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

The Nineties

The Nineties by Chuck Klosterman (2022) I didn’t expect to read this book, much less enjoy it, but for some reason I picked it up (well, the reason is, I liked a couple of other books by the author) and something near the beginning hooked me in. I’m not sure what, now, probably multiple things—most likely sports-related. Anyway, I zipped right through it, happily. I got a little burnt-out, eventually, by the government and politics end of the spectrum, but it was nice to reconceptualize all that bullshit—as well as the arts, sports, and entertainment stuff. I realize that there is quite a bit of nostalgia for the decade of the Nineties, now, lately, but I think this most certainly comes from people younger than me—likely who experienced the decade in their teen years. What’s interesting for me is that I feel like, as far as popular culture goes, I missed the decade entirely—due to a lack of interest (because of other focused interests, including non-mainstream film and music, illness, alcoholism/recovery, and a few engulfing art projects). So, I thought maybe this book would be a nice way to “catch up”—but it isn’t really, of course, about the “Nineties”—rather, Chuck Klosterman’s version of the world we live in, with that decade as a hook. One thing immediately apparent to me is that our age difference (he’s about 12 years younger) feels like not merely a generation, but multiple generations—but maybe that’s more due to both his unusual take on most things, and my feeling generationally older than even people my age. I do feel, though, like I would enjoy talking to him about nearly any subject, but most of all, sports. I like how the book is organized—the table of contents tells you almost nothing, and there is an index, but you should resist jumping to the subjects you think are most interesting to you. The book is best taken in from beginning to end, as quickly as you can read it, and imagined as a sometimes inspiring and sometimes maddening monologue by your brilliant and annoying younger, punk friend who never fails to have an opinion about everything and is a lot of fun to argue with.

1.24.23

No One Left to Come Looking for You

No One Left to Come Looking for You by Sam Lipsyte (2022) Besides the writing, which is tight and consistently surprising and funny, I really like the scope of this book—a few characters in a defined neighborhood—a specific place and time—so you get to know everyone and feel like you’re there. The scene is woefully small—struggling punk bands in NYC East Village—though, of course, the villains run the spectrum—local thugs, cops, poseurs, real estate moguls. It’s winter, cold as hell, and first-person protagonist Jack Shit is out to find his stolen bass (guitar) and missing lead singer (who may have stolen the bass for drug money). That’s a great setup as far as I’m concerned. As with a classic mystery, the rot goes all the way to the top and the movement is complicated by romance in the air. What I liked best was Jack’s inability to not be a smartass—just can’t help it—so he reminded me somewhat of the Elliott Gould version of Philp Marlowe. Anyone who’s been in a band (or endured someone in a band) might love this story—even more so if you’re nostalgic for the early Nineties, when it’s set. I am very much not nostalgic for that time—and interestingly, I found that the mere decade I have on Jack (and the author) has built a wall of cynicism that even humor can’t erode—but that’s my problem, not the book’s. If you have even the slightest belief in the power of music or love or helping someone less fortunate than you, you might find it here. Ultimately, Jack Shit warmed my heart, even if pretty much everyone around him didn’t. I’m a little sad that it effectively pointed out, for me, my hopelessness, but then, if reading is all I have left, I’m thankful for nothing so much as books like this one.

1.15.23

The Melted Coins

The Melted Coins by Franklin W. Dixon (1944) I had a rough idea to write 35 short book reviews on this website, this year—and this being only number 29 marks failure at that goal—not that anyone cares but me. This will be the last of the year. Next year!—though… the goal is 50! Anyway, this is probably the third time I’ve read this, the re-write of The Melted Coins—and I chose this moment because I’m working on a novel that I’m using this book as the model for. Not that my novel will resemble it in any way (except being about kids of much the same age who encounter a guy with amnesia). This may not be my favorite Hardy Boy book, but it’s one of the strangest, and the strange stuff is funny, so it’s one of most goofy, by far. I’m talking about the original version, of course, which was written by Leslie McFarlane, according to sources. He wrote the first 16 or so, which are pretty much the best—and then other writer took over—but he came back for a few more titles, including this one, which is number 23. (The re-write of this book, by the way, from 1970, bears almost no resemblance to the original.) The “melted coins” part of the plot is almost total nonsense, in that it’s about counterfeiters who steal rare coins, melt them down, then press them into small denomination US currency. Was McFarlane fucking with us? The story also centers on the Hardys meeting a man whose head injury, due to an attack, has given him amnesia. They sense he’s probably from a Spanish speaking nation and thus call him “Mr. Spanish” through most of the book, even to him. They take him in to reside at their home until he is able to recover, which he does, finally, assisted by Fenton Hardy whispering phrases in Spanish to the man while he sleeps, and Joe yapping like a Chihuahua. It works! The man turns out to be a rich guy from Mexico. The other highpoint of the book is when, while investigating low-lifes near the waterfront, Joe is captured by a deranged tattoo artist who thinks he is a descendant of the Pirate, Blackbeard, and is determined to tattoo Joe, at no charge, in order to pass on the “Curse of the Caribbees.” He even gets Joe’s shirt off and the needle in him a few times before he’s rescued by dumb luck. I think it would have been cool if he actually did get the tattoo.

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925) It had been some time since I’d first read this book—so long ago that I didn’t remember much about it. I did remember that I didn’t care for it much, so I thought it might be fun to read now, again, as a person who has gone through a few of the things the characters in the story are going through. One might say that personal experience is integral to at least a partial understanding. What I like best about this book is how there are five main characters—not all equal, but in their portraits painted, pretty close—and the way they interact with each other. It creates a kind of diabolical puzzle, their interrelations. The most pleasurable thing is the way each is affected upon gaining knowledge of each other and their ongoing relations with each other—the subtle changes in the way they act, and how they’re each propelled into the next action. It’s both typical and surprising—sometimes over the top, yet very believable. It’s hard to translate some of the particulars in this story, now nearly 100 years later, though I suppose more of it is universal than should be. New York is to some degree a small, provincial town now, so it likely was back then. Same goes for the grotesque nature of Long Island, and the infinite space/lack of space between the two. Wealth is entirely corrupting, and the automobile is a death wish—no change their, either. Fortunately, by now, however, society has gotten alcohol abuse under control. That’s a bad joke. So, yeah, I guess, same world. What I asked myself is, why is Gatsby so hung up on Daisy, as she’s so obviously an idiot. Is he an idiot, too? That’s one of the things we’re trying to figure out about his mystery. My favorite part of all, surprisingly, is Gatsby’s funeral, in which pretty much no one shows up besides Carraway and one of the drunk guys he remembers from a party—it’s pretty much how I imagine my funeral—because if I’m remembered at all, I’ll be remembered as Mr. No-Friend-to-Anybody—but at least I won’t have suffered the indignity of having had a huge entourage based on my money or perceived wealth.

The Mad Scientists’ Club

The Mad Scientists’ Club by Bertrand R. Brinley (1965) I first read this when I was in grade school, no doubt—it’s one of those Scholastic Book Services book club paperbacks that you could order—it cost 50 cents. It’s got an excellent full color cover and kind of messy, cartoon-like illustrations by Charles Geer that really make the book. I also have the sequel, and I think there were a couple more. It’s about seven boys in a small town who have an organized club where they put together capers—everything from sophomoric pranks to a rescue operation for a downed Air Force pilot. There are seven stories—some of them pretty extensive and brain-twisting, like the one about an alleged dinosaur egg. Among the most lighthearted capers are creating a fake sea monster and haunting a house. The club is not that popular with the authority figures in town. Their operations all involve some pretty technical science and knowhow, but they’re all a lot of fun. I was inspired to reread the book at this time, remembering the narrative structure as a possible model for something I’m writing. It’s from the viewpoint of a first person narrator—a member of the club whose name you only get in passing. He’s smart and competent—and the least eccentric character—but always a little bit in the shadows. Reading this, I thought of The Secret History (1992), which has a similar first-person narrator who is somewhat invisible—and the observer of a tightknit group of eccentric Greek students whose most brilliant member is named Henry, same as the boy-genius here. Their personalities are even notably similar. I wonder if anyone’s ever noticed this—or if I’m just imagining things—but Donna Tartt would have been the right age to read this book. Well… if I ever run into her in the hotel bar, it’s the one thing (besides when’s the next book) I’d like to ask her.

Jacket Weather

Jacket Weather by Mike DeCapite (2021) Jacket Weather, a novel, is by Mike DeCapite, about a guy named Michael who you might assume is the author—if it was called “a memoir”—you certainly would—and be just as right, and just as wrong. Of course, the distinction between “fiction” and “non-fiction” is unnecessary—and especially unnecessary for a book like this, which is a poetic, highly charged, yet relaxed depiction of a relationship (discovery, anxiety, maturity, love) that we have to believe is real. You get to know the narrator, Michael, and a woman, June, who he has reconnected with, and then you follow their relationship while getting to know the geography, the times, and the quirky characters around them. So much did I believe it all, if I was to read, now, that it was all made up, I wouldn’t believe that it was all made up. Part of why it’s so convincing is that the structure feels so organic—in fact, I didn’t detect a structure at all, at first. Every once in a while you’ll come to a break—feeling like some time has passed. What I didn’t realize until later is that these breaks denote seasonal change—moving forward toward winter, and starting around… I just now got this… June. But time otherwise jumps around over any number of the years of this relationship. Within this structure, then, the book is made up of smaller segments—anywhere from a few words to a few pages—so it always feels like you’re moving, seeing things, hearing things—either from the characters or on your own. New York City is the undeniable setting—as important to the book as anything. Based on cultural references, you get a rough idea of the years covered—and I was able to feel like I was close in age to Michael and June. Because I also lived in NYC, moved away, and moved back, I felt a particular closeness to the details—but I think anyone who observes the world around them will see themselves in this setting. And anyone who has a heart will see themselves in this story.

Chronicles – Volume One

Chronicles – Volume One by Bob Dylan (2004) I recently heard that Bob Dylan has a new book, and I just finished this one—that didn’t take him long. Except that this one came out in 2004—and I’d been meaning to read it for years. It was my reading room book for the past several—well, as long as it took me. Reading room—that means, on the toilet, in case you don’t know. I wonder if Bob would appreciate that? From the impression I get of him from reading this book, I’d guess he would. He comes across like a human being, an interesting, quirky guy with a good sense of humor. You can even forget for a while all the legendary rockstar nonsense and read the book like you’re getting some really good stories from an eccentric friend who’s had some adventures. I like his writing style—it feels like it was important for him to enjoy writing it. The book is divided up into five “books”—each with a title, and a particular moment in time and place where Dylan experienced some defining series of events shared with particular acquaintances that were crucial to him. That is, it doesn’t plod through time and events like a traditional biographical depiction—but jumps around and feels fresh. He talks a lot about other people who he has admired and were influential to him—some who he knew and some he didn’t—but it’s worth taking notes, sometimes, and looking some of the names up later—there’s a lot to discover. I’m wondering if his new book is along these lines—if so, I’ll be interested. And if there’s ever a Chronicles Volume Two, I might check that out, as well.