The Hobbit

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien (1937) As uncannily connected to our lives as TV and tobacco, the “hobbit” is singlehandedly responsible for me never being able to spell either habbit or rabit. Everyone knows the story—but just in case: A hobbit named Bilbo Baggins soars to decadent heights while trying to evade the authorities as he and his colleagues rake in billions by shamelessly masterminding crooked financial relationships in every sector of society. I read it (and “The Trilogy”) in high school and have been kicking around a nice copy for years, but decided to try an audiobook version, though I’m not interested in any that are abridged, or theatrical. Of the full-length narrations, there seem to be two competing readers, Andy Serkis and Rob Inglis—so I decided on both—simultaneously! (Not in either side of the headphones!—I’m not one of those nuts that says why did God give us two ears if he didn’t want us to multitask!) Well, Serkis is good, sounds like he records while pounding Red Bull—but when I got to his rendition of Gollum (never my favorite), I could only imagine having to clean the microphone after a session of his over-the-top spewing emotes. In fact, I even had to clean my headphones! So, I switched over to Inglis, who is so mellow that sometimes you think your Bluetooth has disconnected but then you can hear his slightly wheezing pauses like a ghost hiding on the other side of your darkened room. I thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere—but not the adventure so much. I was never one for slaying evil. I suppose I always felt I’d prefer boring tales of everydayness in the Shire—I wonder if there’s some fanfiction out there… of course there is. Also, the songs—not my cup of lapsang souchong—when I was a kid, I certainly didn’t attempt to sing them—I probably just skimmed them like eating my vegetables. It’s a bit alarming how much Money-Bags Baggins scarfs up—but then heartening, once again, to learn that he lives out his days as a happy undesirable.

6.15.26

Stella Maris

Stella Maris by Cormac McCarthy (2022) I’ve listened to audiobook versions of the last two Cormac McCarthy books (this, and The Passenger (2022)) a couple of times in the last year or so—kind of obsessed with them. I might eventually read them in book form, but I’m afraid that once you listen to an audiobook it will forever alter how you read it. Anyway, I’m fascinated with how these two books work together—they were published like six weeks apart—and I think they read just as well in either order—or preferably at the same time. They are very different books involving the same characters—brother and sister geniuses, Bobby and Alicia Western, whose father was a Manhattan Project scientist. This book is entirely in the form of interviews, taped by Dr. Cohen, with Alicia, while she’s at Stella Maris psychiatric hospital. During this time, Bobby is in a coma from a racing car accident, and Alicia is on the verge of suicide. It is grim, but also oddly inspiring—perhaps because of the exhilaration of what you’re learning about these people, their pursuits and questions—everything from the basic, Why are we here? —to ideas too far beyond my understanding to get to the bottom of. One example: talking about the advent of language, Alicia compares its arrival to a parasitic invasion. Great stuff to think about. As the book is entirely dialogue, it feels like it could be a theatrical production, radio play, or even a movie—it kind of reminded me of My Dinner with Andre (1981) —one of my favorites—and I liked this book that much. Though—would I have liked it as much without The Passenger? Probably not. Also, sometimes the performances feel a bit sentimental and manipulative. I’m not sure if that’s in the writing, or in the acting—a little of both? It certainly didn’t stop me from multiple listenings, and I’m sure I’ll go back to it yet again.

6.9.26

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Other Jazz Age Tales

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Other Jazz Age Tales by F. Scott Fitzgerald (1922/2008) An audiobook version of four stories from the Tales of the Jazz Age story collection, read by Grover Gardner, includes “Tarquin of Cheapside” and “O Russet Witch!”—both good, and the remarkable story, “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” which is about a man aging backwards. (Never saw the movie version.) An idea everybody has had, and everyone who ever wrote fiction wanted to write—but it’s one of those things, when you sit down to do it—it’s way too overwhelming, I think. FSF pulls it off, somehow—it’s not a drag, which one might imagine—and it all seems to make sense, in a weird way, while also being hilarious. He’s like 70 when he’s born, and people just have to deal with it. As he gets progressively younger, you can imagine the difficulties and twists, but also the story presents you with a lot you didn’t think of. It’s about much more, of course, than the sci-fi spectacle of the premise, and it really quite soulful and melancholy. The reason I picked up this collection was because, in something I was writing, I made an oblique refence to “The Diamond as Big as the Ritz” but realized I’d never read it, and wanted to make sure I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree or anything. So, it turns out this story is amazing, and I was compelled to listen to it several times. I should read it on paper, sometime. It's about a guy who visits his friend’s family home, out west, and it turns out they own land that’s actually a mountain-sized diamond. It’s absurd satire, of course, and delightful in its logic, and somewhat shocking. It’s naturally about wealth, power, America, capitalism, slavery, greed, etc., the outcome inevitable but also satisfying—and it’s, first of all, very, very funny.

6.2.26

At the Mountains of Madness

At the Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft (1936) I guess this is considered a novella, though I’m not sure how many pages it is—I listened to an audiobook version, at about 5 hours. It was originally published in serial form in a science fiction magazine, in the Thirties. It’s fun to imagine readers waiting for the next issue, getting obsessed with this creepy story. It’s about an exploration of Antarctica that then uncovered a lost city of some unknown, pre-human civilization, and the horrific discoveries that go along with that. I’ve been trying to write a similar exploration story for years, so I guess it’s kind of research—but it’s more than anything, my kind of entertainment—at least in this subtle, measured, slow-burn approach. It’s the kind of thing that a movie version CGI monster would ruin for me, ho hum, I guess. But the sane, low-key verbal account—just endless talking—I find that irresistible. You have to imagine, scientists and explorers though history discovering things that contradict previously believed facts, their faith, and other mythologies. Even mountains, deserts, and seas, come upon without prior knowledge of, must have seemed unsettling, though evidence of extinct civilizations even more so. There must have always been speculation that there has been arrivals from other worlds. What I like most about this book, I have to say, is the audio version narrator—his relentless, measured tone—a chillingly lowkey performance. I had to look him up, and it turns out it’s the excellent actor, Edward Herrmann—quite a surprise, in that he’s using a mild British accent. You’ve seen him, here and there—but my favorite roll of his is as “The Headmaster” in the late-Eighties, made-for-TV trilogy of The Lawrenceville Stories—a fantastic, recent discovery.

5.26.26

Carly Remembers

Carly Remembers by R.S. Nichols (2026) This book has a lot going on at once. It’s part mystery and thriller, so you shouldn’t let anyone “spoil” it for you—and I won’t, here. The story is largely from the point of view of Carly McCulley, who is suffering from amnesia after being rendered unconscious in some kind of an assault—so that’s an interesting way to initiate a character study. There’s also an element of a procedural—as the police work to discover her attacker, who they believe might be the serial killer they are after. That’s a side-plot heightened by the intensity in which one of the cops seems to take more than average interest in Carly. As a device, the amnesia is used in a clever way—once Carly discovers that she had been in therapy, she works to bring back her memory by having information divulged by her therapist—so that we are discovering Carly’s past at the same time she’s rediscovering it. And here, we have a parallel story that involves issues around childhood sexual abuse and its ongoing, debilitating effects, including repressed memories. In the present, then, there’s a developing romance, which is given a suspenseful edge, as it involves a man that Carly is slowly returning to her memory. So, little by little, we’re getting a more complete portrait of Carly, who is a fascinating and relatable character—as she rediscovers her passions and interests, as well as her everyday life—shown in this midsized, middle American town. As the story ultimately heats up, there was, for me, some disturbing stuff—but not gratuitous—it’s all in keeping with the intriguing telling of this dark saga.

5.19.26

The Clue in the Diary

The Clue in the Diary by Carolyn Keene (1932) This is Number 7 in the Nancy Drew series, original text version—a title I’ve always found irresistible. Also, this is the book where Nancy meets Ned Nickerson! In fact, they nearly get in a car accident with each other. Spoiler alert! The clue is in the diary! The joke is, Nancy can’t read it because it’s foreign language (Swedish, she believes) and she’s waiting for the Swedish baker to return, to translate it, but she gets sidetracked until the last chapter! Okay, it starts out with Nancy, Bess, and George visiting a carnival, and it mentions The Funny House! Will they revisit it? No. Also, no boating mishaps. But she does get into multiple car accidents and near misses, and also, they see a big house burst into flames! This is just after Nancy and her friends meet a mother and little girl who are poor, and they decide to help them out—but because of some weak, circumstantial evidence, they’re ready to convict the father of the family for arson—talk about jumping to conclusions! How does this happen? Here's what I think. Ned is also, like Nancy, snooping around the site of the fire, the next morning, and he finds a ring! He takes this as an excuse to call on Nancy—it’s a fraternity ring—so he’s using it to figure out if she’s “taken.” My idea is that, once Ned meets Nancy, he wants to “get busy” ASAP, so he fabricates this “found Ring” story—probably an old ring he had—says he found it on the site. BUT…  because Nancy had already found the diary—and there’s “Swedish” on/in both objects—she makes the connection between them, which sets her off on the totally wrong path! But, however, to her credit, Nancy is aware of corrupt and lazy police interrogation techniques, and her intuition, which is good, tells her that her initial suspect is innocent, so she eventually comes to her senses and rejects the circumstantial evidence. The other high point in the book is when Nancy and her friends eat chicken and waffles at a cottage tearoom—an episode that’s far too brief—but essential for a Nancy Drew book!

5.12.26

Second Place

Second Place by Rachel Cusk (2021) What an odd book, and one of my favorites in the last few years, which is impressive because I had read about a third, wasn’t really connecting, so I put it aside for a year. Once I got back into it, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s got a deceptively slight appearance, not real long, kind of unassuming in presentation—but it turns out to be surprisingly heavy-duty, dense—it’s about everything, and it’s intense. It starts out with the first-person narrator addressing someone named “Jeffers”—odd, since that’s my name! Just kidding. My brother is named Jeff, but don’t call him Jeffers, even affectionately. I’m not sure it’s ever explained, maybe I missed it, but it feels like the reader is intercepting this personal correspondence from a woman known only as “M.” She is obsessed with a painter named “L”—and her explanation of how his paintings affected her is kind of breathtaking. She coerces him to come and stay with her and her husband, Tony, as they have a guest house (the “second place”). They live at a fairly remote marsh, on the coast of England—a place I can’t even really picture, as good as the descriptions are. Also, living there are her daughter and her boyfriend—and the young woman L brings along—so this remote spot becomes weirdly overpopulated! There’s almost nothing I relate to—marriage, kids, the landscape—no diners! And the ways days are spent. Maybe only the obsession—I get that. But as the book went along, I was increasingly drawn in and related to everything in it—so much so that I started marking sections with post-it notes—something I never do. I may or may not go back to them—it makes more sense to me to read the whole book over, at some point. By the end, I felt like I’d been in the shoes of all these characters—not just their anxieties, but in deep ways I can’t put into words—that’s what the book does.

5.2.26

Master and Commander

Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian (1969) The first entry of a 20 book series (so if you love it, you’re in luck!) published over like 30 years—which I certainly didn’t know about back when it came out. At that age I read so many seafaring books—I think I would have liked it. Maybe it would have been too adult for me, though that didn’t stop me—the same way my ignorance of world history, British naval culture, and technical matters regarding ships and sailing don’t stop me now—from enjoying it immensely. There was a time when I felt I had to be “prepared” for a book, but now I’m more apt to jump right in, knowing that I can easily re-read (or re-listen) to it, no problem. The excellent writing really paints a picture of life aboard this Royal Navy ship, a “sloop-of-war,” around 1800, during the Napoleonic Wars. The heart of the book is the intense friendship between these two very different men—the ship’s captain, Jack Aubrey, and the adopted ship’s surgeon, Stephen Maturin. Aubrey is a real character, both really smart and kind of blundering—but calm and fearless, and an unusual but vivid hero. Maturin is a nautical novice, so we get to learn the basics, as well as insights and nuances of seafaring life through his eyes. Both of them are a little nuts—so I can relate to both! There is no small amount of humor in the depictions here, either, but also, a respectable amount of horror, but not so much that I had to constantly turn away. There’s action, but just enough not to bore me. And enough politics, insider insight, nautical jargon, and intrigue that I knew I wasn’t getting half of it (for me, a good feeling, truthfully). But learning some things before I return to it (or its sequels) would be rewarding. Also, the language throughout is delightful.

4.19.26

The Prodigious Hickey

The Prodigious Hickey by Owen Johnson (1910) After reading Skippy Bedelle, one of my favorite books last year, I wanted to read more of “The Lawrenceville Stories” by Owen Johnson—this being the first of the series. Actually, it was published a year earlier with the title, The Eternal Boy. I prefer the title, Prodigious Hickey, because it’s funnier. I read the entire book during times of insomnia—when I’d wake up at 3 a.m., I opened it and found it comforting, the way certain episodes go on and on and on. Like Hungry Smead eating 49 pancakes, for the record at Conover’s. Or visits to Al at the Jigger Shop. Names like Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, Crazy Opdyke, Turkey Reiter, The Triumphant Egghead, the Duke of Bilgewater, and my favorite, and favorite character, Doc Macnooder. All this at the Lawrenceville prep school, and at the center the story, William Orville Hicks—the Prodigious Hickey—one of those guys who seems to be behind everything—and everyone knows it, including the authority figures he has run-ins with, like Tabby (Mr. Tapping), the Doctor (headmaster), and The Roman. As much as I liked this book, I still didn’t like it as much as Skippy Bedelle, which came out over ten years later—I wonder if he just became that much better of a writer—which would make sense. Also, the language changed over that time, I suppose, and became a bit easier to understand. Also, the sports stuff, in this book, is a little much, for me, and the later book benefits from many more women characters. Owen Johnson published a lot of books—and I definitely intend to read more, particularly more Lawrenceville tales—next is The Tennessee Shad—most promising.

4.13.26

Pop. 1280

Pop. 1280 by Jim Thompson (1964) Our hero, Nick Corey, sheriff of Pottsville (Pop. 1280—which is ambitious) is not unlike Sheriff Andy Taylor (on TV when this novel was published) in that he’s easygoing and seemingly a bit dimwitted, leading to people underestimating him. It’s first person, so you’re right there with him, and you feel the pain he feels when some neighboring lawmen bully him, and people in general treat him with too little respect. So, I was right by his side, myself—after all, he likes to eat! A lot in common with this guy, plus, I was imagining him sounding exactly like M. Emmet Walsh. But, alas, however… I was starting to get clues that maybe I was misjudging him, and then… let’s see. It would make very little sense for me to reveal anything else for anyone reading this who has yet to read this novel and is intending to. And if you’re not… what am I, the Cliff Notes here? What I can say is the book is easy to read, moves fast, is very funny, extremely disturbing, and makes you feel off-balance. You can also, if you’re so inclined, find obvious parallels with this tiny town to much larger political entities and contemporary situations, if you know what I’m saying. It’s not Mayberry, but then nothing ever was, really.

4.2.26

Nina and Skeezix – The Problem of the Lost Ring

Nina and Skeezix – The Problem of the Lost Ring by Frank King (1942) This is one of those Whitman “Authorized Editions” books, where sometimes they have a celebrity as a main character—like, I have one (haven’t read yet) with Ginger Rogers! And have heard of one with Gene Tierney!! The full title of this book adds the subtitle: An original story about Nina Clock and Skeezix Wallet of the famous newspaper comic strip “Gasoline Alley” by Frank King. I’ve never seen Gasoline Alley, but now I want to check it out—it’s still going! Did Frank King write this book, or a ghostwriter? I have no idea, but whoever it was put together a fantastic, rollicking, mystery adventure about this elusive, priceless artifact ring and a whole slew of underworld characters, corruption, clowns… and our heroes, Nina and Skeezix—and it’s also a romance! It takes place in a fictional metropolis called Detropolis—that is likely based on Chicago, I guess—I’m not familiar with the comic, and the geography is confusing. The book has about 20 full-page illustrations which are amazing. My favorite element of this book is the characters—there are so many it’s hard to keep them straight—but they’re colorful and have great names. Besides Nina and Skeezix, Rudy the elevator operator was my (and, I bet, everyone’s) favorite. The very last chapter of the book introduces a totally new character named Bounce McTinkle—which is crazy—how can you put a name like that on a guy… at the very end? No place to go! But maybe they were counting on another book—I would have been, had I written this one! This could have been the start of a whole book series.

3.30.26

In Watermelon Sugar

In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan (1968) I was a big fan of Richard Brautigan because I discovered some of his books when I was in high school, including some volumes of poetry. I don’t remember loving this short novel, but I read it—going back to it now, it seems pretty uninteresting in itself—a meandering story of what sounds like people living in some alternative reality—nothing too shocking or disturbing. Actually, what I do like about it is the mundane quality and the very subtle humor. There was something about the sun, in this place, shining in different colors—I liked that, but can’t find it specifically, paging through. A lot about a place called iDEATH—which is no doubt from where Apple stole the names for their dumb products. There is inBOIL and “that gang of his.” The Forgotten Works and the Watermelon Works, etc. The weirder the details are, the less interesting to me. What I like is the goofiness, the humor, and the everyday details, like people being tired of when the guy cooks who only cooks carrots. I guess that’s kind of hippie commune humor, which is the overall vibe. The thing that was most inspiring to me, when younger, is the book itself, one of the Dell Brautigan paperbacks (Third Laurel printing—June 1974—probably when I bought it!) Small and inexpensive, but with great style—bright blue front and back, with a black and white photo of Richard Brautigan and an attractive, young woman on the cover—they could be posing as characters within. I guess this book kind of said to me, “you can write a book,” and for that I’m thankful and still inspired. Of course, it’s not so easy!

3.23.26

Harriet the Spy

Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh (1964) I was a little bit alarmed at how much of Harriet the Spy I didn’t remember, re-reading it, recently—but then, I guess it’s been a while—I’m not sure what year I first read it (as an adult). It kind of shocked me at how extreme it is—the characters, the situations, the NYC setting, and the drama. There’s nothing wishy-washy about this book! I feel like it really gets at the weirdness of childhood—even if the details are far-removed from your own experience—which is the case for me, for the most part. The kids are all complex characters, and so are the adults. I guess there is a good reason this is one of the classics of children’s literature. I remember a few years back when they were going to make a movie from it—I think I wondered if they were going to water it down—but I decided not to see it, either way—nothing I could do about it. The kids can be quite cruel to each other—which is true to life. Most interesting to me is the really complex, unusual character, Ole Golly, Harriet’s nanny—great character! Of course, I particularly like that Harriet’s goal is to be a writer, and her main passion, besides spying on people, is writing in her notebook. Her observations are unfiltered and can be quite mean—but also very funny. Then the kids get ahold of her notebook, fail to respect her privacy—and it’s a nightmare. This I can relate to!

3.16.26

A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories

A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories by Lucia Berlin (2015) The best novel I read so far this year is called “Let Me See You Smile”—but it’s not a novel, it’s a story in this book—but it feels like a novel in its immensity. It is long, so maybe it would technically be a novella—it’s about an older woman in a relationship with a younger guy, and they get into legal trouble, find a lawyer who helps them—who also gets deeply emotionally involved—but there’s no way to begin to touch on the complexity of it. If I was still thinking about movies, this would be the one to attempt to adapt—but on the other hand, maybe I’d be protective of it. Not to take away from the rest of the stories in this immense volume—and it’s probably not even the best one here! But what is best? With stories, shorter fiction, like poetry, you read through them and intensely connect to some and don’t connect at all to others—but that’s really not fair to the others—which you realize, when you come back the book later—it just wasn’t time yet for some of those stories. The writing is so good—often surprising, and often very, very funny—that I could imagine having many favorites over the years. This is a book I definitely want to come back to. Some of these stories are so emotionally devastating that you might have to put up a wall—not let them in, in order to guard yourself from them. But you can still appreciate their power, or off-centered weirdness. A lot of them are about women, and children, and a lot about people who are working-class. Some about people living in poverty. And then there’s alcoholism, and addiction, and every kind of trouble, including illness, and incarceration. It’s a full course of humanity, for sure. I’m not going to list favorites—though I have some—I’m making notes for myself, though, so I can check those out first, when I come back to it, which I will do. I also want to look for other stuff she wrote—this is the first I’ve read by her—even though I’ve known about this book for a while. Just hadn’t gotten to it.

3.10.26

John Barleycorn

John Barleycorn by Jack London (1913) Subtitled “Alcoholic Memoirs,” this is Jack London’s personal history of his relationship with drinking alcohol, or “John Barleycorn”—first published in serial form, then as a book—quite popular. Well, his writing is irresistible, highly entertaining. It’s a memoir, first of all—but through the lens of his complex relationship with alcohol. He ultimately favored prohibition, and in retrospect we can see why that didn’t work, but he has good arguments for it—fully aware of the power alcohol has over humans—it’s the power to confuse and overwhelm good sense. He starts with his earliest drinking experiences, and this historical perspective is fascinating, the social side to drinking, related to work and comradery—a time when saloons were men-only. He insists that he had no physical, hereditary addiction—and there were times, such as during long sea voyages when he didn’t drink at all. But then certain obsessive episodes he describes could be seen as the epitome of alcoholism. Particularly convincing is his description, later in life, when he would not let himself drink until a certain hour, or until after his daily “1000 words” were written—but from his account, you can just feel the encroaching obsession—the way the alcohol begins to control your mind. It is such a complex subject—everything about alcohol—that we are still in the dark ages of understanding it. Hearing the way Jack London goes back and forth on the subject—clearly doing his best to figure it out—is really pretty poignant. You might recognize this in yourself, or with those who struggle with its control. I personally think we are no further along in understanding it than this book is, and its influence will accompany us until the end of human life on Earth.

3.5.26

A Confederacy of Dunces

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (1980) I had been meaning to read this book forever and I was sure I had a copy, but I couldn’t find it, so I resorted to an audio book, which was highly entertaining—it was like a whole season of the best sitcom ever—just relentless, outrageous, farcical episodes with a lot of great characters—a lot of repetition, sure, but plenty of surprises along the way. It feels both dated and all too current—I guess buffoonery and aggressive ignorance is timeless. Also, it’s set in and around New Orleans, the most fascinating town in the US. The narrator is Barrett Whitener, and he really goes for it, voicing the characters—for all that I’m missing by not reading it on the page (which I still might do, later, in my slow fashion), I’m gaining something from this performance. Ignatius Reilly is a great protagonist—one you might know of, never having read this book, as he’s exceeded it—he lives with his mother and is a pompous know-it-all, disdains popular culture—so whenever his enthusiasm alights on something, it’s a pleasure. You do weary of hearing about his “valve”—but his attempt to find work, first at a pants factory, and then as a hotdog vendor, is subject matter dear to me. The cop, Mancuso, is really good as well, could have his own book. My favorite is Burma Jones, who probably sees the world most clearly of anyone, though is a buffoon in his own way—but he’s irrepressible, and everything he says is hilarious. I guess it’s a well-known story that JKT had no success getting this book accepted, and died by suicide, age 31, before it was published, which is very sad. It’s kind of amazing the manuscript didn’t end up in a dumpster, like everything else is fated to.

3.1.26

Carry On, Jeeves

Carry On, Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse (1925) I have to admit that I’d avoided P. G. Wodehouse up until now, for no good reason, so just checking out his bibliography is intimidating, yet comforting—should I find myself charmed, one has never to fear “running out.” But—how to choose? Well, what’s reasonable in the used bookstore, and available “now” on the audiobook app—which turned out to be this book—narrated by the estimable Martin Jarvis—which I enjoyed thoroughly, a couple of times through. I don’t believe this is quite the same as the original version of this book proper—somewhat less, and different order and who knows, but it’s hard to tell—stories were serialized, collected, re-collected, maybe re-written. My whole approach would probably mortify strict Wodehousians—this must be some group—would they welcome me with open arms or tell me to stay home? At any rate, the stories here are: “Jeeves Takes Charge,” “Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest,” “The Artistic Career of Corky,” “The Aunt and the Sluggard,” “Clustering Round Young Bingo,” “Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg,” and “The Rummy Affair of Old Biffy.” Which begin with Bertie Wooster first engaging his valet, Jeeves, who he quickly grows to depend on for the stickiest matters, sensitive situations, and developing fiascos. Jeeves is of course a genius-level problem solver to the extent that he’s quite scary. Bertie sits halfway between Jeeves’ brilliance and the moronic misadventures of some of his cohorts. It’s a loving relationship, including an ongoing conflict involving Bertie’s questionable choices in clothing and grooming and Jeeves’ impeccable taste. While the situations are all hilarious, the best thing throughout is the language—and endless cascade of English expressions of the time and colorful slang—my favorite, naturally, being “rummy”—which as far as I can tell can mean pretty much anything. I have to struggle, now, to keep from using it excessively, myself.

2.24.26

Wild Dark Shore

Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConaghy (2025) I start so many books and give up on them at some point—my time here is finite, and books are infinite. I have no rule, just go by feelings, if and when. So, I guess it says something about the compelling narrative here that I raced to the end while also intensely disliking it. I’ve rarely been so conflicted about a book! I’m wondering why, exactly. The reasons I don’t connect to a book could be its voice, or simply subject matter—and I rarely go in for stories about parenting, not to mention, romance, so there’s that. As far as reasons for, aftermath of, and dealing with trauma—that depends. The trauma here is so over-the-top as to almost feel like a parody—and I liked that! And then, I suppose an element that sometimes turns me against a book is when I’m feeling manipulated by the author. With this book, I think it had to do, in part, with the way information is withheld and doled out, and the “cliffhanger” style—but that’s something I often like—so I don’t know. Maybe I need to take responsibility for feeling manipulated, and put that on me. There certainly is a lot to love in this book. Remote island lighthouse outpost, natural history, botany, woodworking, intensely cold conditions, huge storms, grappling with climate change, fascinating characters, mystery, dead mothers (well, not that so much—though it did get me wondering again why every other book I read has the presence of a dead mother). I especially loved the description of the island, the plants, the seeds, the animals. It brought forth for me those difficult thoughts, like, why are we here, and how did what’s here get here, and is there any sense in it all, or plan. The usual stuff about God, I guess. Which then led to me thinking about when an author creates a world of characters who you (the reader) care about, and then puts them in motion, why do we sometimes accept it without question, and why do we sometimes feel like the author is treating us (the reader) unfairly, due to the fate of their characters? I’m guessing that most of the people who love this book don’t dwell on such questions, and maybe for me, it’s just a matter of not connecting. But it’s hard, too, when there is so much here that I really liked. I’ve rarely been so conflicted about a book.

2.19.26

Casino Royale

Casino Royale by Ian Fleming (1953) Though we’re dying off, I guess, there must still be a lot of dinosaurs like myself for whom the first really cool thing they can remember was James Bond at the cinema. But even among younger people—due to theatrical re-releases and some fairly imaginative sequels—it’s still a big audience. So why they haven’t followed my suggestion to release a new, low-budget, two-hour James Bond nostalgia-fest each Christmas (new Bond actor and new director each year) is beyond me­—though I suspect it’s a case of must-be-bigger-than-the-last-one-itis. In my frustration, I’ve even resorted to trying to read the Ian Fleming original novels—or, in this case, audiobook with a decent narrator (if he’s got an accent, I’m in). I thought Diamonds Are Forever (1956)—in spite of the offensive parts—was great fun—but this one, not so much. I was curious, naturally, to start at the beginning, and I’ll probably try more—but much like the 2006 movie—which I feel is an improvement on this book, at least—the fundamental plotline here (which, really, I shouldn’t need to repeat), I find profoundly unpleasant. And while I’m sure there are some—the cool, or nostalgic, or funny, or odd, or exciting—bearable parts—it’s just, overall, way too big of a giant bummer to be enjoyable.

2.16.26

Winter Journal

Winter Journal by Paul Auster (2012) I’ve only read a few books by Paul Auster—I want to read more—he’s got so many books, and I really want to re-read the New York Trilogy as much as anything. This is a memoir that came out in 2012. I feel like I’ve read more of his stuff than I have, maybe, partially, because I’m remembering those movies he collaborated on with Wayne Wang, in the Nineties. I got the impression, then, that he was at death’s door, but this book is nearly two decades later, and… same. He passed away fairly recently, so this feels somewhat haunting—no less so because I listened to the audiobook and he narrates it—which is great, he’s an excellent reader, and you feel like he’s right there with you. It’s written in the second person, which is kind of unusual, and really works—so he’s addressing “you”—which means him—but as he was, when he wrote it, approaching the age I am now—so it feels uncannily like he’s addressing me. No less so because we’re thematically compatible—lots of musing on time, aging, mortality, tragedy, and in spite of it all, life being an exceptional privilege—which we do appreciate.

2.12.26