OK. The fourth star here may simply be a reflection of my guilt at only giving a single star to Rosecrans Baldwin's other book "You Lost Me There". PeOK. The fourth star here may simply be a reflection of my guilt at only giving a single star to Rosecrans Baldwin's other book "You Lost Me There". Perhaps this account of Baldwin's 18 months in Paris, working at a French advertising agency while writing that other book, had particular resonance because I have spent 12 of the last 24 months in Paris, wrestling with many of the same French idiosyncrasies he describes.
But I certainly couldn't write about them as accurately and hilariously as he does. ...more
This was terrific. I would not have expected a book about a polygamous Mormon family to be hilarious and moving as this one was. Brady Udall just nailThis was terrific. I would not have expected a book about a polygamous Mormon family to be hilarious and moving as this one was. Brady Udall just nails it. This is an extraordinary book....more
The Victorians didn't have internet porn or reality TV. Not even WrestleMania. So how did they while away those long winter evenings? Episodes of Mr DThe Victorians didn't have internet porn or reality TV. Not even WrestleMania. So how did they while away those long winter evenings? Episodes of Mr Dickens's charming serialized novels were maddeningly infrequent, and publicly ostracizing those judged to be morally inferior, though fun and necessary, was hardly a full-time pursuit.
Fortunately, there were people like George Washington Moon, ready to fill that entertainment vacuum. Like many an educated Victorian gentleman, George read the august Dean of Canterbury's essays instructing lesser mortals on the proper use of the Queen's English. AND HE FOUND THEM WANTING. A lesser man might have sneered inwardly over his glass of port and left it at that. But George knew that this would be a dereliction of responsibility. He owed it to the world to set things right. He became a man with a mission. The Dean's crimes had to be exposed to the world. As he explains so forcefully in his introduction to this hilarious piece of sustained invective, nothing personal against the Dean, it's just that
"He who hunts down and pillories a slang phrase, a vulgarism, a corruption of any kind, is a public benefactor. In the fulfillment of the sacred trust which rests on him as an educated man, he adds a stone to the bulwark of his nation's safety and greatness."
He's just doing his duty to protect the Empire. Furthermore, he reminds us that
"The power of sneering was given to man to be used; and nothing is more gratifying than to see an idea which is proving a nuisance, sent clattering away with a hue and cry after it, and a tin kettle tied to its tail".
All this is by way of a warmup, alerting us that things might get a little bloody once he really hits his stride. Which he does, for 154 well-argued, magnificently contemptuous, pages. G.W. Moon is relentless. The Dean never stands a chance.
The whole fracas was the Victorian equivalent of a PayPerView televised cage match between Stone Cold Steve Austin and "The Rock". Hulk Hogan versus Rowdy Roddy Piper. Bret Harte versus Shawn Michaels. Alexis versus Krystle. Moon unleashed his invective in instalments, after each episode, the Doctor would gamely try to defend himself, only to be further bloodied in the next round. AS the fight unfolded, all of Britain's educated class watched from the sidelines, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. In the words of "The Phonetic Journal"
".... to those who enjoy a controversy, conducted with consummate skill and in excellent taste, by a strong man, well armed, it is such a treat as does not fall in one's way often during a lifetime."
So the mauling of the Dean was accomplished in instalments, avidly followed by the entire educated class of Britain, and later by the intellectual class in the U.S. One senses that his death, in 1870, must have come as a welcome release.
The chapters by G.W. Moon form the core of this book. An appendix contains several reviews of the Dean's book by independent sources, as well as reviews that address both the Dean's book and Moon's critiques. The verdict is fairly uniform -- the body lying bleeding on the mat at the end of the final round is that of the Dean.
I'll confess to a fatal weakness for this kind of thing. A literary cage match between two public intellectuals? About English usage? Where the rules of decorum must be observed, so that the nastiness has to be polite (always the most fun)? I want a front row seat.
Through the magic of digitization of content, we can all have a front row seat for this particular match of the century. Just follow the link -
These two novellas by Alan Bennett have a certain whimsical charm, but the author's pose of amused detachment prevents them from packing any real emotThese two novellas by Alan Bennett have a certain whimsical charm, but the author's pose of amused detachment prevents them from packing any real emotional punch. Amusing, but not on a par with "The Uncommon Reader" or "Lady in a Van"....more
Ali Smith is one of those writers who is in constant danger of being too clever for her own good. This book follows a structure that is self-consciousAli Smith is one of those writers who is in constant danger of being too clever for her own good. This book follows a structure that is self-consciously clever, is loaded down with all kinds of puns and wordplay, has a central character who remains maddeningly opaque, and one of its four narrators is a ridiculously precocious eleven-year old, who would be completely toxic in the hands of a less gifted author. But, despite all this baggage, it works brilliantly. I found it completely engrossing, very funny, and extremely moving. It's one of the two best works of fiction I've read so far in 2012 ("Wolf Hall" being the other). ...more
I wish I could remember the exact search parameters that led me to discover this gem, but no matter. The important thing is that I did find it. It's dI wish I could remember the exact search parameters that led me to discover this gem, but no matter. The important thing is that I did find it. It's discoveries like this that make the wholesale scanning of old books into that insatiable e-library in the clouds a worthwhile exercise.
A note of clarification. According to the goodreads rating definitions, 5 stars mean that a book was "amazing". Not necessarily brilliant, or even good. Just amazing. There are books that amaze us by their badness. For instance, any collection of the poetry of the unforgettable William McGonagall. Or the infinitely hilarious English as She Is Spoke: Being a Comprehensive Phrasebook of the English Language, Written by Men to Whom English Was Entirely Unknown. This book more than earns its place in the pantheon of truly bad books. The question is, does it manage to be so appallingly dreadful that it achieves its own kind of greatness?
I believe that it does. Though it falls short of threatening McGonagall's tenacious hold on the crown of the world's worst writer, there are passages that are simply breathtaking in their badness. I will limit myself to quoting just three in this review, but I sincerely hope that these will convince you to seek out the entire online text (a skimpy 50 pages that house a stunning gallery of crimes against the language). Should you do so, please don't try to read more than a few pages in one session. Such a high concentration of linguistic mayhem could be enough to unhinge the mind.
A little background for what follows. Angus McDiarmid is a hunting guide who works on the estate of the Earl of Breadalbane. A visiting Gentleman is so taken with Angus's unique descriptions of his surroundings that he arranges to have them published, in their original form, with no editorial interference.
Here follows the evidence that I believe qualifies this slim volume for inclusion in the Pantheon of Shame:
Exhibit A - (taken from the dedication)
To the right honourable Earl of Breadalbane. May it please your Lordship, With overpowering sentiments of the most profound humility, I prostrate myself at your noble feet.... With tumid emotions of heart-distending pride, and with fervescent feelings of gratitude, I beg leave to acknowledge the honor I have to serve so noble a master... That your Lordship may long shine with refulgent brilliancy in the exalted station to which Providence has raised you, and that your noble family, like a bright constellation, may diffuse a splendour (sic) glory through the high sphere of their attraction...
That's some pretty inspired grovelling right there, if you ask me.
Exhibit B - from the introduction by the Gentleman instrumental in the book's publication
With a due tenderness for the Author's reputation, not a word nor a letter has been altered from his manuscripts; .... His speech, bold, rugged, and abrupt, as the rocks which defy all access but to the wing of the eagle and the vulture, bids equal defiance to those who would scan his meaning by the regular steps of criticism. Like the torrent shooting impetuously from crag to crag, his sentences, instead of flowing in a smooth and equal tenor, overleap with noble freedom the mounds and impediments of grammar, verbs, conjunctions, and adverbs, which give tameness and regularity to ordinary compositions.
Exhibit C - the first paragraph of Angus's striking and picturesque delineations
Of the different remarkable curiosity flowing from the excellencies of the cataract at Edinample, which partly perspicuously to the view of the beholders; its finitude confined between high wild rocks of asperity aspect, similar to a tract of solitude or savageness; its force emphatically overflowing three divisions; but, in the season of the water dropping from the clouds, its force increases so potently, that these divisions, almost undiscoverd, at which its incremental exorbitance transcended various objects of inquisitiveness, peradventure in manuscript, in such eminently measure, that its homogeneously could not be recognish at the interim, except existing in emblem to the waves of the ocean in tempestuous season.
"in the season of the water dropping from the clouds" is truly inspired badness. I rest my case....more
Normally I'm not beguiled by first-person narratives, especially when the voice is that of an obnoxious boorish narcissist. Mykle Hansen's HELP! A BeNormally I'm not beguiled by first-person narratives, especially when the voice is that of an obnoxious boorish narcissist. Mykle Hansen's HELP! A Bear is Eating Me! is an honorable exception. Despite having a protagonist of unparalleled loathsomeness, unblemished by even a hint of concern for others or a scintilla of self-awareness, this book charmed the pants off me. The title is sheer genius, and completely accurate. As the story opens, its truly despicable antihero, Marv Pushkin lies pinned under his all-terrain vehicle somewhere off-road in Alaska. The rest of the 120-page story is structured as an ongoing monolog from Marv to the reader.
If you think about it for a second, you realise that Mykle Hansen set himself a nearly impossible challenge. A first-person narrative in the voice of a complete jerk that still manages to engage the reader is a pretty tall order. I'm happy to report that the author rises to the occasion, magnificently. I read H! ABiEM! in a single afternoon. It was hilarious. And written so smoothly that you ask yourself "how did he do that?"
Lying trapped and helpless isn't the only trial Marv has to survive. There's that angry bear whose cub he ran over with his Rover who takes revenge by gnawing off his extremities. He also suffers several hallucinatory visitations, both human and ursine, as he self-medicates to counter the mounting pain. This makes him the quintessential unreliable narrator.
The character of Marv works as a (hilarious) caricature, but the thought does occur that Hansen may have sacrificed the potential for greater emotional impact by making him so relentlessly loathsome. Most readers will be ambivalent on whether to root for the bear or for Marv. Scrooge's four ghostly visitors ultimately cause him to undergo a change of heart. Lear's misadventures in the storm teach him compassion and effect a reconciliation with Cordelia before he dies; Gloucester learns to see more clearly as a result of his blinding. HELP! A Bear is Eating Me! is not a story of growth and redemption. But so what? It's brilliantly realised and genuinely funny.
Like, omigod dudes and dudettes!!! This book is pants-crappingly awesome*.
Over the past few days the smart folks on GR have been engaged in an onLike, omigod dudes and dudettes!!! This book is pants-crappingly awesome*.
Over the past few days the smart folks on GR have been engaged in an ongoing discussion of Richard Powers, in particular the reputed-to-be-remarkable Galatea 2.2. "Ah", I think to myself, "I missed the whole Bolano bandwagon, but here's a chance to make up some ground - I'll order Galatea 2.2 and then I can maybe slip a few pseudo-profundities into the discussion so I can appear smart by association". (This being goodreads, contributing to the discussion when you haven't read the book is a very risky strategy - these are the smart kids after all). So I log in to Amazon, submit my order, and through the miracle of FedEx, my very own copy of Galatea 2.2 is right there, just waiting for me to crack it open.
It was a good plan, and would have worked just fine, had I not included "Everything Explained Through Flowcharts" on the same order. It was a bit like unpacking the new Soloflex machine you'd ordered, only to find that someone had thoughtfully included a crack pipe with a week's supply in the package. What's it going to be? Edifying Galatea 2.2 or a hit of delicious literary crack?
I'm ashamed to confess, that was eight hours ago. There has been ample opportunity to set the crack pipe** aside in the interim. But why would you? Because, I mean, it makes no sense to read the Powers book until I've absorbed all of the wisdom that Doogie Horner has packed into this work. A work of sheer fucking genius, I might add.
Ultimately, my contribution to the ongoing Galatea 2.2 discussion can only be more insightful, more incisive, once I've fully absorbed the insanely comprehensive taxonomy of heavy metal band names, the stunningly complete exegesis of movie heroes and villains, doomsday scenarios, superpowers, designer paint names, casual and fast-food dining. How did I manage to survive this long without having access to the "equivalent health effects of deadly fast food" chart (sample entries: Carl's Jr. Double Six-Dollar Burger = nail hammered into your pancreas; Bloomin' Onion = bullet)?
If you need further convincing, you can find a sample from the book at this link .
Or you could just take my word for it. THIS BOOK IS SHEER GENIUS FROM START TO FINISH.
*: I realize that this particular phrase has been trademarked by a certain GR reviewer in Indiana, and possibly by Spike TV, but it's really the only possible descriptor here. **: For younger readers, or those unskilled in discerning sarcasm - please note that "crack" is being used as a metaphor throughout this review. There is no actual crack pipe - i have never smoked crack, and neither should you. In the immortal words of Whitney, 'crack is wack'....more
You may be wondering if "The Imperfectionists" deserves the rave reviews it's been getting in certain quarters. The short answer? Yes, yes it does.
If You may be wondering if "The Imperfectionists" deserves the rave reviews it's been getting in certain quarters. The short answer? Yes, yes it does.
If you like the kind of review that captures the essence of a book in a pithy soundbite, I can offer you: "the 2010 version of "Then We came to the End", this year's "Olive Kittredge", or "Scoop" for the 21st century.
It's just as easy to give you the uncoded description. "The Imperfectionists" tracks the terminal decline of a fictional English language newspaper (headquartered in Rome), as its continuing slide into financial insolvency makes its extinction inevitable. The book is structured as a series of vignettes of the paper's key staffers, from obituary writer to editor-in-chief. This device allows Rachman to give a kaleidoscopic view of his main character, which is the paper itself, or more precisely the specific constellation of talent, personalities, relationships, financial conditions and just random luck that have combined in the past to allow the paper to thrive and which now guarantee its demise. This approach is not without risk; for instance, I thought the individual-viewpoint stories in "Olive Kittredge" never coalesced to a coherent whole. Somehow (alchemy? magic? witchcraft?) Rachman avoids this trap - TI flows smoothly and irresistibly to its foregone conclusion.
What makes TI irresistible is the brilliance of Rachman's gift for characterization. Collectively, the motley crew of staffers in this newsroom accommodate every dysfunction in the manual, and a few the psychiatrists haven't yet gotten around to classifying. With one or two exceptions, each of Rachman's characters is desperately unhappy. Many of them seem close to some kind of edge. I found them all completely believable and totally fascinating. The irony in Rachman's portrait is impossible to miss -- newspaper readers form their worldview by reading and trusting the words of these deeply flawed people. Rachman's particular gift is to sketch each character's flaws with the relentless clarity of the anonymous, omniscient narrator, but to do it with obvious warmth and affection. He's worked with these folks, at least with their real-life counterparts at the (now defunct) International Herald Tribune, and he loves them.
Ultimately, The Imperfectionists is his extended eulogy to the profession of newspaper reporter and it has the charm and the power to move us that the best tributes attain. There is an elegaic feel to the book which makes it a pleasure to read, even as Gotterdammerung approaches and things in the newsroom are getting progressively darker. Thus, the recent book that TI most closely resembles is Stuart O'Nan's exquisite (and underrated?) "Last Night at the Lobster", a low-key, extremely moving account of the last day at work for the staff of a NE Red Lobster restaurant chosen for closure by the corporate beancounters. Rachman's story has a little more razzmatazz (naked bodies and naked ambition, suave Roman suitors, fancy cocktails), which makes it more fun to read than the O'Nan book. Fortunately it achieves this without lapsing into predictability, while maintaining the warmth and heart at its core. Rachman is so obviously fond of the characters he's created, warts and all, that he charms you into liking them too.
If you've ever worked in a newsroom, or know anyone who has/does, you've got to score a copy of this book....more
No, I don't have nearly enough batteries, sensible foodstuffs or kitty litter stored for the cataclysmic event that the Discovery and History channelsNo, I don't have nearly enough batteries, sensible foodstuffs or kitty litter stored for the cataclysmic event that the Discovery and History channels* assure me is just a matter of time. But I feel uniquely qualified to survive the experience of stumbling into a wormhole and waking up as a weekend guest in an English country house between the two world wars. You see, I have discovered "The Week-End Book" and, having done so, intend to keep a copy with me at all times. To cover any potential time-travel episodes, you understand.
(*: Each of which now devotes at least one week per month of scheduled programming to the imminent Apocalypse. Will it be a meteor hit? Lethal pandemic? Bioterrorist attack? Nuclear holocaust? Major earthquake? Cataclysmic climatic shift? Only the Illuminati know for sure, and they're not telling.)
Forget all that Gosford Park stuff you've absorbed from overexposure to PBS. All might seem like comfort and pampered elegance on Brideshead and Poirot, but the reality is infinitely more cutthroat. It's a jungle, in which only the socially adept can expect to thrive. Better polish up that glistening repartee, because you're going to need it.
Fortunately, "The Week-End Book" is there to help. Study it closely, absorb its lessons and - unless you're a complete nitwit - you will be sought after by hostesses from Buckinghamshire to Balmoral. General editors Vera Mendel and Francis Meynell and music editor John Goss approach their task of assembling their survival manual for the weekend guest with a kind of brook-no-nonsense, Cold Comfort Farm sensibility that is refreshing. The result was sufficiently popular to warrant 17 reprintings of the first edition between 1924 and 1928. The editors point out that any self-respecting guide of this sort should undergo a major revamping every five years; a greatly expanded second edition was published in 1929 - my copy is a version of the second edition. (No need to haunt the used book stores - "The Weekend Book" has been back in print since 2006)
How will "The Week-End Book" enrich your life? How about 200+ pages of poetry** to begin with, helpfully arranged into five categories:
GREAT POEMS STATE POEMS HATE POEMS EPIGRAMS THE ZOO
Continue with 80 pages of songs (with music), including folk songs from at least six different nations, spirituals, ballads, sea shanteys, hymns, and several so-called "vulgar fragments".
Rest assured that none of the games suggested in Chapter 7 will require a joystick or monitor. Options like "Salted Almonds" and "Go-Bang" are not for the mentally feeble, who may instead enjoy the less cerebral attractions of "The Roof Game" or "Sardines". Only the most robust friendships are likely to survive an honest game of "Russian Sledges" though, so attempt it at your own risk.
An extra helping of that goofy British charm is provided in the chapter "Travels with a Donkey", which gives advice on how to do just what its title promises. Subsequent chapters on birds and the night sky by season should prove invaluable to people like me who are generally oblivious to their physical surroundings. A chapter on Food and Drink mixes eccentricity with sound practical advice, including cocktail recipes from Satan's whisker to the Rajah's peg.
Recognizing that things don't always go as we might wish, the final two chapters address "the law and how you break it" and administering "first aid in divers crises". Whether you want to "stay the hicquet", gain relief from the "windy spasm", or know what to do before "hobnailing the liver", it's all here in one handy reference volume. There is an ample supply of blank pages to jot down items of interest encountered in one's reading.
You can buy this book on Amazon for less than $20. What are you waiting for?
**: Why trust the editors' taste in poetry selection? Well, for one thing, there's that awesome "HATE POEMS" section. Then that list of poems that were not included on the grounds that any civilized person would already have them committed to memory shows me these editors aren't messing around. Plus it's got the original mondegreen poem:
They hae slain the Earl of Moray And hae laid him on the green.... ...more
This fine, darkly funny, collection by Roald Dahl contains all the stories previously published in the two volumes "Tales of the Unexpected" and "MoreThis fine, darkly funny, collection by Roald Dahl contains all the stories previously published in the two volumes "Tales of the Unexpected" and "More Tales of the Unexpected". The back cover of my edition describes it as a "superb compendium of vengeance, surprise, and dark delight" and that's as good a characterization as any I can come up with. Continuing with my shameless plagiarization of the cover blurb, it describes the recipe for a typical Dahl tale:
Take a pinch of unease. Stir in a large dollop of the macabre, add a generous helping of dark and stylish wit, and garnish with the bizarre
Again, that gives you a pretty good sense of what you will find in this terrific collection of 25 stories. Though it perhaps fails to convey just how funny they are. Not to mention well-constructed and well-written. Dahl has a particular knack for knowing just which detail to include - and just as important - knowing what to leave out. Many of the best stories in tbis book stop just on the threshold of the truly dark, because the author knows that it's far more effective to leave the details unfold and reverberate in the reader's imagination.
These tales may remind some readers of the stories of Patricia Highsmith. My sense is that they are not as dark as Highsmith's, nor meant to be, because where one feels that Highsmith's misanthropism ran through to the bone, Dahl's is worn lighter. You can almost feel him winking to the reader, as one nasty character after another meets a suitably macabre fate "it's only a yarn, chum". I suspect Dahl actually liked other people quite a bit more than Highsmith. Upon reflection, a better comparison for these tales might be the stories of Saki (H.H. Munro).
Either way, it's a hugely enjoyable, often hilarious collection, which I consider the best of Dahl's work. (I may be one of the few people on the planet who doesn't "get" Charlie and the Chocolate Factory , which I find excessively weird, both the book and - pace, Gene Wilder and Johnny Depp fans - both film versions. And some of Dahl's other work, e.g. the frankly misogynistic "My Uncle Oswald", doesn't do it for me either. Though you gotta love "Matilda", and I've never read the story on which the "Fantastic Mr Fox" movie is based).
Almost all of these stories have been adapted for TV, by directors ranging from Hitchcock to Tarantino. Even if you've seen the series "Tales of the Unexpected", the stories themselves are well worth reading. My personal favorite is probably the little old lady taxidermy story, though the one about Liszt reincarnated as a kitty has to be a close runner-up. Or "Royal Jelly". Or "Lamb to the Slaughter". or "Parson's Pleasure". But this way madness lies, because really, there's not a dud in the bunch. ...more
OK, OK. I will be the first to admit it. This gorgeous book is a complete indulgence on my part. I'm here in Madrid, having studied my butt off for thOK, OK. I will be the first to admit it. This gorgeous book is a complete indulgence on my part. I'm here in Madrid, having studied my butt off for the last three weeks for the Cervantes Institute's big Thpanish exam, which took place yesterday and today. After the test (about which I will make no predictions, except to say I am cautiously optimistic) I hit the bookstore on the way home, and this book was my present to myself, as a reward for the last three weeks of work. (Yes, I miss my kitties, Boris and Natasha. So sue me.)
I don't use the word "gorgeous" lightly. This is a handsome book, with excellent production values (is that the phrase I'm looking for?). The conceit is slight, but charming. Paraphrasing the jacket cover:
"One day in February 1747 Horace Walpole's cat Selima fell into a large Chinese porcelain goldfish tub and drowned. Walpole was naturally upset and his close friend Thomas Gray wrote a (gently mocking) elegy to console him, ending with the famous moral lesson All that glisters is not gold . Gray's much-loved poem conferred immortality on the unfortunate Selima.
Christopher Frayling has made her fate the focus of a piece of literary research that involves Walpole, Gray, Richard Bentley, Doctor Johnson, cat-lovers Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Christopher Smart, cat-hater James Boswell, William Blake and finally Kathleen Hale (of Orlando the marmalade cat fame). All contribute to this book of charm and erudition lightly worn, that adds seriously to our appreciation of 18th century, and our understanding of people and their household animals.
With 32 illustrations, 15 in colour, by Richard Bentley (1753), William Blake (1797) and Kathleen Hale's drawings, created in 1944 and published here for the first time".
What's not to love?
I.
'Twas on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima reclined, Gazed on the lake below.
......
VII
From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold. Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all that glisters, gold.
Reading this was a bit like that scarfing down that jumbo tub of popcorn that you buy at the movies against your better judgement. Enjoyable enough toReading this was a bit like that scarfing down that jumbo tub of popcorn that you buy at the movies against your better judgement. Enjoyable enough to read, but completely forgettable. And indistinguishable from one another. It felt like reading the same story over and over again.
If you enjoy stories about 40-ish NASCAR fans with women problems, populated by characters ranging from (not-so-endearingly) quirky to outright oddball, you might enjoy this collection. Otherwise, give it a miss. ...more
I picked this up in the gift shop at Newgrange (site of Ireland's best preserved neolithic passage tomb). The sticker promised an AMAZING VALUE, at onI picked this up in the gift shop at Newgrange (site of Ireland's best preserved neolithic passage tomb). The sticker promised an AMAZING VALUE, at only 9 euros for the complete poems, plays, and stories.
I have to agree. I'd go so far as to say it's a TRULY AMAZING VALUE....more
Charming land of the tango and the gaucho. With bewitching Buenos Aires as its capital. Sixty years after the end of WWII, it can safe ARGENTINA !!!
Charming land of the tango and the gaucho. With bewitching Buenos Aires as its capital. Sixty years after the end of WWII, it can safely be assumed that all those fugitive Nazis have expired. And, following the economic collapse of 2001, the exchange rate is distinctly favorable vis-a-vis the U.S. dollar. So, perhaps you're thinking of paying a visit.
If so, you will certainly want to have read Professor Ambrosetti's definitive guide to Argentine superstitions and legends before your departure. First published to great acclaim in 1917, it remains the definitive book on this vitally important subject. No traveller to Argentina will want to be without this Baedeker of bogeymen and bizarre beliefs of the natives. Your sojourn in the land of the gaucho will be immeasurably the richer by knowing:
* that the owl Buo magellanicus has the ability to magnetize cats and other domestic animals * that the black crow is an augur of rain and should never be shot, because the rifle will stay damp for ever after * that rubbing your thumbs with a magnet brings good luck at cards (presumably if you don't have a magnet to hand you might try rubbing your thumbs with a cat or other domestic animal that has been magnetized by an owl) * that the seventh of seven consecutive sons is doomed to be a lobisón, or werewolf. On the distaff side, the seventh consecutive daughter would, of course, be a witch.
Now, you might think that the life of a werewolf is fun, involving the kind of bad-boy glamour that the ladies find irresistible, and regular binges on raw human flesh. You would be in error. Not in Argentina. To paraphrase the good Professor Ambrosetti:
El lobisón metamorphoses into a cross between a pig and a wild dog, (as there are no wolves in Argentina); the transformation occurs every Friday at midnight, independently of the phase of the moon. Favorite diet is "excrementos" of every type, spiced up occasionally with the flesh of an unbaptized infant. As noted previously, being a lobisón is the fate of any seventh consecutive male child*. Physically, the untransformed lobisón is thin, subject to digestive ailments, with a propensity for staying in bed on Saturdays. Not terribly surprising, given his nocturnal activities on Fridays.
During his nocturnal rambles, the lobisón is harassed by packs of local dogs, who cannot, however, harm him, due to being terrorized by the eerie noise produced by the flapping of the creature's abnormally large, deformed ears. Should the lobisón be injured by a stranger who crosses his path and doesn't recognize him for what he is, the spell is lifted. Unfortunately for the stranger, the creature expresses his gratitude by making every effort to kill his benefactor; for this reason, it is advised that the optimal course of action when meeting such a suspicious creature late on a Friday night is to kill first, ask questions afterwards.
Appropriate behavior when confronting a lobisón is just one of the invaluable pieces of advice the traveller will glean from this book. Other highlights include:
* how to make yourself invisible at will * how to ensure that the object of your infatuation returns your affections * survival tips when dealing with the Aho-Aho, the Yasi-Yatere, and other cryptozoological denizens of the region.
I'd include these secrets in this review, but then (obviously) I would have to track you down and kill you. Buy your own damned copy!
(You won't be sorry)
*For extra credit: Juan and Begoña are a Patagonian couple with five strapping sons (and no daughters). Given that they are devout practising Catholics and have two further children, what is the probability that their seventh child is a lobisón?...more
This book contains roughly sixty stories, representing five previously published collections, spanning Hig DEPRAVED, DISTURBING, AND ODDLY DELECTABLE
This book contains roughly sixty stories, representing five previously published collections, spanning Highsmith’s career.
Normally I try to resist the whole "the author's life is the key to the work" argument, because it's so obviously rubbish in many, if not most, cases. There are perfect monsters who wrote like angels, and virtue in one's private life is a worthless predictor of literary talent. However, it's hard to watch the parade of pathologically depraved characters presented in these stories and not be reminded that they were written by someone whose mother once told her she'd tried to abort her by drinking turpentine. The stories in this collection were written over the course of several decades, but one feature is a constant throughout – Ms. Highsmith’s unwavering misanthropy. Her interest in the aberrant and antisocial side of human behavior was an early development -- at the age of eight, she discovered Karl Menninger's The Human Mind and was particularly fascinated by the case studies of schizophrenics, pyromaniacs, and those with other mental disorders. (Wikipedia)
Exploration of transgressive behavior is the defining characteristic of Highsmith’s work. From the early “Strangers on a train”, through the various Ripley novels, and in each of the roughly sixty stories in this collection, her (human) characters are variously depicted as amoral, manipulative, shallow, or weak, prisoners of their most venal impulses. In contrast, the portrayal of the animal characters that populate the first dozen stories (taken from “The Animal-Lover’s Book of Beastly Murder”) is infinitely more sympathetic. Most of these stories are told from the animal’s point of view, and it’s quite clear who Highsmith favors in the ongoing battle of man versus beast. Circus elephants, ferrets, horses, rats and truffle-hunting pigs all exact vengeance in these stories. Highsmith wastes little sympathy on their human victims. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect is her skill in manipulating the reader’s sympathies. In stories like “Hamsters versus Websters” and “The Bravest Rat in Venice”, you may find yourself rooting for those homicidal hamsters, or caring more about the survival of the rat than the fate of the baby.
Stories from the second collection, “Little Tales of Misogyny”, are less successful. At an average length of under 3 pages, character development is not an option, so that everything rests on the cleverness of a given story's central conceit. But with titles like “The Fully Licensed Whore, or, the Wife”, “The Mobile Bed Object”, and “The Breeder”, subtlety and genuine wit are in short supply.
Highsmith ups the ante in later stories, and the best stories in the book are all taken from the last three collections. There is a fair amount of death and dismemberment, usually with a macabre twist. The best stories are those where she explores her characters' demons without actually having them erupt in homicidal fury, as she does in “The Terrors of Basketweaving”, for my money the best story in the book.
Not all of the stories work. Highsmith’s focus on transgressive behavior, her predilection for writing about those on the fringe – often antisocial, amoral, and outlawed – doesn’t necessarily lend itself to the short story form. Sometimes the characters are simply too repulsive to be interesting, a problem which might be fixed in a full-length novel, but not within a short story. In general, though this work is impressive, I don't think it's as strong as the Ripley novels. But, even taking the weaker stories into account, it is still well worth reading, and many of the later stories in particular are outstanding.
Be warned, though. These are tales of the macabre; reading too many of them in one sitting might jaundice your view of the human species permanently. ...more
This wasn't quite as brilliant as the first chapter, included as teaser in the New Work Times book review a few weeks ago, led me to expect. But thereThis wasn't quite as brilliant as the first chapter, included as teaser in the New Work Times book review a few weeks ago, led me to expect. But there is plenty of good stuff to cheer and amuse the reader.
The book is formatted like a dictionary, in which each entry is an idiosyncratic riff by Blount on some aspect of the alphabet, words, the English language, language generally, or English usage. (Blount is a member of the American Heritage Dictionary usage panel.)
What do I mean by 'idiosyncratic riff'? Here is a representative sample:
Why do so many reduplicative expressions (e.g. heebie-jeebies) in English begin with 'h' than with any other letter? (with an impressive list of 54 examples) Origins of the word 'mansuetude'. Menu-ese: language atrocities culled from menus. Goldwynisms; The (non)-admissibility of 'hopefully': Blount comes down squarely against it. (A position I disagree with - it seems to me to fill the same need as its German equivalent - "hoffentlich" - and Blount's charges of ambiguity seem unconvincing to me). Synesthesia. Great one-word, two-word, and three-word sentences; e.g. 'Fuhgeddaboudit', 'Nooses give', 'Omit needless words'. Ruminations on each of the individual letters of the alphabet.
To me, Blount's thoughts about the individual letters of the alphabet were hit-or-miss, with more misses than hits. Another recurring theme of his which was reasonably amusing the first couple of times he brought it up, much less so the fifteenth, was the property he refers to by the cutesy-irritating coinage 'sonicky'. Blount uses it to mean a broader kind of onomatopoeia - a 'sonicky' word is one which is acoustically appropriate to its meaning. As examples he cites 'chunky', 'squeeze', 'foist'. The concept didn't bother me particularly, but Blount's obsessive returning to it every few pages got old really fast, and the term 'sonicky' should have been put down at birth. My final complaint about "Alphabet Juice" is the unforgivable lack of an index - a lazy, annoying omission.
But this is mere caviling. These are minor flaws in a book which has more than its share of highly amusing entries. Blount's enthusiasm for language, and his appreciation for its oddities, are infectious.
This would make a good gift for any language-lover on your Christmas list. That is, assuming he or she already owns the five-star "Limits of Language" by Mikael Parkvall:
Murder and mayhem stalk the randy monks of the abbey of San Redempto. There's a whole lot of Machiavellian plotting going on in this original, and faiMurder and mayhem stalk the randy monks of the abbey of San Redempto. There's a whole lot of Machiavellian plotting going on in this original, and fairly amusing, tale of the disappearance of a set of paintings, possibly by Poussin, from the monastery.
Will Brother Brocard outsmart the villainous Brother Otger? Will the transsexual art historian Zlinka get his/her way? How does Brother Bertie end up servicing the porn site ItalStud.com? Do they have any proofreaders at all at St Martin's Press/Alyson Books?
The answer to that last question is evidently a resounding "no" - plazas 'team' with activity, the bad guys give 'free reign' to their evil instincts, until they end up getting their 'just desserts'. But if you're willing to overlook these minor irritants, this isn't a bad little whodunit....more
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