DFW RIP

Over the weekend, the world learned that writer David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Friday at his home in California. I haven't read his mammoth novel Infinite Jest -- and I doubt I ever will just because I almost never commit that kind of time and attention to a work of fiction, for some reason -- but I was a big fan of his nonfiction, especially his essays for Harper's that are collected in the book "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" (that book, along with "Infinite Jest" and most of his other work is available at the Monroe County library).  The title essay describes Wallace taking a cruise and attempting to interview the captain about the crew's working conditions and it's hysterically funny, although the cruise industry probably didn't think so. Another piece in that book describes Wallace visiting the Illinois State Fair in all its Midwestern glory. I've also enjoyed his more recent work, collected in "Consider the Lobster" -- the title essay from that book caused a huge flap when it was published in Gourmet magazine. Maybe I'll add "Infinite Jest" to the list of books to take on a six-month RV trip, along with the Shelby Foote Civil War trilogy. My theory on that has always been you'd want to keep  yourself occupied for a long time with the number of books you can fit in a milk crate.

The perfect storm

Reason No. 416 why working in a library beats working at a newspaper: Hurricanes mean LESS work, not MORE work! In fact, Tropical Storm Fay was the perfect storm -- a nothingburger in effect that gave us two days off work, ie. two extra days of reading time. And I took advantage of it. First, I read The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, a historical YA book about a black kid in Boston in the 1770s. He's the subject of some weird experimentation; it's a good read though I have to say I think it's a tad ... sophisticated? Not sure of the right word but I don't know how many kids would get into it. Then again, kids get into Philip Pullman and lots of other pretty complex stuff so maybe I'm selling them short. Yesterday I read Disarmed by Gregory Curtis, a history of the Venus de Milo -- what a great nonfiction read and a very interesting comparison to a book I recently read called The Linguist and the Emperor. Both dealt with antiquities unearthed by the French in the early 19th century but that's about all they have in common. The Linguist and the Emperor (which is about the deciphering of the Rosetta Stone, sort of) was a mess. Disarmed was a treat. I can't wait to read Curtis' new(er) book, The Cave Painters. He's got a real talent for making a story understandable and putting it in historical context without getting bogged down or jumping around so much that the narrative becomes incomprehensible (see: The Linguist and the Emperor).

You can go home again -- but should you?

I'm home again -- in western Massachusetts, where I grew up -- and I recently went home to the Miami Herald, with a book review in Sunday's paper. The book, called The Lizard King, is a great read -- lots of South Florida weirdness, in a telling that's appreciative without being over the top. It's the same kind of stuff that Carl Hiaasen and many others write about in fiction; I find it more compelling when you realize these people are real and these crazy capers actually happened. The book got a good review from Janet Maslin in today's New York Times, too. BTW, the famous Tom Wolfe phrase from the subject line of this blog post? Turns out he didn't make it up -- he got it from Lincoln Steffens' widow, to whom he was describing his novel in progress. But he asked her permission to use it, so we'll keep him off the list of literary no-goods for now. I learned that from an interesting book we recently added to the collection at the FKCC library -- called "Nice Guys Finish Seventh," about quotes and phrases that have been misquoted through history. The title of that is closer to the original of Leo Durocher's actual phrase, which was apparently "The nice guys are all over there -- in seventh place." Which I think is better than "nice guys finish last" but admittedly not as pithy.

catching up

I really have been reading a lot, or at least I was until we got cable and the Tour de France took over my waking, non-working hours. But I can see the end and the stack is piling up. I read Dominion by Calvin Baker, who will be appearing at the Key West Literary Seminar in January. It was a little outside my normal reading, which is the best kind (it's the reason I joined a book group years ago although that fell by the wayside when I was pursuing my master's). I read Women and Ghosts by Alison Lurie, a slim book of short stories that I think I might have read before, unless that was an effect of its eerieness. It reminded me how much I like her, and how much I need to read The Last Resort even though I have a strange fear of reading about places I know and love. (Haven't been able to make myself read Tracy Kidder's Hometown yet, either, about Northampton, Mass., where I was born.) I read Sacrifice by Eric Shanower, the second volume in his Age of Bronze series of graphic novels about the Trojan War -- it was as good as the first, though it does suffer from that effect of many of the guys looking the same; you can distinguish them by their headbands, though. Over the Fourth of July weekend, perhaps influenced by the reintroduction of cable television into my brain, I found myself craving brain candy so I read The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory (author of The Other Boleyn Girl and numerous other works of Tudor Trash). I gulped that down in a day and a half so maybe I'm not over my Tudor thing entirely; plus it was fun to hear from/about a couple of the lesser-known Henry VIII queens (Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard, or Nos 4 and 5 if you're counting). And just today I finished Dreaming Up America by Russell Banks, which I'll be reviewing for Solares Hill shortly. Whew.

Could you spend the rest of your life reading Joyce Carol Oates?

Probably. Hell, if you're old enough, and/or a slow reader, you could spend the rest of your life just reading the Oates books we happen to own at the FKCC library -- 43 titles according to my quick search of our catalogue -- and that represents a small portion of her oeuvre, I'm sure. But if you're going to read just one, and especially if you're an unrehabilitated English major, I can recommend Wild Nights -- my review is in today's edition of Solares Hill, available as a downloadable PDF (the review is also posted on the Citizen's website).

What else? I went on a reading binge last weekend -- finished up "The Man Who Made Lists," Joshua Kendall's biography of Peter Roget, of Roget's Thesaurus fame. It was OK but I didn't feel like I knew the guy -- the way I already feel I'm getting to know the characters in my current reading, Patricia O'Toole's "Five of Hearts," a group portrait of Henry and Clover Adams, John and Clara Hay and Clarence King, all post-Civil War movers and shakers in Washington. This is the first book of hers that I've read and it's great. Can't wait to see her at the upcomng Key West Literary Seminar.

After my disappointment with Alison Weir's Elizabeth novel, I turned to Jhumpa Lahiri and, after finishing the Roget bio last weekend, I finished "Unaccustomed Earth" -- the stories got more powerful as the book went along, especially the last three that were linked stories about a man and woman. And the ending, which I should have seen coming but didn't, was surprising and moving.

After that I temporarily lost my mind and persuaded my husband to embark on a long-overdue attic cleaning (it cooled off a bit on Monday and we figured this was our last shot at working in the attic without serious overheating issues). It needed to be done, I'm glad we did it, but it was an exhausting end to the holiday. Since then, all I've been able to take in is a couple episodes of "Deadwood" and a couple New Yorker "Talk of the Town" pieces. Hoping to make a full reading recovery this weekend, though. (Speaking of Deadwood, after starting the show I noticed that we happen to have the Pete Dexter novel of the same name on the shelf at home -- it turns out it's not the basis for the series though it shares some characters, ie. Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane -- it may have just moved up the stack just out of western curiosity ... I don't think I've read one since the fabulous "Lonesome Dove," which is getting close to, um, 20 years ago.)