A Literary Life

Heat: An Amateur’s Adventures as … (Bill Buford)

… as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany. Whew. That’s a title, alright. It’s also a very good book in the foodie tradition, which I figured I would wallow in for a few more days after finishing Julia Child.

As with quite a few authors of books I enjoy, Buford makes me green with jealousy–In a good way, I promise. He is a writer and former fiction editor of The New Yorker whose life changed when he did a profile on Mario Batali, the Italian-American chef made famous by the Food Network. (Red hair, baggy patterned pants, kitchen clogs, Iron Chef - You know who I’m talking about.) Always a foodie, Bill decided to go undercover to witness the life of a kitchen first hand at Mario’s famous restuarant Babbo’s, where he is so drawn into the culture of food, the chaos of the kitchen, the satisfaction of working with his hands, etc. that he quits the illustrious day job to persue his newfound addiction, to continue his education in the true nature of food.

Hey Ma! Wanna know what I (via Buford) learned?

1. That Mario Batali is quite a party animal (drinking a case of wine in an evening, admiting to partaking in the cocaine explosion of the 1980s, cussing like sailor and making racy comments to women the moment the camera is turned).
2. That you should never order pasta after 10 p.m. (Noodle water is starchy thanks to the pasta, and makes an excellent, flavorful thickener for sauces… and therefore the water doesn’t get changed. Ever. Well, until the next day, after it has acquired a purple hue. Purple?)
3. That random people often stick their fingers in your food before it arrives at your table, and that you should probably thank them for caring so much.
4. That eggs in pasta dough and tomatoes in Italian sauce are historical landmarks in the history of… everything, and that they can be tracked down and footnoted if you care enough. Buford does care enough. Be careful. He’ll make you care, too.
5. That you can buy a whole pig without the USDA getting involved if you buy it while it’s alive.
6. That everyone should drop everything and learn a dying art, reclaim the disappearing past. (And if not that, at least eat those dying arts.)
7. That French food is just ripped-off Italian food, brought over the Alps by that loose-lipped Catherine de Medicis.

And after this journey of a thousand miles, Buford taught me - or at least reiterated my own thoughts on the matter - that:

“For millennia, people have known how to make their food. They have understood animals and what to do with them, having cooked with the seasons and had a farmer’s knowledge of the way the planet works. They have preserved traditions of preparing food down through generations, and have come to know them as expressions of their families. People don’t have this kind of knowledge today, even though it seems as fundamental as the earth, and it’s true, those who do have it tend to be professionals–like chefs. But I didn’t want the knowledge in order to be a professional; just to be more human.”

And no, I don’t think that’s a spoiler. I think it’s good incentive to go pick up a copy.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars - A hardcover book club selection

Biography, Non-Fiction | Comment (0)

My Life in France (Julia Child with Alex Prud’homme)

There’s a lot I didn’t know about Julia Child. Sure, we all know her for her boulebaise and buerre blanc sauce; we all know her tall, squarish shape and the familiar (and oft-imitated), sliding cadence of her voice. But this book fleshes out her six-foot frame with the flesh of a real woman–her history, her love of her husband and the unexpected way she found her true calling in her 40s.

Speaking only school girl French and lacking the knowlege of what something as simple as a shallot was (a small type of onion, for those not in the know), Julia arrived in France with Paul, her husband of two years (she was 37 and he 47 when they married). Paul worked for the USIS managing government exhibits that would facilitate artisitc and cultural communication between the French and the Americans during the post-WWII Truman Plan era. Their first meal off the boat was truly one to remember, one that opened Julia’s eyes wide and set her about mastering this strange and beautiful, surprising art of French cooking. Though it is amazing for me to think of, her husband Paul–a foodie by nature–once thought there was no hope for his wife in the kitchen, and he was surprised and pleased as she began to improve thanks to her studies at the Cordon Bleu cooking school and the help of their gourmand friends.

This book doesn’t cover Julia’s whole life. It only encompasses the time she spent abroad, and it includes many pictures her artistic husband snapped and snippets of the many letters they sent home to family and friends. Therefore, her television career is only covered where it overlapped with her travels, which makes the book refreshingly humble and human. Written with the help of her great-nephew, Alex, Julia’s personality still manages to shine through with her stereotypical insertions (i.e. Hooray!, Yuck, or Hmmm). The writing style may be simple and straight-forward–nothing to get all excited about–but the simple, straight-forward story the words tell keep you involved from cover to cover.

If you are a foodie of any calliber, this book is a meal that is worthy of Julia’s unquestionable culinary seal of approval. Devour it as you would an excellent canard a l’orange and, as she was so famous for saying, Bon Appetit!

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars - a hardcover book club selection

Dress Your Family in Corderoy and Denim (David Sedaris)

Witty gay man tells stories: A great cocktail party or a great book by David Sedaris, whose talent is for taking the ordinary or the embarassing and turning the tables, painting over the black white and gray with a rainbow of colors. Though he hates the rainbow flag being associated with “alternate lifestyles” (read: alternate sexualities) and swears he wasn’t asked to vote on that one.

I didn’t enjoy this book quite as much as Me Talk Pretty One Day (read that review here). The stories in this book were more “a day in the life” tales, whereas the other colelction (his first, I believe) were more the stories he had been accumulating over a lifetime, refining and analyzing to comic perfection. The cast of characters, which includes Sedaris’ unique family and his long-time boyfriend, is still both funny and human, light and yet often moving.

Case in point. One story regards his visit to his sister’s, where she vents the family-wide annoyance with Sedaris’ work and how it puts them on display for the world to see–at their most vulnerable, naked to their core personalities.

“We stopped for gas on the way home and were parking in front of her house when she turned to relate what I’ve come to think of as the quintessential Lisa story. ‘One time,’ she said, ‘one time I was out driving?’ The incident began with a quick trip to the grocery store and ended, unexpectantly, with a wounded animal stuffed into a pillowcase and held to the tailpipe of her car. Like most of my sister’s stories, it provoked a startling mental picture, capturing a moment in time when one’s actions seem both unimaginably cruel and completely natural. Details were carefully chosen and the pace built gradually, punctuated by a series of well-timed pauses. ‘And then… and then…’ She reached the inevitable conclusion and just as I started to laugh, she put her head against the steering wheel and fell apart. It wasn’t the gentle flow of tears you might release when recalling an isolated action or event, but the violent explosion that comes when you realize that all such events are connected, forming an endless chain of guilt and suffering.

I instinctively reached for the notebook I keep in my pocket and she grabbed my hand to stop me. ‘If you ever,’ she said, “ever repeat that story, I will never talk to you again.’

In the movie version of our lives, I would have turned to offer her comfort, reminding her, convincing her that the action she’d described had been kind and just. Because it was. She’s incapable of acting otherwise.

In the real version of out lives, my immediate goal was to simply to change her mind. ‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘The story’s really funny, and, I mean, it’s not like you’re going to do anything with it.’

Your life, your privacy, your occasional sorow — it’s not like you’re going to do anything with it. Is this the brother I always was, or the brother I have become?”

Telling a story–telling a true story–can be a powerful thing, which is naturally why we love them so much, especially when someone like Sedaris is the story-teller. Those tales are real, real people, real circumstances… of someone who is not us, who we don’t feel bad about laughing at. In Sedaris’ case, though, he often makes sure we are laughing with him, with his family and friends. We laugh because we see ourselves there. And that is no mean feat.

Read this book. Read this book if, especially if, you don’t usually read books. It may just give you the bug.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars - Book club selection

The Burn Journals (Brent Runyon)

So I received a reading list in the mail from a writer’s organization I used to be involved with at ASU, one that was too expensive for me to continue to be involved with, sadly. Sigh. They were putting together an online book club of sorts and, though I didn’t really feel like paying any money to be a part of such a group, I have no problem using their free list for my own purposes when I can’t seem to think of what I want to read next. This book was the October 2006 selection.

I guess I should have heeded the red flag in my head when I picked up the reserved book from my library and noticed a bright, green “Teen” label on the spine. Teen? I thought. Really? But I dismissed the thought because, after all, the recommendation had come from a reputable, college organization who wouldn’t have me reading childish bullshit. And there are quite a few good novels that cross the border between adult and chidlren’s lit. In my opinion, this did not turn out to be one of them.

The Burn Journals is the autobiographical tale of Brett Runyon, who set himself on fire when he was 15 in an attempt to commit suicide. He then survives a lengthy recovery and a change of heart about the purpose of his own life. While Brett is all grown up now, he still writes in the stilted and simplistic style of an adolescent boy, where he dismisses most emotional concerns in order to remember what then-popular program was on television. I think that Runyon is trying to explain why he would do such a thing with this book–I was wondering that too. Aside from some generic remarks about being “sad,” I am still wondering. There are emotional currents beneath the surface, currents I wanted to explore but that the narrator supresses (out of vulnerability? embarassment?).

It was like a real, teenage boy was stitting there telling me this story, brushing off my questions, trying to be cool about it all. And I wanted to wring his neck and have him tell me what was really going on, even if he didn’t quite know himself, even if the thoughts were incomplete and conclusionless. The book does serve a purpose within the genre so neatly stamped upon its spine: Every teen needs to know that they are not alone in having these nameless, unknowable, apocalyptic feelings and that, yes, they do pass. Things do get better, if not easier, with age because you have more control over yourself and your environment.

Runyon is doing the right thing reaching out to that group, especially the boys, who are under-represented in literature. But I have no idea why ASU would want me to read such a book or why they thought it would be worth discussing and critiquing as a group. I think the conversation would have only one basic thought and direction, something along the lines of:

“That was sad. I wish he hadn’t done that to himself. But now, he can help other kids not set themselves on fire, plus he graduated college. Good for him.”

To summarize, fire and depression bad. Helping others and sharing feelings good. Any questions?

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars = paperweight 

Blue Rage, Black Redemption (Stanley Tookie Williams)

ou must be wondering how something so uncharacteristic made its way onto my reading list. Frankly, I wondered several times in the middle of the book myself, times when I would rather have closed it, put it down and used it as a doorstop. But sadly, I had to read this memoir of Stanley Tookie Williams (the co-founder of the Crips gang) as part of a work assignment.

Not that the man is uninteresting–hardly. He grew up mean and tough and, if you can’t tell from the picture, built like a brick shithouse. As he liked to say, he was “yoked.” Regardless of several chances to reform his criminal ways in his youth, Tookie made himself King Crip and took pride in his recruiting and leadership abilities within the gang. Then, he was jailed for two separate intances of murder–four lives total–and sentenced to death.

So ended the “Blue” portion of his life and his “black redemption” phase dawned. After a long stint in solitary, separated for the first time in his life from his peers, he began to educate himself and came to see the error of his ways. In fact, he became an avid anti-gang activist, wrote several childrens books and was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Thankfully, in my opinion, he did not win.

Again, I am not saying anything negative about the man himself. His story is rather inspirational, probably more so to someone who has more gang exposure than I. What drove me nuts was the way in which the book was written. The self-educated vocabulary peppered with 1960s slang and the obvious pride Tookie still had for the power of his youth turned me off. If you are interested in the life of Williams–or are forced to read about him for work or school–flip to the center for the pictures. By far the most enjoyable part of the book were the unbelievably bulging muscles and the foot tall Afros in those photos.

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars = Paperweight

Walden (Henry David Thoreau)

Ah yes. Our infamous friend Mr. Henry David. All of us have heard the name and perhaps a well-known quote or two (”suck the marrow” and all that) but few of us have actually read his tome to rural simplicity and individual development. Outside the classroom, that is. Herein was my problem. I have read such thick and meaningful books in a school setting. Something about the deadlines and mandatory discussions makes the pages flip regularly if not speedily. On my own, however…. Sigh.

I am still on page 172 out of 303. And it has been almost three weeks. No, no. It has been three weeks. If you take a look at the speed I normally read, you will see how arduous this has become. I finished all of the other books I had out on loan from the library in an effort to focus on my Thoreau. I figured I should apply some of the author’s principles–I would take away all distractions in order to expand my mind and improve myself. I would forego the easy pleasure of modern life (i.e. entertaining novels) and seclude myself with something that would possibly change my life. Didn’t work. Instead of turning to Walden when I needed a reading fix (usually two or three times a day), I glanced at it, sighed, and turned on the television.

Being a lover of literature and a aspiring author, I feel it is my duty to read such classics. Who am I to hope to add to literary history if I cannot appreciate those who came before. My effort will karmically be rewarded when, 150 years from now, some future reader will laboriously try to read my books, struggling over my antiquated slang and phrases. I agree that:

“A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; -not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but carved out of hte breath of life itself.”

Is the book that bad that I couldn’t finish it? you ask. I never said it was bad. It was very, very good in ways. Deep, touching and meaningful. A few pages of deep, touching and meaningful without a story, however, is an excellent generic form of Ambien. I must say that Mr. Henry was a very interesting fellow. He walked away from the urban life he knew (partially because the tax man was on his ass). He “squatted” on piece of unclaimed land–as if that is anywhere near possible anymore–and built a little house for exactly $28.12 1/2 (he includes an itemized table). The book goes on as an isolated man’s journal, divided into sections based upon the theme of the musings i.e. the ponds, the village, the bean fields, winter animals, etc.

Being a bit of an introvert myself, I love Thoreau’s escapists spirit:

“Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are. We have to agree on a certain set of rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable, and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other’s way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty communications… The value of a man is not in his skin, that we should touch him.”

I was drawn towards the journey of solitude and contemplation, where only the amount of time necessary to remain living is devoted to work and the rest to contemplation, reading and writing. Lord, what a life! Though Mr. Henry delivers this, he also added a spin I didn’t expect, this upbeat and positive attitude of “Yay humanity!” where I was expecting “Hey humanity! See you later, sucker!” He says he appreciates his fellow men more at a suitable remove yet also claims that his journey is not an “ode to dejection” but instead an attempt to wake up those around him, enlightening them to his point of view. To me, this is the same as finding the perfect isolated and undiscovered beach and then going home to tell all your friends about it, inviting them to come on down next time around. Screw that. Okay, that’s a bit bitchy. I guess I would say to my friends, “Having a beach is great but, then again, some prefer the mountains. Either way, find your own specific chunk of nirvana and hike away from my Walden, okay?”

I want to finish this book. I will finish this book. I want to use this book as background in a character sketch for a story I have been working on. Therefore, the library will just have to wait to get it back until I find the isolated days, weeks and months I will need to finish it. They will have to deal with a few dogeared pages.

As for isolating it with no other books on my plate, well, that ain’t going to work for me. I have already started the joyous ride of Pricksongs and Descants by Robert Coover. Stay tuned for that discussion next episode. Same time. Same station.

Rating: 4.5 stars out of 5 = Hard cover book club selection

Me Talk Pretty One Day (David Sedaris)

So David Sedaris makes me look a little psycho. No, not in comparison to his sanity—Ha! As if! Not by pointing out the oddities of my character but because, when I read this book, I couldn’t help but talk to myself, exclaiming about Sedaris’ witticisms. And, yes, laughing out loud. Very loud. It went a bit like this…

The Boyfriend: “What on earth are you doing in there?”

Me: “Sedaris.”

The Boyfriend: “Ah.”

I finally saw that reading the funny bits aloud to The Boyfriend was also unproductive. He could barely understand me—reading fast with excitement and laughing over all the words, having to back track to pertinent sections. He must have thought he was watching me share and inside joke with myself. Or, with a book. Normally I just keep such jokes between you and me, my beloved internet.

Me Talk Pretty is witty, sharp and, as if you couldn’t guess, very funny. The book is a collection of autobiographical tales relating to Sedaris’ inability to communicate with the outside world. It begins with his childhood lisp and his trusty thesaurus, which would provide an s-less an alternative to any word. It follows Sedaris into adulthood, living abroad in Paris and attempting the evil and malicious French language. Literally translating all those French phrases—such as the movie Is it Necessary to Save the Private Ryan?—and regaling the native population with his mastery of one word. The word? Ashtray. Quite handy over there.

A great contribution to the pursuit of “reading for pleasure.” I place quotes around that for those of you who may not have tried or even heard of the concept. I guarantee that for you, especially for you my non-reader friends, this book is so fun and easy that it just may change your mind.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars = Buy the hard cover

Desolation Angels (Jack Kerouac)

One summer, old Jacky was stationed on Desolation Peak in the Cascade Mountains with a view of a small mountain named Hozomeen. Though he claims to have been without mind-altering substances, this is what his cocaine-fueled brilliance captured on the page:

“The void is not disturbed by any kind of ups and downs, my God look at Hozomeen, is he worried or tearful? Does he bend before storms or snarl when the sun shines or sigh in the late day drowse? Does he smile? Was he not born out of madbrained turmoils and upheavals of raining fire and now’s Hozomeen and nothing else? Why should I choose to be bitter or sweet, he does neither?—Why can’t I be like Hozomeen and O Platitude O hoary old platitude of the bourgeois mind ‘take life as it comes…’

Does the Void take any part in life and death? Does it have funerals? Or birth cakes? Why not I be like the Void, inexhaustibly fertile, beyond serenity, beyond even gladness, just Old Jack (and not even that)…

Hold still, man, regain your love of life and go down from this mountain and simply be—be—be the infinite fertilities of the one mind of infinity, make no comments, complaints, criticisms, appraisals, avowals, sayings, shooting stars of thoughts, just flow, flow, be you all, be you what it is, it is only what it always is—Hope is a word like a snow-drift—This is the Great Knowing, this the Awakening, this is Voidness—So shut up, like, travel, adventure, bless and don’t be sorry—Prunes, prunes, eat your prunes—And you have been forever, and will be forever, and all the worrisome smashings of your foot on innocent cupboard doors it was only the Void pretending to be a man pretending not to know the Void—”

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars = Book club selection

Rain of Gold (Victor Villasenor)

One of the other teachers at work recommended this book to me. Her favorite book of all time, she said, and I can see why. It’s the sweeping tale of two families, their experiences leaving turbulent Mexico during the Mexican Revolution and their adaptation to America. It is, in fact, the true story of the author’s grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles and it is a fascinating peek into Mejicano culture. Stories of gold mines, bootlegging, poverty, rape, religion, humor, honor, and love. What is a life well-lived? What makes a man a man? How do we keep God in our everyday miracles?

I personally like the character of Dona Margarita, the image of her in the outhouse every morning with a cigarette in one hand, whiskey-spiked coffee in the other, and the Bible across her lap. Yet her real-life religion, based in fact and human reality rather than spiritual idealism, rings true. God with humor, color, and a bit of earthy dirt. Her policy of honesty is a good example of this color.

“God respects my honesty that I admit that I lie… He’s the biggest liar in all the universe. Giving us a mind that knows all the questions but none of the answers! He won’t hate you for lying or cheating or swearing if it helps you to survive. But, of course, you don’t injure others.” Her philosophy on marriage, children, and alcohol pepper the book with laughter and truth, keeping her family together through bad and good times and through the good and bad within themselves. As she says to her son, “Every time… the devil comes near, I swear, you’ll hear from me. I’m the tick up your spiritual asshole for all eternity!”

A fun read for the bubbly bathtub or curled up like a cat in your favorite page-turning place, Rain of Gold would have been perfect to bring on the airplane, the train, the road for my upcoming trip to Europe but, well, I finished it already. Hm. Sad.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars = A book club selection for vacation reading

Honeymoon With My Brother (Franz Wisner)

My father and step-mom happened upon a book signing at a local bookstore by the author of this book, Honeymoon with My Brother, Franz Wisner. And I am very glad that they picked me up a copy of this light, airy and well-written memoir. One of those Million Little “memoirs” that have been in the news of late? No. This is, in fact, Franz’s true story of being left at the altar by his girlfriend/financee of ten years, quickly followed by a demotion at his 12-hour-a-day, life-obsessing job. Questioning everything he thought he stood for, who he is and why his life has rolled to a halt at this particular stumbling block, Franz decided to still go on the pre-paid Honeymoon to Costa Rica. With his brother as his “bride.”

After two weeks of jungle-trekking, Imperial drinking, volcano watching, and brotherly love (Man, I loved Costa Rica!), the boys come home with the idea of a year-long vacation around the world. Now or never, they think, and why not? They’re young and unattached. And, of course, they are of independent means. Not overly rich but, well, let’s just say that Franz even paid the mortgage on his 1/2 a million dollar house while they were out of town. A house that for the additonal second year of the trip, he did sell. In those two years on the road, they visited 53 countries on five continents (Australia and the Artic are still on the To Do list). Though they do have some cash to throw around, that doesn’t mean that their travels were ultra-plush. In fact, they share many money-saving ideas along their life-changing, perspective-altering and self-finding trek. Wisner’s observations and travel saavy are very fun, even if they make you want to simultaneously hug him for his adventure and hit him in jealousy that you are not there yet yourself. Observations like:

• How to get Saab to pay for you to fly to Europe
• Where to get a sand-floored hut on the beach for $4 a night (double occupancy)
• Visible signs that a country’s government is corrupt
• Why to ditch that Lonely Planet guidebook
• What hand signals are considered raunchy in Brazil
• Football (soccer) facts and fans from around the world

Honeymoon is a highly entertaining read that makes you want to quit your job, give away your cat and sail away into the world. Don’t forget the sunscreen! I am a world traveller myself, setting off for Eastern Europe in less than a week now (Yay!) and also a writer (who would kill for the opportunity to write a book that would pay for all of those travels!). So I am very happy, then, that my dad and step-mom had it personally inscribed to me and The Boyfriend at the authorial meet-and-greet that they attended.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars = Book club selection