esrosedotblog

When I was in the third grade, I was given a bunch of books to read on my own.

I guess I was precocious.

Well, no vanity about it, I was very smart for my age.

Among these books was one that caught my interest like no other. And now I have seen it in a filmed story, not for the first time, but in a three plus hour version with Nicolas Cazalé which doubles the pleasure as he plays Friday, the native "son" of Robinson.

The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe

In which Cazale plays Friday, the native who Robinson befriends. I am watching all of Cazale's films. Well the ones that I can in Netflix.

In this one he plays it all in a breechclout but also with an improbably well cut page boy hairdo.

Once we are by that one though, it is not a bad movie although overly long. It was a television mini-series. Or special.

I do not remember the story. Someone complains that it has been changed. I don't know.

I wish I could give this a higher rating but I had to FF toward the end. They just took too long getting there even with the mostly naked Casale.

This was the third year of his professional career in French cinema and most handsome young male stars have to do a film like this to get ahead. It is how the game is played.

He is very good as he evolves from a "native" into a fairly articulate partner of Crusoe.

In a more modernized version of this story with these actors Friday and Robinson would have become lovers. It is nearly that although a young woman shows up just at the end, in the nick of time. Robinson's grown up daughter. I hope Friday is getting a little. But you can't tell.

So the FF button near the end takes a point off and makes this a 2 out of Netflix5. Not high art, just teevee but in this case it is OK. When the going got tough I watched Casale who's little modesty covering blew around enough to fill in the interest lost in the dialog.

Labels: books, films

I have neglected writing about my reading.

Perhaps because when I am reading I am not thinking about writing and certainly not about writing about my reading at the moment. Or something.

I need to catch up.

I just put down a wonderful book called The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman. In this lovely novel, various characters get their own chapter. All are part of the staff or audience for a small English language paper published in, of all places, Italy. It is owned by a guy named Ott who has a business empire. He bought it and sort of forgot it many years ago. His story is one of those told. As well as that of his successor son who is a wastrel and idler.

This ownership situation allows the writers and readers have at it together for years without interruption or financial cares. A necessary removal of reality for the kind of things folks get up to here. It is a serious journalistic enterprise however and the mix of ex-pats and locals involved all live very interesting lives, indeed.

The Gelman family are newer Russian emigres and the youngest son, an aspiring writer, is the subject of A Replacement Life. Slava. There is no telling about him in a short review. He is a dolt and a genius and as he sets forth to write his grandmother's ghetto to holocaust to immigrant story. He gets swept up in the stories of a lot of her friends. He makes up grandiose stories which somehow end up being case making for reparations from Germany for their wartime depredations. And so on. His efforts are fraudulent and he is just on the cusp of arrest when, well, that is the story. Great dialect humor without being in dialect. I loved it.

I am currently reading Steve Martin's biography by Steve Martin. Born Standing Up

He says it is not an autobiography because he is writing about this other Steve Martin, the famous one, who became a comedian and not himself. OK. Good idea. It is fun to read. Breezy in the Martin style but not without some bittersweet details about where all that genius comes from.

Labels: books, reading

I just finished reading a collection of short stories.

One More Thing by B.J. Novak

I am not a short story reader. Like eating a lot of appetizers. Or desserts. Instead of dinner.

Actually Novak's collection is both. An appetizer, I wanted more, I had a taste for the idea but that is all there was. Good. But wanting. And dessert. Very sweet. Too good. Couldn't eat any more.

The stories are quite different. Some extremely short.

I got these because of the review and I am glad that I did.

I see that he is also on teevee, a man for all seasons. An actor.

So. That is it. A good meal made out of the side dishes. A series of snacks.

It will be a while before I read any more short stories.

Labels: books

I have not been writing about my reading.

Let me catch up.

Little Failure by Barry Shteyngart, a memoir by a writer that everyone but me has heard of. A backward success story. A kid who grows up in a Russian Jewish family with all the trimmings. Very funny, heartfelt. A treat to read.

Love Nina: A Nanny Writes Home by Nina Stibbe. Another improbable choice. I read a review and decided what the hell. Well, what the hell! This is a hilarious account of the Nanny for the kids of Mary Kay Wilmers the editor of the London Review of Books. Hoi polloi. Neighbors of Alan Bennett, friends of a host of literati, most of whom are charming to watch through Ms. Stibbe's lens. I want to be Alan Bennett's neighbor. He sort of invented Beyond the Fringe a hilarious act which sent up all the best people for a long time on stage and television. He is a charming neighbor who takes Ms. Stibbe under his wing and tutors her in how to deal with the rich and famous. Amazingly enough, it is to treat them just like anyone else.

American Romantic I have read every book by Ward Just. Who I keep thinking is writing his last but he is still going strong in his eighties. A career diplomat wins, loses and retires. It is the writing that matters here. Wise and caustic. Funny and sad. Deeply respectful at the same time it recognizes the duplicity of a life spent representing the mother country abroad.

Updike by Adam Begley A thoroughly entertaining, warts and all, bio of the beloved writer. Inspiring to such an extent that I thought, briefly, about re-reading the 47 or whatever books this great writer turned out.

The Splendid Things We Planned by Blake Bailey a family chronicle that I could not finish. Too painful. A family with a problem child is a fascinating organism and this book is so touchingly real that the pain behind the pages was too much for me. Bailey's brother Scott was a bad boy from the beginning into no end of trouble and the impact on the family is devastating.

Jack of Spies by David Downing. Author of the "Station" spy books, this kicks off a new series (I hope). It is the twenties here, a British auto salesman, cover for his role in the spy service, finds himself with a shiv in his side in Shanghai, followed by a long scary trip across the US to the east where he falls for a woman he is tailing. She is the sister of some Irish Terrorists. Good read. Fun.

Prayer by Philip Kerr The author of the long lasting Bernie Gunther Nazi espionage series starts a new run with this contemporary book about atheists being gunned down by what? Religious nuts? Not so simple. Gil Martin, an FBI agent, tracks the terrorists down. Edge of seat.

Labels: books

I just finished a great book about a lost or stolen or, well maybe, non-existent book.

Strange doings for a thriller. And while it is relatively bloodless, it is an exciting experience to read

Lev Grossman's Codex

Or maybe it is CODEX. Whatever, I liked it a lot.

This is Grossman's second novel (he is the book editor at Time magazine). It moves at a nice pace as a financial analyst is hired by his clients to look for a book. He has a few weeks off between his old position and a new assignment in London and figures (wrongly) that it is an easy task to do for them. So much for his time off.

There is a little romance. The book stuff is very interesting. We learn as he goes along about antique books and how the whole buy and sell thing works for the trading in them.

If this were a movie I would rate it a 3. Good enough to keep me going not so great that I will get a hard copy so I can read it again later.

I liked Grossman's first book about magicians. Well not really that but this is not about his first book. Look it up.

Labels: books

So I was biking recumbently when a woman I know came up to me and made a proposition.

She suggested that I get a Kindle reader and that if I did I would never turn back.

She was right.

I went and bought one and downloaded a few books from my Amazon account. I was a goner. I have to emphasize that I got the Paper White version which costs more. Because it is. Paper white.

Here is what it does for me. First, I can have a couple of books going at one time and not carry them both or all around. Well, not in physical books but in my Kindle.

Small advantage, I agree, but listen to this one.

The Kindle weighs less than a book. It is the same size no matter what. It remembers where I was and puts me back on that page.

When I am done I just put the book back in my cloud library. In that library there are as many as thirty books some I have read, others I plan to read, some are in progress. A short stories collection for example. I can dip in as I wish. Read one and save the rest for later without carrying both books or worrying about where I was.

I do not want to work too hard to justify or sell the Kindle as a necessity. It is not. But it is a damn fine luxury. Practical.

Oh. And no fuss between hard covers and paper backs. They all cost the same more or less. Over time, older books decline in price. That is one feature that is not a problem in a book store.

OK.

The Kindle led me to think about a more portable computer. And, of course, as an addict to Apple products, I had to be aware of the iPad.

Once I had the Kindle and the Amazon electro-library it was only a small jump to think about getting an iPad which does offer a reading advantage. Two pages, more like a book. Bigger and brighter. And it talks to the Kindle so they know where I have read up to on either one.

Now, the rest of the iPad story. I was baffled by its startup. It is a Mac system after all but I got flummoxed from the start and had to get my MacExpert to come help me.

The problem of the system differences remain somewhat. The iPad immediately reads any changes on my iMac and updates. Web sites, emails, calendar, address book, all that.

What it doesn't do is contain my files that are on the main Mac unless I haven't yet figured that out.

I have tried to mail a video or movie over. I know that the mail doesn't want to send movies or I do not know how to do it.

Nevertheless, I can go to a site and download a film and play it, even save it. It is just not the same setup as the Mac. It is the iPad's own file set. Or something. I don't know the terms.

I may have to get my iExpert back again.

The other reason for the iPad is to cover me for travel.

Yes. I am traveling this year. Beyond the annual San Diego trip.

I will write about this another time. In another post.

Labels: books, computers

I am nearly finished with the recent biography of the choreographer and director Bob Fosse, simply named Fosse. He was a fascinating and driven man who provided at least the dancing part of some of the best Broadway shows in the 50s through 70s. A golden era for musical comedies. I cannot resurrect the shows (all of which I saw) but I can see the films he also made of the same shows. Films are never as good as the live version but, in this case, close. Today's film was Fosse's first which he choreographed and had a leading part. The only role he played in any film he made. A rare occasion. My Sister Eileen (1955) had not been a live show but there had been several versions done before. This one is not the most memorable. The songs are weak but the dancing is great. Janet Leigh, Betty Garrett, Jack Lemon, Tommy Rall, Dick York all join Fosse in some great numbers. The film comes alive when these people are dancing. Betty Garrett was a favorite of mine so it is fun to see her here at her best. Fosse's work in the film is immediately recognizable. He was one of the last song and dance men and he brought with him a tradition of singing and dancing right out of the music halls, the strip joints and the last days of vaudeville. Great moves. All the body. Hands, arms, attitude. There is a signature hat routine that he does with Rall as both men tap their challenge dance with the wildest energy. This is a good not great movie well worth seeing for basic Fosse and some delightful dancing. You will not remember even one song from it. All those are in the first version with Rosalind Russell and the second which was named On the Town. Same story. Different takes. A 3 out of Netflix5 as a film, 5 for the dancing. I forget how much pleasure came from these musicals. They are all around on disc.

Labels: books, dancing, films

Yesterday was a more than full day. It began with shopping, an unusual step as I didn't shop Tuesday because I went to an extra Meeting and…….so on. Then, the guys were all over the outside of the condo, full force, finishing the trim and cleaning up. They are meticulous. A demonstration of why I do not paint. All the prep. All the careful use of tools, brush, roller, spray. All the attention to detail. There are two colors, stucco tan and trim more of a chocolate and it is amazing how many places the two colors meet. Mindfulness. The other thing about these guys is that they are not only pros at their work they are attentive to the owners in a way that I don't think is required of the work or the contract. They are happy to accept certain quirks like working around my immovable monster cactus or carefully painting over the plaques behind the fountain (which we did not put there) and being careful to not break anything. I was amazed at how much we have out there, plants, sculptures and so on. All in the way if you are going to do a good job painting. If we didn't trim enough of put a table far away from the work they seemed happy to accommodate and do it themselves. They always volunteered their schedule. Working on the tan stucco the would say when they would be back for the trim, then the garage doors. A surprise, they had to go on the roof to do some work. Booker freaked out. Thunder! We got through that OK but it took a while. The facts and even showing him what was happening didn't overcome the anxiety of unwanted thumping.

The timing of it all was impeccable. And accidental. Universal karmic flow. They got done with the front courtyard in time for me to put back my cactus tables, rearrange the cactus, repot a couple plants that had outgrown their home, plant one that was now unportable always getting knocked over. I was able to get it all in place before the house cleaners came and, voila, just at that time, the guys were done in the back and I was able to place the table and chairs as they should be, with a few tweaks here and there, in time for the cleaners to do the chairs and the deck front and back. Nice timing.

The new house cleaners are doing a great job. There is a different arrangement than we are used to over the years. One man in charge, it is his business, and three other people, one man, two women. They go to work in concert. Some days they have been all four at one time, one gets there early for the rough stuff, one stays late to do the last step mopping and the four here for the middle. It only takes two hours. They do have a routine but I am asked to have some specific chores to fill in. Amazing that I have found something for every bi-weekly visit. Is bi-weekly the same as every other week? I have had them clean the garage floor, sweep and scrub. Another time we have the glass to do. Yesterday was the post painting cleanup and a rug shampoo. He has a big commercial machine that gets down into it and really does a thorough job. Next time, I need the air vents cleaned out. Yesterday it was two men. Period. There is a difference in the qualities of the cleaning, male and female. The women are meticulous, clean every can and bottle in the refrigerator for example. The men, not so much but they do the heavier duty jobs which women will not. There are some sloppy spots to the men's work. A very shiny wood table, nicely done, with a few sticky spots that didn't get cleaned off before the polish. But the toilets? Immaculate. Otherwise it is the same. As usual with desert service work, I do not think that they make enough money but that is up to them. I do tip generously.

That shut out the movie of the day but it did leave time for me to finish one book and start another. There is a lot of dead time while the cleaning is going on even if I had chores to get ready that overlapped with the guys. The completed book is Someone by Alice Mcdermott. Thought by many to be a catholic writer, McDermott writes about family life and home. In this one, the most successful so far, I think, she tells about a family that lives from the twenties until the sixties. The sections are episodic, the memories of a mother from her time as a little girl to her time as an older mom. The stories are filled with wise and happy reflections and a lot of experience of the time periods involved. She would be the age of my mother. It was fun to see my Mom in this situations. Beyond that, since I am one of the kids, it is less involving for me as the kids are not much fleshed out. When they are little they are little and when we come to the time where the kids are adult, they are away doing work. There is a brother with whom we grow up and watch become a priest, then a failed priest who lives alone, has a nervous breakdown and then comes to live with the family. He is gay, a fact which dawns on the reader slowly but a lot sooner than the family catches on. This at a time when the closet was the only place to be for a lot of men, particularly catholic men. This is deftly handled as well. McDermott is a skillful writer first and foremost. A pleasure to read.

My goal for today is to do nothing. Well, not nothing. I have already washed my jeans which is a special, by me only, job. I wash them, then shake out the wrinkles while they are wet, slapping them against me knees like a rug. Then into the drier. Mostly alone as other clothes fuck up the system and the jeans come out with pleats. Mine are smooth. But, an exception today. I put my gym shorts in with them. Soft, pliable shorts. Nylon. Not something that will affect the jeans and might even gently support their nice completion. Later there will be stuff for sure and a movie but I will let that be for a separate item.

Labels: books, condo, gender

I really like young adult novels. It is a genré which is getting more recognition. Mostly because some very good writers are working in this area and the readership almost requires that the fiction meet the standards of full force adult literary fiction. I just finished a great book called Will Grayson Will Grayson by John Green. Will Grayson is two kids. One upper case, the other lower case, who are the protagonists and they will meet each other somewhere near the middle of the book and play a part in each others' lives through a third character who is probably the real protagonist, a huge gay guy named Tiny Cooper. Cooper is a character's character. He knows the Graysons because the upper case Will is his straight best friend. The lower case will is a gay teenager who he will meet as a result of a failed date/meetup. Will's, not Tiny's. Mostly these are teen struggles with self and the various kinds of love. Straight Will has a girlfriend who is more of a friend than a girlfriend. What's the deal? They do not know. But they find out. Lower case will, the gay one, has a gay on line experience only to find that, well, it ain't what it seems. Tiny is exuberant and big in every aspect of his life. He must figure out how he can find love and why having 16 love affairs may not be the best way to find real love. The book does not flinch from looking at the end of relationships, best friends, boyfriends. Everyone helps everyone else and it is a nice time. I got this because of the gay content but it isn't much focused on that as most YA adult books are not these days. The gay aspect simply becomes a part of the social fabric like anything else. A thread. And that is the way we always wanted it. Now it is here.

There is nothing to today's film. This is Martin Bonner (2013) is so understated that it seems it is hardly there. I almost ditched it at the last minute after reading some reviews. But something told me. And I am glad that I stayed. Nothing happens and everything happens. A man gets out of prison, two men meet, one supposedly a counsellor, who it turns out is in his first job. A kind of failure. The other an ex-con. Twelve years for vehicular homicide. After they meet, they get together every once in awhile. The counsellor, Martin Bonner, is really second string. There is a "mentor" but he is a christer and doesn't really connect with the ex-con who needs a friend. Just one will do. The ex-con's daughter shows up for the first meeting after 12 years. Bonner is asked to come along. He does. The first meeting is very awkward and almost would not have happened without Bonner. That is about it. But everything happens. Friendship. Fatherhood, daughterhood, new starts both from lost paths only different. It is a wonderful, small, tiny film with all kinds of loose ends (intentional) and we get to sit and watch. I loved it. I would even watch it again. A 4 out of Netflix5.

Today is turkey, a full breast. Roasted this morning. We eat a lot of turkey. I have tried all the forms. It is not the most convenient animal to prep. But I will get maybe 6 meals out of it. The whole breast, roasted. No additives. I debone it. It tastes fresh no matter how long it is frozen. Kind of a mess but very worth it if I mentally underwrite it as 6 meals. Turkey. Breast. Forget the legs and thighs.

Labels: books, films, food, gay life, young adult lit

It is amusing to see all the hoo hah about our listening in on Merkel's phone calls. Is this a surprise? I would listen in on Angela Merkel anytime I could to figure out which way she will swerve on any given day. All this attention to spying is pure sensationalism. Believe me, if they could, they would all be listening in on Obama. Watch. The same people that howl against this are the ones who also want transparency and openness in government. How open can you get? Don't get me wrong. I don't want anyone listening to my phone calls but it is going to happen and happen big time the higher up one goes in the international game. Sorry. My reaction is that I am positively impressed with our skill at this shit. The Germans have to be pretty smart at security, they practically invented it. But this is an embarrassment to them and it is not going down well but it is not the end of the world. When Germany and Merkel want to disassociate from us and cuddle up with the new Putin, that will be something. For now, she should be grateful to have us nestled up to her ear.

I just finished the least likely book I would read all year. The Testament of Mary by Colm Toibin. Unlikely as it is that Mary. You know, the holy mother. Why? Did I read it? Because I read everything by Toibin. He is a bit of a professional catholic. And I am not sorry I read it. As a literary experience it is pretty good. As a spiritual experience it is weird because the "new god" is not in it. Mary likes Artemis. She tells the hyper familiar story of Jesus in the end days and her experience of the whole thing. First, she is not cowed by the people who are milking her for her take on the whole thing. The guys who wrote the gospels. They are putting the story together and they have just a bit of an idea of how it should go and they want her concurrence. But she doesn't want to go along. In turn, they will protect her as it is not too safe a time to be the chosen one's mom even though she is out of the places where they are after the newly minted christians. Her story of it all is not that much different but she is a skeptic when it comes to the miracle stuff. She sees some of it and can explain it some. Lazarus was buried prematurely and even though he was out of the grave he was comatose for a long time after and then died for real. She says she saw the water into wine thing but didn't know but what all the jugs had wine except the one the gang set up for him to wave his hand over. And so on. As for the resurrection, she does not see it but rather sees it in a dream along with the other Mary. The novel is short and a very satisfying fiction read. I don't know how you would take it all if you were a believer in the myths but I don't think you would be offended by her take on things. After all, she is his Mom and the idea of a virgin birth is kind of abstract when you have been having regular sex with your husband all along. She focuses on the fact that this is her son. The boy she raised who went away and came back a man. A man with some strange presence about him. And with followers. Not only disciples but a rabble who hung out around the phenom who was viewed to be the new king of the jews. I liked this novel and would read it again sometime. Toibin is a great writer who has done non-fiction work as well as journalism, not the same thing as non-fiction literature. Sorry, if you are a journalist you are not quite and artist of the written word. So the book is a meld of all the genrés, a neat piece of reporting from the front by an eyewitness and a poetic recitation on motherhood. No matter who your son is or was or will be.

Another interview today with a young woman who has been especially mystified by driving here and finding the meeting place. I expect to point out that going to Boston area will be a lot more complicated but perhaps not. You hop on a plane and get off and take a cab. Here she has to drive from out in the Imperial Valley and find her way through the desert, five other "cities" which are not, and then find my corner in a place she has never, apparently, been. I did warn her about the bikers being there. So far it does not seem to have deterred her from the interview. Me either.

Labels: Administration Obama, books, desert, MIT

Today was a bit of a lost day. We had the cleaners here and they called to come early. I said OK. There were four of them which made it quicker than normal but there was no chance that my plan, which was to watch a movie while they were here, would work out. So I read and kibitzed a little and sat outside. And read. They did a great job. Thorough. Detailed. They clean out the refrigerator for heaven's sake. I have never done that except on a spot basis. They have also caught us up on the outside, furniture, concrete, stuff. We had some problems. Things would not end up where they found them but I have worked that out with them pretty well. I know it should not make a difference but there is always a mixed gender group. Today, two men, two women. But it makes a difference. The men do the heavy duty stuff which includes hosing and brushing the outside floors down, climbing to clean the clerestory windows and so on. Last week they cleaned the filthy garage. I am still enough of a sexist to like having a man around the house. Admitted. Today the guy in charge asked if I would like him to bring his big carpet cleaning machine next time. He would only charge for the chemicals it uses. Of course, I said yes. It is not as good as one of those come to the house in a truck service but it beats any other form of cleaning so, yes. Yes.

I have finished two books this week. Peter Orner's new volume of short stories: Last Car Over the Sagamore Bridge . That car left as a hurricane approached. These stories are great. Orner writes in short bursts. Some of the stories only half a page long. Others a page. The rest maybe several pages but none longer then four or five. Succinct. And very dramatic. Hard hitting. I really liked them and I do not, as a rule, enjoy short stories at all. I was told that he was the short story writer for people who do not like short stories and that is correct. At least for me. I also finished reading but did some fast forward for Enon: by Paul Harding. Enon is the town where Hardings wonderful first book took place and here we have more, exhaustively, of its small town history and life experience of a father who has lost his 13 year old daughter to an auto accident. The book drips with nostalgia and some wonderful writing about his time as a kid and then as a father. Also a husband in a tenuous marriage which buckles at the tragic event. The novel drips with grief. Grief unabated. Self centered grief. Grief for the human loss but the loss of innocence in a town in which innocence does not really exist except in the romantic impulses of people like the stricken father. I was on board until the drug addiction got so deep and the self absorption so single minded that I just couldn't take anymore. I loved the stories of his boyhood, his wonderful grandfather, the sweet relationship with his daughter. But enough became enough. I had to leave or skip to the end which has him recovering more or less but we do not see that part. What happened? I know that it is usually a spiritual experience that leads to putting the juice down but we do not see his. It just happens. I felt cheated. It is like hearing a recovered alcoholic and/or addict tell there story and never getting to the getting sober part. Maybe I identified too much but I don't think so. I have heard some pretty sad and grisly stuff live and in gruesome detail over the years. It is more that Harding seemed to engage in the same self indulgence with the writing about the sadness. Trying too hard to get it down, deeply. The first book, (they all say "please don't compare my first with my second book") was sunny and tough at the same time. Here, the past is sunny. The present is gruesomely dark and the future looks no better. Until it suddenly is. Huh?

We are back on the afternoon dog walk schedule. We had to do it because we were getting home in the dark after supper but it is not going to be "right" until daylight savings ends and we have some less sun before dinner. I am doing the prep for the cooking and so far that has worked OK. We get home at about 5PM or earlier and that allows plenty of time for a quick sit-down and then a run to the kitchen for the final production. We didn't stay out on the walk too long. It was warm and Booker was tired. He did not like the massive intrusion this morning with the cleaners. He groused the whole time and was very not friendly. Too much for him. I kept him apart with me and we sat outside a lot but that didn't make him feel much better. I can tell when he is not interested in the night time walk. It takes about five minutes or less to poop and then he turns around. Done. A utilitarian walk not a perambulation, a sniffing expedition or a visit to the larger territory. His territory. All the way up to the ball field and down, this morning, to the convention center. That probably affected it too. A very long walk this morning.

Labels: Booker, books, condo, life

There are no classes in America except when there are.

The upper middle class segment of society is not the part of the middle class that is disappearing. They are alive and well.

College educated, probably professional, slightly suburban or mid western, the women are what used to be called "matrons". Slightly plump guardians of the status quo. In charge of raising the brood of a professional man or a man who is newly rich from some entrepreneurial effort.

This is why the two books that I just re-read are still so apt and have become pillars of American Twentieth Century Literature (whenever those words are capitalized like this. This, despite the relative obscurity of their author.

Mrs. Bridge (1959) and the companion novel Mr. Bridge (1969) by Evan S Connell

These people are insulated from the world, society and each other. Also their children and even their friends who are close but not too close.

I like these novels for just what they are, a good read. But also because they are a good study of couple-hood and the traps that might ensue after the initial excitement of conventional marriage.

I might add that gay men are not immune from some of the same observations.

These are two people who married for reasons a bit beyond the romantic. Convenience, class (even though there is none in America) and most of all the ability not to roil the waters. To let one partner run things and the other stand by as the help meet.

It is also a portrait of a family which is well to do because of the intensity of the breadwinner's devotion to work over any consideration of partnership or parental involvement.

It is easy at one level to mock the Bridges but Connell makes that impossible.

They are presented sympathetically and in a way that engages the reader even beyond his desire to get involved with these people. They are not mockable because they have substance and foibles and their relationship while stiff and distant most of the time is blessed with mutual respect and admiration.

Their relationship to their kids in changing times (pre WWII) is strained with the difficulty of societal change. Instability.

The eternal values the Bridges were brought up with have shifted and old expectations and mores are not very effective.

I am their kids. My time was just in time to be there for all of this post WWII stuff.

And there we have a nub of it.

Even though they are of a different class they are my mother, at least, and my father.

This alone makes the reading worthwhile. A new basis for understanding.

I was the misunderstood son. The unappreciative daughter. The rebel against what is right and wrong.

What great books!

A film was made combining the two novels in one production starring Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. A perfect vehicle. I do remember seeing it. But I would not bother now. The novels have it down. I do not see the Newmans when I see this Bridge couple. I see them as Connell has painted them.

Connell is an interesting guy. A late bloomer who only wrote one other popular work, something about Custer and Custer's Last Stand. Pretty far away from the Bridges.

Connell got lost as a literary hero or icon but his works remain as standards for writing about the American family or the American marriage.

Labels: America, books

I just finished reading a great new gay book.

Two Boys Kissing by David Levithan

This is based on a real life event in which two young gay men determined to break the Guiness Record for long time kissing.

If you think this trivial, think again. I followed the real guys for awhile. This book takes it quite a bit further and places it in the context of gay history. A chorus of commentary from those older men gave their lives to HIV describes the changes in gay history as they also tell five other stories of young gay men having the spectrum of young gay experiences today.

Genius. Touching. Very very nice.

Sex is almost besides the point as a kiss of this duration is really an athletic event of some magnitude and only two people who are or have been in love could commit to do it.

The other stories which move in and out include a young couple who are just finding themselves and end up at the kissing as spectators but also one kid who cannot find his way and tries to be ultimately alone.

Levithan is quite a successful author and has the experience to weave an extraordinary tale out of what could have been a bit of fluff or something unseemly.

Anti gay hate is encountered in some of the stories. Others are of the new age variety. Supportiv parents and friends. Happy times together.

If this would be a movie it would be a five.

Labels: books

I just finished reading Mark Merlis first novel, Man About Town.

Merlis is a retired national expert on health care matters with great experience in navigating the shoals of the federal bureaucracy.

He puts this personal experience to good use in this story about a legislative aid, a health care expert, who navigates the choppy waters of non-partisan advice to congresspeople.

At the same time, the aid, is undergoing a lot of stress in his personal life.

A middle aged man, his partner has just left him and he must deal with the cozy non-work environment which he has built for himself. A little closet.

As he adapts to this change in his personal situation, we learn about gay life in the time that this is taking place. The eighties. Which is not that far from gay life today. The bar scene, the pickup scene, the ads, the life.

He has a drinking problem and, it seems, a coming out problem, never having really completed the process. Now alone, it is up to him to find a new and happy life.

There are a lot of themes here deftly balanced. Middle age for some gay men is an early death. We get to see a resuscitation. Oddly, with a young man who likes older gay men. A suspicious trait as it often is a trap for the older man to take on the parenthood of the younger man. In this case, the younger man is black.

We see all of this through the bureaucrat's eyes. His self hatred still needs to expunged. He must and does look at the origins of his superficial bar life before and after the big relationship that left him.

We get a glimpse of the fifties. A time that kids used things like Sear's underwear ads and those little inserts for special bathing trunks as a way to glimpse other men.

I really liked this novel. I saved it because I had read all the others by Merlis and they are sort of grow out of this one although they cover quite different eras (in one case, Greek mythology in modern gay language) and all are fun and instructive. Not always happy but always insightful and enjoyable reading.

Labels: books

I have just finished a great novel about a niche of life that was totally new to me.

And, I have just finished a wonderful time as a young expat.

I also just finished a delightful story about a young gay man finding himself in a rich relationship where the language barrier even enhances the joy in it.

I have also just finished a book that tells of a unique and bygone time when the Czechs found themselves free of the "yoke of communism". And Prague! One of the main characters in

Necessary Errors by Caleb Crain

Jacob goes to Prague for a year of exploration just after graduation from college and finds that he is not the only young man or woman who has the idea that the newly formed republic is a place to be, to become, to be able to find a handle on his grown up life.

So he finds some friends, a network of energetic young men and women, who share the adventure of talking talking talking with each other and also engaging with the "locals" in their own ways.

Jacob, determined not to sink into being part of an ex-pat pack ventures outside the group. As a gay man, he has some exploration to do unique to him. His nice adventures in the "underworld" of gay life give him a reason and a venue to look into himself as he finds interesting ways to spend his time and grab onto the flavor of the life he wants. Of course this involves some "necessary errors" none of which are traumatic or earthshaking for him and therefore even more valuable.

Eventually he finds a Czech man, Milo. Or rather, Milo finds him. Finding each other.

They have a quick rapport and actually have fun together. I mean they enjoy each other's company in a way that captures all the thrills and little spills of a gay relationship and its unique differences from the little chorus of straight people's experience happening in the background. Any gay man who comes out to join his community will attest to the fact that there is a quality of life which is not available any other way. Peers, point of view, partners in other than sexual matters. Gay relationships have their own unique rhythm and beat. Crain has caught it exactly here. I identified so much with it all.

To say the novel is low key undermines its purpose, I think, which is to be refreshingly reflective about the inner life of any young person. Jacob's circumstances simply enhance the process and allow Crain to make observations about this exciting period of a country's life, a group of young people's lives and mostly for Jacob himself who, on a limited leave from being an American on his way to graduate school finds a way to reset his expectations and self respect in ways that make a very happy, fulfilling reading experience.

Another very interesting aspect of this novel is that Crain has a website Steamboats are Ruining Everything" which, among other things, features, now, a set of photos of the city, the life, the experience that might be included in an illustrated version of the book. Contemporary photos of Prague, even a photo of a ticket to a gay bar which involves a hilarious set of misunderstandings in the book, is included. Charming. It has kept the reading alive for me in the days following a "sad to finish this" ending.

Labels: books

I finished the novel

& Sons by David Gilbert

Yes. That is an ampersand in the title apparently because a novel written by the principle character was called Ampersand and, as it turns out, the main character has some sons who provide most of the story. One son is a failed movie guy in one or two failed relationships who devotes his career to downer documentaries. I have seen a few of these.

Another son was nothing but an addict and alcoholic (!) until he got sober and now he has a good life as a drug counsellor, evidently a good one, with a nice family. Two kids we hear a lot about and a wonderful wife.

The third son is a half brother, the product of a liaison between the father, a famed author and rotten father and an au pair who disappears pregnant then turns up dead with the Dad taking the young son on.

The narration is by a close friend of the sons, a nasty resentful failure who also is without a family or wife and whose main job for now seems to be in telling us this story.

But he is not a reliable historian. He is an unproduced film writer and, well, I don't know. It ends up being, perhaps, a novel about a novelist with some of his work included in an account by a writer who may be telling a parallel story to the truth and there is too much of it that is bizarre. The idea of cloning a son or thinking one is cloned then, well, OK, gratuitously killing him dead, struck by a bus, in the last tenth of the book. Too much. Too little.

Why did I get this book? I read the review and wonder. Certainly I read it before I bought the book. I know that I did. But the review in the Sunday Magazine is as grouchy. Ahhh, it was the New Yorker. Well, fuck them.

It did keep me busy and happy for the first half and then it got both unbelievable and tedious. Samples of the great man's writing which I could not read. Awful. Is this intentional? The narrator having some revenge or just not good writing.

In any case, I did want to finish it so I FF it as I would a film that had some good parts and then some shitty parts.

I would give that film a 2 out of 5 and I will do that here with this book.

Labels: books

We are only rewarded with a few life long intense friendships.

This book tells about such a bond between two teen age boys with problem families. They find each other and cleave together in a way that inspires and confirms the rarest of life's treasures.

Brewster by Mark Slouka (2013)

Brewster is the lower middle class town they live in.

Jon, the serious one, lives in a family barely saved as refugees from WWII, Jews who just made it, only to have tragedy strike the family when the older son is accidentally killed. Ray is a bad boy abused by an ex-cop father who has devised the strategy of being a fighter to hide his Dad's ravaging blows.

They meet, they fuse, they live out their time together as a refuge from lives they never asked for nor deserved. Homes shaken to the core and still not recovering. Forever dysfunctional. A term inadequate to describe their situations.

But they do not meet because of that. They meet because of a spark, an ignition of what comes to be love. Affection between two teenage boys that is not only a shelter from the storm but way more than that. A gift for as long as both may live.

The both end up with girls and other close male friends that they share. The serious boy becomes a runner. He is good at it. The other applauds. Supports. Defends when need be.

The parents who cannot love their own surviving son find in the close friend, the troubled bad boy, a boy they can take on emotionally. They become a part of the healing that occurs.

This is a brave book requiring a brave reader. What happens is hard and relentless. In a way it is a thriller. Whether the races that are run or the fights that must be endured. The beatings. The shame. There is fun, funniness, great joy of life. Hanging out is an art for these two who learn, together, to work on a car and get it running. To talk into the night. To share music and reading and school. To tell one another the facts of life, sex, love, even the lust for compatible women. Young women for the most part but one experience with an experienced lady becomes a template for happy, open female relationships.

It is the sixties and Viet Nam lies just over the horizon. Also Woodstock which occurs just up the road from Brewster, NY, the title town. They don't even think about attending.

I loved it. A 5 out of 5 on the scale.

So good, I immediately ordered Slouka's other novel.

Labels: books

I cried when I heard this.Elmore Loenard Dies at 87

This guy gets honorary status as a hero. This thing I have about people that I admire who hold on to 90 or plus years of life.

He didn't make 90 but his life was double the output of "normal".

I read everything. Everything.

The westerns, the short stories, the movie scripts the wonderful crime novels.

Master of the short sentence. He said he cut all the unimportant stuff out.

I tried to learn from his model.

I met him once in Chicago. He was doing a book signing down the street from where I was working.

I made sure to be there.

And I took the recent book he was signing for. I was half way through.

The early crowd was sparse so I got a shot at saying a few words.

He and I shared a life experience, the victory over alcohol. Transforming. We are in the same fellowship.

I told him I would be happy to buy another book, he laughed and made some comment about our tendency to excess.

He wanted to see where I had read to. Opened it there and checked it out. Laughed.

He said there was a lot to read yet. He wrote that he hoped I liked the way it turned out. To him, it was certainly the trip that counted but the destination was important too.

I remember he had on a crappy looking blue blazer and needed a shave in a way that is now fashionable. A mile wide smile and generous with his time and, I felt, laser attention.

His later work got a little thin around the edges but it was always an example of how much could be said with so little time. He had a genius for the ways you could kill someone.

You have to admire that.

Labels: books, heroes

I just finished reading a time capsule left of the days of un-American activities and the scouring of homosexual men out of their establishment hiding places.

American Studies (1994) by Mark Merlis.

This is Merlis' first novel and while it covers a heavy, sad, repressed, pre-Stonewall time, it is funny, blithe and great to read.

Reeve finds himself in the hospital after being beaten up by a trick he brought home. Not a unique experience, bringing a trick home, but a first as far as getting beat up.

In his recovery, he reminisces about his life and, in particular, the time spent with his mentor Tom a "famous" professor who was the opposite of Reeve. Closeted in the extreme with a fondness for G-rated relationships with handsome boys he was teaching. "Wheaties" boys, Reeve says.

Tom is a full professor and expert on "American Studies", the excavation of late 19th century American literature. He reminds me of my own gay professors, one a drama guy with an interest in in 20th century works and another who ran a senior invitation only seminar on American authors of the post WWI period. Dead ringers for the kind of arch transparent interest in young men that stopped short of anything untoward. Very attractive to a younger gay man. Gaydar was working on all cylinders even then.

Tom has the bad fortune to also be a fellow traveler with more than a slight history of membership in Communist party fronts at a time when such memberships are suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Congressional investigations.

Tom is discovered and made to resign. When he is reluctant to do so, his friendship with young men, one young man, the first love ever, the first consummated love, is uncovered and used against him. At Yale!

The book moves quite quickly and is funny because it has the fifties queens way of talking, the voice.

I knew a lot of men like this. They were one generation ahead of me. I am post Stonewall.

Very entertaining and sad at the same time. A perfect blend.

Merlis went on to write a book called The Arrow's Flight which is now a kind of classic. It concerns a modern retelling of the story of Pyrrhus, Achilles' gay 21-year-old son and how he comes to embrace a destiny that takes him far beyond the urban gay ghetto--and the half-hearted ""job"" of dancing nude and hustling--that he's resigned himself to.

I will be re-reading it.

It is great to find the older book and put the more successful book in context. There is another Merlis book which I will read soon, Man About Town. It is on my Kindle.

Labels: books

I just finished reading

This Town by Mark LeibovichIt is like a 3 out of 5. Maybe a 4 in the beginning and then gets old.

Leibovich is a NYTimes writer and has been working the DC beat for quite awhile.

Here he bites some hands that fed him. I am not sure, after this, whether he will be having quite so many lunches or phone calls. But he is nice to some people.

And the book has a short shelf life. It covers several years and ends with the Obama second term.

I don't normally read this kind of "inside baseball" book. After time with blogs and the like, I sort of have enough info to know that there are opportunists on every corner and double dealing in every little garden patch.

Here, Leibovich is funny and smart and a good writer. It is like reading a screen play.

But he is nasty and self serving despite a few mea culpas and fake humility.

I stayed with it. Learned a little. Had some fun at others' expense. The American schadenfreude syndrome.

And the last pages were a slog.

If you read it, wear an apron or coveralls.

Labels: books