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Tag Archives: book reviews
CCCP@CCLaP
Posted in book reviews, books, CCLAP Fridays
Tagged architecture, book reviews, books, communism, culture, economics, maximalism, non-fiction, photography, politics, pop culture, science fiction, Soviet Union, Taschen, USSR
Robertson’s Book of Firsts: Who did what for the first time, by Patrick Robertson
The first coins, the first hamburger, the first military motor vehicle. These are but a sampling of Robertson’s Book of Firsts. Researched and compiled by Patrick Robertson as a culmination of a lifelong passion, the book aims to chronicle not invention, but innovation. This means a look at social and technological development and some surprising entries. Robertson approaches this collection of firsts from a unique position. A former government employee and a former chairman of the Ephemera Society, he also owns the largest private collection of vintage magazines in Britain. Firsts are ephemeral, since once a first is achieved, social and technological change will prompt more firsts to occur. Just look at the developments of the cell phone and the demographic make-up of the United States Supreme Court.
The alphabetically arranged articles vary in length. For example, the article on blood transfusion covers nearly two full pages. To break it down, there is the first blood transfusion done on June 12, 1667 by Jean-Baptiste Denys, the personal physician to Louis XIV, for “a boy of fifteen suffering from a severe fever.” The first U.S. blood transfusion took place in 1795 by Dr. Philip Physick. The first panel of blood donors occurred in 1921, being four volunteers “from the Camberwell Division of the London Branch of the British Red Cross Society.” The Red Cross established the first blood donor panel in the United States in August 1937 in Augusta, Georgia. In 1931 the first blood bank was established by Prof. Sergei Yudin “at the Sklifosovsky Institute, Moscow’s central emergency service hospital,” but Bernard Fantus “coined the term” in 1937 for Cook County Hospital’s centralized blood storage depot. Finally, the first pre-natal blood transfusion was performed by Prof. George Green and Sir William Liley in Auckland, New Zealand on September 20, 1963.
The Book of Firsts is chock-full of such information. The first antique automobile movement happened on July 12, 1925, celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Allgemeiner Schnaufer-Club (“Tin Lizzy Club”) in Munich, Germany. The year 1623 saw the first publication of a hymn book containing original matter by George Wither, although the first hymn book in a vernacular tongue was “published in Prague by Severin for the Hussites of Bohemia on 13 January 1501.” The first naval vessels to be equipped with radio-telephone apparatus were the USS Virginia and the USS Connecticut in 1907. The lists go on and on, from the first legal abortion to the first women’s track and field events.
Whether reading a single entry with all developments chronicled or searching for a specific “first,” The Book of Firsts will captivate and infuriate readers. Expect to have your pre-conceptions about certain “firsts” refuted. As with any book of this kind, it is subject to the winds of change. The entry on gay marriage has quickly become obsolete, the last sub-entry on U.S. gay marriage ending with the passage of Proposition 8. But that is hardly a demerit in terms of the sheer wealth of information and entertaining factoids one can harvest from this book, whether casually browsing the pages or capturing a “first” for research purposes. This is a good book to have on the bookshelf next to the dictionary, thesaurus, Schott’s Miscellany, and the Meaning of Tingo.
Posted in book reviews, books, cars, miscellaneous
Tagged book reviews, books, culture, economics, firsts, non-fiction, politics, pop culture
Introducing CCLaP Fridays
I’m proud to a new feature, CCLaP Fridays. I recently became involved as a writer for the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography. Every other Friday I will post on their website, alternating between general book reviews and themed reviews.
The general reviews will focus on fiction and non-fiction books published in the last 24 months. My themed reviews focus on the question, “What does it mean to be human?” I will be looking at attempts to answer that question through books, TV shows, movies, and role-playing games. Everything from Warhammer 40K’s Space Marines, Iain Banks’s Culture, Samuel Beckett’s Trilogy, and a Jim Thompson hard-boiled novel will be analyzed. (This will dovetail nicely into my more in-depth analyses of Warhammer 40K and Battlestar Galactica/Caprica on Coffee is for Closers.)
It will be a unique privilege to write for CCLaP, since I’ve been an avid reader of their reviews and essays for years.
As always, I will post notifications on this blog to let you know when my reviews and essays appear.
Posted in book reviews, CCLAP Fridays, film, The Internet, TV, Warhammer 40K
Tagged book reviews, books, culture, fantasy, fiction, film, non-fiction, pop culture, RPG, science fiction, series, TV, UK, UK fiction, warhammer 40K
Shadows Walking, by Douglas R. Skopp
“To them, you’re just a freak, like me! They need you right now, but when they don’t, they’ll cast you out, like a leper! You see, their morals, their code, it’s a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They’re only as good as the world allows them to be. I’ll show you. When the chips are down, these… these civilized people, they’ll eat each other. See, I’m not a monster. I’m just ahead of the curve.” – The Joker, The Dark Knight (2008)
Taking its title from a passage in Macbeth, Shadows Walking takes the reader into the nightmarish descent of modern German history. Skopp traces the lives of two men – Johann Brenner, an ardent nationalist, and Philipp Stein, a Jew – throughout their military and medical careers. Brenner and Stein endure the hardships of the First World War and the economic uncertainties of the Weimar Republic. The rise of the Nazis causes their friendship to fracture.
The novel begins in the postapocalyptic wasteland of Nuremburg with Brenner, under an alias, working as a janitor in the Palace of Justice. The Doctors’ Trial is beginning and Brenner listens to the horrific testimony of a victim. The testimony concerns castrations done by SS doctors at concentration camps. With the starvation, destruction, and desperation outside, the witness’s testimony hits the reader like a vicious sternum punch. The graphic descriptions bring home the horrors of the Holocaust.
Even amidst the hellish experience of the Holocaust, the medical experiments performed by Mengele and his associates stands unique in its horror and obscenity. The novel achieves brilliance in its accretion of details and experiences in the lives of the two main characters. The common question is: How could Germany, which has such a rich tradition of arts, sciences, and philosophy, create such a barbaric and evil regime? Skopp tries to answer that question through indirection and burying himself in the minds of Brenner and Stein. The two are seen as “ordinary” Germans, not as famous political and historical figures. Through the years, we see both enduring “death by inches”, to use another phrase from Shakespeare. Compromise, desperation, and stubbornness contribute to the choices they make.
The book has passages, illuminating the inner thoughts of Brenner and Stein that lend the narrative a haunting plausibility. The anthropomorphizing of German Culture in philosophical discourse combined with the medicalization of this discourse to create the idea that Germany, following the First World War, is sick and corrupt. Philipp Stein sees the remedy in positive eugenics, although he slowly backs off the idea when he sees it done in everyday practice. Johann Brenner also sees a eugenics-based solution, but resentment, economic desperation, and death push him towards the National Socialists. Brenner isn’t one to question authority figures and his personal circumstances lead him to find a scapegoat for his (and the nation’s) problems.
Skopp’s self-published novel weaves a Balzackian tale that perfectly captures the ideas and lives of a specific time and place. Skopp’s background as a history professor merges with his desire to tell a compelling story. He also creates a historically authentic narrative that forces the reader to question the validity of his or her beliefs, yet, at the same time, not doing it in a manner that comes across as preachy or heavy-handed. The novel aims to explore the questions we must face with the deeds perpetrated by the Third Reich, but it has the audacity to point back at the reader. In the dark corners of our being, although we usually don’t admit as such, either to each other or to ourselves, we are capable of perpetrating criminal atrocities against each other. Like a boiling frog, we don’t always realize the rationalizations and self-justifications we construct to distance ourselves from actions of criminality and evil. Shadows Walking illustrates we only need a little push and we will devour each other.
Posted in book reviews, books
Tagged book reviews, books, culture, history, nazis, self-published, world war 2
Republic of Words: the Atlantic Monthly and Its Writers, 1857 – 1925, by Susan Goodman
The history of the Atlantic Monthly is also the history of America. Susan Goodman’s Republic of Words: the Atlantic Monthly and Its Writers, 1857 – 1925, traces the intellectual and editorial history of the magazine. Conceived by luminaries including Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., Harriet Beecher Stowe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Greenleaf Whittier, and James Russell Lowell, the Atlantic began with an adamant pro-Union perspective. Lowell, the first editor, brought together numerous contributors associated with the Abolition and Transcendentalist movements.
Goodman excels at bringing American history to life, charting the course of the magazine and the nation through the Civil War, Reconstruction, the Gilded Age, and the First World War. Throughout the book a cavalcade of the famous passes before the reader. These include novelists, humorists, poets, environmentalists, journalists, and philosophers. With biographies of Edith Wharton (an Atlantic contributor) and William Dean Howells (an Atlantic editor), Goodman has a firm grasp on her subject matter. The history of America proceeds either in lock step or in counterpoint with the history of the Atlantic Monthly. The magazine undergoes periodic transformations with each successive editor. As an example, Howells slowly changed the perspective of the Atlantic from a more East Coast, Boston-area, Harvard-educated milieu to one that looked westward.
The book ends in the Roaring Twenties, the Atlantic battered but enduring in its commitment to act as a purveyor of culture. Two insurgent forces threatened its mission of mass appeal, the Crisis, the militant African-American magazine helmed by W.E.B. du Bois and the elitist New Yorker.
A final note, Republic of Words sports a playful cover by the artist Jonathan Wolstenholme. Wolstenholme’s book-centric illustrations, like Republic of Words, will delight anyone with a passion for literature and American history.
Posted in book reviews, books, nature
Tagged America, book reviews, books, culture, economics, fiction, journalism, non-fiction, pop culture, US history
After Lyletown, by K.C. Frederick
A game of tennis with a good friend signifies that Alan Ripley has achieved “the good life.” It is 1988 and Alan works as a Boston area real estate lawyer, has a loving wife working in academia, and a growing son. The idealistic picture of late twentieth century domestic bliss fractures when Rory Dekker enters Alan’s life. Alan met Rory twenty years ago as the intense fires of Sixties idealism curdled into resignation and rage. With Nixon ascendant, Alan and his friends decide to “make a difference.”
Inspired by a seductive ideologue named Lily Culp and aided by a couple ex-cons, the tiny cadre of revolutionaries decide to participate in a heist. The heist involved raiding a gun store, stealing the weapons, and distributing them to blacks. It all seemed to make sense, at least on paper. Then the day Alan should have participated in this nascent revolutionary action, he becomes sick and has to bow out. The Lyletown Six became the Lyletown Five. In the resulting melee, one person died, the others fled, and Rory ended up serving hard time. Now Rory has returned into Alan’s life and Alan doesn’t know why. Blackmail? Revenge? The reunion of friends possesses an ominous tinge.
After Lyletown by K.C. Frederick is a meticulously constructed narrative that Alan and Rory dealing with the consequences from the events of the Sixties. On the surface, the premise is reminiscent of a thriller. The novel itself operates on a much smaller, much more psychological level. It is a novel of interiors. Much is given over to Alan thinking and rethinking his decisions in the past and calculating the degree of his culpability. The superficial portrait of the upper middle class real estate lawyer is only part of the picture. Between the fires of Sixties idealism and thriving in Reagan’s America, Alan suffered one failed marriage and a dead-ended literary career. He then reinvented himself as a law student, divorced his first wife Martha, and remarrying an attractive literary scholar named Julia.
Because of Rory’s silence in prison, Alan thinks he owes the ex-con something. This is exacerbated by Alan’s realization that he could have lost everything if Rory chose to expose Alan’s part in the botched heist. To further complicate matters, Alan chose to not reveal this part of his life to Julia.
What follows is a series of meetings between Alan and Rory. Alan mired in self-guilt, Rory noticeably vague on his current situation. Rory says he needs money, but doesn’t elaborate. Alan, with lawyerly rationalizations, decides best not to ask, since too much knowledge would make him more culpable, especially if Rory’s plans for the money aren’t exactly legal.
Some passages in the novel seem a bit too on-point, like when Alan visits an elderly Polish woman who is his client in an eviction case. The woman worked for the Polish resistance and lives on a modest pension. The woman’s work in the resistance seems like an obvious mirror to Alan’s work with the Lyletown Five. On the other hand, Julia’s father fought in the Second World War but refused to talk about it. The war left him taciturn and tortured on a deep psychological level. The omnipresence of war creates these peculiar ripple effects. Since the story is set in the Late 80s/Early 90s, the reader could project the future for Tommy and how the future War on Terror will effect him.
The novel is an exploration of how war, prison, and affluence effect individuals, told at an unhurried pace. The writing shimmers with descriptions of Innisfree, the Vermont cabin Julia’s father built, and Boston bars (dive bars and trendy Yuppie havens alike). Not a narrative of spectacular confrontations but one that builds menace with a slow intensity and allows for the exploration of human interrelationships damaged by bad personal and foreign policy decisions.
Posted in book reviews, books, Permanent Press
Tagged book reviews, books, culture, east coast, economics, fiction, hippies, k.c. frederick, law, real estate, revolution, Vietnam, vietnam war, war, war on terror, world war 2
What I Hate: from A to Z, by Roz Chast
The world is a scary place. Roz Chast latest book, What I Hate: from A to Z, is her alphabetic exploration of her panaphobic panoply of paranoia-inducing pictures. Her fears run the gamut of the familiar (heights, getting lost, and nightmares) to the unusual (spontaneous human combustion, balloons, and Jello 1-2-3). Each entry has a short introduction opposite the illustrated page. There are single panels and other pages cluttered with details. In one introduction, she explains her fear of rabies originating in children’s literature. She writes, “On an ideal planet, children’s books wouldn’t be censored for references to sex, but for illness.” The opposite page shows a psychotic dog staring at the reader. A man in the background offers tepid advice, “His bark is worse than his bite.” A woman says, “He loves people.”
For those who enjoy a bit of schadenfreude, What I Hate is a quick fun read. While Chast espouses an especially grim outlook, one needn’t possess her omnipresent anxieties to take pleasure in the witty cartoons. One should handle the book carefully, since one might get a nasty paper cut or have one of its sharp edges poke an eye out. That is, if one survives the trip to the local bookstore without getting hit by a bus, abducted by aliens, or trampled by zebras.
Posted in book reviews, books, food, nature
Tagged book reviews, books, cartoons, culture, fear, fiction, hate, illustration, new yorker, pop culture, roz chast
The Letter Killers Club, by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovksy
In an industry usually concerned with “moving units,” cashing in on the latest literary by-product of a reality television non-personality, or pushing out fiction that degrades the genre to a near metaphysical endpoint, it is a rare occasion when a publisher can be said to have acted “heroically.” The Letter Killers Club by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky (hereafter referred to as SK) represents an occasion to celebrate. With a downright intimidating name (unlike the two-syllable names of thriller writers on bestseller lists), the novel revolves around the machinations and stories told by a secret society in the 1920s Soviet Union. It is heroic to publish such a perplexing little volume by a Ukrainian Soviet writer who, according to the copy on the back cover, “went unpublished, though he was active among Moscow’s literati in the 1920s.” Seriously, why publish this? One could make more money releasing another volume of Ghostwriters Working for the Kardashian Machine. Let’s add zombies to Jane Austen or androids to Tolstoy. “Hey, at least people are reading!” quoth the sycophants of the Lowest Common Denominator.
Don’t let the author’s name or the strange plot dissuade you from reading this remarkable novel. Written in 1926 when Soviet Modernism slowly faded into the Stalinist Philistinism of the 1930s, the novel follows the meetings of a secretive group named “the Letter Killers Club.” Totalitarian paranoia taints the barbed elliptical narratives of the group members, creating stories that bristle with erudition, humor, and beauty.
“The Letter Killers Club” involves each member taking an alias that is a nonsense syllable. The names (Rar, Mov, Tyd, etc.) sound like the characters from Samuel Beckett’s Endgame (1957). The group gathers in a dark study. Empty bookshelves surround them. Every week a single member tells his story, but is duty bound not to publish his “conception.” The strictures recall the random oppressions of the police state. While the 1920s saw an aesthetic flowering in the Soviet Union, its totalitarian terrors existed under the aegis of Lenin and the Party. Stalin simply intensified and expanded the Reign of Terror. The rigidity of the rules also predicts the severity of Oulipo (a literary movement that began in the 1960s).
The meetings frame the stories, each meeting offering a different genre. The first story is actually a play, a heretical dissection of Hamlet. The play splits the characters into two entities; ergo Guildenstern becomes Guilden and Stern. Dueling Hamlets recite the “To be or not be” speech. In addition, the play’s actors go to The Land of Roles meeting previous actors who played Hamlet. The story is playful and postmodern, anticipating Tom Stoppard’s riff on the Bard’s most famous play. The fourth-wall-breaking and Land of Roles remind one of the anarchic interrelationships of Los Angeles and Toontown in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (Robert Zemeckis, 1988).
Another story involves the transmission of a virus that turns people in automatons. Part science fiction, part biological horror, and part political satire, the story explores the same territory of Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We (1921). In this case, a scientist desires to make the mentally insane more productive members of society with a technique of remotely controlling the brain functions. What started as a technology “for the common good” becomes an instrument of totalitarian control.
The people turning into automatons because of technology should make people pause and think about the ties between self, autonomy, the state, and surveillance. (Whether it is Facebook or the National Security Agency, sacrificing one’s privacy to a monolithic institution usually involves a willing self-sacrifice. Our chains are self-inflicted.)
Other stories include a fable set in medieval times and a tale of a recently deceased Roman missing his requisite obol for his journey across the River Acheron. To complicate matters, the narrators get interrupted, chastised, or, a la “Exquisite Corpse”, other members finish the stories. The interruptions and snide commentary should be familiar to anyone seeing an Internet comment thread. If you disliked a casting choice in a movie involving a Marvel superhero or something similar, then you’ll enjoy the snark targeted at the storyteller. The snark and commentary in this cabal-like setting stands in stark contrast to the public uniformity of the police state. Even with the strictures and severity, the narratives, albeit unwritten, transcend the terror and stifling monotony outside the dark walls.
SK’s The Letter Killers Club is a monumental literary discovery, a gem buried in the Soviet Archives and only unearthed in 1976. With its daring experimentalism and acid commentary on state power, the book still stands as a work of revolutionary power.
Posted in book reviews, books, film, Forgotten Classics, New York Review Books, The Internet, theater, TV
Tagged Beckett, book reviews, books, communism, culture, economics, Endgame, Facebook, fantasy, fiction, film, Hamlet, hollywood, internet, nyrb, oulipo, philosophy, police state, pop culture, Roger Rabbit, secret society, Shakespeare, Soviet, Stalin, TV, USSR
Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow, by Ted Hughes
Roberto Bolaño’s novel The Savage Detectives chronicled a literary movement named “the Visceral Realists.” Crow: from the Life and Songs of the Crow by Ted Hughes offers the reader a kind of visceral realism. The poetry cycle recounts the life and times of Crow, a folkloric character, comedian and trickster. The collection ranges across various types of poems: fairy tales, lullabies, legends, comedic shtick, and parody. Like the crows one sees everyday, Crow scrabbles in waste, carrion, and garbage. He is a scavenger, appropriating things, a collector of junk. The poem titles bear this out, “Oedipus Crow,” “Crow Tyrannosaurus,” and “Crow Tries the Media.”
Crow sleazes amidst a corrupted version of Biblical events from Adam and Eve to the Crucifixion; he struggles to exist against the merciless attacks of a Sadean Mother Goddess. As Camille Paglia wrote in Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson, “Sade’s demonic mother nature is the bloodiest goddess since Asiatic Cybele. … She is Darwin’s nature, red in tooth and claw.” Hughes masterfully balances brutal violence with dark comedy. Crow is poetic anarchism, raw and unflinching. The literary equivalent of a sternum punch or the opening riffs of the Sex Pistols “Anarchy in the U.K.,” Crow acts like Johnny Rotten, attacking respectable idols and traditional institutions with an amorphous insatiable rage and glee. Harpo Marx as re-imagined by the Marquis de Sade.
In addition to the volcanic poetry within, the Faber edition includes seven poems not in the original 1970 edition. The front cover of this short book has a marvelous illustration by Leonard Baskin, Crow rampant, legs muscular trunks supporting an obscene mass with a beaked head peeking out.















