Cinema Speculation

Cinema Speculation by Quentin Tarantino (2022) It’s like a conversation with a friend who goes on and on about movies—I say conversation because I found myself talking back, at points. He didn’t listen to me, but that’s the way it usually goes. Even if I often don’t agree, it’s worth my time because he’s more enthusiastic than I am, knows more, and has actually talked to some of the people in question here. It’s primarily centered around 1970’s cinema from the U.S.—which is my favorite era of film, so a lot of this book felt like me reliving my own memoires. We’re roughly the same age (he’s the age of my younger brother), and I especially liked the chapter about seeing films as a kid—we share the experience of seeing a lot of these Seventies movies at the theater—at what is probably considered too young an age. My parents took me to everything, regardless of the potentially disturbing content—and we’d talk about what I didn’t understand. Tarantino seems to have remembered every film he’s ever seen, where he saw it, and what else was on the bill. The chapter I most liked was the one on Bullitt (1968), as that’s a movie that I’ve always had an odd attraction for (its unusual flatness) which increases with each viewing. He articulates this very well. Also, it was fun to relive my experience seeing Deliverance (1972) at the theater—through his breaking that one down. His history of seeing Blaxploitation films, and that influence on his filmmaking, is illuminating. The chapter that surprised me the most was his lengthy appreciation for L.A. film critic Keven Thomas—which is really kind of touching. As is the final chapter, a tribute to a man, Floyd Ray Wilson, who dated his mom’s friend—who he befriended as a kid, and who first inspired him to try to write screenplays. And there’s lots, lots more. With each of his subjects, he extensively covers the background of the film’s inception, sometimes comparing original scripts to final movies, and speculating on alternative actors, filmmakers, and decisions that could have and would have changed film history. I’m not usually a fan of this kind of geek-level stuff, but in this case I found it a lot of fun—fascinating—and that includes the examinations of the cultural and critical perception of a lot of the films in question. I’m guessing he could do a “part 2” to this book—probably will.

8.1.23

Mister Wonderful

Mister Wonderful by Daniel Clowes (2011) Some version of this was first published in New York Times Magazine—I remember that, though I don’t remember in what format—this book format is somewhat experimental—it’s almost exactly twice as wide as it is tall—so it looks a lot like the shape of a “widescreen” movie (I’m not measuring the exact specs or ratio). Of course, the individual panels vary widely in size and shape, but sometimes he has a full-page composition. And then sometimes it opens to a two-page layout, in which case you get a much, much more wide composition than you’ll ever see in comics, movies, or even art (I’m sure there are some instances, out there, that I don’t know). He really takes advantage of these different configurations—so you get the sense of someone experimenting in the best, most playful way—which is nice, because the story is a little grim. It’s a deep and detailed examination of a first, blind date between a man and woman who have both had (we find out as we go along) some particularly difficult relationship problems in the past. Nothing out of the ordinary—pretty much the love-life hardships everyone has—but detailing things we don’t exactly highlight on dating sites (god forbid we’re on dating sites, and wanting to put the best version of ourselves out for sale). It’s from the point of view (we get his internal monologue) of a guy, Marshall, who does have some anger issues, but mostly wallows in typical male cluelessness—but I can relate to him. The date is with Natalie, a woman most people will feel they’ve known, or known someone like, to one degree or another. The one issue I had with the story is the “saving the woman” fantasy—which is usually just that (fantasy, I mean)—but it’s a story, and it moves the action along. The other funny thing is there are multiple run-ins with the same “homeless” guy, Randy (third book in a month with a character by that name—what does it mean?)—like it’s Mayberry RFD and he’s Otis the drunk. Clowes has a way, though, of whenever things are getting a little too annoying, to end a page or sequence with a “zinger” (which was the structure of Wilson)—often really funny. I’m not the biggest fan of love stories with happy endings, but this take on the romcom is filled with enough pain that I was perfectly okay with the relatively decent outcome.

7.24.23

The Queen’s Gambit

The Queen’s Gambit by Walter Tevis (1983) I’ve only been frustrated by chess. I learned how to play it when I was younger, but I was never remotely good—and by now, I barely remember how the pieces move. So, I’m not a chess person—though I am in awe of the game. I came upon this book because I liked The Man Who Fell to Earth (1963) so much—but I was wary—after all, that was about a space alien, and this is about chess—what could they possibly have in common? Well, addiction, for one, which is something I relate to and like reading about. Of course, this book, like life, is about much more than chess—addiction, for example—but a lot of other stuff, too. It follows the life of a young woman, Beth, from her childhood in an orphanage (something about the fish sticks on Friday is more horrifying than anything—fish squares covered in sweet orange sauce). Then, discovering chess—to becoming a chess prodigy—growing up, the chess world, and fame. The most amazing thing about the book, for me, is that it really is heavily about chess—yet I was totally transfixed—as if I was watching each game unfold and understanding what was happening, game-wise, strategy-wise—even though I know close to nothing about the game. In a way, I felt like I was watching sports—I mean, as a sports fan—sports at their best. I tried to imagine writing about, say, football for someone who didn’t know football—I don’t think I could do it. Yet, Tevis pulled it off, here—totally engrossing and exciting, even. Also, a really good ending, neither tragic nor triumphant—more like real life, but also satisfying—feeling like an ending, coming full circle. It almost made me cry. I guess Walter Tevis died not long after this book was published—I can’t help but wonder if he intended to write a sequel. The chess world must be really stressful and even more weird for an ongoing chess champion—so more about chess, fame, addiction, aging. If he didn’t, I guess it’s our loss. I heard they made some kind of TV show from this book. I might wait long enough to forget it a bit, then check it out. Or, I might decide to re-read this book.

7.12.23

Sea of Tranquility

Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel (2022) I said I was through with time travel stories, but I guess not, since I knew that going in—plus, I like the title so much. Every few years someone comes out with a book or movie with this title, which is understandable—though if this book makes a big splash (maybe it has) the next might have to wait for a while—or else go back in time and publish it. One problem with time travel, the more you think about it, the less fun it gets—so you’re tempted to just turn your brain off and accept the fantasy—but where’s the fun in that? The fun here, though, is that it’s presented as a puzzle, so there’s that mystery element of putting the clues together, so that’s pretty satisfying. Also, it’s funny—there’s a depiction of one of the central characters who is a novelist and is on a book tour, and it’s hilarious. As far as the time travel storyline, one of my favorite bits is that time travel is facilitated by the “Time Institute”—a powerful organization whose main objective seems to be seeing that the time travel that does happen doesn’t ultimately affect the timeline of the Time Institute. The storylines involving all this are pared down to a few incidents over several centuries, and the events themselves are lowkey and seemingly inconsequential. It kind of reminded me of the effective approach by that indie movie a few years back (can’t remember its name) where not much happened, but there was a lot to think about. The book is pleasingly sparse, and unlike the bloated, maximalist approach of some science fiction. Besides also being a mystery, it owes something to detective fiction—out of which comes the main character who is not the smartest person in the story, but very relatable. Ultimately, the heart of the novel is the choices he makes— legitimately tough decisions that come alive for the reader—and his actions have real consequences.

7.5.23

The Complete Eightball – 1-18

The Complete Eightball – 1-18 by Daniel Clowes (2022) When I heard that Daniel Clowes had a new book coming out (this fall) I decided to read and re-read all of his stuff and maybe even rank them (because I’m a nerd—see, “Listz-O-Mania!” on this website) before the new one comes out. Entirely for fun, of course. But, however, I decided to skip some of the ones I don’t have—mostly the earlier books like Pussey! and the two Lloyd Llewellyn collections, Orgy Bound, and Lout Rampage! I do plan to get to the rest, but we’ll see. There is some overlap with some of his books and this collection, of course, but seeing how all of his stuff if worth re-reading, I’m all for it. You can read this cinderblock of comics from cover to cover (I did)—including the letters (letters!) printed in original issues. Also, a couple of sections of notes by the author—worth reading! It’s fun seeing the serials Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron and Ghost World in their original context—maybe even better to read them spaced with other stuff in between. I also really like the ongoing Dan Pussey! saga. But the most truly weird, sometimes, and often funniest stuff are the short comics, often one-offs, that might go a few pages, or maybe just one, or half a page—sometimes a single panel. My favorites include: “Nature Boy” (three pages, most of it some striking, dark, complex jungle images, with a kid exploring, and then the final couple frames, truly weird), “Zubrick and Pogeybiat,” “Dickie—Disgusting Old Acne Fetishist” (really gross), “A Message to the People of the Future,” “Grip Glutz and Shamrock Squid” (made me laugh harder than anything), “Ectomorph,” “Glue Destiny,” “Cool Your Jets” (Stew and Lew), “On Sports,” “Hippypants and Peace Bear,” and many many more, really no bad ones. It’s interesting to see when different things came out, and next to what, and in what issue. Offhand, I’d say my favorite ever issue of Eightball would be Number Eleven (which came out 1993). It starts with “The Party,” which is one of the more realist and seemingly autobiographical ones I can think of… and the issue ends with the first installment of “Ghost World.” Then there’s the “Hollywood adaption” of Velvet Glove—really funny. But in the middle are two of the more twisted comics, in my opinion. One is called “The Fairy Frog,” which he says is an Irish Folktale—and it reads like it—weird, scary, and not totally adding up—but there’s something about the way he illustrates it that makes it even more disturbing, and also very funny. And then there’s “The Happy Fisherman”—that could be a small-town morning paper comic done by R. Crumb—about a fisherman with no pants and a frozen carp stuck to his crotch—his companion a talking worm, a piece of bait hanging from his fishing pole. They meet the deranged Smitty the Dowser, some drug dealers (who Smitty executes), and “Furburger,” and… well, he never reaches the ol’ fishin’ hole. It might sound like I’m making that up, but no, it was Clowes, in 1993.

6.28.23

The Mystery Hunters at the Haunted Lodge

The Mystery Hunters at the Haunted Lodge by Capwell Wyckoff (1934) A solid boys’ adventure story from the Thirties with an element of mystery. Four high school boys decide to take Christmas in a cabin on a frozen Vermont lake, and while they’re at it, look into rumors of some hauntings at the big, old, closed up lake lodge. They skate up the frozen river to get there, then go about exploring and making their camp comfortable, while having some run-ins with some unpleasant rich kids from their school, and someone, or some thing, who steals some of their stuff. The high point of the story is when the boys become separated, and a couple of them get stuck out in a blizzard after going for supplies. I always like a good snowstorm, and this one goes on for several chapters. The story sounds like not much when outlined, but I found the book quite engaging. Capwell Wyckoff woite the four-book “Mystery Hunters” series and several other books, including the Mercer Boys series, which I’ve seen but never read. Plus, he’s got a cool sounding name.

6.15.23

Eileen

Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh (2015) I heard somewhere that this book was made into a movie already, so I decided I should read it first, because after you see a movie, you don’t want to read a book that it was based on because it feels too much like homework—the comparisons weighing on you. I heard an interview with the author, Ottessa Moshfegh, and I felt like I related to her in some way or another, which is one of those things that gets me reading a book. The story is narrated by a much older Eileen—so right off, we’re not worrying too much if she’s going to die before this immediate saga is through—which is always a relief. It takes place, oddly, in 1964, I believe—which is probably about the first year I remembered things—though it was mostly Vietnam stuff on TV—the oppressive nightly news. I couldn’t help comparing my own “ideal” childhood to Eileen’s exceedingly grim one (she says something like she despises people with ideal childhoods—ha). She is 24, so born in 1940 (which I used to think of as a cutoff year—anyone born later than that was “young”) which makes Eileen about four years younger than my mom—and she is the age my mom was when I was born—weird. Also, 1964 was the year my aunt was murdered, while living with us—which as a kid, I didn’t know about until much later—but still, I knew something was up. For some reason my aunt was gone and my parents were acting insane. She refers to the town as “X-ville” for some reason (I guess so we don’t go looking it up on the map—most people don’t do that—I do). Which is fine, and also compelled me to just translate it to my hometown, which isn’t New England, but is still spooky Northern Ohio on the lake—probably more ghost Puritans and witches in her town, but plenty of ghost Native Americans and religious fanatics in mine. Either way, we both had prisons, crappy bars, and people in hiding. Also, there’s a character named Randy—what’s a name mean? Well, it’s hard for me to get away from that one. He’s the major obsession for Eileen until Rebecca comes along (named supposedly after the movie, Rebecca). Even without these insights and incidental personal connections, I would have found this an engaging and haunting book. You are getting to know Eileen little by little, often painfully (I wouldn’t let a best friend be this open about stuff—but I guess that’s why we have books—and for a while, you’re thinking, this is why we have poltergeists). The story then takes a hard turn toward brightness and fun when she meets this mysterious character, Rebecca—who I was initially frightened of, but then came to love as quickly as Eileen became infatuated with her. For one thing, you know some weird shit is gonna come to light eventually. But first, the book took a really grim turn toward reality—which you could see coming, or should have, as this is a prison for kids. The whole story still kept on being hilariously funny, somehow, in its way—even while we’re face to face with some really sad and depressing realties of abuse. And at this point, I can’t really say more without messing it up for the reader who might have not read it… plus, I’ve said enough.

6.8.23

Dr. No

Dr. No by Percival Everett (2022)  It’s the first book I’ve read by the author, Percival Everett, and now I want to read more—he’s written a lot of books. A weird and very funny yarn that immediately drew me in, as the sense of humor—I felt—was oddly aligned with my own—meaning, kind of odd, a little dorky. The best example of this (and, to me, the book’s funniest detail) is when, at one point, the villain uses his secret weapon (the concept of “nothing”) to reduce the entire community of Quincy, Massachusetts to nothing—not destroyed—just never existed. His reason is because he’s annoyed by the way people there pronounce it—like “Quinzy.” This rather tragic event cracked me up because I’m familiar with that particular town and pronunciation due to Mike Mitchell and the Doughboys podcast! (There may be other cultural references to that regional oddity that I don’t know—but the connection of this book and that podcast—which otherwise don’t have a lot in common—delighted me.) Besides that, the main character is a mathematics professor with a unique approach to life, so even though there are a lot of math and philosophy references that may have sailed over my head, that didn’t bother me. (I always like knowing there is more—that I’m not necessarily getting—and there were some pretty esoteric references I did get.) His name is Wala Kitu and he’s an expert on “nothing”—the concept of nothing—and he’s hired by (and later kidnapped by) John Sill, a wealthy man with ambitions to be a “James Bond” super-villain, who wants to use nothing to nullify the world (or something like that—it’s a tricky concept to explain, but we get it fed over and over until it starts to feel second nature). The story is roughly modeled after the James Bond 007 adventures, and I’m much more proficient in Bond (the movies, anyway) than, say, Derrida. Wala has a one-legged dog named Trigo and a socially awkward mathematician friend named Eigen Vector, who falls under the spell of John Sill. Wala is concerned with the safety of these two, which adds some human stakes to the story—but like Bond, you don’t worry about him so much—he’s almost imperturbable. The episode where he decides he needs a car, even though he’s never driven before—and then his first experiences driving—is particularly hilarious. There are plenty of location changes, ala Bond, as well as gaudy wealth and gadgets—and there is danger and violence, but mostly there’s the ongoing joke about the concept of “nothing”—which made me readjust a bit, mentally, every time I heard it. I mean, the whole book, like any good novel, makes you shift your perspective a little—and in this case more than a little—to go along with the ride. So, of course, there is more than just humor—there’s skewed ways of looking at wealth and power structures, history and race, this messed up country and this messed up time of living in it—and even friendship and love—without it being “about” those things. But, of course, it is, too.

5.30.23

Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron

Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron by Daniel Clowes (1993) The first Daniel Clowes comic I ever read—it ran in the first ten issues of Eightball—which a friend of mine had, in the early Nineties—I should have bought them myself and kept them! The very first bit I remember is where the guy answers the door with the fish tails coming out of his eye sockets, due to some absurd scenario—it’s the image that’s important—and burns a traumatic hole in your mind. Because of moving, life changes, etc., I’m not sure if I finished the serial at that time, or sometime later—anyway, it was worth rereading. It’s a crazy, surreal story that keeps getting weirder as it goes along. The whole thing starts with a guy named Clay seeing his ex in a porn film—classic setup—and then his search for her, in which he encounters cults and secret societies, eccentrics, freaks, weirdos—even a dog with no orifices. It could give you nightmares. I think I would have been disappointed if it all added up—or was explained—but it just keeps getting more mysterious. More creepy characters than you’ll ever see in one place, including a hairy guy who never wears a shirt and is always sweating, and a guy with botched hair transplants whose head looks like a sprouting garden—just the dedication in drawing the details in those guys! Ultimately, Clay’s fate is several levels worse than death, but it’s still pretty funny, and even touching in a way. My favorite character ended up being the diner waitress, Tina, who looks like part fish, part potato—at first repulsive, she ends up being really quite endearing.

5.20.23

An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter

An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter by César Aira (2000) A novel about a real person, the 19th Century German landscape painter, Johann Moritz Rugendas (who I’m not familiar with, and only know he’s a historical figure because I looked him up) who traveled to South America to paint. He’s traveling across this vast region of Argentina on horses and huge carts in an absurdly slow journey, but things get crazy when he’s struck by lightning and nearly killed. He endures, howerer, with the help of some medical procedures, drugs, and his trusty sidekick. I had to consider, of course, that the only difference between it being a novel and a historical account is what the author and historians claim. It’s a bizarre story about the hardship of the journey and it gets quite surreal and hallucinatory—and there’s also a lot of odd humor. There are some philosophical ruminations about painting, as well, and I suppose about art in general. I couldn’t help thinking of Werner Herzog’s approach, in many of his films. All of life is extremely weird, but is often flattened in the telling, whether by a fictional approach, or by historical accounts—but this story brings out the strangeness and wonder.

5.14.23

Me and White Supremacy

Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad (2020) The full title is: Me and White Supremacy: Combat Racism, Change the World, and Become a Good Ancestor. Both a book and a learning course, if you choose to approach it that way, to define what white supremacy is and how white privilege works, and how you, as a white person, are complicit—whether or not knowingly—and how you can work to make changes—both in the way you think and the way you act. And then how you can help educate others and keep making an effort to progress, as a lifelong thing. It’s also a good source of learning about related issues, like white fragility, white exceptionalism white apathy, white centering, cultural appropriation, and more. It took me longer to get through this book than I had anticipated because it takes a lot out of you, especially if you’re giving it a lot of thought, and if you are changing your own thinking—which can be painful, and emotional. I felt it worked for me (facilitated by the journal prompts at the end of each chapter) because I kept finding myself pushing back, mentally arguing, then accepting what she was saying, time and time again—back and forth, like a challenging relationship—but one in which you are ultimately enriched, because it’s built on love. I believe the book works well with its workbook structure, in that it introduces a subject, fills it out, then asks you how you feel, and your relationship with it, and the extent of your ongoing complicity—you raise questions to answer for yourself. Even if you are someone not inclined to proceed this way, it might be worth a try. I always find that my thinking about anything becomes clearer and more in depth through writing—I can go to other places than I had previously imagined, further than I had thought possible. It is about identifying your blind spots—which are frequent, overlapping, shifting, elusive. It’s been with us all our lives—so it’s necessary to have a real shift in our way of thinking in order to begin to help make changes.

5.11.23

The Mystery of Morgan Castle

The Mystery of Morgan Castle by John and Nancy Rambeau (1962) Illustrations by Joseph Maniscalco. I’ve found a few copies of this series—The Morgan Bay Mysteries—over the years—which all have a distinct look and style. One of the books (The Mystery of the Musical Ghost) is memorable in that it’s the first book that I remember writing a book report about, when I was in grade school. (Whatever grade that is when you first write book reports!) This is the first book of the series—it’s a pretty basic mystery, for early readers, I guess (there’s a limited vocabulary, and study exercises in the back). The story does have one shocking element, though (I won’t give it away), and it also paints a picture of this cool, coastal town. The very best thing about the book (and the series), though, are the illustrations by Joseph Maniscalco—striking, full-page compositions in a realist style that’s both nostalgic and kind of creepy—dark, brooding, sepia tone depictions of action. Also, in each book there’s some kind of an aerial view map or floorplan—in this one it’s the beach neighborhood and castle—from directly above. I am just a total sucker for children’s books with floorplans, maps, charts, aerial views, cross-sections, and cutaways. I’ll buy the books just for those elements. So, I collect, and sometimes go back to, these Morgan Bay books just for the illustrations.

5.8.23

Wilson

Wilson by Daniel Clowes (2010) I read Wilson many years ago, and since saw a movie based on it (which I remember liking, I think), and just re-read it. It’s got big pages, like a comic book, and nearly 80 pages, so there’s a lot of Wilson—it’s kind of a life story. The most surprising thing is that each page is like its own chapter, with a title, and a self-contained episode. Most of them have a similar rhythm, with a quickly established situation and then a resolution. Often the last frame comes off as a punchline, and some are really, really funny. The next surprising thing is that there are several different styles of drawing—from very naturalistic to more comic and exaggerated—big heads and bulbous noses. Also, some are full color and some black and white and various degrees of tinting. The last surprising thing, then, is that you might start to care about him—Wilson—well, as a human being, anyway. If nothing else, you understand him. And this is surprising because he’s a reprehensible human being. I’ll skip the reasons and the labels and examples—that’s the fun of the book, because we can laugh at him—and you might have to laugh at yourself—for the ways you relate to him. I like to think that with some of these pages, Clowes surprised even himself—like looking down on himself, shaking his head. My favorite combination (whether in songs or stories) is funny and sad, and a little bit weird. So, maybe the only reason this isn’t my favorite book ever is the limits of my compassion—in that, if I were to encounter Wilson, in life, I don’t think he’d like me. As far as the weird part—here’s an example: there’s one page, titled: “Frankenstein,” in which the humor is so bizarre and esoteric that I can’t imagine more than a tiny percentage of readers really connecting to the humor—but I’ve got to imagine that Clowes, after finishing that one, must have fallen to the floor (even if he’s not the falling to the floor type) unable to contain his own laughter.

4.30.23

Today I am a Ham

Today I am a Ham by Ethelyn M. Parkinson (1968) The book by my favorite author that I didn’t have, and didn’t think I’d get, since it seems it’s gotten collectable or rare—I don’t know—hard to find and a bit expensive. But my brother found it for me—quite a thoughtful gift. Maybe ham radio stories are kind of niche market, since they’ve got to be somewhat scarce—though I’m sure there are plenty of ham operators out there, still. I didn’t get into that anything like this, amateur radio, as a hobby, as a kid—I think my friend’s brother might have. The story is set in a small Midwestern town—and since Ethelyn M. Parkinson was from Green Bay, Wisconsin, we can picture it up there. It’s another portrait of an interesting family—similar to Rupert Piper’s and Trent Conway’s (from her other books)—but in this one, the main character, Eric, who’s in junior high, has three older sisters—well-defined characters who are hilarious in how different they all are. Their dad is over-zealous sports coach, and Eric worries that he’s letting his dad down by not being athletic—he’s a ham radio nerd! I think my favorite character is the mother, who navigates her nutty family and a busy-body neighbor with cool and humor—maybe she reminds me of my own mother, in a way. My other favorite is an electrical supply shop owner and local musician they call Mean John—if you’ve known this kind of eccentric, you’ll recognize him. Eric spends much time and effort both trying to raise money for his radio gear, and learning the skills needed to get licensed and excel at it. Since I know nothing about amateur radio, I don’t know how accurate or in-depth it is, but there’s a lot of jargon and slang—easy to follow even knowing nothing about it. I wonder if ham radio enthusiasts like the book? As far as the drama, you can see the various resolutions coming down Fifth Avenue, but no matter—it’s still a lot of fun—while having good insights into family chemistry that are pretty universal—while also being particular and quirky.

4.25.23

Ghost World

Ghost World by Daniel Clowes (1997) Because I heard that Daniel Clowes has a new book coming out later this year, I thought it would be fun (because I am a nerd) to read (and in some cases, re-read) all, or most, of his books, because he is my favorite comics/graphic novel/what have you author—and one of my favorite authors, period. I started with Ghost World since it’s been a long time since I read it, and I’ve seen the movie version (2001) a few times since. I forgot how completely different the movie is from the book. As much as I do love the movie, I like the book even more. It’s a weird thing comparing movies and books—they always change each other—change how you see them—it’s kind of tragic, in a way. Anyway, these two main characters, Enid and Rebecca, are so strongly depicted, they come alive in your memory—I’m convinced they are people I knew. A funny thing this book got me thinking about is my past relationships (not just the romantic ones)—and how every time I’ve “made new friends”—with women, say—there have always (or almost always) been two women, close friends, like a team. I could go through my past acquaintances and make a list—but that would be too intimate for a book review. Anyway, that is interesting to me—I wonder why that is. Anyway, I like the whole universe of this book—the (I think unnamed) town, the geography, the streets, and the interiors—it’s like a world from one of my dreams. And the places—the diners and stores. The idea of appreciating something for its “badness” is not something you come across in popular culture stories every day, but I relate to it totally—well, especially my twenty-something self—in the Eighties. The dialogue is perfect—sometimes, it’s minimal, which is more perfect still. Especially impressive is the details in the drawings. When you’re reading, since it’s a narrative, it’s easy to go too fast and overlook the subtleties and complexities in each frame. The expressions on their faces—particularly Enid and Rebecca—say more than could be depicted in words—I suppose it’s similar to what you get from the best actors—but actors working at a very high level. It’s definitely worth going back over—re-reading is almost necessary to really take in the richness conveyed by the images. The overall story is very good, too, and it’s at once very funny, and also very weird (with unexpected, unique details), and also very sad. But sad in a realistic, human, loving way—kind of world-weary, melancholy and knowing, and inevitable—and something we can all relate to and all know well.

4.9.23

The Philosophy of Modern Song

The Philosophy of Modern Song by Bob Dylan (2022) It might be okay to be Bob Dylan (able to write and publish a book like this and know it’s going to sell, so you get to pick out lots of intriguing, fun, and expensive photos to go along with it—which will just help it sell more). But it might be hard to be him (and someone close to him)—a man whose mere mention causes so many people to lose their minds with worship, while compelling others to curse and spit—not an enviable place. Me, I like him. I only recently read his Chronicles book and was surprised how much I enjoyed it, so I figured I’d read this one right away. I didn’t like it quite as much, but I zipped right through. Organized as it is—a list of 66 songs—you might expect it to be something like Bob’s fav 66 tunes (as if he, or anyone else, could make that list), but no—it’s using these songs to help illustrate something (the philosophy of modern song, perhaps?)—so really, it’s better to read straight through, rather than skipping songs you don’t know and jumping to your favorites. It would probably make more sense to be structured thematically (it is to some degree) but it wouldn’t be as compelling—we love lists. If you look at it as simply a list, it might come across as a little nuts—but you’ve got to read it to make sense of it. Interesting—I knew roughly half the songs (one, as luck would have it, that I was writing about at the time, for a record review). Dylan’s writing is all over the place—multiple styles and approaches—which I thought was a lot of fun, as well. At its most enjoyable, I felt like I was taking a bottle of Ripple over to Uncle Bob’s shack in the woods in order to get him in the mood to pontificate about this and that—stream of consciousness-like—half-drunk, on the edge of brilliance, nonsense, anger, preaching, geeking out rabid fan, harsh critic, and even philosophy.

3.28.23

The Literary Conference

The Literary Conference by César Aira (2006) Though it’s a short book, it’s an epic adventure, or series of adventures, related by the narrator (same name as the author). The episodes described are not important, except in that they keep you rolling along as he talks about other stuff and gets you thinking. What you take from it has to do with where you are. For example, in the middle part, there’s a production of the man’s play—and he says he’s somewhat attempting a literary version of Escher’s “Belvedere”—which was something I was obsessed at the time I read it—because of my own work—so that especially resonated with me. Since my relationship with Carlos Fuentes is admittedly lukewarm, however, the part where he attempts to clone the author doesn’t have quite the depth it might have—though it is very funny—and even weirder than you’d imagine. The story is set in a coastal Venezuelan town, so that got me exploring geography—because the setting is crucial to the stories. The first episode is about a pirate treasure—and seemed to be to some degree plausible—something I had to look up, online. It struck me, then, a little sad—the ease in which I got to the bottom of that mystery—and how it would have been much more satisfying if I had to ask people about it—or even better, a group of us read the book and discussed it. That line of thinking, then, got me thinking about how search engines are increasingly about monetizing, and we might be back to square one, research-wise, before we know it. And that’s another example of the tangents this book led me on—not entirely related—but it’s all related. It was interesting how the total absurdity of some of the plotlines led me to places that were not absurd, but rational and complex.

3.21.23

Ghost of The Hardy Boys

Ghost of The Hardy Boys by Leslie McFarlane (1976) I’ve known about this book forever but resisted reading it—fearing the worst—you know—but I was really surprised at how good it is. It’s really very entertaining—because he’s so funny and has a good attitude about being this kind of odd figure in literary history—a ghostwriter. He also describes his young life in Canadian mining towns and early career as a journalist—as well as his writing career after writing series books. I’ve always been curious about a few things, ever since I learned that about 20 of the early Hardy Boy books were written by him—including most of the early ones, which are among the best—and he answered a lot of my questions. He was much the source of the humor, strangeness, and irreverence that make the early, original versions so good. Of course, I grew up thinking Franklin W. Dixon was a real person—so it wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned most of the children’s series books were written by ghostwriters, and it wasn’t until much later that I learned that many books (Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, primarily) were not only being updated—in many cases entirely rewritten. McFarlane apparently didn’t learn until much later in life, either, about the re-writing—and he ends the book on that note. He doesn’t necessarily sound bitter about it—or the fact that he was paid around $100 per book—and they went on to be franchises—but he gets his last word in here, at least. You can tell by reading this autobiography, as well as early editions of the Hardys, that he had a unique sensibility and went a much further than it would have been required of him to infuse books—particularly the early Hardys—with some oddball perspective—essentially the personality of the books—which is why I’m still able to read them as an adult.

3.14.23

The Short-Wave Mystery

The Short-Wave Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon (1945) Right after finishing The Melted Coins, partly for research, for something I’m writing, I decided to go onto the next Hardy Boy book, The Short-Wave Mystery (original text), because it was the last one written by Leslie McFarlane, supposedly, and I was curious if it would be even half as weird at the previous one. Also, it’s now winter, and on the picture-cover copy I have, the Hardys are out in the snow. Well, this one started out odd, as well, almost like a formal experiment in being distracted. Frank and Joe are into the short-wave radio thing, but Chet’s new hobby is taxidermy, so they move onto that. Then they chase some thief from an auction, until they come upon a dead deer in the road. They contact the game warden, then later ask for the hide and head of the animal for Chet. They’re supposed to be helping their dad with a mystery using the short-wave radio, when they find their skis in the attic and start polishing them… until they find out a guy told Chet the deer was his pet, and swindled him—and when the Hardys go after that guy, they run into some poor, city kids who they take home to have a nice dinner. Helping the poor kids becomes an enduring theme in this book—and it’s actually pretty heartwarming. The other side plot is the Hardy’s want to help this scientist find his colleagues who have gone missing in the Hudson Bay region (which is, if you haven’t looked at map lately, a “bay” about the size of India). Hardy Boy stories are renowned for their coincidences, but it wouldn’t happen that the unrelated missing scientists and the short-wave gang are not only in the same region, but on either side of a hill. No! Well, it’s not a winter book, but they do spend some time in the snow, up north. Anyway, for all that, it’s still not close to being as outlandish as The Melted Coins.

2.21.23

Jazz 101: A Complete Guide to Learning and Loving Jazz

Jazz 101: A Complete Guide to Learning and Loving Jazz by John Szwed (2000) It’s easy to criticize this by its title alone—and I thought I might—but I found the book, as a whole, both informative and enjoyable. You’re not really “learning” jazz—but getting an overview, a foundation to proceed from. And as far a “loving” goes, that’s between you and the music. The “101” part is apt, though—meaning, an introductory course, an overview—meant to be the foundation for further leaning and experience. I’ve been listening to Jazz for half a century, but I have my favorites—and there’s lots and lots, volumes, of music I know nothing about. The history of Jazz is so vast and varied that no person could know it all or have heard everything. Even if you had an unlimited budget for music, you wouldn’t have the time. The nice thing about this book is that it gives you recommendations, so you can at least narrow down the vast and varied music out there. For me, I liked hearing about the music from the artists I know about—which added to my love for it. Then based on that, hearing about other artists I’m not familiar with, so that I might continue exploring in those directions.

2.9.23