White Noise

White Noise by Don DeLillo (1985) I saw some news that a movie is being made based on this novel, so I wanted to reread it before seeing it. I’m pretty fascinated to see what the approach will be. I first heard of it when I was in New York, the year it came out, and people were talking about it. I was working at the Strand Bookstore, and one day I was watching the rare book room, and Shel Silverstein was shopping. A couple of yuppies spotted him and started in on the small talk, and how every time they heard fluorescent lights humming, they now thought of the book, White Noise. He was polite, but I sensed an internal cringing. So, for a long time, whenever I thought of this book I thought of that incident. The book made a big impression on me, but I forgot the details, so it was worth rereading. What immediately comes to mind is both how dated it is, and how dated it isn’t—if that makes sense. A lot of the details (tons of popular culture references) now seem of the past—which might inspire nostalgia, or bad memories, or even seem quaint—but the sense of dread is still there, and it is as relevant to contemporary times as can be. I guess fear, overwhelmingness, confusion—and particularly the fear of death—are pretty timeless subjects. Also, it’s very funny—and it’s still just as funny to me—though maybe not in as eye-opening a way—as when I first read it. One particularly interesting thing is the obsession with tabloids—an ongoing theme, throughout. I almost had to stop and remember what a tabloid was—even though they are still there at grocery store checkouts, right? I have ignored them for so long, I guess, to almost make them disappear from my world. Of course, the internet has taken up the slack—and now, I suppose, people are either inundated with the tabloid insanity via their computers and phone—as well as the paper ones—one or the other—or both. It’s a societal disease we can’t seem to get rid of.

The Mystery Man

The Mystery Man by Scott Corbett (1970) Scott Corbett is one of my favorite children’s book authors, especially for mysteries (some involving treehouses, boats, or both), though he wrote a variety of books—he really cranked them out. You can still find his books in used bookstores. I’d never read this one. It starts out a little odd and slow, and it takes place in a very limited location and time period, with few characters—almost as if it were a play. It feels a bit claustrophobic at first, but once the mystery gets underway, we forget that. A high school age boy, Tod, is recovering from an appendectomy, staying at his Uncle Gary’s seaside inn at the beginning of summer. He’s not totally stuck inside, but he can’t really go adventuring. A mystery is presented, involving an eccentric, old, radio personality known as The Mystery Man, who is a regular for breakfast at the inn, and a friend of Uncle Gary. A few extremely unpleasant characters then visit the inn and are part of the mystery—which is about a coded message and a hidden fortune. It’s one of those mysteries that the reader gets pretty much the same information as the main character, Tod, but the solution is not the least bit obvious—and its solution turns out to be fun and satisfying.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami (2008) As a fan of Haruki Murakami, I was trying to decide which of his many, many books to read next—and I saw this memoir from awhile back, so I thought I’d check it out in the meantime, and I found it kind of irresistible. Well, I figured he would talk about running, and as someone who used to run (it was a huge part of my life), I figured I might relate. Plus, I thought about taking it up again, as the pandemic closed the gyms, if my knees could hold out. I was hoping, as well, that he would talk somewhat about writing, because there is nothing I like more than writers talking about writing. So, I was pleased that he went through his history, how he started writing, his early success, etc. Fun to hear that stuff, and also about his approach to it, generally. But mostly the book is about running, and there is a lot about training for, and running, marathons. Even when I ran a lot, I never ran a marathon—and I know it got to be trendy, and a lot of people have—but it still sounds like a special accomplishment. But he also ran this ultramarathon, which sounds a little insane—extreme—but it’s interesting to hear him describe the whole experience. I always had a lot of philosophical thoughts on running, and it’s nice that some of my feelings about it line up with his.

Mystery of the Hidden Book

Mystery of the Hidden Book by Helen Fuller Orton (1953) A friend saw this book in a thrift store, and I considered picking it up before I realized I already owned it—I have an indestructible copy with a library binding from Red Wing, MN. The illustration on the cover is two kids and a dog looking through a bookshelf—it’s kind of irresistible. A pretty good premise, too—the kids are helping a neighbor (who is detained, out of town) by looking for a book in his house that might be in a secret hiding place, in a secret room. There is nothing I like better than secret rooms. You would think there would be more secret rooms in real life, but whenever someone buys a house, it seems like they suddenly become averse to implementing a secret room. (Could it be they have put in a secret room, but are keeping it… secret?) But I guess that’s why there are so many secret rooms in movies and books—maybe they’re better in fiction. The unfortunate thing here is that this is not the most inspired children’s book writing—and in some cases is just sloppy, unfocused, and repetitive to a maddening extent. I know that’s pretty much a standard thing with children’s fiction, the use of repetition—like you really need to hammer ideas in the little brains by force (which I don’t agree with). Sometimes it seems like authors are just desperate for word counts, I don’t know. For someone who is overly tolerant of shortcomings of kid’s books—and this one did have a lot of fun stuff in it—I mostly found myself a bit critical.

The Black Olive Pizzeria

The Black Olive Pizzeria by J. Scott Russell (2022) A children’s book about a family that opens a pizzeria in a small town—and a story that certainly can be enjoyed by adults, but then, as an avid reader of children’s books, I admit I don’t generally differentiate. The story is told from the point of view of the kid in the family, whose father is a bit of a dreamer, and whose mother is more practical, but supportive. The father decides to open a pizzeria that sells exclusively pizza topped with black olives. Now, knowing what picky eaters my friends are (many of whom have never even tried a raisin, much less black olives or escargot), it’s obvious that this is a risky proposition—and the father is somewhat uncompromising. The one thing he has going for him is that the pizza is very, very good—that and perseverance, patience, and belief in his vision (all musts for new, small businesses). That there is an older, beloved Italian restaurant across the town square doesn’t help matters, but they decide not to “go to the mattresses,” and instead, support each other—a good example for all.

Turn, Magic Wheel

Turn, Magic Wheel by Dawn Powell (1936) I’m guessing this story takes place in the Thirties (it was published in 1936) and it’s set in New York, amidst a literary scene that I can’t help feeling somewhat nostalgic about, even though it’s 100% satirical, and at some points fairly cruel. I imagine it came off a bit nastier at the time—when the subjects of ridicule might have more recognized themselves. And time might have softened it a bit, so a present-day reader might easily feel nostalgia—maybe because it’s New York—which takes on a timeless quality—always immensely different, of course, but always remarkably the same. I mean, the Thirties is now nearly a century ago, yet it also feels remarkably current, or I suppose timeless—in that people will always be fools and always be struggling. The main character is a novelist named Dennis Orphen who has written a book which, in part, apparently makes fun of a hugely popular writer, Andrew Callingham, who has been off in Europe for years. Dennis has had some kind of relationship with the Callingham’s ex, Effie, in order to get material, but of course, over time, he’s become immensely fond of her. He’s also having an affair with a married woman named Corinne, whose husband is hilariously dull. The woman who Callingham left Effie for has returned to New York, suffering from a terminal illness, and Effie becomes oddly protective of her. So much of the book is like an immense soap opera, but it’s so twisted, and the characters oddly likeable despite their actions—I found it thoroughly satisfying, and a lot of fun. I especially liked the subplot involving Dennis’ publishers, MacTweed and Johnson—for me, the funniest part of the book.

Giovanni’s Room

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin (1956) The story of a love affair between an American man and an Italian man (Giovanni) in Paris, 1950s. The story is somewhat tragic, as the American man, David, eventually rejects his lover—and ultimately Giovanni is imprisoned for murder and executed. As much as the specifics of the story are based on some really well-drawn characters—David (the narrator), Giovanni, some French characters, an American woman David has an affair with, and David’s fiancé—the novel as a whole has a universal scope that might be relatable to your own experience—regardless of sexual orientation, gender, race, nationality, and time period. It is a detailed and intense examination of relationships, obsession, and most specifically love. One of the main questions facing the narrator is whether he has experienced love or not, and if he ever well. I suppose as it’s written—there is true love between him and Giovanni, but the affair is so fraught and doomed, it’s hard to ever feel comfortable with the few moments of happiness. The story is framed around the imprisonment and execution of Giovanni, so we never really feel any hope. You also don’t feel much hope for the narrator’s relationship with his fiancé, when she finally arrives on the scene. It’s one of the most vivid portrayals I’ve ever read of a person involved in a relationship they really don’t want to be in—with a kind of dark humor, but also heartbreaking. When the novel was written—the mid-Fifties—the depiction of David’s bisexuality might have been shocking to some readers, in that it’s presented in a straightforward way, rather than in code, with symbols and allegory. I understand that Baldwin’s publisher even rejected the book, forcing him to take it elsewhere. Trying to put in context what I like about James Baldwin—from what I’ve read by him, and from old, filmed interviews—I think it’s similar to the feeling of a friend who always keeps you guessing a little. I mean, challenging you to do a little more thinking than you do with the easy answers and common takes on stuff—like whenever you think you know his take on anything, he’s going to surprise you by adding complexity, or taking things to a bit higher level.

Behind the Green Door

Behind the Green Door by Mildred A. Wirt (1958) Book number 4 of the Penny Parker mystery series. I’d never read a Penny Parker book—they’re not as easy to find as some series books—especially the old ones with dust jackets and some really fantastic cover art. I believe what I read was the revised version, rather than the 1940 original. I wasn’t expecting much, but I had to find out what this “green door” was all about—a speakeasy? A sex club? Penny is so brave—you might call her reckless—she’s nearly killed at couple of times, and she gets so beat up (mostly from skiing and sledding accidents) that it’s kind of comical. She makes a new friend, a daredevil skier named Sara, who is practically her match, for daring. The bad guys in this story, despite their wealth, power, and ruthlessness, never really have a chance—but the story is no less suspenseful, knowing that. I’ve read several different series book episodes written by Mildred Wirt, and this is my favorite, so far. I may well read more Penny Parker. The adventure takes place during winter holidays at a very snowy, mountainous ski resort, so this is particularly good one to read around Christmas, or maybe in the summer if you want to cool down with a little time traveling.

The Comedown

The Comedown by Justin Marks (2020) Whether it’s a single poem, a collection of poems, a confession in disguise, or a novel comprising all-of-the-above, this book—as it is in equal parts disturbing and life-affirming—keeps you guessing from the first line (“As a person I’m a fiction”) to the eerie back cover. Well, the front cover, as well—a photo that was never far from my mind—it seems to depict lifeguards on a beach, in the fog—I doubt if they can see the water’s edge—though they likely can hear cries for help. Readers might hear cries for help in the text—not me, particularly—as there’s something about the accomplishment of the whole that implies strength—and perhaps hope—and maybe even victory (no matter how misguided that might be). As I became enmeshed in this book, the words spooling out as if from a mysterious someone you’re getting to know, I initially reacted against the huge variety of formatting choices—the way words are placed on the page, and so forth—but that kneejerk rejection contrasted intriguingly with the love I felt after actually reading each section. Though, sometimes it wasn’t love—it was revulsion and fear—you know, same thing. Everything that I read makes me a different person, but some things more than others. In this case, I think, quite a lot. I’m not going to say what it’s about—on the surface, or perceived—or whether I think it is poetry as memoir, or memoir as fiction, or fiction as poetry, but it brings up a lot of questions—basic ones like, how can a mere mortal survive watching their children face the world? And how can a sane person get up in the morning? No answers, but then, I don’t trust answers—I love questions, because they lead to more questions—and that’s our infinite. If that sounds like sobriety talk, well that may be in here, too. Some of the poems/pieces/sections, taken on their own may seem slight, and sometimes obvious, but it all works together as a whole—the obvious parts and the beguiling, fitting together—and that’s its strength.

There Must Be Some Mistake

There Must Be Some Mistake by Frederick Barthelme (2014) After reading an earlier Frederick Barthelme novel I liked (Elroy Nights), I was looking forward to this one—but often that optimism doesn’t work out—so I was prepared for disappointment—but I liked this one even more. It was one of those books that, day to day, I looked forward to the next chapter—comforting in some ways, but always surprising. Being set in a condo community on the Gulf Coast of Texas—a locale that feels alienating to me—it took me a bit to warm up to the setting, but once I did, I was in. The main character is a single guy, just over 50—which is shorthand for that age and older—I could relate. There’s a really pleasing balance of nothing happening and too much happening, as well as a balance of the mundane and the absurd. I love the dialogue, which sounds to me the way people speak—funny, annoying, sweet, and sometimes totally off, wrong even, as if populated by space alien pod replacements. In my experience, that’s how people, in general, strike me. Maybe I’m the ideal audience for this book. Judging by books, movies, TV shows I’m aware of in our culture, maybe people want more, and more extreme—the grisly and the horrific. But isn’t there enough of that in the news? I like reading about people I can relate to, and like, more or less, and can put myself in their shoes. Not necessarily heroic, but not evil, either. And the book holds up right to the end—and you know how hard endings are.

The Voice in the Suitcase

The Voice in the Suitcase by Margaret Sutton (1935) Not my favorite Judy Bolton book, but then, there have been some good ones to live up to, and I imagine with any series there are ups and downs. Making a point to read them in order, too, takes the pressure off any given book—as they all work together as one extended whole. Not that this isn’t a good story, a good mystery—it is. Lots of crazy stuff going on. It’s mostly about the grandparents (and uncle) of Judy’s new friend, Selma, one of the poor kids in town, the mill workers. The mysterious suitcase with a voice coming from it is the oddity that drives the plot, to some degree. There are plenty of funny and odd events—once again, an aviation near disaster. And there’s the everyday horrors of staying in this truly rustic country house—where the girls have to deal with the eccentric older people, a shortage of food and comforts, and some kind of creatures running over Judy’s face as she sleeps. As usual, she’s brave and resourceful—you have to love Judy Bolton.

The Mystery of the Whispering Mummy

The Mystery of the Whispering Mummy by Robert Arthur (1965) The third book of the Three Investigator series, introduced by Alfred Hitchcock—a pretty good mystery involving a missing cat, a mummy that seems to speak and possibly cause weird accidents, and some eccentric characters. It’s a good adventure, with some twists, and a lot of action, some danger, even, along with some humor, as usual. But it’s their secret headquarters—that’s why I come back to these books. I’m sure I’ve said this before, to anyone who will listen, and I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself. In rereading these Three Investigator mysteries, I’m reminded that what I like most about them is the salvage yard and their secret headquarters—in an old camper hidden among the junk—to which there are several secret passages. I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself. Robert Arthur was an excellent mystery author, and he wrote the first 11 Three Investigators books—some of which are better than others—but I seem to recall I liked the ones he wrote better than the books by later authors. Also, it’s worth finding the hardback editions with the good covers (if you like covers—these are excellent). Also make sure you get editions with the full-page illustrations—in this book, they are by Harry Kane, and they are great—they really add a lot to the whole experience. I’m not sure how many of these I’m going to try to re-read, but the next one—the Green Ghost, I remember as being a standout—so I’ve got to locate a copy of that.

This Is Not My Memoir

This Is Not My Memoir by André Gregory and Todd London (2020) I was excited to read this book because My Dinner with Andre (1981) was one of the most important and influential movies for my younger self. A lot of people don’t get that movie, not realizing it’s a dramatic work, and it’s an unusual one. There are some illuminating accounts of making it in this book. That movie is not as dated as you’d think for something 40 years old; some of their fairly dire predictions were not dire enough. Still, it’s always been both inspiring and comforting to me, as have the existence and work of both André Gregory and Wallace Shawn. This book has a lot of stories about Gregory’s rather bizarre childhood—some of them a bit harrowing. The accounts of his work in the theatre over the years are like an extension of his stories in My Dinner with Andre—much of it too strange and extreme for someone to make up. If you feel like art—art in general, though primarily mainstream art—has gotten increasingly conservative and bland—or if you feel like what you do artistically is too weird—this may be an inspirational book for you. Also inspiring is the affirmation of the importance of art in general. One example is an account of a conversation with Howard Zinn. André asked him how to deal with all the terrible shit going on in the country, and his answer was: “Of course, you also have to do the usual things. Protest. Demonstrate. Call your representative. E-mail Washington. But most of all, make your art. Art brings light into the darkness.” Also, I should add, André Gregory has a good sense of humor, and a lot of stuff in this book is just plain funny.

Trial in the Woods

Trial in the Woods by Stephanie Barber (2021)  This is a two-act play with all animal characters. In the first, short, act, various animals are participating in an exercise class during which an otter attacks and kills a young wolf. The second act, then, is the trial—presided over by Judge Bodon Boar. The prosecuting attorney is a lynx, the defense attorney a squirrel, and witnesses, jury, and media are comprised of different animals. They all speak, and have names, and individual, quirky personalities based on the species—but also translating to and illustrating types of human behavior. Some are annoying, some are lovely, and some are hilarious. There is humor throughout, ranging from coarse and obvious to subtle and sophisticated—and some nuanced and deep enough to reward repeat readings and discussion. Though I know courtroom dramas are popular with readers and viewers, I generally try to avoid them as much as I try to avoid courtrooms—but I thoroughly enjoyed this play, as it uses the courtroom to point out the absurdity of the situation (animals putting another animal on trial for murder). The most obvious thing the story brings up, of course, is to look at similar human behavior in a critical way. Human society, violent behavior, rules and laws—and then, of course, you’re led to think about the justice system, punishment, morals—on and on. These are questions that most thinking and feeling people grapple with to some degree or another, depending on how much weight you can bear at any given time—how much we rely on a god, or a society. The animals in this play occasionally consider humans—in a derisive way—which is funny, but makes you wonder—what do animals think of us? And how do we all live together? This led me to think about those instances when an animal—in the wild or in captivity—harms a human—how there is the need to punish, or “put down,” or control the animal. A lot to think about. Trial in the Woods is published as an attractive, small book, and it’s a relatively short play, but it’s really brimming with quandaries of all kinds. It’s entertaining as well—funny, heartwarming, sad, poetic—and as endlessly fascinating as the animals among us.

The Mansion of Secrets

The Mansion of Secrets by Frances K. Judd (1942, 1951) This is a later book in the Kay Tracey Mystery series—I guess they were revised, slightly—and this is the first one I’ve read. I didn’t get that much of a feeling of 16-year-old Kay’s personality, though her friends, the twins, Wilma and Betty, are a little more fun. One of them, however, constantly recites verse—that she has composed herself—and if that sounds annoying, it is, more than you can imagine. This isn’t one of the better written series books I’ve read, but the story just kept getting more and more bizarre—so I was pretty entertained. It centers around an old house in which the deceased owner has all kinds of secret hiding places for his riches, and hidden rooms and passages. There are far too few secret rooms in real life, as far as I’m concerned, but at least we have books. My favorite part of this story, though, was an interesting side plot where the kids have a fieldtrip to a perfume factory—it’s obviously a genuine interest of the author. (Frances K. Judd is a pen name—these books are written by various authors.) There’s a lot explained about fragrances, including a detailed explanation of ambergris—and naturally, one of the kids accidentally destroys the factory’s supply of the valuable substance—and naturally, Kay gets blamed for it. She wants nothing more than to be able to replace the ambergris—but where in the world is some of that rare stuff going to turn up?

What Happened at Midnight

What Happened at Midnight by Franklin W. Dixon (1931) Is this my favorite of all Hardy Boy books? It might be. The original version text is one of the funniest and craziest adventures of the series. If you read one Hardy Boy book, find the original text of this one. It includes a depiction of a new-in-town automat, and also, the Hardy’s first visit to New York City, by train—which is extended and hilarious—especially when they attempt to hitchhike back to Bayport, eat at a diner, and have to wash dishes to pay for their breakfast. There’s some good surveillance, tailing their suspect in the city. They visit a seedy, New York, diner and get accosted by a drunk (this is during Prohibition, remember). They even sleep in Central Park. This book has Aunt Gertrude at her most nutso—really funny. Also, this is one of the best books for Chet to really expand his personality. As usual, there is a fraught boat excursion, with fog, and caves, and an even more harrowing small plane excursion, with fog, and parachutes. The story also includes Joe being kidnapped (for an extended period!) and a pretty interesting criminal they’re up against, named Taffy Marr. One more odd thing to note—the old edition cover (which isn’t the original cover, but one that was incorporated in the Forties, I believe) is terrible—one of the worst ever—especially later printings—too dark. The cover of the rewrite, which came out in 1967, however, is one of my favorite covers of all books and editions. The boys are in a rainy park at night, with a masked man approaching them with a boat’s anchor as a weapon. In the background, a courthouse clock strikes midnight. I always thought it looked exactly like the downtown park in the city where I grew up.

Artforum

Artforum by César Aira (2014) Seemingly a series of essays about the author’s obsession with collecting “Artforum” magazine, this is really a short novel, a work of poetic fiction centered around this obsession, with that expensive, square format periodical. It’s, first of all, very funny, also very weird, but deep down full of ideas that lead to other ideas and asks a lot of questions. It’s the first book I’ve read by César Aria, as I only recently became aware of his books—there are a lot of them, and one could imagine a similar obsession with collecting his works. In fact, it’s hard to deny that this tiny paperback volume, published by New Directions, with a photo of a stack of Artforums on the cover—is part of the appeal. He covers a lot of ideas in a few pages—one is the sometimes magical quality of an object. Another part I particularly liked was about when he discovered a huge cache of the magazines for sale—and getting caught up in things like their relationship with the former owner, and whether to buy only one, or a few, or all of them. I’ve had the experience of being on a longtime quest for something, and then suddenly there is an abundance—and the weird feeling you get from that. Also, just our relationship with print medium in general—how there is the conflict of being interested in both the content and the object itself—and admitting that sometimes it’s more about the object. And there is more, much more. I might even read this again—it’s short.

The Mystic Ball

The Mystic Ball by Margaret Sutton (1934) This is the craziest Judy Bolton novel yet. The kids all go to see a fortuneteller named Madame Wanda, performing at a local theater—it’s a huge event in town—everyone’s going and people are even waiting in line to get in. Wanda uses a big crystal ball and other dramatic effects. Her fortunes seem to resonate with people, but they’re brutal. It’s entertaining to the audience, but her insights freak out the subject. Somehow Irene gets picked, and the negative, bizarre predictions have her reeling emotionally. Naturally, Judy suspects a scam is going on, and wanting to protect her friend, she and Irene decide to switch places—even wearing each other’s clothes. It’s pretty funny—and kind of a crazy idea—but it seems to help Irene. Then Judy goes after Madame Wanda in her usual relentless, fearless fashion. It’s a pretty good mystery overall, and there are a lot of surprises. Also, we get to know all the regular characters more deeply—as I’ve said before, you get a lot more out of Judy Bolton books by reading them in sequence. I’m very much looking forward to the next one.

The Riddle of the Traveling Skull

The Riddle of the Traveling Skull by Harry Stephen Keeler (1934) This is the one book by this maniac, Keeler, that I could find in a local store—it’s a nice reprint—though it would be exciting to find an original copy of one of his many books, most of which were published in the Thirties and Forties. This is supposed to be one of the better ones, I guess. He’s famous for his bizarre storylines and ridiculously convoluted plots, and as far as that goes, I was not disappointed. And for as strange and outlandish as the story twists are, you can actually follow them, all the way around the Chicago locations to the reveal in the last sentence. The book is also very funny—the exception being, far too many jokes based on racial stereotypes and the main character’s derision of pretty much everyone who is not in his small circle. Looking over the book now, which I read very recently, I couldn’t begin to attempt to put the entire mess back together. The whole thing kind of resembles a house of cards which only held up due to the forward movement of the narrative, but if you go back and try to reconstruct it based on memory, watch out!

Atomic TIme

Atomic Time by Elissa Rashkin (2019) This is an excellent 70-page book of poetry—from Nixes Mate Books—by Elissa Rashkin, who has published books on Mexican women filmmakers and the Stridentist Movement, as well as the most beloved books on my shelf (under the name of Elissa Joy—from Pas de chance, in collaboration with Ian Phillips). There is a lot of humor here—but not the standup comedy type—it’s often resigned and knowing—but worth unearthing, because it adds to the richness of the poetry. A lot of sadness—but not the sad-sack kind—but real, wailing mournfulness—what we, most of us, or all of us, guard ourselves from—but is part of life. Prayers, of course, and songs—religious songs, hand in hand with punk rock—not the football player kind—but the whispered, sometimes secret, but miraculously surviving. Love, of course—and the cinema, Godard, and Belmondo, and Chantal Akerman. Also, clowns and angels. I’m not summing up—I’m not that dumb (well, I am, but I’m not summing up, here)—you’ve got to read the poems, and then forget them, and then read them again.