Free-Range Chickens by Simon Rich

As soon as my time machine was finished, I traveled back to 1890, so I could kill Hitler before he was old enough to commit any of his horrible crimes. It wasn't as gratifying as I thought it would be.
-Oh my God. You killed a baby.
-Yes, but the baby was Hitler.
-Who?
-Hitler. It's...complicated.
-Officer? This man just killed a baby.

-"Time Machine" from Free-Range Chickens

As I mentioned in my last post, I bought this on a whim at the Virgin Megastore closeout sale yesterday. I'd read a couple of essays by Rich in The New Yorker and loved them. I brought the book with me to lunch later in the day, and decided to pull it out instead of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Bad idea. Within a couple of minutes I was putting such an effort into not bursting out laughing in the middle of Cosi that, at minimum, I was pretty sure I was making some unfortunate faces. (I also thought my chances of choking on my food were increasing the further I read.)

I took it out again when I was home later. The book is made up of a series of very short essays (the quotation above is the entirety of the essay "Time Machine"), so I kept reading "just one more" until there was nothing left. It's a very quick read - about twenty minutes if you went straight through, I'd guess - but I'm glad I bought it because I also think it's highly rereadable. I've already been flipping back through it.

A couple of samples to give you a better taste of his writing:

If adults were subjected to the same indignities as children

What I imagined the people around me were saying when I was . . .

Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks

In the third month after being struck by lightning, then, Cicoria - once an easygoing, genial family man, almost indifferent to music - was inspired, even possessed, by music, and scarcely had time for anything else. It began to dawn on him that perhaps he had been "saved" for a special reason. "I came to think," he said, "that the only reason I had been allowed to survive was the music."

-Musicophilia

Musicophilia, by neurologist Oliver Sacks (Awakenings, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat), is a study of how the brain is affected by music, especially in cases of brain injury or affliction. I'd been looking forward to reading it for some time, so I was a bit disappointed to find that the excerpts I'd already read turned out to be the most enjoyable parts of the book.

It is a hugely informative book, no doubt, but after a while I felt as though it dragged on and on. If multiple examples of synesthesia start to seem a bit dull, you can imagine that repetitive case studies of cochlear amusia are not exactly thrilling. The repetitiveness was really brought home when I read the following two short passages:

Page 260: "[Silas] Weir Mitchell, a novelist as well as a neurologist, was fascinated by the descriptions he receieved from [Civil War] soldiers, and he was the first to take the phenomenon of phantom limbs seriously. (Prior to this, they had been regarded as purely 'in the mind,' apparitions conjured up by loss and grief, like the apparitions of recently deceased children or parents.)"

Page 261: "Before Weir Mitchell's account, phantom limbs were regarded as purely psychic hallucinations conjured up by bereavement, mourning, or yearning - comparable to the apparitions of loved ones that mourners may experience for some weeks after their loss."

Yes, I recall....from reading almost the exact same thing one page earlier. A bit sloppy, no?

Part of my issue is certainly that I am not someone who is terribly interested in the finer biological points with regard to brain function. However, I'm very interested in the idiosyncracies of our brains and I'm interested in music, although I don't know much about the technical details of that subject either. When Sacks mentioned in passing that his mother could only remember a few songs, I found that fascinating, because I've always taken my brain's ability to function as a jukebox for granted. It's pretty remarkable, though, when you think about it.

My favorite essays were "A Bolt from the Blue," which I quoted above, and "In The Moment" (which you can read here, where it was titled "The Abyss"). To me, the idea of suddenly developing musicophilia, or losing almost your entire memory, except for music, is inherently more interesting than perfect pitch, for example. I also would have liked to read more about catchy tunes/"brainworms." During the course of my reading, I heard the song "Vienna" by Ultravox on the show Ashes to Ashes; I'd heard it once before on the same show about a week earlier. A few hours after hearing it, it popped into my head and the one line I knew played and replayed endlessly. It can be a bit distracting to have a New Romantic wailing "This means nothing to me/Vienna" over and over again, I'll tell you. I can't even really articulate how the melody of that line works for me - almost like it's scratching an itch in my brain - both pleasant and almost overstimulating. I wish Sacks could have explained something like that. And why do we like the songs we do? That's the kind of thing I would love to know.

All that having been said, I've always wanted to read The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, and this didn't necessarily put me off. I think I might find a set of essays with more varied subject matter a better fit for me.

Up next: Plans have changed slightly, due to some new books falling my lap (thanks Robin!). I've started Pride and Prejudice and Zombies; I also bought a collection of short humor pieces by Simon Rich at the Virgin Megastore closeout sale and I'm having trouble putting it down.

Summer Reading Recommendations from NPR

Amazingly, it is almost summer. Unlike any other season, summer seems to require its own particular type of reading. (I'm put in the mind of the refrigerated books from the show Black Books*.) I, for one, read Moby Dick the summer before my senior year of school. Not ideal summer reading, as it turns out.

If you're having trouble thinking of books for the sunny days ahead, NPR is to the rescue.

On The Hunt For Fabulous Fiction from NPR

(With a caveat - I've been having trouble getting the page to load, so you may have to refresh a bit. Keep trying!)

*I couldn't find a proper clip, but the first minute of this one should give you the idea.

Poem: "One Can Miss Mountains"

Another poem, once again courtesy of The New Yorker (what can I say, I don't read a lot of magazines that feature contemporary poetry).

"One Can Miss Mountains" by Todd Boss

I'm such a sucker for alliteration.

I Want To Read: The Wallander Series

I have been on a huge British mystery television kick recently: Life on Mars, Ashes to Ashes, Cracker, and, most recently, Wallander. Wallander, which is has been the featured program on PBS's Mystery! these past two weeks, stars Kenneth Branagh (above) and is based on the books by Henning Mankell.

Wallander is a morose detective - he's gotten teary in both episodes so far, overwhelmed by the senselessness of the violence he's seen - operating out of Ystad, Sweden. He's not the sort of the detective who solves cases through brilliant epiphanies, but rather through steady, thorough policework. Accordingly, Wallander is not a fast-paced show. It's slow, and a bit sad, but quite engaging.

This is mostly due to the character of Wallander himself (and the wonderful, understated way Branagh has played him); accordingly, I'd love to start reading the Wallander books. Of course, the public television and public library demographics seem to overlap quite a bit, so they're on a long wait there. I'd love to buy them, but at thirteen bucks a pop, I think I'd be better off being patient. However, if your community has not caught on yet or you're interested in stimulating the economy, I think they look good.

Red-Tails in Love by Marie Winn

They'd been checking the place out for a few months now and things looked good. Plenty of food around - corn-fed pigeons and garbage-fed rats. A lake to bathe in. Protection available from wind and storms. Time to get the show on the road. On March 17th the hawk pair began to build a nest in Central Park. It was a historic event, for in the 119 years of the park's existence, no hawk had ever nested there before.

-Red-Tails in Love

Central Park is one of my very favorite places in New York City. I love to walk around there on sunny days and perhaps pick out a spot at Bethesda Terrace or along the mall where I can read. I have been many times, but I have to say I'd never given a lot of consideration to Central Park's birds, or birds in the city in general. I mean, I'd noticed a fair amount of pigeons, but I would have to say my observations stopped there.

Enter Red-Tails in Love, not only the story of the hawks' improbable urban nest, but also of all of Central Park's avian inhabitants and the people who love to watch them. The central saga, which details the life and loves of hawk Pale Male, is undoubtedly charming, but I was also taken with the community of birdwatchers. I love books that let you inside quirky, single-minded groups. (Word Freak is a favorite that immediately springs to mind.) I can't imagine knowing so much about birds, but I find it rather impressive. Being able to identify birds seems to be such a concrete, relevant thing to know, and I often wish I knew more of those sorts of things and fewer commercial jingles and actor C.V.s.

After finishing the book, I was inspired to go to Central Park today and have a look around. Now, I don't have binoculars and, as I already mentioned, my knowledge of birds is limited. That being said, I definitely saw pigeons (shock!), house sparrows, starlings, robins, blue jays, grackles, and mourning doves. I also saw something that may have been a female downy woodpecker (a common bird, but not one I'm familiar with), and possibly a gray catbird. All of this, and all I'd ever seen before was pigeons. They're all common birds, but that's still quite a variety.

On my walk, I started off at the Met, then walked south to the Inventors' Gate before heading west. I skirted the southern edge of the Ramble, which I've always been a little leery of - it's lovely and secluded, but the latter aspect makes feel a little less safe than the rest of the park; of course, it also has quite a reputation for illicit activities. There ended up being quite a few birdwatchers, however, so I'm glad I explored a bit. The Ramble definitely had the densest bird population, although I saw birds (granted, mostly pigeons and house sparrows) continuously as I walked over to Strawberry Fields and then south to Columbus Circle.

I also looked for the hawk nest, which is on a building on the corner of 74th Street and 5th Avenue. I could see where it probably was, but it is pretty high up to see clearly without assistance. The hawkwatchers were there, but I am not the kind of person who is good at sauntering up and asking to use someone's telescope. Besides, as no one was looking in the telescopes, I have to assume that the hawks were not at the nest at that point.

I realize this review has been about 25% about the book and 75% about me in Central Park. I think, however, that that is actually a mark of how much I enjoyed the book. I had a film professor in college who said that one of the aspects he considered in judging a film was its rewatchability factor; I think rereadability is an important aspect of books as well. Red-Tails in Love reminded me of an another important factor, which is a book's capacity to change the way you see the world. Now, I don't imagine I'll be taking up with the hawkwatchers any time soon, but if I learn a few more bird names and pay a bit more attention to the natural world around me, so much the better.

Next up: I borrowed Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks and The Battle of the Labyrinth (the 4th Percy Jackson book) by Rick Riordan from the library; Sacks is up first.

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

Who were these people, these specially selected tenants? They were mothers and fathers and children. A dressmaker, a secretary, an inventor, a doctor, a judge. And, oh yes, one was a bookie, one was a burglar, one was a bomber, and one was a mistake. Barney Northrup had rented one of the apartments to the wrong person.

- The Westing Game

A couple of weeks ago, I started thinking about some of my favorite childhood books. These were books that I read time and time again as a kid, but I hadn't read any of them recently. This was impetus enough to take my first trip to the lovely Books of Wonder. (Don't be put off by the overly busy website; it's everything you could ask for in a children's bookstore). I bought The Westing Game, as well as From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler*.

My first concern was whether or not The Westing Game would hold up. For those of you who missed this one in your formative years, the book is a puzzle: some mysterious party has arranged for a particular group of people (described above) to reside in the newly-built Sunset Towers. Not long thereafter, local multimillionaire Sam Westing is found dead. His will names most of Sunset Towers' residents as his heirs, with the stipulation that they must discover who took his life to win the inheritance. In teams of two , the would-be heirs take their clues - words written on Westing Superstrength Paper Towels - and attempt to solve the puzzle.

Overall, I enjoyed the book. It's not quite as sophisticated as it seemed when I was a child, and its age shows a little more, too. At the time, it was the rare children's book that assumed you could handle seeing adults as imperfect - they made mistakes and had petty grievances; they could be insecure or sad or obsessive, and that was part of life. When you're still in a stage of your life in which adults are the be-all and end-all of knowledge and authority, that's almost revolutionary.

For instance, take Angela Wexler, the beautiful and well-loved bride-to-be who struggles with both her beauty and her impending marriage. I remembered finding her character and her motivations somewhat perplexing when I read as a child. Without spoiling Angela's story, I will say that, as an adult, it's easier to understand that someone could seemingly have it all and still be wildly unhappy. For a child, it's harder to grasp, but I appreciate that this did not stop Ellen Raskin from conceiving of Angela as she is. If The Westing Game had been populated with two-dimensional stock characters, the mystery could have seemed a bit gimmicky. As it is, the twisty plot and nuanced characters suit each other well. I mean, it didn't win the Newbery Medal for nothing.

I think recommending a children's book can be a bit tough. If you didn't read it as a child, I don't know if you could ever fall in love with it the same way a child does. On the other hand - why not give it a try? It's certainly a lot of fun; it would be a great airport or beach read (plus it's super slim - my version is only 185 pages, although the print is quite small).

*I re-read From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler before starting this blog, so I probably won't review it, but while reading I was struck by how influential this book possibly was to me. I mean, a girl who stays at the Met and falls in love with a statue by Michelangelo? It's possible it made more of an impression than I would have guessed.

Poem: "Young Orchard"

It has become pretty quickly apparent that, were I to limit myself to only posting book reviews, I wouldn't be able to post nearly so often as I would like. Now, I won't pretend that I will be able to keep up this rate, but I like to think I will post regularly enough to make visiting worthwhile.

So, for today, a quick read - a poem. I read this in a May 2008 New Yorker (not a typo, I'm actually a year behind) and I found it quite accessible and charming. It's also short (I'm not wild about poems that go on for pages) and well suited to spring.

"Young Orchard" by Richard Wilbur

Essay: "The Case for Memorizing Poetry"

I know scarcely any poetry by heart, save a few random verses of Baudelaire and Jean de la Fontaine from high school, but I found this essay to be very persuasive:

"The Case for Memorizing Poetry" by Jim Holt (from The New York Times)

Since reading it, I managed to memorize "The Road Not Taken," which is hardly the most difficult poem (it's so familiar at this point), but a step in the right direction nonetheless. I thought I might try something a bit more ambitious, but instead I've apparently decided to try....nothing. Maybe posting this will be a kick in the pants to exercise my brain a bit more (A kick in the head, then? That doesn't sound right.)

The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy

Hello, reader. I've decided to ever-so-tentatively dip my toe in the pool of blogging. My aim is to review, however briefly, books that I read. Perhaps it might inspire someone to pick up a book; otherwise, I'm perfectly happy to have this as my own record of what I've read. So, without further ado...

"Well, as my views changed my course became very depressing. I found that I was trying to be like people who had hardly anything in common with myself. I was endeavouring to put off one sort of life for another sort of life, which was not any better than the life I had known before. It was simply different."
- Clym Yeobright, The Return of the Native

There's a moment in the film The History Boys (yes, book blog, I realize I'm already getting off track) in which one character expresses the wonder of reading something written long ago that speaks directly to you, likening it to a hand coming up through the page to grasp your own. I felt something akin to that upon reading Clym's words above, as sometimes I feel I am living in a world that is so different from where I grew up, and outwardly "better" perhaps (much like Paris is for Clym), yet in some respects not so.

But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. The Return of the Native is Hardy (cue groan), one of the more intimidating writers, not for his language (which is often quite engaging, even amusing), but more for his themes - misery on the heath doesn't exactly inspire one to run down to the library. And that's unfortunate, because if you can get past the fact that things aren't exactly rosy in Hardy's world, there's a lot to be said for it.

The titular native is the previously-quoted Clym Yeobright, a clever and industrious young man who has become dissatisfied with his lot as a diamond merchant in Paris, and has decided to return to his home in rural England to teach. His resolve to do so, despite his mother's protests, is strengthened when he meets the bewitching Eustacia Vye. Eustacia longs to escape the heath for somewhere more cosmopolitan (you can already see how this is going to be a problem, yes?). In addition, there is a bit of a love pentagon brewing that also involves a handsome innkeeper, Clym's timid cousin, and the local reddleman (who sells dye for marking sheep). Things go...not so well, as you might have guessed.

I first read Hardy the summer before my senior year in high school: Tess of the d'Urbervilles. I was not looking forward to it, and was surprised to find that it wasn't half-bad. Earlier this year, I read The Mayor of Casterbridge after watching a wonderful television adaptation starring Rome actors Ciaran Hinds, James Purefoy, and Polly Walker. I didn't like Native quite so much as the latter, but it certainly has a lot of fine points. The characters are well drawn, for one. There is not a villain among them, yet selfishness, simple mistakes, and, of course, fate contrive to allow some terrible events to transpire. The plot is not predictable, but always plausible, and although I felt the end to perhaps be a bit much, I can't say it wasn't a pageturner by that point.

Aha, now I'm beginning to discern how it could be difficult to write this blog: I could go off in many directions at this point. I could warn that you may be tempted to roll your eyes at Eustacia's theatrics, or speculate upon the accuracy of casting in the tv movie (another Rome alum, Ray Stevenson, as Clym; Clive Owen as his rival Wildeve), or praise Hardy for his excellent character names (they're uniformly snazzy, yes? I guess after a hard day cutting furze, heath dwellers came home and got pretty creative in the baby name department). I guess I'll settle for mentioning all of these things and elaborating on none; a bit of a cop-out, but it is my first post.

I guess it boils down to this: should you read it? I will say, I don't think you (the generalized you, that is) should be put off by the author. The first 20 pages are a bit of a slog, but after that it's not a difficult read, and you get the pleasure in enjoying the work of someone who really knew how to use words beautifully. If you're doubtful, it may be worth giving the movie a go first (if you don't mind spoilers) - I can't vouch for its quality, having not yet seen it, but this approach worked really well for Mayor. You'll have a streamlined narrative in your head before you read, which should make everything quite easy to follow, and you'll be able to relish all of the details that inevitably were cut to allow a decent running time.

Next up: I've been simultaneously reading Native and rereading childhood favorite The Westing Game, so I may finish that up next; I also have the non-fiction book Red Tails in Love sitting on my shelf.