancient Egypt" is a nice, short set that can easily be read in a few minutes. It shows the reader that anything they may be going through with their respective partner are issues that have been around for millennia. Ezra Pound and Noel Stock capture that very nicely. Recommended to poetry lovers, and lovers in general.
Ezra Pound gets the opening verses, a piece called "Conversations in Courtship." I don't know how much liberty was taken with the placement of this conversation, but it is comical that after a few obsessive statements about a man's love for a woman, the woman barely gets to respond before we have to hear from her disapproving mother- "the mere thought of him is revolting". The couple watch each other from afar, afraid to expose their infatuation to the public. This is a nice set of lyrics that captures perfectly the internal turmoil love can bring. Some of the situations are odd- the girl being possibly passed around by the boy's friends, and the praying to multiple gods and goddesses, but Pound's voice comes through. "Love Lyrics" opens with a little more sensuality, also showing the extremes a man and a woman would go through to be with their soulmate. "More Love Lyrics" is more of the same, comparing being in love to being drunk without wine. "Pleasant Songs of the Sweetheart Who Meets You in the Fields" is a sad story of a young woman so in love, her field work suffers. She finally becomes the mistress of her man's house, first among his women, before he meets someone else. "Pleasant Songs" offers some nice fragments, while "Garden Songs" follows the courtship from the point of view of an actual garden, it seems. The problem is in the conjugation of some of the verbs, common with most of these poems. The ironically titled "Sweet Phrases" shows the downside of love. Drunkenness, infidelity, and seduction are touched upon in this angry set. "Haste" is simply two lovers trying to meet as soon as possible.
Only the opening conversation is credited to Pound, so I must assume the other verses were done by Stock. The accompanying artwork, by Tom di Grazia, is very good, and the introduction explains that while many of the poems are only found in fragments, they are presented here as complete. "Come Swiftly to Your Love: Love Poems of Ancient Egypt" is a nice, short set that can easily be read in a few minutes. It shows the reader that anything they may be going through with their respective partner are issues that have been around for millennia. Ezra Pound and Noel Stock capture that very nicely. Recommended to poetry lovers, and lovers in general.
Book Review: "Movie Monsters in Scale: A Modeler's Gallery of Science Fiction and Horror Figures and Dioramas" by Mark C. Glassy
Mark C. Glassy is a scientist who considers himself cancer's enemy, admirably fighting the disease through research and development of scalpel-free treatments. But on the weekends, during the early morning hours, Glassy creates monsters and aliens with his own two hands- and then displays them depending on how much shelf space he has available.
Glassy is a rabid science fiction film fan, and his love of the genre has transformed itself into model building. He started as a youngster, gave it up for a few years while in school and having a family, but took it up again with such earnestness that he now has a website and this book. He was not formally trained in art, and this interesting book is not a how-to for modelers. Glassy shows off some figures of his collection, showing his appreciation of the cinematic arts through modeling arts.
The author does cover technique, telling the reader what has worked for him over the years. While my interest wandered, waiting for the good stuff, I kept noting how much Glassy loves this hobby of his. The pictures of his models begin, and he goes in chronological order, based on a film's release. The black and white photos of silent-era monsters like 1910's Frankenstein, Nosferatu, and Lon Chaney, Sr.'s Phantom and Quasimodo, are simply stunning. Glassy gives a synopsis of the film, credits the model's sculptor when he is able to, and talks briefly about the problems and solutions involved in constructing a specific model.
Glassy spends more time on the better known films of the talkie era, like "Bride of Frankenstein" and "The Wolf Man," and even somehow has kits from the 1950's nuclear fright films consisting of giant insects, and aliens landing in Washington, DC. There are two color sections in the middle of the book, and I quickly wished the entire book was in color, since the models are so impressive.
The models begin to thin out toward the end, after covering the 1960's (the 1970's are represented by just two films), I think because from the 1970's on, there hasn't been enough interest in models of the harder science fiction and fantasy films. Hammer Studios is covered nicely, and I was most impressed with skeletal work from both "Jason and the Argonauts" and "Godzilla." Glassy mentions he is done with bones and skeletons, considering the amount of time and intensity involved.
The main drawback to the book is a functional one. Often, Glassy would be going into detailed explanations of how a model came together, and the reader must flip back or forth in the book to see the item in question. Also, aside from the two sections of color photographs, the majority of the pictures are black and white, negating Glassy's descriptions of getting a subject's coloring just right.
I built many plastic models back in elementary school, mostly vehicles and aircraft from World War II, before finding other interests. I confess that I do not have the patience to build one of those simple kits today, much less go into the kind of detail Glassy must use to bring his kits to life. His collection is a sight to behold, and his enthusiasm is infectious. You may not ever build one of these figures, but "Movie Monsters in Scale: A Modeler's Gallery of Science Fiction and Horror Figures and Dioramas" left me yearning to watch some old horror and sci-fi flicks.
Glassy is a rabid science fiction film fan, and his love of the genre has transformed itself into model building. He started as a youngster, gave it up for a few years while in school and having a family, but took it up again with such earnestness that he now has a website and this book. He was not formally trained in art, and this interesting book is not a how-to for modelers. Glassy shows off some figures of his collection, showing his appreciation of the cinematic arts through modeling arts.
The author does cover technique, telling the reader what has worked for him over the years. While my interest wandered, waiting for the good stuff, I kept noting how much Glassy loves this hobby of his. The pictures of his models begin, and he goes in chronological order, based on a film's release. The black and white photos of silent-era monsters like 1910's Frankenstein, Nosferatu, and Lon Chaney, Sr.'s Phantom and Quasimodo, are simply stunning. Glassy gives a synopsis of the film, credits the model's sculptor when he is able to, and talks briefly about the problems and solutions involved in constructing a specific model.
Glassy spends more time on the better known films of the talkie era, like "Bride of Frankenstein" and "The Wolf Man," and even somehow has kits from the 1950's nuclear fright films consisting of giant insects, and aliens landing in Washington, DC. There are two color sections in the middle of the book, and I quickly wished the entire book was in color, since the models are so impressive.
The models begin to thin out toward the end, after covering the 1960's (the 1970's are represented by just two films), I think because from the 1970's on, there hasn't been enough interest in models of the harder science fiction and fantasy films. Hammer Studios is covered nicely, and I was most impressed with skeletal work from both "Jason and the Argonauts" and "Godzilla." Glassy mentions he is done with bones and skeletons, considering the amount of time and intensity involved.
The main drawback to the book is a functional one. Often, Glassy would be going into detailed explanations of how a model came together, and the reader must flip back or forth in the book to see the item in question. Also, aside from the two sections of color photographs, the majority of the pictures are black and white, negating Glassy's descriptions of getting a subject's coloring just right.
I built many plastic models back in elementary school, mostly vehicles and aircraft from World War II, before finding other interests. I confess that I do not have the patience to build one of those simple kits today, much less go into the kind of detail Glassy must use to bring his kits to life. His collection is a sight to behold, and his enthusiasm is infectious. You may not ever build one of these figures, but "Movie Monsters in Scale: A Modeler's Gallery of Science Fiction and Horror Figures and Dioramas" left me yearning to watch some old horror and sci-fi flicks.
Book Review: "The Call of the Wild" by Jack London
This short novel was another book I managed to avoid throughout junior high and high school, and now that I'm firmly ensconced in middle age, I decided to give it a go- I'm so glad I did.
Buck is a half-St. Bernard, half-shepherd dog living the lazy life with a judge and his extended family. He is kidnapped and sold by one of the judge's employees, and is shipped off to the Klondike Gold Rush, where he is mercilessly beaten and broken, and turned into a work dog. London tells Buck's story from Buck's point of view, as different owners come and go, until he finds his ideal master in John Thornton. Buck learns to survive, then thrive, but he is often drawn by an (un?)imagined call to the wild, to be as free as his wolf ancestors.
All my reading life, I was led to believe this was a mild story about a man and his dog (*yawn*), and their adventures. Instead, "The Call of the Wild" is a harsh, often violent and gory, tale of Buck's survival. This might explain the failure of some recent film adaptations, which seem to be stuck in the "family-friendly" reputation of the book. I was captivated by Buck's situations, and repulsed by the harsh realities. Reading as Buck "turns wild" is both exhilarating and melancholy. London's reputation has suffered over the past few years. He was an alcoholic, free-love-practicing Socialist who was terrible with money; and has now been charged with the ultimate cancel culture crime- racism. I'm usually able to separate the author's personal life from the written work, better than I can do the same between film makers and films, and London's words quickly made me forget any Wikipedia entries and self-righteous social media protests against a man who's been dead for over a century.
I happened upon this copy in a book lot I received a long time ago, and this edition was complete and unabridged. The foreword and afterword were written by Dwight Shain, but the afterword gets John Thornton's name wrong THREE different times on one page, which is very sloppy publishing. I don't know if I'll happen on another London story, but color me pleasantly surprised at this.
Buck is a half-St. Bernard, half-shepherd dog living the lazy life with a judge and his extended family. He is kidnapped and sold by one of the judge's employees, and is shipped off to the Klondike Gold Rush, where he is mercilessly beaten and broken, and turned into a work dog. London tells Buck's story from Buck's point of view, as different owners come and go, until he finds his ideal master in John Thornton. Buck learns to survive, then thrive, but he is often drawn by an (un?)imagined call to the wild, to be as free as his wolf ancestors.
All my reading life, I was led to believe this was a mild story about a man and his dog (*yawn*), and their adventures. Instead, "The Call of the Wild" is a harsh, often violent and gory, tale of Buck's survival. This might explain the failure of some recent film adaptations, which seem to be stuck in the "family-friendly" reputation of the book. I was captivated by Buck's situations, and repulsed by the harsh realities. Reading as Buck "turns wild" is both exhilarating and melancholy. London's reputation has suffered over the past few years. He was an alcoholic, free-love-practicing Socialist who was terrible with money; and has now been charged with the ultimate cancel culture crime- racism. I'm usually able to separate the author's personal life from the written work, better than I can do the same between film makers and films, and London's words quickly made me forget any Wikipedia entries and self-righteous social media protests against a man who's been dead for over a century.
I happened upon this copy in a book lot I received a long time ago, and this edition was complete and unabridged. The foreword and afterword were written by Dwight Shain, but the afterword gets John Thornton's name wrong THREE different times on one page, which is very sloppy publishing. I don't know if I'll happen on another London story, but color me pleasantly surprised at this.
Book Review: "H.N.I.C." by Albert 'Prodigy' Johnson with Steven Savile
Albert 'Prodigy' Johnson of the rap duo Mobb Deep creates, with Steven Savile, a short and readable piece of crime fiction.
The novella is brisk, and introduces the reader to Pappy, a computer whiz looking to get out of his bleak inner-city existence for a better life in...Detroit? He is friends with the seemingly unbalanced Black, and they commit petty crimes trying to fund their drugs-and-women lifestyles. A bank job goes wrong, and Black kills a man, forcing Pappy to hang around longer to make some money to start a new life. Pappy is also concerned for Tonya, the beaten addict Black claims as his own. Following the tried-and-true formula, Black talks Pappy into committing "one last job," which is rife with double-crosses and senseless murder.
What Johnson has written here certainly felt contemporary, but the plot has been around since the days of the Old West. I don't think you are supposed to root for the criminals, but I did sympathize with Pappy's plight. The writing style spends no time on physical appearances or setting, and instead quickly throws the reader into the action. There is no "Ocean's Eleven"-type minutiae about the two robberies in the novella because the planning that goes into them are haphazard.
Full of profanity and bloody violence, Johnson tells his story efficiently. Like I said, the plot has been done before, and that is the book's main drawback. I wanted something unexpected to happen, but this familiarity was outweighed by the suspense of what would happen to Pappy. Maybe because of who Johnson is, the story felt very realistic, and you know this has happened before in real life. I don't know the musical genre rap from plastic wrap, every time I try to type "Mobb Deep," my fingers want to spell out "Mos Def," but Johnson's story is a brutal and quick read. "H.N.I.C." is also a cautionary tale, custom-made for a big screen adaptation.
The novella is brisk, and introduces the reader to Pappy, a computer whiz looking to get out of his bleak inner-city existence for a better life in...Detroit? He is friends with the seemingly unbalanced Black, and they commit petty crimes trying to fund their drugs-and-women lifestyles. A bank job goes wrong, and Black kills a man, forcing Pappy to hang around longer to make some money to start a new life. Pappy is also concerned for Tonya, the beaten addict Black claims as his own. Following the tried-and-true formula, Black talks Pappy into committing "one last job," which is rife with double-crosses and senseless murder.
What Johnson has written here certainly felt contemporary, but the plot has been around since the days of the Old West. I don't think you are supposed to root for the criminals, but I did sympathize with Pappy's plight. The writing style spends no time on physical appearances or setting, and instead quickly throws the reader into the action. There is no "Ocean's Eleven"-type minutiae about the two robberies in the novella because the planning that goes into them are haphazard.
Full of profanity and bloody violence, Johnson tells his story efficiently. Like I said, the plot has been done before, and that is the book's main drawback. I wanted something unexpected to happen, but this familiarity was outweighed by the suspense of what would happen to Pappy. Maybe because of who Johnson is, the story felt very realistic, and you know this has happened before in real life. I don't know the musical genre rap from plastic wrap, every time I try to type "Mobb Deep," my fingers want to spell out "Mos Def," but Johnson's story is a brutal and quick read. "H.N.I.C." is also a cautionary tale, custom-made for a big screen adaptation.
Book Review: "Star Wars: R2-D2's Mission: A Little Hero's Journey" by Jane Paley
While I usually did not review my sons' books when they were growing up, this one deserved a mention, especially at the price on the back cover of the copy we had. This is a board book, with thick cardboard pages. The difference is there is a plastic R2-D2 suspended in the spine of the book by a piece of nylon string. When you open the book, there he is, as if in the action being illustrated on the pages. Cute, huh? The very, very basic story is the first "Star Wars" film, or should I write the first half of the first "Star Wars" film retold from R2-D2's point of view. We see Princess Leia put in the data, he is bought by Luke Skywalker, they are saved by Obi-Wan Kenobi, who dutifully retrieves the data. The End. The book is pretty harmless for kids, not dragging in any violence, battles, or even Darth Vader. Actually, younger kids might get a shock if they think "Star Wars" is about a cute robot and nothing more.
The plastic figure suspended on the string makes it difficult to shelve this little book. I was counting the days when the string would snap, and the story will be read with a gaping hole in the pages. The toy itself is nothing to look at, soft plastic and an assembly line paint job. The illustrations border on the "Saturday Night Live" adventures of the Ambiguously Gay Duo, not meant to do anymore than basically draw the characters to be vaguely identifiable. Obi-Wan looked like Santa Claus, and Luke Skywalker looked like Princess Diana. This book is just sixteen pages and back then cost a small fortune. Thank goodness we received this in a box of discarded toys from a cousin who had grown out of it. Any "Star Wars" fan might like this, others beware.
The plastic figure suspended on the string makes it difficult to shelve this little book. I was counting the days when the string would snap, and the story will be read with a gaping hole in the pages. The toy itself is nothing to look at, soft plastic and an assembly line paint job. The illustrations border on the "Saturday Night Live" adventures of the Ambiguously Gay Duo, not meant to do anymore than basically draw the characters to be vaguely identifiable. Obi-Wan looked like Santa Claus, and Luke Skywalker looked like Princess Diana. This book is just sixteen pages and back then cost a small fortune. Thank goodness we received this in a box of discarded toys from a cousin who had grown out of it. Any "Star Wars" fan might like this, others beware.
Book Review: "The Big Wave" by Pearl S. Buck
The Big Wave is another story meant for children that I felt was my duty to grab. It concerns two Japanese boys but was written by Pearl S. Buck, an American-born white woman.
Kino lives with his parents and sister on a farm close to the sea shore in Japan. His best friend Jiya lives on the beach with his fishing family in a house that does not have a window looking out onto the cantankerous ocean. After a catastrophic tsunami, Kino's family takes in Jiya and teach him about farming inland, but Jiya's heart still belongs to the sometimes angry ocean.
This was the first piece I ever read written by Buck, although I loved the 1930's film "The Good Earth," which was based on her novel. This story comes in at just under sixty pages, and could have probably been expanded to a full-length novel. The writing is simple and fable-like but not simplistic, accentuating its "life is stronger than death" morale without belaboring the point. Although it could have been expanded, it works very well in its present form.
I have not read of Buck's work being changed to appease woke readers, but it could be a real possibility. Despite Buck's residence in Japan and China, "modern audiences" are on the look out for this type of work, ready to save the world from such a savage inequity. This is a strong story with universal themes, published in 1947, and should be read for its message and entertainment value. It's unfortunate that I picked it up as a defense against the thought police, but I did discover an author I could continue reading if the situation arises.
Kino lives with his parents and sister on a farm close to the sea shore in Japan. His best friend Jiya lives on the beach with his fishing family in a house that does not have a window looking out onto the cantankerous ocean. After a catastrophic tsunami, Kino's family takes in Jiya and teach him about farming inland, but Jiya's heart still belongs to the sometimes angry ocean.
This was the first piece I ever read written by Buck, although I loved the 1930's film "The Good Earth," which was based on her novel. This story comes in at just under sixty pages, and could have probably been expanded to a full-length novel. The writing is simple and fable-like but not simplistic, accentuating its "life is stronger than death" morale without belaboring the point. Although it could have been expanded, it works very well in its present form.
I have not read of Buck's work being changed to appease woke readers, but it could be a real possibility. Despite Buck's residence in Japan and China, "modern audiences" are on the look out for this type of work, ready to save the world from such a savage inequity. This is a strong story with universal themes, published in 1947, and should be read for its message and entertainment value. It's unfortunate that I picked it up as a defense against the thought police, but I did discover an author I could continue reading if the situation arises.
Book Review: "I Hate You--Don't Leave Me: Understanding the Borderline Personality" by Jerold J. Kreisman, MD & Hal Straus
Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD from here on out, has quite a few symptoms that some of us might experience today: a shaky sense of identity, sudden violent outbursts, over-sensitivity to real or imagined rejection, brief and turbulent love affairs, frequent periods of intense depression, eating disorders, drug abuse, or other self-destructive tendencies, an irrational fear of abandonment, and an inability to be alone (taken from the book). I am not familiar with this particular disorder, especially in this day and age when so many different psychological disorders exist and are talked about in the mass media almost constantly. The authors lay a groundwork through examples and the above listed behaviors to introduce a disorder that is not easily solved by a magic pill or a little therapy.
However, and this is a big However, the book is marketed as a self-help book, but reads like a very difficult and very dull academic paper that was presented at a conference somewhere. The authors cover all of this material, and yet can only suggest therapy and medicinal help to solve the problem. The authors also suggest to therapists how to work with BPD patients, family and friends get advice on how to deal with BPD sufferers, but virtually ignore anyone reading this who might think they are experiencing BPD, except to talk about long therapy sessions, and how BPD sufferers may not react well to that therapy.
The book has a copyright date of 1989, and has been reprinted dozens of times, but the book's publishers never felt a need to update the text when I read it in the early 2000's, making awkward references to the Soviet Union and the Challenger explosion. Advances in anti-depressants are also ignored. With the modern cover, and reader friendly back cover notes, you might pick this up thinking "I have those symptoms, this will help." If anything this tome will lull you into complacent and calm boredom. I do not recommend I Hate You, Don't Leave Me. If you believe you are suffering from the above symptoms, you are better off seeking professional help instead of this.
However, and this is a big However, the book is marketed as a self-help book, but reads like a very difficult and very dull academic paper that was presented at a conference somewhere. The authors cover all of this material, and yet can only suggest therapy and medicinal help to solve the problem. The authors also suggest to therapists how to work with BPD patients, family and friends get advice on how to deal with BPD sufferers, but virtually ignore anyone reading this who might think they are experiencing BPD, except to talk about long therapy sessions, and how BPD sufferers may not react well to that therapy.
The book has a copyright date of 1989, and has been reprinted dozens of times, but the book's publishers never felt a need to update the text when I read it in the early 2000's, making awkward references to the Soviet Union and the Challenger explosion. Advances in anti-depressants are also ignored. With the modern cover, and reader friendly back cover notes, you might pick this up thinking "I have those symptoms, this will help." If anything this tome will lull you into complacent and calm boredom. I do not recommend I Hate You, Don't Leave Me. If you believe you are suffering from the above symptoms, you are better off seeking professional help instead of this.
Book Review: "How to Write Horror Fiction" by William F. Nolan
Who better to teach the uninitiated how to write genre fiction than the man who wrote the novel "Logan's Run"?
This book is a few decades old, and a little dated here and there. Nolan covers basic mistakes made by horror writers- from indestructible villains to too many monsters to finding a happy medium between splatterpunk and mystery. Nolan takes the reader by the hand and guides them through a breakdown of his own short story, "The Pool." He provides small biographies of Stephen King, Anne Rice, and other successful horror writers, proving the point that these icons also had to get their starts somewhere. Nolan's best advice to the aspiring horror writer? READ, and read often. Do not read just horror, broaden your horizons to other genres and poetry, so all of your output does not end up sounding like the Dean R. Koontz novel you just finished. Nolan also puts incredible appendices in here, listing suggested anthologies to seek out, and perhaps he should add his own book to the list.
This is very inspiring, without treating the reader like a five year old who must be led from idea to manuscript layout. Nolan stresses individuality, and the reader will appreciate that. I highly recommend this guide, which is short and can be finished in one sitting.
This book is a few decades old, and a little dated here and there. Nolan covers basic mistakes made by horror writers- from indestructible villains to too many monsters to finding a happy medium between splatterpunk and mystery. Nolan takes the reader by the hand and guides them through a breakdown of his own short story, "The Pool." He provides small biographies of Stephen King, Anne Rice, and other successful horror writers, proving the point that these icons also had to get their starts somewhere. Nolan's best advice to the aspiring horror writer? READ, and read often. Do not read just horror, broaden your horizons to other genres and poetry, so all of your output does not end up sounding like the Dean R. Koontz novel you just finished. Nolan also puts incredible appendices in here, listing suggested anthologies to seek out, and perhaps he should add his own book to the list.
This is very inspiring, without treating the reader like a five year old who must be led from idea to manuscript layout. Nolan stresses individuality, and the reader will appreciate that. I highly recommend this guide, which is short and can be finished in one sitting.
Book Review: "Love and Desire: Photoworks" by William A. Ewing
This four hundred page volume is a follow-up to the photography book entitled "The Body," which had pictures of just that.
Here, Ewing collects mostly black and white photography from the last one hundred and fifty years into the volume. He separates them according to different "genres": Bonds, Icons, Observations, Propositions, Tokens, Libidos, Reveries, and Obsession. With these genres, all collected under the broad "Love and Desire," a case could be made as to why the editor put some pictures in "Tokens," but not "Libidos." The book tries to be an overview of love in photography, but barely scratches the surface. The good news is the collection he does have is marvelous. I read the book in one sitting, the genre intros are short, but the photos here are wonderful. Ewing provides excellent credits, letting the reader try to find more work by photographers they have never heard of.
The opening introduction essay, capsulizing the history of photography is both too long and dismissive. Ewing laments the use of the camera by the common person to take family photos, not realizing that every snapshot cannot, and isn't trying to, be art. With all the photography here, the volume is one that can be picked up and perused again and again. Despite some spotty editorial choices, I highly recommend it.
Here, Ewing collects mostly black and white photography from the last one hundred and fifty years into the volume. He separates them according to different "genres": Bonds, Icons, Observations, Propositions, Tokens, Libidos, Reveries, and Obsession. With these genres, all collected under the broad "Love and Desire," a case could be made as to why the editor put some pictures in "Tokens," but not "Libidos." The book tries to be an overview of love in photography, but barely scratches the surface. The good news is the collection he does have is marvelous. I read the book in one sitting, the genre intros are short, but the photos here are wonderful. Ewing provides excellent credits, letting the reader try to find more work by photographers they have never heard of.
The opening introduction essay, capsulizing the history of photography is both too long and dismissive. Ewing laments the use of the camera by the common person to take family photos, not realizing that every snapshot cannot, and isn't trying to, be art. With all the photography here, the volume is one that can be picked up and perused again and again. Despite some spotty editorial choices, I highly recommend it.
Book Review: "The Enormous Crocodile" by Roald Dahl, pictures by Quentin Blake
I've been more familiar with film and television adaptations of Roald Dahl's books than the actual books themselves. I never read them, especially after seeing the films "James and the Giant Peach," "Matilda" (1996), and "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory;" heck, he even wrote the screenplay to "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang"- all of which I didn't like. I picked up The Enormous Crocodile out of a pile of free books on a whim. I had heard Dahl's publisher was going to start changing some of his works, and I figured I'd grab this thin Scholastic edition in case it was one of the stories in the woke's sights. It was. There are spoilers throughout the rest of the review.
Highlighted by Quentin Blake's wonderful illustrations, Dahl tells the story of an enormous crocodile who decides he's hungry for children on one fine day. He gloats to other animals in the jungle, telling them all he has "secret plans and clever tricks" to attain his meal. He finally lumbers into a town to put these plans and tricks in motion, not expecting the reactions from the animals he has gloated to.
The story is cute, probably more appropriate for grade school children than toddlers. The Enormous Crocodile doesn't learn any sort of lesson, and the ending is not one of hope and rainbows. Parallels can be drawn between the story and today's online narcissism even though this was published in 1978. A little online reading shows that the original publishers were removing the description of the children as "ugly" and "fat" and identifying them as "children," not "boys and girls." Of course, none of these changes make much sense. While new readers may not notice or care, changing Dahl's original language softens the Crocodile as the villain in the story. His dialogue already sounds more like letters written by serial killer Albert Fish than an imaginary hungry crocodile, but these few words might make a fat kid feel bad about themselves? I'm literally morbidly obese and well aware of my physical appearance, but I am doing something about it and not hoping someone will change the world around me to fit my feelings. I might pick up more Dahl as time goes on, avoiding any new woke editions. This was a nice introduction to the author, and goes into my collection of physical media untouched by the thought police.
Highlighted by Quentin Blake's wonderful illustrations, Dahl tells the story of an enormous crocodile who decides he's hungry for children on one fine day. He gloats to other animals in the jungle, telling them all he has "secret plans and clever tricks" to attain his meal. He finally lumbers into a town to put these plans and tricks in motion, not expecting the reactions from the animals he has gloated to.
The story is cute, probably more appropriate for grade school children than toddlers. The Enormous Crocodile doesn't learn any sort of lesson, and the ending is not one of hope and rainbows. Parallels can be drawn between the story and today's online narcissism even though this was published in 1978. A little online reading shows that the original publishers were removing the description of the children as "ugly" and "fat" and identifying them as "children," not "boys and girls." Of course, none of these changes make much sense. While new readers may not notice or care, changing Dahl's original language softens the Crocodile as the villain in the story. His dialogue already sounds more like letters written by serial killer Albert Fish than an imaginary hungry crocodile, but these few words might make a fat kid feel bad about themselves? I'm literally morbidly obese and well aware of my physical appearance, but I am doing something about it and not hoping someone will change the world around me to fit my feelings. I might pick up more Dahl as time goes on, avoiding any new woke editions. This was a nice introduction to the author, and goes into my collection of physical media untouched by the thought police.
Book Review: "An Underground Education: The Unauthorized and Outrageous Supplement to Everything You Thought You Knew About Art, Sex, Business, Crime, Science, Medicine, and Other Fields" by Richard Zacks
You must think you are the cat's patoot, so sure you know everything. You paid attention in class, got good grades, and everything Mr. or Mrs. Insert-Teacher's-Name-Here said was true because they had a college degree and the bravery to stand in front of a bunch of slack-jawed kids and try to teach them something. Well, have I got the book for you. Richard Zacks explodes our often mythic look at the world. This is not just another "your teacher lied to you in school" book. Zacks backs up his own history with actual primary source documentation. As he writes, "I started muttering, 'You can't make this stuff up!'."
Zacks has divided the book into ten different sections: Arts & Literature, Business, Crime & Punishment, Everyday Life, Medicine, Religion, Science, Sex, World History, and American History. While each section can be read separately, it may be hard to put down the book after just one helping. Zacks covers a wide range of topics, but always keeps his writing simple but un-pedestrian. You quickly realize that all of these icons in history were actually people just like us. Mata Hari was no genius spy, her mug shot taken before her execution shows a plain woman in her early forties. William Shakespeare used to write down to his common audiences, letting loose with filthy puns lost on today's students. Mark Twain and Benjamin Franklin, two of America's greatest humorists, both worked blue, writing saucy material that you will not see in copies of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer or "Poor Richard's Almanack." You think today's war profiteering is something new? Pity the poor soldiers of the Civil War, eating rancid meat and trying to fight with ancient weaponry all sold to the United States government by greedy business tycoons. Speaking of the Civil War, did you know that almost a million slaves held in the Union states of Delaware, Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri were not freed until after their enslaved brethren to the south? Thank the Thirteenth Amendment, since the Emancipation Proclamation only dealt with slaves in the Confederacy.
The material covered is immense- from the race to build the first electric chair to the world's first indoor toilet. Hermaphrodites, bestiality, and a pope pushing cocaine laced wine- oh my! Zacks litters his text with photos that add to the prose. He lets his opinions be known often, from his outrage over the lynchings in the early twentieth century to defending Amerigo Vespucci in light of criticism by others- Christopher Columbus does not get off as easily. He highlights the common as well as royal historical figures.
An Underground Education is a very good read. Once in a while, Zacks makes his point early, and a couple of vignettes run a little long, especially privateers in the Revolutionary War and some of the business anecdotes, but the things you discover will outweigh any boredom you feel. If education is the key to success, then Zacks takes that key and breaks it off in the lock.
Zacks has divided the book into ten different sections: Arts & Literature, Business, Crime & Punishment, Everyday Life, Medicine, Religion, Science, Sex, World History, and American History. While each section can be read separately, it may be hard to put down the book after just one helping. Zacks covers a wide range of topics, but always keeps his writing simple but un-pedestrian. You quickly realize that all of these icons in history were actually people just like us. Mata Hari was no genius spy, her mug shot taken before her execution shows a plain woman in her early forties. William Shakespeare used to write down to his common audiences, letting loose with filthy puns lost on today's students. Mark Twain and Benjamin Franklin, two of America's greatest humorists, both worked blue, writing saucy material that you will not see in copies of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer or "Poor Richard's Almanack." You think today's war profiteering is something new? Pity the poor soldiers of the Civil War, eating rancid meat and trying to fight with ancient weaponry all sold to the United States government by greedy business tycoons. Speaking of the Civil War, did you know that almost a million slaves held in the Union states of Delaware, Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri were not freed until after their enslaved brethren to the south? Thank the Thirteenth Amendment, since the Emancipation Proclamation only dealt with slaves in the Confederacy.
The material covered is immense- from the race to build the first electric chair to the world's first indoor toilet. Hermaphrodites, bestiality, and a pope pushing cocaine laced wine- oh my! Zacks litters his text with photos that add to the prose. He lets his opinions be known often, from his outrage over the lynchings in the early twentieth century to defending Amerigo Vespucci in light of criticism by others- Christopher Columbus does not get off as easily. He highlights the common as well as royal historical figures.
An Underground Education is a very good read. Once in a while, Zacks makes his point early, and a couple of vignettes run a little long, especially privateers in the Revolutionary War and some of the business anecdotes, but the things you discover will outweigh any boredom you feel. If education is the key to success, then Zacks takes that key and breaks it off in the lock.
Book Review: "Clinton: Portrait of Victory" by Rebecca Buffum Taylor, photographs by P.F. Bentley
I used to be fascinated with the Clintons. From Bill and Hillary's criminal exploits and chronic victimhood, the former first family were like a grisly car accident that never ended, enjoying worship and idolatry from a fawning left-wing mainstream media. Clinton: Portrait of Victory is a breathless mash note to the then-new Chief Executive, chronicling Clinton's primary and general election wins. The entire book features black and white photography by P.F. Bentley, a photographer I am not familiar with, but who does a very good job.
Reading this book in one sitting, I was struck at the hopeful tone the pictures and essay author strike. Roger Rosenblatt's prologue does nothing more than beat the poor reader over the head about how important it is that the content is not ultramodern "color" photos, but black and white portraits. Rosenblatt equates Clinton to a god, and black and white photos to eternal soul-searching through the eyes of the photographer. The photographer had unlimited access to the Clintons and his bold staff, but the book does not provide any new insight to the family. Subjects wring hands, anonymous crowds surge to their media-made hero, and anyone who voted against him gets a little queasy. You could cut out the pictures of Clinton, insert any other uniparty politician, and you would have the same book. The essayist, Rebecca Buffum Taylor, breathlessly tells us how hard it is to campaign, how hard everyone worked, and how hard it is to win. Clinton is shown in candid moments with his family and staff, yet they still feel staged, as if the subjects knew this would make a really cool book if he won, and a tragic tome on honorable defeat if he lost.
Some of the captions are unintentionally funny. Printed below a picture of Clinton enjoying a big cigar, obviously not his last: "Clinton allows himself one small indulgence...". Ah, those small indulgences he would allow himself over the following two terms and beyond. This is a curio today, serving as an example that no matter what horrible things you and your family have done over the years, with the help of a complicit and credibility-absent "news media," simply lying about it and ignoring it really will make it go away. This really is a portrait of victory- Bill and Hillary Clinton pulled one over on every single one of us.
Reading this book in one sitting, I was struck at the hopeful tone the pictures and essay author strike. Roger Rosenblatt's prologue does nothing more than beat the poor reader over the head about how important it is that the content is not ultramodern "color" photos, but black and white portraits. Rosenblatt equates Clinton to a god, and black and white photos to eternal soul-searching through the eyes of the photographer. The photographer had unlimited access to the Clintons and his bold staff, but the book does not provide any new insight to the family. Subjects wring hands, anonymous crowds surge to their media-made hero, and anyone who voted against him gets a little queasy. You could cut out the pictures of Clinton, insert any other uniparty politician, and you would have the same book. The essayist, Rebecca Buffum Taylor, breathlessly tells us how hard it is to campaign, how hard everyone worked, and how hard it is to win. Clinton is shown in candid moments with his family and staff, yet they still feel staged, as if the subjects knew this would make a really cool book if he won, and a tragic tome on honorable defeat if he lost.
Some of the captions are unintentionally funny. Printed below a picture of Clinton enjoying a big cigar, obviously not his last: "Clinton allows himself one small indulgence...". Ah, those small indulgences he would allow himself over the following two terms and beyond. This is a curio today, serving as an example that no matter what horrible things you and your family have done over the years, with the help of a complicit and credibility-absent "news media," simply lying about it and ignoring it really will make it go away. This really is a portrait of victory- Bill and Hillary Clinton pulled one over on every single one of us.
Book Review: "Opportunities in Religious Service Careers" by John Oliver Nelson
John Oliver Nelson's small but informative book had just been updated when I read it in 2004. Nelson right away explains that a call to religious service is much different than picking a career in another field. Religious service can carry with it prejudice and stigma, as many in today's society grapple with spiritual issues involving the church in their lives.
The book is very small, just one hundred and twenty eight pages of text, but it is a good starting point to launch a more thorough search into the area. Nelson keeps his discussion centered on the three more popular belief systems in North America: Protestant, Catholic, and Judaism although other religions may find something helpful here. Nelson opens with a brief description of vocations in religion, and then discusses offshoots of religious careers that many may not think of. Not everyone is interested in becoming a member of the clergy or preaching in front of a congregation, as Nelson acknowledges. He also notices that some church leaders do not even have a high school diploma but do just as good a job as someone weighted with degrees. Nelson mentions other careers "behind the scenes," as it were. Chaplains for the military, prisons, or hospitals; religion teachers; missionaries; religious musical careers; church administration- all of these are briefly hit on in separate chapters, yet the main thrust of the book deals with worship leaders. An ordinary day in the clergy's life is described, and how much salary and benefits have changed over the years- pastors do not work just one hour a week, and preaching is not "its own reward". The appendices consist of religion yearbooks where more information can be gleaned, other sources of information, and most impressive- a list of addresses and websites for over two hundred accredited theological schools in the United States and Canada. Again, this is not an in-depth search into your soul to see if God is speaking to your heart. Nelson even advises keeping a calling secret, in case your mind is changed later. However, this book is a great place to begin. Nelson is a well known writer and former instructor at Yale's divinity school, so he knows what he is talking about. I recommend this book as a starting point.
The book is very small, just one hundred and twenty eight pages of text, but it is a good starting point to launch a more thorough search into the area. Nelson keeps his discussion centered on the three more popular belief systems in North America: Protestant, Catholic, and Judaism although other religions may find something helpful here. Nelson opens with a brief description of vocations in religion, and then discusses offshoots of religious careers that many may not think of. Not everyone is interested in becoming a member of the clergy or preaching in front of a congregation, as Nelson acknowledges. He also notices that some church leaders do not even have a high school diploma but do just as good a job as someone weighted with degrees. Nelson mentions other careers "behind the scenes," as it were. Chaplains for the military, prisons, or hospitals; religion teachers; missionaries; religious musical careers; church administration- all of these are briefly hit on in separate chapters, yet the main thrust of the book deals with worship leaders. An ordinary day in the clergy's life is described, and how much salary and benefits have changed over the years- pastors do not work just one hour a week, and preaching is not "its own reward". The appendices consist of religion yearbooks where more information can be gleaned, other sources of information, and most impressive- a list of addresses and websites for over two hundred accredited theological schools in the United States and Canada. Again, this is not an in-depth search into your soul to see if God is speaking to your heart. Nelson even advises keeping a calling secret, in case your mind is changed later. However, this book is a great place to begin. Nelson is a well known writer and former instructor at Yale's divinity school, so he knows what he is talking about. I recommend this book as a starting point.
Book Review: "Ghost Towns of the American West" by Raymond Bial
Raymond Bial attempts a monumental task- tracing the history of ghost towns, in a children's book. He does not succeed.
The book is populated with some lovely color photography of a couple of ghost towns in the American west. The text is easy to read, better for children eight and up. Quoting Mark Twain is always a surefire way to endear an author to this reader, and Bial does this on a couple of occasions. According to the book, Twain once wrote of Virginia City, Nevada: "If a man wanted a fight on his hands without any annoying delay, all he had to do was to appear in public in a white shirt or stove-pipe hat, and he would be accommodated."
The book fails in its one main objective- a history of ghost towns. Bial uses so many generalities, but few examples, that some kids might feel like they are being talked down to, especially considering the book's bold title. Bial also glosses over the violence of the west, sugarcoating Billy the Kid, and the gunfight at the OK Corral. Instead, Bial writes of phantoms roaming the abandoned sites, as if everyone should take the term "ghost town" literally, and murder and mayhem is swept under the rug. No, I do not think your kids need to see crime scene photos, but ignoring the violent past would give children a false sense of what many people went through back then. We do learn life was rough, and death comes quickly, but I found the book to be just as dry and empty as the towns Bial attempts to describe. The photographs are nice, until further reading in the credits indicate that only a couple of places were photographed- ghost towns that are now tourist destinations. The book is under fifty pages, maybe Bial should have concentrated his subject on in-depth profiles of a couple of ghost towns, instead of jumping from the Gold Rush of 1849 to George Custer to Wild Bill Hickok, without any chance to put these historical events and figures in context. Women and children are mentioned, but kids may have been able to associate more with the book if children's lives in these towns over one hundred years ago had been explored. Bial claims there are tens of thousands of ghost towns spread across all fifty states, yet he only mentions a few in passing.
"Ghost Towns of the American West" is a very average children's book. Kids interested in history or cowboys might be better off finding another source. Raymond Bial tries to put too much in, not realizing he never comes up with enough.
The book is populated with some lovely color photography of a couple of ghost towns in the American west. The text is easy to read, better for children eight and up. Quoting Mark Twain is always a surefire way to endear an author to this reader, and Bial does this on a couple of occasions. According to the book, Twain once wrote of Virginia City, Nevada: "If a man wanted a fight on his hands without any annoying delay, all he had to do was to appear in public in a white shirt or stove-pipe hat, and he would be accommodated."
The book fails in its one main objective- a history of ghost towns. Bial uses so many generalities, but few examples, that some kids might feel like they are being talked down to, especially considering the book's bold title. Bial also glosses over the violence of the west, sugarcoating Billy the Kid, and the gunfight at the OK Corral. Instead, Bial writes of phantoms roaming the abandoned sites, as if everyone should take the term "ghost town" literally, and murder and mayhem is swept under the rug. No, I do not think your kids need to see crime scene photos, but ignoring the violent past would give children a false sense of what many people went through back then. We do learn life was rough, and death comes quickly, but I found the book to be just as dry and empty as the towns Bial attempts to describe. The photographs are nice, until further reading in the credits indicate that only a couple of places were photographed- ghost towns that are now tourist destinations. The book is under fifty pages, maybe Bial should have concentrated his subject on in-depth profiles of a couple of ghost towns, instead of jumping from the Gold Rush of 1849 to George Custer to Wild Bill Hickok, without any chance to put these historical events and figures in context. Women and children are mentioned, but kids may have been able to associate more with the book if children's lives in these towns over one hundred years ago had been explored. Bial claims there are tens of thousands of ghost towns spread across all fifty states, yet he only mentions a few in passing.
"Ghost Towns of the American West" is a very average children's book. Kids interested in history or cowboys might be better off finding another source. Raymond Bial tries to put too much in, not realizing he never comes up with enough.
Book Review: "Drummer Boy: Marching to the Civil War" by Ann Turner, illustrated by Mark Hess
Author Ann Turner and illustrator Mark Hess team up to tell the story of a drummer boy who joins the Union army in the U.S. Civil War. It is a wonderful book that does not talk down to children.
The protagonist is an unnamed thirteen year old rural farm boy. His brother, Jed, has already gone ahead of him into battle, and the boy yearns to join. He makes his decision after seeing President Abraham Lincoln at a train station. The boy feels the sad president was looking right at him, needing him to serve his country. The boy's family seems rather indifferent to the slavery issue, feeling it is none of their business, but the boy does sympathize with the slaves. He writes a goodbye note, and leaves home. He enlists, lying and claiming to be fifteen years old, and is assigned to be a drummer boy. He becomes part of his company, and then goes into his first battle. The terror of the cannon noise and falling bodies around him freeze him in place. A soldier dies holding his hand. Soon, the boy is almost a veteran as the battles run together. The faces of his friends and acquaintances blur together as well, and he takes special care to remember each and every one, since they may not be there the next day. The final page gives adults and children alike something to ponder, in the voice of the battle-hardened boy: "And when the war's over and I go home, I'll stop to talk to Mr. Lincoln and tell him how it's his fault, how his great, sad eyes made me go and see things no boy should ever see."
"Drummer Boy" is a wonderful book for all ages. The text and pictures are just twenty eight pages long, with an interesting one page historical note, and Turner and Hess do not waste a word or image. Drummer boys were not just children who banged on the drums during battles, the drums were used to signal orders to the troops, making the children prime targets for the enemy. The book is large, and every illustration by Hess would look wonderful framed on a wall. His portrait of Lincoln, and two page painting of slave quarters, are breathtaking. I went back through the book at its conclusion, just trying to take in the pictures on their own. Turner does not overdo the contemporary vernacular, you come to care for this boy as a real person. Her writing is not overwhelmed by the art, both complement each other.
"Drummer Boy" is appropriate for ages four through eight, according to the jacket notes. I think it is appropriate for any age above four, telling such a strong story in such little space. Truly a treasure.
The protagonist is an unnamed thirteen year old rural farm boy. His brother, Jed, has already gone ahead of him into battle, and the boy yearns to join. He makes his decision after seeing President Abraham Lincoln at a train station. The boy feels the sad president was looking right at him, needing him to serve his country. The boy's family seems rather indifferent to the slavery issue, feeling it is none of their business, but the boy does sympathize with the slaves. He writes a goodbye note, and leaves home. He enlists, lying and claiming to be fifteen years old, and is assigned to be a drummer boy. He becomes part of his company, and then goes into his first battle. The terror of the cannon noise and falling bodies around him freeze him in place. A soldier dies holding his hand. Soon, the boy is almost a veteran as the battles run together. The faces of his friends and acquaintances blur together as well, and he takes special care to remember each and every one, since they may not be there the next day. The final page gives adults and children alike something to ponder, in the voice of the battle-hardened boy: "And when the war's over and I go home, I'll stop to talk to Mr. Lincoln and tell him how it's his fault, how his great, sad eyes made me go and see things no boy should ever see."
"Drummer Boy" is a wonderful book for all ages. The text and pictures are just twenty eight pages long, with an interesting one page historical note, and Turner and Hess do not waste a word or image. Drummer boys were not just children who banged on the drums during battles, the drums were used to signal orders to the troops, making the children prime targets for the enemy. The book is large, and every illustration by Hess would look wonderful framed on a wall. His portrait of Lincoln, and two page painting of slave quarters, are breathtaking. I went back through the book at its conclusion, just trying to take in the pictures on their own. Turner does not overdo the contemporary vernacular, you come to care for this boy as a real person. Her writing is not overwhelmed by the art, both complement each other.
"Drummer Boy" is appropriate for ages four through eight, according to the jacket notes. I think it is appropriate for any age above four, telling such a strong story in such little space. Truly a treasure.
Book Review: "You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again: The True Adventures of a Hollywood Nanny" by Suzanne Hansen
Suzanne Hansen is a lot like those of us who had no idea what they wanted to do when they graduated from high school. Soon, she would find herself in a multi-million dollar home, rubbing shoulders with Hollywood power elite- and being an eighteen year old parent to three children. "You'll Never Nanny In This Town Again!" is an alternately funny and sad look at Hansen's nanny career in Hollywood, and it might make you a better parent for it.
Hansen divides her book into three different types of writing, all of which work. She has the main parts of the book, explaining what is happening and what she is going through. She also includes funny fantasies, written in screenplay format. If she worries someone is talking about her, or how someone may react to something she has done, she imagines these complete with characters' actions and dialogue- something that fits into the Hollywood lifestyle. Finally, we get different type in the form of excerpts from her journals. She does not use these entries to swoon over the latest celebrity encounter she has had, but worries about how the family she is a part of is accepting her and how mad she gets with other nanny friends for things she is also guilty of doing.
Hansen's writing style is breezy and light from the beginning. She describes being from a small Oregon town, attending a nanny institute in the Northwest, and finally going to Los Angeles to interview for positions there. Eventually she is hired by mega-agent Steven Swartz and his wife Julia (not the family's real names) and cares for their three children- five year old Joshua, three year old Amanda, and infant Brandon. She also meets the rest of the household staff, who would become her support system over the following year. Hansen makes mistakes right away with her new family and freely admits them. She should have signed a contract, and should have received more specific information on how far she could discipline the kids. She has no real set hours, is terrified to take time off, and often hides in her room on the weekends. She is dragged on family vacations, but only as the help. Hansen is mystified, as is the reader, at how the Swartzes can spend thousands of dollars for their own self-gratification, but seem overcome with guilt at extravagance, refusing miniscule charges incurred by others. The "expensive" three dollar a minute phone call to the kids while on a multi-thousand dollar vacation away from them is one revealing story.
Hansen has a great way of letting the reader draw their own conclusions about life in Hollywood without turning this into a dirt-slinging tell-all. She has other nanny friends there, and many of their misadventures are downright hilarious. One nanny accidentally vacuums up a pile of cocaine. Hansen tells another to turn down a job offer from some actor who claims to have made a movie called "The Untouchables"- who ever heard of this Costner guy anyway? Hansen is not starstruck but still speaks kindly of the celebrities she met who seemed like normal people. The Swartz's neighbors include O.J. and Nicole Simpson. Tom Cruise and Bill Murray come off as very nice. One of her friends works for the downright saintly Sally Field, causing understandable jealousy on Hansen's part. The last third of the book talks about her getting blacklisted by the Swartzes after she left, but still getting wonderful employers like Debra Winger, and Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman. Things do work out in a Hollywood ending, although this one is bittersweet. No one prepared Hansen for the pain of leaving the trio of Swartz children she raised, and eventually learned to love. The Steven and Julia Swartz in the book have millions of dollars. Hansen accidentally sets off the Picasso alarm, one of many measures surrounding Swartz's unparalleled modern art collection. Steven muses aloud whether his infant son Brandon even knows Steven is Brandon's father. Julia has no clue about how to take Brandon for a night of mommying, having to be led by the hand just to give him basic needs. After reading "You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again," I feel luckier than the Swartzes will ever be.
Hansen divides her book into three different types of writing, all of which work. She has the main parts of the book, explaining what is happening and what she is going through. She also includes funny fantasies, written in screenplay format. If she worries someone is talking about her, or how someone may react to something she has done, she imagines these complete with characters' actions and dialogue- something that fits into the Hollywood lifestyle. Finally, we get different type in the form of excerpts from her journals. She does not use these entries to swoon over the latest celebrity encounter she has had, but worries about how the family she is a part of is accepting her and how mad she gets with other nanny friends for things she is also guilty of doing.
Hansen's writing style is breezy and light from the beginning. She describes being from a small Oregon town, attending a nanny institute in the Northwest, and finally going to Los Angeles to interview for positions there. Eventually she is hired by mega-agent Steven Swartz and his wife Julia (not the family's real names) and cares for their three children- five year old Joshua, three year old Amanda, and infant Brandon. She also meets the rest of the household staff, who would become her support system over the following year. Hansen makes mistakes right away with her new family and freely admits them. She should have signed a contract, and should have received more specific information on how far she could discipline the kids. She has no real set hours, is terrified to take time off, and often hides in her room on the weekends. She is dragged on family vacations, but only as the help. Hansen is mystified, as is the reader, at how the Swartzes can spend thousands of dollars for their own self-gratification, but seem overcome with guilt at extravagance, refusing miniscule charges incurred by others. The "expensive" three dollar a minute phone call to the kids while on a multi-thousand dollar vacation away from them is one revealing story.
Hansen has a great way of letting the reader draw their own conclusions about life in Hollywood without turning this into a dirt-slinging tell-all. She has other nanny friends there, and many of their misadventures are downright hilarious. One nanny accidentally vacuums up a pile of cocaine. Hansen tells another to turn down a job offer from some actor who claims to have made a movie called "The Untouchables"- who ever heard of this Costner guy anyway? Hansen is not starstruck but still speaks kindly of the celebrities she met who seemed like normal people. The Swartz's neighbors include O.J. and Nicole Simpson. Tom Cruise and Bill Murray come off as very nice. One of her friends works for the downright saintly Sally Field, causing understandable jealousy on Hansen's part. The last third of the book talks about her getting blacklisted by the Swartzes after she left, but still getting wonderful employers like Debra Winger, and Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman. Things do work out in a Hollywood ending, although this one is bittersweet. No one prepared Hansen for the pain of leaving the trio of Swartz children she raised, and eventually learned to love. The Steven and Julia Swartz in the book have millions of dollars. Hansen accidentally sets off the Picasso alarm, one of many measures surrounding Swartz's unparalleled modern art collection. Steven muses aloud whether his infant son Brandon even knows Steven is Brandon's father. Julia has no clue about how to take Brandon for a night of mommying, having to be led by the hand just to give him basic needs. After reading "You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again," I feel luckier than the Swartzes will ever be.
Book Review: "Which Lie Did I Tell?: More Adventures in the Screen Trade" by William Goldman
The late screenwriter William Goldman has a lot of good stories to tell about working in Hollywood. He is often very funny, and it is interesting to read about the genesis of his work in such films as "Misery" and "The Ghost and the Darkness." He even covers his one horrifyingly awful bomb "The Year of the Comet," a film so bad I forgot it existed until I read this book. Goldman wants to use this book to help other screenwriters through his experience and examples from his own scripts. His honesty about what works and what does not is very refreshing, compared to other screenwriting books that salivate over every piece of celluloid released. If you want even better Hollywood opinions by Goldman, read his "The Big Picture."
I cannot, however, fall over myself recommending this book. After talking about the films he did in the last few years- some of them good, most of them not, Goldman offers up a few examples of screenplays that work. Cue "Chinatown"! I have seen this film dissected and gone over with a fine tooth comb for many years now. I used to want to be a screenwriter, so I punished myself by reading all of those books by so-called experts. Everyone mentions "Chinatown"- EVERYONE. Goldman also throws in the fake orgasm scene from "When Harry Met Sally...," another piece of oversaturated product. He includes the odious Farrelly Brothers, with their cinematically triumphant zipper scene from "There's Something About Mary."
In a good idea I have never seen before, Goldman includes part of an original screenplay he has written, and provides comments from other screenwriters about what they thought of it. "The Big A," a terrible title, is awful, but Scott Frank, Callie Khouri, and John Patrick Shanley found some merit to it. The Farrelly Brothers weighed in on it, and provided the least amount of reasonable help to the exercise. I enjoy Goldman's non-fiction writing more than some of his films: enough with "The Princess Bride" over-praise, and ugh to "The Ghost and the Darkness," but yay to "Misery" and "Memoirs of an Invisible Man." It is nice to see someone take Hollywood to task without having to resort to telling us who they slept with or saw use drugs. Another minus: maybe to appear hip and cool, the book is littered too liberally with the F word, and that word ain't "falafel." I guess I expected better from a two time Oscar winner, he must have had a thesaurus hidden somewhere.
I cannot, however, fall over myself recommending this book. After talking about the films he did in the last few years- some of them good, most of them not, Goldman offers up a few examples of screenplays that work. Cue "Chinatown"! I have seen this film dissected and gone over with a fine tooth comb for many years now. I used to want to be a screenwriter, so I punished myself by reading all of those books by so-called experts. Everyone mentions "Chinatown"- EVERYONE. Goldman also throws in the fake orgasm scene from "When Harry Met Sally...," another piece of oversaturated product. He includes the odious Farrelly Brothers, with their cinematically triumphant zipper scene from "There's Something About Mary."
In a good idea I have never seen before, Goldman includes part of an original screenplay he has written, and provides comments from other screenwriters about what they thought of it. "The Big A," a terrible title, is awful, but Scott Frank, Callie Khouri, and John Patrick Shanley found some merit to it. The Farrelly Brothers weighed in on it, and provided the least amount of reasonable help to the exercise. I enjoy Goldman's non-fiction writing more than some of his films: enough with "The Princess Bride" over-praise, and ugh to "The Ghost and the Darkness," but yay to "Misery" and "Memoirs of an Invisible Man." It is nice to see someone take Hollywood to task without having to resort to telling us who they slept with or saw use drugs. Another minus: maybe to appear hip and cool, the book is littered too liberally with the F word, and that word ain't "falafel." I guess I expected better from a two time Oscar winner, he must have had a thesaurus hidden somewhere.
Book Review: "The Little Guide to Your Well-Read Life" by Steve Leveen
You might think the life of an online film critic is glamourous: going to world premieres, hobnobbing with Hollywood elite, and bedding internet groupies with the mention of your name and the snap of your fingers. Sure, all or none of this has happened to me, but in addition to watching way too many movies, I had to read tons of material about Hollywood and film making. I am not talking about the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly or Radar, I am talking those large collections of paper I used to sell back at the end of the semester in college- after missing enough class to have professors ask me for identification. Yes, I read books. Lots of books. I picked up Steve Leveen's book, "The Little Guide to Your Well-Read Life", from the library, hoping to improve my reading quantity and quality. Leveen's small volume, easy to complete in one sitting, shows the average reader how they can take control of their literary lives and get more out of reading books.
Everyone seems to want to read more, and read better. I have suffered through my fair share of books, reading to the bitter end, hoping it would get better- much like bad movies. Leveen suggests making a list of books and subjects that have always interested you. This is not a heavy must-read list, but a List of Candidates. These are books you should keep around and pull down when you are ready, no commitment involved. If you read the book and like it, it is now part of your Living Library. These are books you can go back to and reference again and again. Leveen advocates a more participatory role in your reading by doing the one thing your mom told you never to do- write in your books. Are you a "Preservationist?" Unable to mark in a book so as to spoil its enjoyment for others? Or do you want to be a "Footprint Leaver," putting your ideas and thoughts on the very page you are reading, engaging the author as that author engages you? Not mentioned in the book, English contemporaries of 18th century writer Samuel Taylor Coleridge would loan him books just to get them back and read the author's dense notes and arguments in the margins; I was a former English major, so I know this stuff.
Leveen's idea of adding twelve books to your reading list each year is to listen to at least one audio book a month. Many frown on audio books without giving them a chance; I tried listening to Christopher Lee reading Poe, and could not get into it. Book clubs are covered, as well. Also interesting is a section on how books had a liberating effect on people like Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X.
The only "yeah, right" section of the book I found was Leveen's idea to keep some books back until you have a chance to read them in the location they are set. Reading Lonesome Dove on your next trip to Texas is a great idea, but it is hardly the driving force behind calling up your travel agent. Also, some of Leveen's hippie language had me grinning. Didn't you, when I asked you if you wanted to be a "Footprint Leaver?" While Steve Leveen's writing is simple, his message is clear- YOU control what you read, so be well-read. A well-read life is a well-lived life, a point more obvious when I finished this book. Ironically, I already follow some of Leveen's advice- I take notes on books so I can write reviews, just as I take notes on films I watch. I did not mark up this book, however, it belonged to the public library.
Everyone seems to want to read more, and read better. I have suffered through my fair share of books, reading to the bitter end, hoping it would get better- much like bad movies. Leveen suggests making a list of books and subjects that have always interested you. This is not a heavy must-read list, but a List of Candidates. These are books you should keep around and pull down when you are ready, no commitment involved. If you read the book and like it, it is now part of your Living Library. These are books you can go back to and reference again and again. Leveen advocates a more participatory role in your reading by doing the one thing your mom told you never to do- write in your books. Are you a "Preservationist?" Unable to mark in a book so as to spoil its enjoyment for others? Or do you want to be a "Footprint Leaver," putting your ideas and thoughts on the very page you are reading, engaging the author as that author engages you? Not mentioned in the book, English contemporaries of 18th century writer Samuel Taylor Coleridge would loan him books just to get them back and read the author's dense notes and arguments in the margins; I was a former English major, so I know this stuff.
Leveen's idea of adding twelve books to your reading list each year is to listen to at least one audio book a month. Many frown on audio books without giving them a chance; I tried listening to Christopher Lee reading Poe, and could not get into it. Book clubs are covered, as well. Also interesting is a section on how books had a liberating effect on people like Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X.
The only "yeah, right" section of the book I found was Leveen's idea to keep some books back until you have a chance to read them in the location they are set. Reading Lonesome Dove on your next trip to Texas is a great idea, but it is hardly the driving force behind calling up your travel agent. Also, some of Leveen's hippie language had me grinning. Didn't you, when I asked you if you wanted to be a "Footprint Leaver?" While Steve Leveen's writing is simple, his message is clear- YOU control what you read, so be well-read. A well-read life is a well-lived life, a point more obvious when I finished this book. Ironically, I already follow some of Leveen's advice- I take notes on books so I can write reviews, just as I take notes on films I watch. I did not mark up this book, however, it belonged to the public library.
Book Review: "Young Goodman Brown and Other Short Stories" by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Taken from many sources, this collection of stories provides an introduction to the sometimes surprising genre writings of Nathaniel Hawthorne, best known as the author of "The Scarlet Letter," the arch-enemy book of my high school years.
"Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" reads like notes for a longer science fiction work that never came to fruition. Four elderly people gather at a scientist's home to sample something that might change their lives. There is very little characterization, despite some detailed introductions, and the story plays out unsatisfactorily.
"The Birthmark" reads better, a story about scientist Aylmer's efforts to rid his wife Georgianna of a birthmark on her cheek. Hawthorne is very visual here, and while the dialogue is melodramatic, I could imagine everything he wrote. The author is making a comment about science, and how new discoveries blind the scientist to the bigger picture.
Aside from the obvious metaphor of "Young Goodman Brown," his name is Goodman, and he's a GOOD MAN, this tale of a young husband trekking into the dark woods to attend a meeting of a coven of witches, made up of the godly folk of his village, is pure paranoid horror. This tale has been copied many times, but it is quite effective and creepy.
"Rappaccini's Daughter" is a densely worded tale of a young man falling for a beautiful woman who is literally poison to those around her. It is high melodrama, and contains an odd prologue that isn't essential to the story, but all in all, it is still good.
My favorite tale of the collection has to be "Roger Malvin's Burial." The story of two wounded soldiers in the wilderness, and one dying from his injuries, spans a few years. You may begin to figure out what happens to the survivor, but the climax is both emotional and heartbreaking. A great story.
"The Artist of the Beautiful" is a well-written but meandering tale about a watchmaker's life-long project. He gives up and is re-inspired one too many times, but Hawthorne says a lot about artists and their work.
The suspense built in "My Kinsman, Major Molineux" isn't menacing, but still interesting. A young country boy scours a large city looking for his benefactor, and eventually finds him. I really enjoyed this story, too.
I hated "The Scarlet Letter" when I read it in high school, and didn't read any Hawthorne again until "Young Goodman Brown and Other Short Stories." I think I might have to pick up his most famous novel again. I do recommend this collection.
"Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" reads like notes for a longer science fiction work that never came to fruition. Four elderly people gather at a scientist's home to sample something that might change their lives. There is very little characterization, despite some detailed introductions, and the story plays out unsatisfactorily.
"The Birthmark" reads better, a story about scientist Aylmer's efforts to rid his wife Georgianna of a birthmark on her cheek. Hawthorne is very visual here, and while the dialogue is melodramatic, I could imagine everything he wrote. The author is making a comment about science, and how new discoveries blind the scientist to the bigger picture.
Aside from the obvious metaphor of "Young Goodman Brown," his name is Goodman, and he's a GOOD MAN, this tale of a young husband trekking into the dark woods to attend a meeting of a coven of witches, made up of the godly folk of his village, is pure paranoid horror. This tale has been copied many times, but it is quite effective and creepy.
"Rappaccini's Daughter" is a densely worded tale of a young man falling for a beautiful woman who is literally poison to those around her. It is high melodrama, and contains an odd prologue that isn't essential to the story, but all in all, it is still good.
My favorite tale of the collection has to be "Roger Malvin's Burial." The story of two wounded soldiers in the wilderness, and one dying from his injuries, spans a few years. You may begin to figure out what happens to the survivor, but the climax is both emotional and heartbreaking. A great story.
"The Artist of the Beautiful" is a well-written but meandering tale about a watchmaker's life-long project. He gives up and is re-inspired one too many times, but Hawthorne says a lot about artists and their work.
The suspense built in "My Kinsman, Major Molineux" isn't menacing, but still interesting. A young country boy scours a large city looking for his benefactor, and eventually finds him. I really enjoyed this story, too.
I hated "The Scarlet Letter" when I read it in high school, and didn't read any Hawthorne again until "Young Goodman Brown and Other Short Stories." I think I might have to pick up his most famous novel again. I do recommend this collection.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)