April, 2022: So Very Triggered

I'm really pleased with my April reading. A couple of books really triggered me, but like Kafka or someone said (and I'm wildly paraphrasing), we *should* read books that pierce us and chop like axes into where our deepest feels reside. Strangely, those visceral reactions still come as a shock, even more than a half-century after I burst into tears and threw Jane Eyre across the room after reading the first chapter.

1. The Devil All the Time - Donald Ray Pollock. Novel. I'm so annoyed with myself. Five years ago, my friend Mary M. told me, nearly ordered me to read this book. I dutifully bought it and stored it on my main fiction bookshelf in the living room for yes, half a decade. So finally, it jumps off the shelf and into my hands and for the next day-and-a-half, I could not leave it alone. Brilliant hillbilly noir. Like almost everyone else, I was reminded of the Coen brothers and Jim Thompson. The next time Mary M. makes a recommendation, I won't be so skittish.

2. French Braid - Anne Tyler. Novel. Did I walk? No, of course not. I ran to the bookstore. My excuses for buying a book as opposed to waiting for a library copy were threefold: 

First excuse: It's Anne Tyler, duh.

Second excuse: The bookstore almost fell into oblivion and was rescued at Christmastime last year. Use it or lose it.

Third excuse: I was feeling hard done by because of my poor smashed-up car. 

I won't say French Braid is my favorite Anne Tyler, but I'll always remember it for getting under my skin. Like most of her novels, French Braid deals in slightly dysfunctional family dynamics. But what got me was a cat who is in the novel for only about a dozen pages. I adored him, and then. Well, let's just say that one of the characters didn't adore him, and didn't change her mind about him, not ever. I had tears in my eyes. Desmond! For days, I kept grabbing up the Spawn's and my cat, Starman, and hugging him and saying Desmond, Desmond. I recounted this plot point to anyone who would listen and even voiced my dissatisfaction on Twitter. The Spawn's response: Ob-la-di, Ob-la-dah.

3. Ocean State - Stewart O'Nan. Novel. In Rhode Island, a teenage love triangle goes horribly wrong. Lots of atmosphere. Pitch-perfect cadences of modern life. Ocean State reads like a pulpy true crime book and I was also getting whiffs of Joyce Carol Oates, but a more controlled JCO. Another book that I couldn't put down. O'Nan is a master. Now I have to wait another two years for his next book to come out. Damn.

4. Crying In H Mart -Michelle Zauner. Memoir. It was bound to happen: My homesickness for Korea and my grief over losing my mother all came crashing together in a single volume. Zauner, the lead singer for Japanese Breakfast, writes achingly and vividly about taking care of her mother in the few short months between her cancer diagnosis and death interspersed with memories of their trips to Korea to visit family once every two years, and their shared love for Korean food and culture. Then after her mother is gone, Michelle has to negotiate the grief and the guilt and figure out how to deal with it. She travels. She makes a lot of kimchi. She visits family in Korea. She writes. She performs with her band. And it's all so true and exquisite and heartbreaking. Crying In H Mart was my favorite read for April. I want everyone to read it, and I want an H Mart that is closer than Chicago. Yes, I bought this book. Could not resist the red cover and the ramen noodles that make the H in the title.

5. Who Was Charles Schulz? - Joan Holub. Nonfiction. A serviceable, workmanlike portrait of the beloved creator of the Peanuts comic strip.

6. What Was The Harlem Renaissance? - Sherri L. Smith. The Harlem Renaissance was rich, complex, and exciting. That era from the nineteen-tens through the 1930s just exploded with art in all forms. It's too much to cover in one of the volumes in this series. The Harlem Renaissance just cannot be constrained into the 108-page format. Still, Sherri L. Smith provides a great jumping-off point for readers of all ages to learn more about this dynamic time.

Late September, 2021: Hold The Phone

 What I'm scratching my head about:

I recently overheard The Spawn tell someone that he was 6 months ahead on his blog posts. What the hell?! Here I am, always running behind on my posts like someone with a broken-off heel chasing the last bus. And he has SIX MONTHS of bloggy freshness and goodness in the can??? That's half a year!!!

So yeah, I know eavesdropping is a bad habit, but The Spawn knows my flaws as well as anyone, so I asked him:

Me: [skipping the niceties] How the hell did you get six months ahead with your blog?

Spawn: [startled] What? I'm not six months ahead.

Me: [feeling uncomfortable, wondering if I'm going to have to give up eavesdropping because my hearing has gone bad] Oh, I thought you said --

Spawn: I'm two months ahead.

Me: Oh! Two! Again, how the hell...?!

What I read:

September is nearly finished, and it looks like it's going to be just three books completed this month: 

The Andy Warhol Diaries - Andy Warhol, Pat Hackett, ed.

Who Was Frida Kahlo? - Sarah Fabiny

The Lacuna - Barbara Kingsolver

Two of the books (The Lacuna and The Andy Warhol Diaries) were pretty chunky, to explain my low book count for this month. I also blame my newfound ardent fangirling of The Office and some new involved reading projects. If I'm being absolutely forthcoming, I should also cite my time on the phone as a reason. However, I did hit my dinger on Goodreads! I pledged to read 60 books in 2021, and The Lacuna put me at 62. 

What I'm reading:

Warhol - Blake Gopnik. I'm starting to worry because I haven't picked this biography up in almost a week. Every page is so very dense with information. Andy is still in art school in Pittsburgh! I can't go on/I'll go on.

American Cheese - Joe Berkowitz. Enjoying it immensely, but slow going. This is because some tasty information will strike my fancy and I'll stop reading and start down as many rabbit holes (Hello, Phone!) as there are holes in aged Swiss. My latest detour was to Erika Kubick's mouthwatering blog Cheese Sex Death It was there that I discovered her nationwide list of places to buy cheese, and guess what??? There is a place practically in my backyard, a mere 20 miles away in Sweet Springs. It's called, appropriately enough, The Cheese Store. Time to go a-fromage-ing. Lastly, here is a list of cheeses I've eaten this week: Sharp Cheddar, Baby Swiss, and Blue Cheese. 

The Office: The Untold Story of the Greatest Sitcom of the 2000s - Andy Greene. I absolutely love how this book about my new favorite show is put together. There's a short introduction at the beginning of each chapter, then it goes into interviews with writers, directors, and actors reminiscing about the show. It starts right from the very beginning, the utterly true beginning with Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant going back to when the UK Office was merely a glimmer of a brainchild. The documentary style of presentation is perfect since the show is a "mockumentary". Do I still have to put that in quotes, or is it a part of the language by now?

What I DNFed:

An audiobook, and I really don't want to admit to it, because it's by a distinguished literary presence who recently died. I've read several of the author's other books and admired them, but this one didn't click for me at all. To make matters worse, the author was the narrator and their voice was raspy. Sentences would fade towards the end. I didn't even make it to the end of the first CD. It's back in the library now.

What I'd like to read:

Cheese Sex Death - Erika Kubick. Hope there's loads of pictures.

Nightbitch: A Novel - Rachel Yoder. I can't resist a title like that.

Blind Man's Bluff - James Tate Hill. Memoir.

Cack-Handed - Gina Yashere. Memoir. 

What I need:

Another audiobook!

April, 2020. Fourth Month, Four Books

O, my fellow bookworms. I am compelled to tell you about my dreams. For a couple of nights, people were working on books in my R.E.M. state. In the first dream, the pandemic was finished, and Mario and Chris Cuomo decided to co-author a book. For some reason, they were still in Chris Cuomo's basement.

The next night, I dreamed that Alex Trebek and his wife, Jean, had moved to a seaside village in South Korea, and Alex was working on a book. What makes the second dream feel very Squeeeee! and Wow...am I clairvoyant? is that a couple of days after my dream, Alex Trebek announced that he'd written a book which will be published in July of this year.

Since then, I've been trying to think before bed who I'd really like to write a book, but nothing has come of it in spite of my dogged planning. Isn't that the way it always goes?

During my waking hours, these are the four books I finished in April:

1. The Mirror & The Light - Hilary Mantel. The 16th century is so far back in time, but Mantel makes it feel so current, maybe even more than she intended. Real life seemed to explode on the page: Henry VIII reminded me of a prominent political figure. The plague was a constant threat. Someone sent Thomas Cromwell a leopard. As in the first two books, Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, I admire how Mantel seems to get completely into Cromwell's brain. It's not just what he thinks in response to others (although these internal musings are often funny) but also the elaborate machinations. Keeping all those balls in the air at the same time took so much concentration that he underestimated his enemies. Cromwell's sudden downfall and last days are difficult reading. Mantel's trilogy ranks up there with my favorite historical fiction.

2. Who Was Nikola Tesla? - Jim Gigliotti. Much to my surprise, this turned out to be my favorite in the Who was...? series so far. So well-written. A terrific balance of the inventor's accomplishments and eccentricities.

3. Alice Adams: Portrait of a Writer - Carol Sklenicka. The author of this biography also wrote the Raymond Carver one, which was published back in 2009. Both are first-rate. I had a wrong idea about Alice Adams as a writer. I thought she was frothy and shallow and snooty, and avoided reading her work. I feel terrible about that now. She was none of those things, and passionately dedicated to her craft. I put all of her novels on my wishlist. Thanks so much to Carol Sklenicka for a beautiful and perceptive portrait.

4. Janis: Her Life and Music - Holly George-Warren. This biography of Janis Joplin was so enjoyable, so readable! Yes, Joplin was a hellraiser and took a lot of drugs and drank a lot of Southern Comfort, but George-Warren also documents how Joplin was ambitious about her music career. She emerges as having been ahead of her time. All biographers have themes. Sometimes they work and sometimes they choke the narrative, but Holly George-Warren chose hers with an expert eye. I recommend this biography wholeheartedly.

Speaking of biographies, did you see that Benjamin Moser's biography of Susan Sontag won the Pulitzer Prize in that category? I squealed like a fangirl.

January 2020: What Are...Guilty Pleasures?

Thanks mostly to snowy days in January, I'm off to a good start, reading-wise.  Eight books so far this year!

Also, I've decided once and for all to cast off any sheepishness about loving and enjoying the Who Was...? series of biographies for young readers and embrace my guilty pleasure. I'm allowing myself to read them as long as I read one "adult" book between them. Of course, such self-imposed strictures are unnecessary and even laughable. Why do I do these things to myself? If anyone suggested such a restriction to you, I'd fight them.

To my great relief, I found that I wasn't alone. On the Facebook "Bookaholics" page, the question about guilty pleasure reads popped up, and I decided to share my fangirl feelings. Immediately, replies appeared: Oh yeah! Me 2! and Love those! and I don't always need a full-sized biography, and these fill the bill nicely.

In many ways, I'm annoyed at myself for seeking validation: I'm 58 freaking years old! I'm an English major! I have a graduate degree! I'll read what I damn well want to read! If I want to cover the couch with the Who Was...? series and let them spill off my bedside table like a waterfall, that's my business! But still. My Snobby Inner Bookbitch will never be silent. She'll always be there, judging and censuring.

But enough about my SIB. Back to this series. I sincerely feel the crackle of an intellectual challenge as I read the books and examine how they are put together. The authors/editors relate the stories of their subjects' lives in a way that is brief but entertaining and thoughtful, and they don't feel hasty or boiled-down or condescending to young readers. The sidebars that put the worlds around the subjects into context always feel organic rather than shoehorned in as a "teachable moment". Often, I'm curious to know more about a subject, and what to my hungry eyes do appear but a tasty bibliography?!

One of the main things about the series that intrigues me is the relationship between the author and his/her subject. For example, Sydelle Kramer, who wrote Who Was Daniel Boone? allows that he was a great hunter, woodsman, and pathfinder and that he was courageous and resourceful, but she doesn't shy away from discussing his less admirable attributes such as blithely breaking treaties and settling on Native American land because he feels like it and how he and his descendants were slaveholders up until the Civil War. Kramer also makes a point of showing how Daniel's wife, Rebecca, had an even harder life than the average frontier woman because of Daniel's propensity to scurry over the Appalachians at every opportunity. I don't mean that she actively bashes Daniel Boone, but there seems to be more of a critical eye than in my other two Who Was...? reads for this month. I'm glad for this multi-faceted portrait, because it provides an added richness.

 Who Was P.T. Barnum? seemed to be a completely sympathetic picture. Especially after reading Who Was Daniel Boone?, if I had been predicting tone, I'd have guessed that this biography would have been much more critical of Barnum since he was and is well-known for his humbug and flimflam tendencies. I came away with the feeling that the author, Kirsten Anderson, had expertly researched her subject, but also had visions of Hugh Jackman's charming performance as The Greatest Showman dancing in her head as she sat down to write. I must admit that I felt the urge to burst into song every few pages. Enjoyable read, although I was shaking my head a bit.

The third book I read, Who Was Babe Ruth? was an affectionate look at the legendary baseball player. Joan Holub uses an outline of Babe's life that seems to closely follow the 1948 biopic, but I also got the feeling that her research revealed numerous juicy details that she couldn't (regretfully, I'm sure!) reveal to the targeted young audience. Thank goodness for the bibliography page. Although it's not listed as a source, I feel compelled to read 2018's The Big Fella: Babe Ruth and the World He Created by Jane Leavy.

So, anyway. If you love biographies and you're in need of a new guilty pleasure, the Who Was...? series is a worthwhile endeavor. If you need further convincing, let me add that the price is right. At approximately $5.00 a pop, you get a lot of bang for your bookworm buck.

Reading Independently: My Crush on Nathan Hale

I remember hearing about and seeing pictures of cotton-haired George Washington and the cartoonishly-shaped Abraham Lincoln in the days before I could read by myself. Cherry trees and log cabins. They were so neatly bundled in February that they didn't make much of an impression.

A couple of years passed, and I was reading independently. Somehow, (maybe from my aunt?) there came into my possession an illustrated book of American history. Starting with Christopher Columbus and ending...I don't remember how. Highlights of American history were summarized in an informative paragraph, accompanied by a picture in full color. It was a handsome volume.

There were two pages I was particularly stuck on: One was the 'story' of Pocahontas and John Smith. What a great picture: John Smith with his hands bound behind his back, head on a large boulder, face looking worried and brave, all at once. The would-be executioner's hatchet coming down, and Pocahontas, running in, arm fully extended for the interception, looking scared but angry. The paragraph said that she shielded him from the fatal blow. Of course, I had to look up 'shielded' 'fatal' and 'blow'. Wow.

Then there was Nathan Hale. I can't find the exact picture I saw in the book, but it was somewhat like the one above, except that Nathan Hale was standing on the left, defiantly facing right and wearing a white shirt with no jacket. He had the rope around his beautifully strong neck. This was the first time I'd ever heard of someone being hanged. Also, the language was a little beyond me.  I double-checked with my father. Yes, hanging was a method of killing. "Giving [one's] life" meant that they died. Also, Nathan Hale was captured by the British for spying. He was a spy. What was a spy? And the paragraph said he was 19. I cried. A lot. Because this wasn't a story. A fairy tale. This was a true story. Nathan Hale was real. This really happened.

For a long time, I brooded on Nathan Hale. Where had his Pocahontas been? If only we weren't 200 years apart! I could have rushed in and shielded him from the fatal...blow? I wasn't exactly sure how hanging was accomplished. Yes, I thought, I would have rescued him. Of course, I would have given him a chance to make his stirring, final speech, then I would have defied those ugly guys in red jackets. Then Nathan Hale could have gone back to being a spy, and maybe I could have somehow helped. Maybe by bringing him some water, like Molly Pitcher?  No, I'd make him show me how to help him with spying. 

What I Talk About When I Talk About Reading

I tried several times, but couldn't get this post off the ground. After a great deal of cursing and sweating, I decided to ask myself questions.

Did you notice that you were wrong again with your Pulitzer Fiction prediction?
Yes. There needs to be a new word for my level of perennial wrongness; it's truly breathtaking.

How do you feel about how it all shook out this year?
After my initial surprise, I hied myself down to the bookstore to order a copy of Less for my permanent Pulitzer shelf as well as my immediate future reading enjoyment. Can't wait to read it!

How about that biography winner?!
GASP!  Prairie Fires! I was completely delighted, and my joy was compounded upon realizing that I own a hardcover first edition. When I first read the book, I was struck by the brilliance of the research, construction and writing. There was not a wasted page; the editing is top-notch as well. I'll be reading Prairie Fires again soon and pestering my fellow bookworms to follow my good example. So glad the enigmatic Pulitzer committee saw things as I did.

Have you read any Pulitzer fiction winners lately?
Aaargh. I read the 1942 winner, In This Our Life. Not my favorite. I had high expectations because I loved the movie version starring Bette Davis and Olivia de Havilland. This was a case of Hollywood improving on a book. The screenwriter took this bloated, analytical novel and using some sort of alchemy, got it in fighting trim. I understand why it may have won the Pulitzer, but it's aged badly.

What are you reading now?
A couple of weeks ago, I found a copy of Life Plus 99 Years by Nathan F. Leopold (of Leopold and Loeb infamy). Although it was an autobiography/memoir, the book seemed evasive. Dishonesty fairly oozed out of the prose. Of course it was written about the time Leopold became eligible for parole (Loeb was murdered about ten years after the pair went to prison), so he was writing with one eye on  a specific audience, casting himself in the best possible light. In the book, Leopold wrote about a visit from author Meyer Levin and Levin's plans to write a novel based on the murder case. Leopold went on to discuss the result, Compulsion (1956) in scathing terms. It was the only time in Life Plus 99 Years that his carefully constructed mask seemed to come off. Of course I had to read Compulsion, which is creepily good in that In Cold Blood sort of way although Meyer Levin lacks Truman Capote's delicate touch with the written word. I also checked out a detailed nonfiction account titled The Crime of the Century.

Do you plan to have fun, fun, fun! at the Readathon?
Yes! I'm so tired of missing the Readathon allllllll the time since I moved back to the United States. Plopping myself down somewhere reader-friendly next Saturday, I shall refuse to be moved. Unruly Reader is helping me to start out in fine style; she gifted me a copy of The Teammates by David Halberstam. I'll do an update or two here on Blob, but I'll mostly be doing quick check-ins on Twitter @susanandbooks and at Goodreads where I'm SusanInSedalia. I'll devote this week to figuring out the rest of my stack and snacks. Any suggestions?

Three Things To Start November

Since it's Daylight Savings Time this weekend, I've got an extra hour. What better way to spend it than blogging?

1. I'm reading Grant by Ron Chernow and I'm really enjoying it. Chernow is at the height of his biographical powers. Ulysses S. Grant seems so much more accessible than Washington. Like Hamilton, he jumps off the page. Hell, he jumps off the cover. Look at him. If you don't have the book, go get a fifty-dollar bill. I'll wait........so you see what I mean. He looks modern, all beardly and such. That soulful, forthright gaze. I feel as if I could walk down the streets here in Sedalia, MO and see Grant.  You know who else jumps off the page? General Sherman! He and Grant have a fine bromance. Like many people, I'm imagining a musical. This is a long read and Grant may be my last book for 2017. I hope not, because I was hoping to work in a read of Tess of the D'Urbervilles before the end of the year. If Grant does turn out to be my last book, what a great finish!

2. I haven't participated in NaNoWriMo since 2014, when I took a deep breath and wrote Even If the Sky Falls Down. It was a frustrating, exhausting and exhilarating experience and I want to do it again. So...enter the zygote novel provisionally titled Chicken Diary. I'd forgotten the fun of discovering things about the characters. Maybe I won't make 50,000 words, but I'll get a nice chunk done before the end of the month.

3. I've finally unpacked all my feelings about A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. It was compelling, but not exactly the greatest prose I've ever read. Why was I so attracted? Then it hit me: I like overwrought stories. The Young and the Restless. Taylor Caldwell, my go-to comfort read. (I must do a post about Caldwell's Melissa, a novel I read earlier this year. Yikes.) Also, take away the gay storyline, as well as the edgy elements that make up Jude's past and present life in A Little Life and it's a 1940s "women's picture". There's suffering, but everyone is noble and attractive, apologizes profusely, and it's all done in gorgeous clothing, splendid houses and breathtaking settings. Yanagihara unapologetically lays it on with a king-sized trowel. I love the book. It annoys me, but I absolutely love it.

4. Okay, I know I said "Three Things" in the subhead, so just call it being bad at math or something. I found a new vlog on YouTube that I'm crazy about called The Restricted Section. Two young bookworms candidly discuss their reading and their book hoards and drink craft beer. Best of all, they are practically in my backyard! One hundred miles away, which is nothing. Maybe I'll get to meet them one day. Meanwhile, I eagerly await uploads from Megan and Sue.

There, There Now

My wrist is nearly healed, so I'm back to typing with both hands. The right-side shift makes me wince a bit, but it's nothing I can't handle, she said bravely.

I've read so much these past couple of months, but blogging...it's like I'm locked up, locked in. Part of this is because of the wrist, and part of it is because Mom is working on her third week in the hospital. A double feature this time out: The usual touch of pneumonia coupled with an abscess gone way WAY wrong. The details are so horrific, I can't even type them here. Both you and Mom would never forgive me. Stephen King might...well, yeah, but he doesn't read this blog.

Even with all of this, I MUST get back to blogging. As I've done before when stuck, I'll try to do short entries until I'm comfortable again. Tonight (it's 12:40 a.m.), I'll talk about what I'm reading currently:

1. Washington: A Life - Ron Chernow. I'm glad I didn't give up on this biography. I'm 10% into the book and am starting to see and appreciate the human side of the most formidable icon in American history. He's so much more than that lifeless looking unfinished painting by Gilbert Stuart.

2. Consider the Fork - Bee Wilson. Really struggling with this book, and I can't put my finger on why. Wilson devotes each chapter to the history of a particular kitchen gadget. Sounds like it should be great fun, but the prose seems quite dense. It's not a long book, but  I've been at it for weeks now. I'm determined to finish.

3. A Touch of Stardust - Kate Alcott. This is part of my keep-an-audiobook-on-the-go-at-all-times project. What a fun, frothy gem. The setting is 1939 Hollywood, the backdrop the filming of Gone with the Wind. Carole Lombard and Clark Gable are characters. It's not all classic Hollywood, though. Talk of the war in Europe is in the air, and something is brewing with Julie Crawford's Jewish boyfriend, Andy Weinstein, who is David Selznick's right-hand-man. Julie, an aspiring screenwriter, is the main character. She is Lombard's personal assistant, and like Lombard, she is from Fort Wayne, Indiana. I'm not sure if the mash-up of Old Hollywood insider gossip and the dark story that seems to be on the horizon is really going to work, but for now, I'm thoroughly entertained. I could eat this book with a spoon, it's so delectable.

So that's my Read Life right now. For my next blog post, I'll work backwards, so I don't forget everything. On the other hand, I may leap so far forward that I pull my reading hamstring. Stay tuned.

i have no wrist but i must blog

not spraining, but fracturing...on groundhog day, of all days. i woke with some trepidation on the 3rd.

at first, i was going to wait until i could type properly, but that's another whole month. to HELL with that. if bauby could blink out all of the diving bell and the butterfly, then bybee can tap out a left handed post.

 my brain doesn't like this one bit. well, boo effing hoo, brain.

so yeah, my wrist, the floor. it was the convergence of the twain, as in the poem by thomas hardy, which is actually about the titanic and the iceberg. you see what i'm saying, of course.

you can't keep a good bookworm down, or even a mediocre one for long. here's what i've read/been reading this year.

1. her again: becoming meryl streep. nonfiction. michael schulman. i loved this look at the genesis of an acting genius. i eagerly await a volume 2.

2. $2.00 a day: living on almost nothing in america. nonfiction. kathryn j. edin and h. luke shaefer. bleak, but necessary reading. recommend pairing this with hillbilly elegy.

3. the green mile. fiction. stephen king.  uncle stevie delivers the goods in this depression era mashup of weird tales and charles dickens.

4. in the great, green room: the brilliant and bold life of margaret wise brown. biography. amy gary. i love the title, but the way it was written left me cold. i've got more to say about this book, but i need both wrists.

5. the art of x-ray reading. nonfiction. roy peter clark. fun, educational. clark profiles several writers and their greatest hits and shows why the prose is so effective. he really breaks it down and inspires. favorite chapters- shirley jackson, nabokov, flannery o'connor, sylvia plath. the whole book was a delight.

ok...so that was january. i haven't yet finished a book in february. here's what i'm working on.

parade's end by ford madox ford. i chafed against this novel for the longest time, but now it owns me. so very glad i audiobooked this one. finally on the last book of the omnibus, last post. i think what finally swayed me was the realization that christopher tietjens is played by benedict cumberbatch. that's MUCH better.

consider the fork - bee wilson.  wilson explores technology in the kitchen through the ages. fun stuff.

captains and the kings. novel. taylor caldwell. i couldn't resist... only 54 cents today feb 13th on amazon. kindle edition. caldwell always puts me right. she's my go-to when i'm off-kilter.

margaret wise brown: awakened by the moon.  biography. author???????????  i was so disillusioned with the new mwb bio that i had to try the older one. so far, so good.

chernow biography of george washington. slow going.

i need to stop typing now.

Merry, Happy Bookmas

Books do weigh down a sleigh, so thanks to Santa for taking one for the team.

Here are the 3 books I received:

1. Her Again: Becoming Meryl Streep - Michael Schulman. (biography)

2. The Sellout - Paul Beatty. (novel)

3. Daily Zen Doodles - Meera Lee Patel (category????)

Looking forward to eagerly cracking open the newest additions to the Bybeeary!  I will do this while drinking out of my new "LOVE TO READ coffee mug, listening to the soundtrack from Moana, and wearing my new banned books scarf.

What sort of bookery came into your home this holiday season? Come on, make me envious.

In Which Books Make Me Happy...Well, Happier

Last month's posts were a work of cranky art, but I have a good excuse for my snarly behavior: I came down with a urinary tract infection and colitis all at once. Not elegant at all. No wonder I was having trouble reading. Recovery from the colitis has been a bit slow, hence my silence here. I'm still on a restricted diet. You would not believe the boringness, the blandness. The pickiest of 3-year-olds eat better than this. And coffee! I miss you; I mourn you.

Here's something peculiar: I was reading the new Shirley Jackson biography the weekend I fell ill. Late in the book -- in her life -- Shirley was plagued by colitis. I wasn't sure what it was, so I looked it up. Inflammation of the colon.  A couple of days later, my doctor informed me about what my very icky tests revealed. Colitis. The doctor seemed taken aback by my cheerful reaction:  "Oh! I know what that is!"

Anyway, here's what I've been reading since I last checked in here:

A Curious Man: The Strange & Brilliant Life of Robert "Believe It or Not!" Ripley - Neal Thompson. (biography)  Thompson has worked as a sports journalist, and his punchy prose style is a good match for Robert Ripley, who found his unique niche early on. I was expecting Ripley to be a little weirder and a little darker than he was, given his subject matter. I also liked the thumbnail sketches of the people who populated Ripley's world, his travels around the world, and the perspective of the time in history in which the cartoonist lived, and how that contributed to his popularity. Entertaining.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly - Jean-Dominique Bauby. (memoir)  In his early 40s, Bauby, a successful magazine editor, suddenly suffered a massive stroke that left him with "locked-in syndrome". He was aware of everything around him, but completely paralyzed except for being able to communicate by blinking his left eyelid. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly -- his metaphor for his imprisoned body and his brain -- was dictated painstakingly by Bauby, blinking it out to an assistant. It's grim but also humorous at times. This is a book that is going to stay with me. Read it if you haven't yet. I heard the movie is also devastatingly well-done.

Germinal - Emile Zola. (novel)  I read this book about miners on strike back in 2013, when I was on my quest to read all 20 novels in the Rougon-Macquart series. The translation I read then was an older one by Havelock Ellis, and it was good, but the one I just finished by Roger Pearson! Damn! What a difference! The prose leaps off of the page and grabs the reader by the throat with a hairy, callused hand, just as Zola intended. From now on, I'm reading only the freshest translations of Zola. I must add that I had the exact same experience with my two readings of Nana.

Tampa - Alissa Nutting. (novel)  I stumbled onto this book because Goodreads kept reassuring me that I wanted to read it and would like it. Why? The novel is the story of middle school teacher Celeste Price who is a sexual predator hopelessly attracted to a specific type of young teenaged boy. Nutting tells Celeste's story coolly and fearlessly. It's like Lolita, except with a lot more graphic sex. Really not my type of read at all, but to my surprise, Goodreads was correct: I liked Tampa a lot. Celeste was irresistible, even at her very worst. She was smart and cutting, with tart and accurate observations about society and she was coldly unrepentant about her actions. It must have been difficult for Nutting to get into her character's head so completely. There was also a great deal of black comedy. Part of me is ashamed for enjoying the novel and part of me is pleased that I can still be surprised by how I react to a book.

At the present, I've got two books on the go: Hungry Heart, Jennifer Weiner's memoir, which is gorgeously appealing and readable, and Washington: A Life by Ron Chernow. I know Washington was the father of our country, but as far as biographies go, he's no Alexander Hamilton. Still, I hope to finish this book by the end of 2016. Goodreads helpfully reminded me that there are about 48 days to go.  While I try to make sense of the events of the past week, I predict that I'll be reading more to try and recover a sense of equilibrium.

Mid-August Finds Me

I hated the title of this post, then it struck me that it sounds like one of those novels from the 1910s that end up getting reprinted with great acclaim by something like Virago Press. So there it stands.

Mid-August finds me in the middle of several books again:

1. Burr - Gore Vidal. Novel.
This is my main read right now, and I'm enjoying it more than when I read it back in 2012. I can't help but wonder if Lin-Manuel Miranda had a look at Burr as well as the Ron Chernow biography of Hamilton, because I have come upon several passages in which I nearly burst into song. My most recent hum-along is The Room Where It Happens. I'm having a brilliant time!

2. Villette - Charlotte Bronte. Novel.
 I should give up, but I don't. I won't. I can't. I'm 18 chapters in! I predict a mad reading/listening rush to midnight on New Year's Eve. Bronte! Bragging! Rights!

3. Triptych - Joyce Cary. Novel.
Even with the new magnifier, the print in this book is putting me off. I don't know what I'm going to do. Hoping to finish at least the first book in the volume, Herself Surprised, but more and more, I'm just not feeling it.

4. Washington: A Life - Ron Chernow. Biography.
I had to switch to the e-reader edition because I got tired of lugging the physical book around. Also, there were print issues with this one, too. I am so irritated with my eyes for wavering and watering! Stop that, you two! I'll turn this head around, I swear I will!!!

5. The Emigrants - Johan Bojer. Novel.
Written in 1924 and translated into English the following year, this Norwegian novel is about a family leaving Norway and pioneering in North Dakota. Although I haven't gotten beyond the first chapter, this book pleases me on several fronts: It's old. It's about the emigrant experience. It's about pioneers. It's obscure.

6. Heroes of the Frontier - Dave Eggers. Novel.
I was captivated by What is the What, Eggers' novel based on the life of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Heroes of the Frontier seems very different so far -- it starts out with a dentist unexpectedly taking/whisking away her two young children on a vacation to Alaska. So far, I'm drawn in and asking the sorts of questions an engaged reader asks.

Mid-August finds me wanting something very much. I can't even say it here. Not now. But I want this particular thing BAD. On alternating days I'm:
1) hopeful
2) resigned
3) despondent
4) actively snarling and looking for rocks to throw at the "thing with feathers"

Some days, I'm all of those things in succession. Today was like that.

Mid-August finds me running out of shelving space in my bedroom. Time to cull the herd.

In Which I Am So Glad I Don't Owe the Whole Internet Ten Dollars

July 30. I did it. I finally finished Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow. We were together 2 months and 2 weeks. Now there's an Alexander Hamilton-shaped hole in my life.

That last day, I read about 40%. There comes a point when you can't stop reading, you don't want to stop and you can't dissemble. Even my mother was getting the stony eff-off-I-am-reading look. When that didn't work, I used subtler, more effective methods: I started reading aloud from Alexander Hamilton, and she wandered off to play Candy Crush then take a nap.

 I continued to read and read. Tears from eyestrain streamed from my right eye. Tired of wiping it, I covered it instead and continued with my left.

But never mind my eye. Alexander Hamilton! What a story Ron Chernow brings to life! Best of men and best of biographers. By the end, I was shedding more than eyestrain tears. I was a wreck.

After a halfway decent interval, I took a deep breath and took up the next book I'd slated for myself, Fallen Founder, a biography of Aaron Burr. After twenty minutes or so, I was thinking oh hell no. The premise of Fallen Founder is that Aaron Burr, like Dr. Pepper, is terribly misunderstood. Deep down, he was really a swell guy. I didn't stick around to find out. I don't give a damn if he was a Mary Wollestonecraft fan, or if he was president of her fan club. He shot Alexander Hamilton! My wrathful feelings towards Burr may cool off at some point. I don't know.

After a couple of days, I decided to do a reread of Gore Vidal's novel about Burr. After all, Vidal's portrayal is that of a villain (although an entertaining one, I hate to admit) in his hoary old age who is just as much of a scoundrel as ever. Besides, I've been missing Gore Vidal lately. I wish he were alive to make savage and witty remarks about the current political scene. Even better, Ron Chernow likes Burr.

Time to listen to the musical again.

Nothing But Hamilton

Here I am at mid-month, awash in Hamiltonia.

 Although I've been working on Ron Chernow's biography of Alexander Hamilton since May 15, I didn't really catch fire till now when I finally got the soundtrack to the musical and in very quick succession, Hamilton: The Revolution, the libretto by Lin-Manuel Miranda chock-full of his thoroughly entertaining, slightly nerdy notes. I polished it off like candy or potato chips. Delicious. The soundtrack is in constant rotation on my devices and in my brain.

Taking a deep breath, I jettisoned some of my reads, returning the Dylan Thomas and Hildegard Knef biographies to the library. I've cleared the decks, and it's nothing but Alexander Hamilton's biography until I'm finished. I'm at 41% now, and I should be done by the end of this month. Bet you ten bucks.

Six On The Go?

Sometimes, I can't get into a reading groove, and I wander from book to book to book. This is one of those times. Blame it on my swoony malaise...malaise-y swoon? after reading Encounter with an Angry God.  I've fallen and I can't get up; I'm in the middle of six books:

1. Hamilton - Ron Chernow. I'm 33% in after nearly two months, but that will change. I'm listening to the Broadway musical, and the spark has been reignited. I'm eager to jump back in and finish. No quitting this one because I'm not throwing away my shot! I am not throwing away my shot!

2. Villette - Charlotte Bronte. I'm about 21% into this audiobook after a couple of months. Not terribly compelled. This is going to be all about grit and discipline. I want to finish. I want Bronte bragging rights.

3. Triptych - Joyce Cary. This book consists of three short interconnected novels: Herself Surprised, To Be A Pilgrim and The Horse's Mouth. I read two of them nearly 30 years ago, but don't remember much. Right now, I'm in the first few pages of Herself Surprised, and it's pretty sprightly, but I'm having trouble getting back to it.

4. The Fireman - Joe Hill. I'm reading this with Care and a cast of favorite book bloggers as part of the #FiremanAlong. I'm halfway through; the excitement is carrying me along. I guess you could say I'm on fire.

5. Dylan Thomas: A New Life - Andrew Lycett. I've been reading and reading and Dylan is only just 20 years old and seems more like a snot-nosed adolescent than a great poet in the making, but I know he is a fledgling genius, so I'm waiting patiently. I did page through all the photos and skip to the index to see if that anecdote about Shirley Jackson is in there. It is. Hope I haven't spoilered anything.

6. The Gift Horse - Hildegard Knef.  Hildegard Knef was a German film actress who appeared in a couple of American films as Hildegard Neff. This memoir (1970) seems to be about growing up and getting into acting during Hitler's regime. I'm reading a library copy. I am not sure what attracted me to the book; it just beckoned to me during one of my romps in the biography section. Perhaps I first read about it on the Neglected Books blog.

Anyway, six books. Yikes.

What's the most you've had on the go at one time?

April: 30 Days, 7 Books Part 3

As much as I enjoyed my April reads, I simply must finish this list. Get thee behind me, April! Or is that a bad thing to say??? Never mind. I'll sort it out after I make brief remarks about these last two books.

Strangers on a Train - Patricia Highsmith. (novel) I audiobooked Highsmith's 1951 debut novel, and I am so glad I did. Two words: Bronson Pinchot! His interpretation makes the madman Charles Bruno fairly leap off the page. I thought Bruno's counterpart, Guy, suffered in comparison at first, but I was mistaken. Listening to a scene while running around in Dollar General shopping for...well, who knows now?? I lost my concentration, my mind, my ability to multitask, and I wouldn't have it any other way. A crazy, crafty amusement park ride of a novel. But really: Audiobook is the way to go.

The Grand Tour: The Life and Music of George Jones - Rich Kienzle (biography) I have mixed feelings of enjoyment and disappointment about this biography of The Possum. Part of the problem is that Rich Kienzle, the music critic and Rich Kienzle, the biographer didn't meld together successfully. Although I agree 99% with his observations about country music across the years, especially the sorry state of the genre today, these outbursts read as such in a book that was supposed to be about George Jones' life. When Kienzle got his biographer hat on straight, George Jones' story was compelling and most of his anecdotes were entertaining. 

Another issue I had was that the editing seemed a little sloppy; he repeats himself unnecessarily. I noticed this mostly in the bits involving Tammy Wynette. Kienzle quotes Tammy's version of events during her marriage to George Jones, but then he constantly makes a point of mentioning that Tammy had her own problems with addiction and wasn't always honest or forthcoming. Again, perhaps it was slipshod editing, but it came across as hateful. I would like to read more of Rich Kienzle's music criticism, but I have a feeling I'll be waiting awhile for the definitive biography of George Jones.

November: A Plan Called Reading

I don't usually plan my reading.  It's purely a mood thing, but this month I joined a couple of challenges.  Plus, there are some other books I want to get to.  As a result, November finds me with a tidy little reading list:

1. Johnny Cash: The Life - Robert Hilburn.  I pre-ordered this book on August 28, then practically stood over my Kindle until I got the notice via email on October 31 that it was ready to be downloaded.  Then I devoured it in hungry gulps over a three-day weekend.   There are some scandalous bits about Johnny Cash's life, but for Hilburn, the music is the main thing.  He seems impatient when Cash is concentrating on endeavors (he's especially scornful of Cash's acting, calling it "wooden", which I thought was mean) other than honing his artistic vision.  The part in which Cash decides to become a Branson performer but almost simultaneously goes to California and meets producer Rick Rubin reads like a suspense novel.  Even though I knew how things came out, I was still all whew and wiping my forehead.  Devoted fans and more musically-minded, critical readers should both be pleased with this thoughtful, in-depth examination of The Man In Black.  It's obviously a labor of love.  I found myself favorably comparing Johnny Cash: The Life to Peter Guralnick's excellent two-volume biography of Elvis Presley, Last Train to Memphis and Careless Love. (Kindle)


2. If on a winter's night a traveler - Italo Calvino.  This is one of the challenge books I'm reading with Care and Avid Reader.  So far, not so good.  This is my subway book, and it's got me dreading my rides to and from work.  I like Calvino's ruminations about being a reader, but this post-modern stuff of novels breaking off one after another is getting on my nerves.  I know I'm "supposed" to love it and think it's brilliant, and that I don't makes me feel all grumpy, unwashed and Philistine-like.  Still, I'm going to see it through till the end.  I want bragging rights, the snob cachet, and I also need more international authors on my year-end list. (Kindle)

3. The Caine Mutiny - Herman Wouk.  There's a group on Goodreads who is tackling the Pulitzer fiction list, and The Caine Mutiny (which won in 1952) is up for this month.  I've seen the Humphrey Bogart movie several times, so I'm wondering how it will differ from the book.  I don't know where I got it, but I seem to have a first edition of the novel.  It's got no dust jacket, and the spine has a water stain, but it's in pretty good shape.  I like the endpapers:  (Hardcover)

4. Shadow of the Moon - M.M. Kaye.  The last time my reading buddy, the fleet-of-eyeball (and apparently swift of eardrum too, since she's taken up audio books with great success) Teri came to visit, she brought this novel with her.  I can't remember if she said it's her all-time favorite, or among her all-time favorites.  From the looks of this volume, it's obviously got to be in her top five:

I've never read any of M.M. Kaye's work, but I'm confident I'll like Shadow of the Moon.  Teri has an excellent track record for recommendations.  Chocolat, Flannagan's Run, and In This House of Brede were all books she pressed into my hands that I enjoyed tremendously.  My only worry is that I'll misplace one of the sections of this book, or it'll come apart even further.  (Hardcover)

5. The Things They Carried - Tim O'Brien.   They've got some tall, tall bookshelves in my university library; I'm guessing the top shelves are at least two feet above my head.  One day, I got tired of craning my neck and squinting to no avail, so I grabbed a step stool and found The Things They Carried, a book I've been meaning to read since it came out in 1990.  I've a little shy of it because it's gotten so much praise, but I'm ready now.  (Paperback)

6. An Abundance of Katherines - John Green.  The latest Rainbow Rowell novel, Landlines, doesn't come out until July of 2014.  My strategy is to make do with John Green novels until then.  (Paperback)

7.  The Memory Keeper's Daughter - Kim Edwards.  I got this book from my friend Val.  I've been reading it on an occasional basis.  The writing is beautiful, but it's very much a "women's novel". (Paperback)

8.  Jenny & The Jaws of Life - Jincy Willett.  I found this one at the November Busan Book Swap. It's a  collection of short stories first published in 1987 and brought back into print 25 years later, thanks to the hearty endorsement of David Sedaris.  If Sedaris likes these stories, that works for me.  I also couldn't resist this cover: (Paperback)

Who knows what other books will creep onto this list between now and the 30th?  Not that I want to deviate, but what *should* creep onto the list?  Whaddaya got?

Bonhoeffer Bio: Reading Notes

Bonhoeffer:  Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy - Eric Metaxas.

Gathering my thoughts to write this review has been frustrating.  I admire Dietrich Bonhoeffer so much, but feel that his biographer, Eric Metaxas wasn't exactly the perfect match for his subject.  Here are my reading notes:

Pro:  Dietrich Bonhoeffer is a strong subject with a compelling story.  Eric Metaxas worked hard to make DB's sometimes highly cerebral theology comprehensible to lay audiences.  Metaxas' prose style is a little  punchy and crude, but when he doesn't get carried away, it is a good balance for Bonhoeffer's somewhat hazy philosophical jaunts, especially earlier in his career.  He is also quite adept as showing Bonhoeffer's development and transition from a man of thought to a man of action.

Pro:  Bookending the biography with the July, 1945 BBC memorial broadcast was a nice choice. Very moving.

Pro:  EM's research showing how Hitler impacted the German church, his personal feelings about religion, his own whacked-out vision of himself as a god, and his cynical manipulation of the church to keep the German "Volk" firmly on his side made for interesting and compelling reading.

Pro: EM seems intellectually honest.  If DB's thoughts and reactions haven't been recorded in some fashion, he says so and doesn't try to make up things.

Pro:  Bonhoeffer spent some time in prison at Buchenwald.  A British intelligence officer named S. Payne Best was imprisoned in the same cellar with him.  Best, who survived the war, wrote about his experiences as a POW in a book called The Venlo Incident.  As EM points out, Best "had a penchant for dark humor" and looking at Bonhoeffer's last months through this viewpoint is disconcerting, but it works well in this biography. While bringing some levity to the grimness, the description of Bonhoeffer engaging in day-to-day events amplifies the nervousness and horror the reader feels about his fate.

Con:  EM's writing style, while vigorous, is so distracting.  He has several little asides that do nothing to serve his subject and stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.  While doing his research, he seems to have been influenced by William L.Shirer, the author of The Rise & Fall of the Third Reich.  In this work, Shirer was not one to keep his opinions to himself and engaged in name-calling and insults.  This doesn't work quite so well for Metaxas.  He doesn't have to work so hard to make modern readers hate Hitler.  We get it; he and his minions were evil.  There was also a longish section in which EM discusses how an aged Martin Luther developed an increasing fondness for scatological phrasing.  Again, this does not serve the subject of the book, it reads like EM is showing off his research while trying to appeal to the earthiness of his perceived reading public.

Con:  Metaxas is writing for what seems like a narrowly specific audience (American, Fundamentalist, Conservative) and he seems to believe that his audience, while devout, are not great readers and he's got to piggyback them along.  There's also a lot of apologizing and explaining for Bonhoeffer as Metaxas twists himself into knots to convince the audience that DB is one of them.  Bonhoeffer was bigger than that, though; his influences came from everywhere!  Furthermore, if he had lived longer, his intellect would not have permitted him to stop refining his thoughts and beliefs and developing new ones.  Bonhoeffer's legacy is large enough to include a large variety of people, churchgoing or not.

Con:  "...as we shall see..." Constant repetition of this phrase seemed lazy and unnecessary.

Con:  How could EM fit in all that other stuff, the cute little asides, the scatological humor and the dogged attempts to knock Bonhoeffer's corners off  and tell the readers exactly what to think but leave out what became of Bonhoeffer's young fiancee, Maria?  He makes amends in a later edition of the book, but what editor would allow that kind of oversight, regardless of deadlines looming?

Con:  I don't know if this was true with all editions of the book, but my copy had no photos, which is my main pet peeve for nonfiction.

Final thoughts:  I finished reading Bonhoeffer:  Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy over a week ago and I can't stop thinking about his bravery, his tough-mindedness and his incredible ability to see what Hitler was up to so early and so clearly.  Reading about his last days was a wrenching and grueling experience.  I also wanted to scream when he was safe in London and in New York on separate occasions, yet letters and diaries show that he felt he couldn't sit out the war safely and also be a credible member of clergy.   Credit goes to his biographer for bringing him so vividly to life.

 With a few reservations, I recommend this book.  If you decide to read it, be prepared for jarring authorial intrusion.  Skip the reading questions.  They are designed to make readers think, but they are also designed with nationalistic and religious perimeters to insure the reader will be led to very specific conclusions.

Happy 179th Birthday, Louisa May Alcott! (And Bronson, Too)

Louisa May Alcott 129 years ago, when she was 50.

"November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year," said Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the frostbitten garden.
"That's the reason I was born in it," observed Jo pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose.
Little Women (1868)

November 29 is Louisa May Alcott's birthday.  She'd be 179, a far cry from her days as a little woman.  Coincidentally, she was born on her philosopher father's 33rd birthday, so Bronson Alcott, who seems so typically Sagittarius, gets his own cake with an infernal 212 candles.  Better make it apple or carrot cake -- or maybe just an apple or a carrot.  Bronson was a hardcore vegan way before it was in vogue.

I really didn't expect to be saluting Louisa May on the anniversary of her birth. Earlier this year I was ticked off at her when I read that she worked really hard to get my beloved Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn banned in Massachusetts.  Yes, it's true, Huck has got those problem chapters towards the end that make readers want to dig Mr. Clemens up and rap him on the head with Aunt Sally's thimble, but book-banning!?  Yikes.  That was a hard pill to swallow (I snarled through most of my rereading of Little Men), but Louisa May and I are okay now.  I'm just going to pretend that it was one of the horrible side effects of the mercury poisoning.

I'm all warm and sunny about Alcott again because I have just finished Eden's Outcasts:  The Story of Louisa May Alcott and Her Father by John Matteson.  This 2007 dual biography nabbed a Pulitzer the following year and rightfully so.  Matteson is everything a reader wants in a biographer.  He's done his research (sometimes painfully, as in reading through everything Bronson Alcott wrote -- he should have gotten an award just for that), he doesn't feel that he has to shoehorn all of that research into the book, he's a wonderful blend of intelligence and warmth (He really responds to his subjects and their writings.  I had to smile at how relieved he seems as he shows evidence that Bronson, like all of us, gets better as he gets older), and he's a wonderful storyteller.  Matteson can write.  There's nothing of the visual glue pudding that research-based writing so often resembles.  Would it be wrong of me to whine and cajole and order people to their bookstores or computers to get this book immediately?

I'm now reading An Old-Fashioned Girl, Louisa May Alcott's 1870 follow-up to her smash hit Little Women.  I shied away from it for years (as I did most of Alcott's other fiction; if Jo wasn't in it, I couldn't be bothered), but since John Matteson liked it, I'm reading it on his say-so, and am about halfway through.  Dude was right.  I'm enjoying it.  Polly Milton, a small-town girl goes to visit her best friend's family.  Mr. and Mrs. Shaw and their three children are well-off but a little too caught up in their own individual lives.  Compared to her own family, Polly finds them a little dysfunctional and finds ways to brighten their lives during the six weeks she's there. After she leaves, the story jumps ahead six years.  Polly comes back to Boston to make her own way as a music teacher and her life intersects with the Shaw family again.  There are some preachy parts (Alcott could have fit with ease into a pulpit, if women had been allowed back then) but overall, she tells a pretty good tale.

My Alcott shelf is still pretty full.  I've got Moods, a novel that Louisa May Alcott always felt dissatisfied with -- According to my new crush John Matteson, she revised it at least twice.  I also have her 1873 novel Work (I remember reading an excerpt in my undergraduate Women's Literature class); Pauline's Passion and Punishment (not sure when it was written, but it must be some of her A.M. Barnard stuff, judging by the title) and another biography, Louisa May Alcott: The Woman Behind Little Women by Harriet Reisen.  I'm scared that I won't like the Reisen biography because I loved Eden's Outcasts so damn much.  Ooops.  Maybe I should refrain from using swear words in Alcott's birthday post.

My Thoughts Be Bloody - Nora Titone

My Thoughts Be Bloody is an excellent book about Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth and the theatrical family from which he came.  Booth's older brother Edwin was the brightest star in the American theatre, and he and his infamous brother had a stormy rivalry.  Titone, through her superb research, suggests that this rivalry for their father's (Junius Brutus Booth, a brilliant Shakespearean actor from the 1820s until his death in 1852) shining legacy may have played a part in Lincoln's death. 

Edwin, older than John Wilkes by four years, was the more successful actor, and he didn't want any of the other Booth brothers (there was another brother, Junius, Jr.) encroaching on his territory.  He divided the country roughly along the same lines that it would be split into during the Civil War.  He took the cities in the north and east, leaving John Wilkes the south and the west. 

John Wilkes resented this treatment.  He was handsome, muscular and athletic, but he was also lazy and undisciplined.  Furthermore, he hadn't had the same training as Edwin, so his notices were more often than not very poor.  He left acting to pursue an oil scheme in Pennsylvania which failed.  After that, the always staunch Southern sympathizer joined up with conspirators against the president, then made that last appearance at Ford's Theatre.

Although John Wilkes Booth is the undisputed villain of the piece, Titone shows very clearly what forces shaped and warped him.  At times in the narrative, I found myself nearly cringing in sympathy for John Wilkes Booth.  Edwin Booth doesn't exactly come out smelling like a rose.  His grasping for stardom didn't leave a lot of room for family feeling.  He was obviously afraid that if he mentored his younger brother, that brother's fame might eclipse his.  Turns out that he was right, except it was more infamy than fame.

Nora Titone does a great job of showing not only what life was like for members of that profession during the 19th century, but also what was going on outside that rather claustrophobic atmosphere, and she also provides perspective with interesting sketches of the famous figures that both brothers came in contact with. 

My Thoughts Be Bloody includes several pages of photographs, copious end notes and a first-rate bibliography.  It is an enjoyable, informative read and a fresh look at one of the most terrible moments in American history.