These Are the Best

The New Yorker just published its list of The Best Books of 2009. Here it is:

NONFICTION
Lords of Finance, by Liaquat Ahamed (Penguin Press; $32.95). Central bankers and the disaster of the gold standard.
Somewhere Towards the End, by Diana Athill (Norton; $24.95). Reflections on life as a nonagenarian.
Why the Dreyfus Affair Matters, by Louis Begley (Yale; $ 24). A compact treatment of a complex case.
Germany 1945, by Richard Bessel (Harper; $28.99). A powerful picture of a nation in defeat.
Hiding Man, by Tracy Daugherty (St. Martin’s; $35). The life and work of Donald Barthelme.
Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers (McSweeney’s; $24). Caught between Hurricane Katrina and the war on terror.
My Paper Chase, by Harold Evans (Little, Brown; $27.99). Memories of the newspaper trade.
Eating Animals, by Jonathan Safran Foer (Little, Brown; $25.99). A playful yet serious vegetarian manifesto.
Flannery, by Brad Gooch (Little, Brown; $30). The quiet life behind Flannery O’Connor’s fantastic fiction.
Dorothea Lange, by Linda Gordon (Norton; $35). From society photographer to photographer of society.
Fordlandia, by Greg Grandin (Metropolitan; $27.50). Henry Ford’s Amazonian folly.
Go Down Together, by Jeff Guinn (Simon & Schuster; $27). Behind the myth of Bonnie and Clyde.
Beg, Borrow, Steal, by Michael Greenberg (Other Press; $19.95). Notes on a freelancing life.
A Strange Eventful History, by Michael Holroyd (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $40). The linked lives of two nineteenth-century stage stars.
Marx’s General, by Tristram Hunt (Metropolitan; $32). Friedrich Engels, the industrialist who bankrolled “Das Kapital.”
Lit, by Mary Karr (Harper; $25.99). The author of “The Liars’ Club” finds God.
The Magician’s Book, by Laura Miller (Little, Brown; $25.99). Reading C. S. Lewis as a child and as an adult.
Trotsky, by Robert Service (Harvard; $35). Stalin’s rival is not to be romanticized.
A Paradise Built in Hell, by Rebecca Solnit (Viking; $27.95). Natural disasters and the power of community.
The First Tycoon, by T. J. Stiles (Knopf; $37.50). Cornelius Vanderbilt’s grand gambles.
The Death of Conservatism, by Sam Tanenhaus (Random House; $17). A movement’s maladies.
The Yankee Years, by Joe Torre and Tom Verducci (Doubleday; $26.95). A view from the bench.
The Parents We Mean to Be, by Richard Weissbourd (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; $25). Why we should beware of overpraising our children.
The Evolution of God, by Robert Wright (Little, Brown; $ 25.99). The development of religion from the Stone Age to now.

FICTION AND POETRY

The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood (Nan A. Talese / Doubleday; $26.95). Revisiting the post-apocalyptic world of “Oryx and Crake.”
The Anthologist, by Nicholson Baker (Simon & Schuster; $25). A crafty bagatelle on poetic themes.
The Way Through Doors, by Jesse Ball (Vintage; $13.95). A dizzyingly circuitous inversion of the Scheherazade legend.
The Collected Poems & Unfinished Poems, by C. P. Cavafy, translated from the Greek by Daniel Mendelsohn (Knopf; $35 & $30). Modern Greek’s great master.
The Immortals, by Amit Chaudhuri (Knopf; $25.95). Tradition and modernity in Bombay.
The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis , (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $30). Small but perfectly formed fictions.
Sonata Mulattica, by Rita Dove (Norton; $24.95). A verse sequence about a biracial violinist who played with Beethoven.
Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi, by Geoff Dyer (Pantheon; $24). A diptych of cosmopolitan emptiness and spiritual seeking.
Every Man Dies Alone, by Hans Fallada, translated from the German by Michael Hofmann (Melville House; $27). A neglected classic about a couple’s resistance to the Nazis.
Wanting, by Richard Flanagan (Atlantic Monthly; $24). From Tasmania to the Arctic with Sir John Franklin.
Dark Places, by Gillian Flynn (Shaye Areheart; $24). A sinister thriller about a girl who survives her family’s murder.
The Magicians, by Lev Grossman (Viking; $26.95). An artfully self-reflective fantasy novel.
Tinkers, by Paul Harding (Bellevue Literary Press; $14.95). The death of a patriarch in nineteenth-century Maine.
The Believers, by Zoë Heller (Harper; $25.99). Family secrets and rivalries in the aftermath of 9/11.
Censoring an Iranian Love Story, by Shahriar Mandanipour, translated from the Farsi by Sara Khalili (Knopf; $25). Passion and repression in the Islamic Republic.
The Vagrants, by Yiyun Li (Random House; $25). A novel of political upheaval in China.
Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel (Henry Holt; $27). Tudor intrigue.
Upgraded to Serious, by Heather McHugh (Copper Canyon; $22). Poems of compassion and verbal intricacy.
Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger (Scribner; $ 26.99). A gothic yarn around a London cemetery.
Brooklyn, by Colm Tóibín (Scribner; $25). Emigration, love, and homesickness.
Love and Summer, by William Trevor (Viking; $25.95). Irish provincial life in the nineteen-fifties.
Lowboy, by John Wray (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $25). A schizophrenic rides the subway.

Booking It--Recent Sadness

What’s the saddest book you’ve read recently?

It's gotta be Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. Sad, but wonderful. One of the best books I've ever read. But, yeah. Sad.

P.S. It's soooo much better than the movie.

"New York Times bestselling author Jodi Picoult is widely acclaimed for her keen insights into the hearts and minds of real people. Now she tells the emotionally riveting story of a family torn apart by conflicting needs and a passionate love that triumphs over human weakness.
Anna is not sick, but she might as well be. By age thirteen, she has undergone countless surgeries, transfusions, and shots so that her older sister, Kate, can somehow fight the leukemia that has plagued her since childhood. The product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, Anna was conceived as a bone marrow match for Kate -- a life and a role that she has never challenged...until now. Like most teenagers, Anna is beginning to question who she truly is. But unlike most teenagers, she has always been defined in terms of her sister -- and so Anna makes a decision that for most would be unthinkable, a decision that will tear her family apart and have perhaps fatal consequences for the sister she loves.

My Sister's Keeper examines what it means to be a good parent, a good sister, a good person. Is it morally correct to do whatever it takes to save a child's life, even if that means infringing upon the rights of another? Is it worth trying to discover who you really are, if that quest makes you like yourself less? Should you follow your own heart, or let others lead you? Once again, in My Sister's Keeper, Jodi Picoult tackles a controversial real-life subject with grace, wisdom, and sensitivity."

Booking It--Worst Recent

What's the worst book you've read recently? This should be a lot easier than the worst book ever, because you don't have to think back too far.

I hate to say it, and its certainly not the worst book ever for me, but the worst book I've read recently is The Moviegoer by Walker Percy.

I know, I know, it's a classic, but it just never "hooked" me. I simply didn't care about any of the characters, and I had no curiosity about what was going to happen next. I had to force myself to finish the book.

I don't know, maybe it's that I'm still really tired from the last three intense years and have been looking only for entertainment and escapism from my reading lately.

Maybe I should wait a while and give it another try.

JA Sightings

1. Last Sunday, Arkansas Democrat Gazette columnist Kane Webb did his a column called "Worst Books '09: Hate the Books, Love the Reviews." He shared some of his favorite great reviews of bad books, then asked some local discerning readers this question: What is the worst book you've read of late? And why? It doesn't have to be new, just new to you. One reviewer named Sophie Kinsella's Can You Keep a Secret as her worst book. She said she wasn't expecting high lit, just a fun read for the beach, but, boy, was she disappointed with the "same old rehashed heroine" in this "stale and tired" book. She continues: "Jane Austen wrote (time and again) a better version of this romantic tale, and she gave us heroines with brains. Take Elizabeth Bennet or Emma Woodhouse to the beach, and leave what's-her-name at home." Amen, sister.

2. From David Gates' article "Now, Read It Again: Like Old Friends and Favorite Haunts, Some Books Reward Revisiting," in the 7/13/09 edition of Newsweek: "Still, I suspect that the most widely reread writers in English have been Dickens, Shakespeare, and Jane Austen--hardly a month goes by whithout my revisiting one of them--who combine the sleepy-time comforts of story and character with all the challenge and complexity, the inexhaustible newness, that anyone could ask for. I've taught them all in the classroom, while in the bedroom their books have slipped from my hands as their stories shaded into my dreams."

3. Even Soytomayor's got an Austen connection. In the article "Meet the Sotomayors" from the 7/20/09 edition of Newsweek, the authors reveal that when Sotomayor arrived at Princeton in the fall of 1972, she felt as if she were in an "alien land." It seemed as if all the other students had attended prep school, played tennis, and went on fancy vacations. "In the summer after her freshman year, she read the children's and adolescents' classics she had missed but that seemed familiar to all the prep-school students--Alice in Wonderland, Huckleberry Finn, and the novels of Jane Austen." [adolescent classics? I wonder if that's Sotomayor's classification or the article's authors'?]

Booking It--Literary Amnesia

Is there a book that you wish you could “unread”? One that you disliked so thoroughly you wish you could just forget that you ever read it?

I can only think of one book that I've ever read that I've had that kind of reaction to: Elfriede Jelinek's The Piano Teacher. I had to read it as an undergrad in a German Lit class, and it bothered me deeply. It was unlike anything I'd ever read before--shocking, degrading, and dark. I would never have finished it if it hadn't been assigned, and quite a few others in the class were also disturbed by it. If this tells you anything about the violence of my reaction, it's the only book I've ever studied in a literature class that I got rid of as soon as the class was over. I might very well have a radically different reaction to the novel now, but I remember at the time really wishing I hadn't been exposed to it.

Here's what Google Book Search says about the novel:

The Piano Teacher, the most famous novel of Elfriede Jelinek, who was awarded the 2004 Nobel Prize in Literature, is a shocking, searing, aching portrait of a woman bound between a repressive society and her darkest desires.

Erika Kohut is a piano teacher at the prestigious and formal Vienna Conservatory, who still lives with her domineering and possessive mother. Her life appears to be a seamless tissue of boredom, but Erika, a quiet thirty-eight-year-old, secretly visits Turkish peep shows at night to watch live sex shows and sadomasochistic films. Meanwhile, a handsome, self-absorbed, seventeen-year-old student has become enamored with Erika and sets out to seduce her. She resists him at first, but then the dark passions roiling under the piano teacher's subdued exterior explode in a release of sexual perversity, suppressed violence, and human degradation.

Celebrated throughout Europe for the intensity and frankness of her writings and awarded the Heinrich Böll Prize for her outstanding contribution to German letters, Elfriede Jelinek is one of the most original and controversial writers in the world today. The Piano Teacher was made into a film, released in the United States in 2001, was awarded the Grand Jury Prize at Cannes.

The Trouble with Twilight--Part V: Weak Women

Feminist critic Joanna Russ argues that, in a patriarchal culture, everything is seen from the male point of view. Women have a place within a patriarchal culture, but it is a minor place; there is a women’s culture, but it is a sub-culture, and it does not represent all that is possible of human experience. This is why, she continues, almost all of western civilization’s masterplots feature heroes rather than heroines. Women appear in these stories, but usually in supporting roles—loving wife, old crone, dear sister, temptress, loose woman, evil witch, etc.—all stereotypes. Yet there is one masterplot in which women are allowed the role of heroine—The Love Story.

Why? Because, even though she’s the “star” of the story, she’s still in a weak position. She is the one lacking power, the one who must be rescued or saved or pursued. A hero uses his strength, talent, or wit to overcome obstacles and prove his worth (or lack of it)—in a myriad of ways, thus the many plots available for heroes. A heroine just needs to find a man. That’s why she only needs one plot, right?

The first female novelists struggled for acceptance as authors, and unlike male novelists such as Fielding, Sterne, and Smollett who could pen suggestive scenes and still be respected, women writers were often deemed immoral for even daring to put their names on their tamest literary creations. They were also pretty much limited to producing novels of manners in which young women learned their “proper” roles in society.

But even with these restrictions, thinking, intelligent women found ways to fight back, ways that were often subversive. They might have been limited to the love story plot, but they could show their heroines’ pain. They highlighted society’s double standards. They showed the desperation many females felt in the face of economic insecurity. They painted pictures of feminine despair at having talents society allowed them no place to exercise. They depicted women of dignity, who refused to prostitute themselves for financial security and held out for husbands who respected them and whom they could respect. And, finally, after hundreds of years, things changed. Women authors gained greater freedom. They could depict strong women with dignity and choices and varying life paths.

And along comes Stephenie Meyer, who seems to try, in the Twilight novels at least, to undo all the progress of the last two hundred years. This may be a vampire story, but it’s the Love Story plot. Bella simply has to have a man. She cannot exist without one. Edward (although he repeatedly derides her and talks to her as if she’s a child) completes her and is necessary for her very survival. And when he leaves, what happens? She latches on to Jacob (who basically treats her the same way Edward does, but not quite as badly). Like I said, she’s gotta have a man. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against love and marriage—but I’m for relationships built on both self- and mutual respect.

And what’s the deal with “genetic dead ends”? Traditionally, women’s worth in a patriarchal society is based on their childbearing capacity. Therefore youth is prized, and women decrease in value as they age because they lose this ability (see my ageism post). Young women who did not or could not bear children were deemed “surplus” women—essentially a burden on society. This is another view of women that female authors have fought against, and what do we find in the Twilight saga? Rosalie and Leah, two young women who feel worthless because they are unable to bear children— they are, using Leah’s term, “genetic dead ends”—and Bella, who’s willing to sacrifice her own life for her unborn child, against the wishes of Edward, Jacob, and Carlisle—all the men who care about her (and should care about the child). Again, I’m not discounting the value of children—or of self-sacrifice. I’m a mother, and my children are very important to me. I’m also willing to sacrifice for them, and so is my husband. And so are most mothers and fathers I know. What I’m saying here is that this is a very sexist presentation of parenting. A woman’s worth is not based on whether or not she can bear children, just as a man’s worth is not based on whether or not he can or has fathered children. And women are not the only ones willing to sacrifice for the welfare of their children.

Meyer seems to be trying to depict Bella as a strong heroine, but she goes about it in all the wrong ways. Bella rejects parental authority yet “parents” her own parents. She doesn’t care about clothes or what kind of car she drives. She doesn’t care about going to the prom. Bella is “above” all the typical teenage-girl things, and I guess Meyer thinks that this makes her seem mature and independent. Another weird thing that I guess is supposed to make Bella a feminist is that she’s ready for sex and for Edward to “transform” her, but she’s not ready to marry him at eighteen. It’s just too low-class-white trash—people will talk about her! But it’s hard to think of Bella as strong when she has no individual sense of self-esteem/identity and is constantly putting herself in positions that she knows will force Edward or Jacob to rescue her.

Many of the other females in these novels fit these same patterns. Renee is needy and flighty and must be shielded and taken care of. Leah is the stereotypically bitter scorned woman and is only grudgingly accepted in the pack. The celebrated third wife is “strong” only because she kills herself to save her men. The “imprinted” women have no choice but to belong to the male wolves that imprint on them for life—a relationship much like a knight and his fair lady. All in all, Meyer’s fictional world is pretty degrading for women.

So why are so many girls and women identifying with these books?

To be continued . . .

The Trouble with Twilight--Part IV: Suicidal Themes

How do you prove that you really, really love someone? Why, you try do to away with yourself if you can't have him or her, of course. You get yourself lost in the woods while you're in a near-catatonic state, or ride motorcycles recklessly, or jump off cliffs. You fly all the way to Italy and provoke powerful ancients to off you in the middle of a town full of tourists. Or maybe, like the third wife in the Quileute Indian legends (which were a fairly interesting part of the story, I have to admit), you stab yourself in the heart in the ultimate self-sacrifice. How else can you prove the depth of your love?

Reminds me of Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther, where the young hero shoots himself because he cannot have the woman he loves. This romantic novel had such an impact that young men all over Europe began to dress like Werther, in a blue coat and yellow breeches. But, more seriously, the novel also spawned the first noted cases of copycat suicides, causing the book to be banned in some parts of Europe. Psychologists now call this phenomenon the "Werther effect."

Stories have power. Think there'll be any kind of "Twilight effect"?

Next week, I'll talk about the role of heroine and hero.

To be continued . . .

[I just started the last novel.]

The Trouble with Twilight--Part III: Ageism

Not only is Bella too average-looking, she's also too old. Talk about horrors! An eighteenth birthday is an event a girl just wants to ignore. And she might as well be dead as twenty-five. I know, I know, it's just a story. Bella will age because she's human, but Edward (a vampire) and Jacob (a werewolf) won't. But Meyer's choices illustrate (and promote) an attitude of ageism that hits women hardest. Aging women and aging men are not perceived equally in our society. Gray hair on a man is distinguished; gray hair on a woman looks old (Why doesn't she dye her hair?). A man's wrinkles give him character; a woman's wrinkles make her look old (Why doesn't she get a facelift?). He's a good catch--a bachelor with a good job, a big house, a great car, plenty of money, etc.; she's a spinster or a "Cougar"--and either way often the butt of jokes. Sigh.

To be continued . . .

[Oh, I'm about 2/3 through Eclipse now.]

The Trouble with Twilight--Part II: Body Image

Thanks a lot, Stephenie Meyer. Not only do teenage girls feel they have to struggle for a look that only about 5% or less of the population can actually achieve, now the ideal is set by immortals.

Over and over Meyer describes the Cullens family as runway models, perfect, beautiful, dazzling, sculpted. And poor Bella? Why she's simply an average human who doesn't deserve to be with such perfection. How could gorgeous, hunky Edward ever love someone so beneath him?

I guess Dove has wasted its money on their Real Beauty campaign. And Meyer didn't even give the guys a break on this one. How can any regular boy like Mike Newton stand a chance against Edward's "god-like" beauty or Jacob's brawny, oversized masculinity?

To be continued . . .

The Trouble with Twilight--Part I: Toxic Love

It's hard to know where to start. I just finished the first book in the Twilight series, and I have to admit, I didn't feel pulled along by the plot at all until almost the end, when the new crew of vampires show up and hunt Bella. Finally! Something more to read about than an in-depth, drawn-out, microscopic study of a co-dependent relationship. I just started New Moon, and I'm bothered about so many things in this series already.

First, and most obviously, is the above-mentioned codependent relationship. Millions of young girls (and, sadly, women who ought to know better) see in these novels a "perfect" relationship pattern (So romantic! He loves her so much!). Yet, it's almost a textbook depiction of a dysfunctional relationship.

Compare these descriptions of "Toxic Love" (compiled by psychologists and therapists) to Edward and Bella's relationship :

1. Obsession with relationship.

2. Security, comfort in sameness; intensity of need seen as proof of love (may really be fear, insecurity, loneliness)

3. Total involvement; limited social life; neglect old friends, interests.

4. Preoccupation with other's behavior; fear of other changing.

5. Jealousy; possessiveness; fear of competition; protects "supply."

6. Power plays for control; blaming; passive or aggressive manipulation.

7. Trying to change other to own image.

8. Relationship is based on delusion and avoidance of the unpleasant.

9. Expectation that one partner will fix and rescue the other.

10. Fusion (being obsessed with each other's problems and feelings.)

11. Pressure around sex due to insecurity, fear & need for immediate gratification.

12. Unable to endure separation; clinging.

13. Cycle of pain and despair.

It's almost a perfect fit. Now that's scary.

And it's hard not to notice that Edward begins the relationship by stalking Bella. He sneaks into her room at night to watch her sleep. He shows up unasked to take her to and from school before they've actually even started to have a relationship on any kind of level. He's even frustrated that he can't monitor her thoughts, so he does it through the minds of others.

Is this really "what a girl wants"?

(To be continued . . .)

Twilight ≠ Pride & Prejudice

I got my latest issue of JASNA News, the newsletter of the Jane Austen Society of North America, the other day. It has news and notes about all things Austen--conferences, calls for papers, new publications dealing with Austen, reviews of theatrical releases based on Austen's works--you get the picture. There's also a section where members can send in book reviews (usually of scholarly works or of continuations based on Austen's novels), and one in particular caught my eye: "Jane Austen, with a Twist: Twilight."

Huh?

Here are some claims made in the book review (written by two sisters, a high-school senior and a freshman):

"In 2005, a novel was published that follows the Pride and Prejudice plot closely but gives quite a different twist to the romantic tension." (I'll say.)

"On the surface, the novel seems to have nothing to do with Jane Austen; however, when one looks carefully, many similarities emerge." (Kinda sounds like a thesis for a ninth-grade English essay, doesn't it?)

"At Bella's new high school, the boys find her irresistible. Elizabeth Bennet and her sister Jane have always been talked of as the prettiest girls in their small town."

"Bella's mother, like Mrs. Bennet, is slightly neurotic and childish. And neither Elizabeth's nor Bella's parents are in love with each other any more. While Elizabeth is very close to her father and finds comfort in him, Bella has never had the experience of living with her dad."

"The male protagonists in both novels, Edward and Mr. Darcy, are exceptionally rich, handsome, and intelligent, but also unattainable."

"The evil Mr. Wickham character does not play a large role in Twilight but is important in the third book in the series." (Got to find him . . . got to find him . . . ah! there he is!)

"One reason for the heroes' attraction to the heroines is that Bella and Elizabeth are much smarter than the other girls around them."

"The main themes of both novels deal with men and women finding each other, finding themselves, and overcoming the problems imposed on them by their families and society."

Give me a break! As much as some people may enjoy Meyer's novels, she's definitely no Jane Austen. It really makes me wonder who decided to publish that review and why.

Twilight--Initial Reaction

I'm trying to keep an open mind here, but so far I'm not impressed.

I'm a big fan of Young Adult fiction. Some of the best books I've read fit in this genre. But Twilight, at least so far (I'm about half-way through the first book), seems like a junior-high schooler's attempt at writing YAF. If I weren't aware of the Twilight phenomenon, I'm not sure I'd have kept reading after the first chapter or so. The sentence structure is simplistic, the dialogue often seems stilted (don't get me started about Bella's e-mails to Mom), and although I usually have no problem willingly suspending my disbelief, some of the situations are simply unbelievable--and I'm not even talking about vampires or mind-reading. Edward and his family can just not come to school on sunny days and it's okay because the family goes camping a lot? He's allowed to sit in his car and listen to CDs instead of going to Biology class? Reminds me of Saved by the Bell, when students pretty much did whatever they wanted and got away with it. And what's the deal with Bella falling down all the time and Edward's repeated smirking?

But like I said, I'm trying to keep an open mind. I know a lot of people who absolutely love the series, so I'm going to keep reading. And Twilight lovers: feel free to disagree with me.

We'll talk feminist issues later.

So, What Did I Read First?

I know I said that Pride and Prejudice and Zombies would be my next read, but it hasn't arrived from amazon.com yet, so, after getting that draft off my hands I had to read something, right? Preferably not from the eighteenth-century, and not something I had to analyze and take notes on. I wanted a novel I could lose myself in.

Well, this is it. And what a great story. I highly recommend this novel. Well, let me clarify that. If you like nice, neat, up-dated versions of fairy tales, this novel is not for you. If you like to think about the issues and explore the ambiguities of life, you'll love it. Here's a short synopsis:

Anna is not sick, but she might as well be. By age thirteen, she has undergone countless surgeries, transfusions, and shots so that her older sister, Kate, can somehow fight the leukemia that has plagued her since childhood. The product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, Anna was conceived as a bone marrow match for Kate - a life and a role that she has never questioned… until now. Like most teenagers, Anna is beginning to question who she truly is. But unlike most teenagers, she has always been defined in terms of her sister - and so Anna makes a decision that for most would be unthinkable… a decision that will tear her family apart and have perhaps fatal consequences for the sister she loves. My Sister's Keeper examines what it means to be a good parent, a good sister, a good person. Is it morally correct to do whatever it takes to save a child's life… even if that means infringing upon the rights of another? Is it worth trying to discover who you really are, if that quest makes you like yourself less?

The Rat Pack Is Back

Last week, we went to see The Rat Pack Is Back at the Robinson Center in Little Rock. I enjoy all types of music, so when my husband heard this show advertised and said it sounded good, I eagerly ordered tickets.

I was really expecting it to be an older crowd, but, boy, was I surprised at the actual turnout. To my right was the expected group of red-hat ladies, but my husband sat next to a boy about 12 or 13 years old. I saw older men in expensive suits and a couple of twenty-something guys in toboggans with tattoos all over their arms. There were women in minks and pearls, and women in blue jeans. I guess it goes to show that music is ageless and classless. Well, some music.

We had pretty good seats. We weren’t right up front, but we were in the center, and I think that’s a good thing when you’re going to see impersonators. We were far enough away not to be able to see their faces clearly, so it was easier to buy into the illusion. The Dean Martin impersonator looked exactly like him from a distance. He really had the mannerisms down, and he could sing well, but he just didn’t quite sound like the original. (And I should know. I used to beg to get to stay up until 9:00 to watch his variety show. My Mom usually let me, and now that I actually get all the jokes, I’m a little surprised that she did.) The Sammy Davis, Jr. impersonator was great. I don’t think he was quite as small as the original, but his voice and dance moves were right on target. But the best was ole Blue Eyes. He looked exactly like him (at least from a distance). He sounded exactly like him. You could easily forget that it wasn’t really Frank Sinatra.

And, of course, the Joey Bishop lookalike was there to liven up the night with jokes. He really played the audience and had us all laughing. Finally, he started a blonde joke. “A blonde walked into a library . . .” he began, and the primed-up audience began to laugh prematurely. “What?” he stopped. “It could happen . . .”

The Shack

If a book causes a big hoopla, I try to read it. After all, it’s my job (kinda). And I want my students to see that I’m not hung in the 18th century, that I try to keep current.

So last year, when I heard so many people talking about The Shack, how wonderful it was, how they were doing a Bible study based on it, how you’d better have a pencil in hand as you read, and so on and so forth, I thought it’d be a good read for me. I figured I’d have students who’d read it and might want to discuss it, and since I always try to keep one “spiritual” book going, this would combine my love of fiction with my daily dose of devotional reading.

Boy, was I disappointed. Besides some shaky theology, The Shack really wasn’t all that well-written, and frankly, I often found it corny. But I wasn’t nearly as disappointed as this guy. Check out his review HERE.

You won’t be sorry.

Booking It--Honesty

Question of the Week:

I receive a lot of review books, but I have never once told lies about the book just because I got a free copy of it. However, some authors seem to feel that if they send you a copy of their book for free, you should give it a positive review.

Do you think reviewers are obligated to put up a good review of a book, even if they don’t like it? Have we come to a point where reviewers *need* to put up disclaimers to (hopefully) save themselves from being harassed by unhappy authors who get negative reviews?

I have mixed feelings about reviews, especially the blurb-type ones that publishers put on the backs of dust jackets. Although I always used to read them before reading the book, now I try to wait until after reading it.

Why? Several reasons. One is that they often contain a spoiler, and I absolutely HATE that. Also, reading reviews can turn me into a lazy reader. I’ve already been instructed. I find myself expecting to think what they think, expecting to find what they tell me is there, rather than just experiencing the book for myself and making my own connections, discoveries, and judgments. I like reading to be active rather than passive.

But after I’ve read the book, I love to read reviews. Then I can feel validated—“Yes, my sentiments exactly!”—or I can argue—“No, you completely missed the point!” Either way, it’s fun. I engage with the text and with other readers.

Now to actually answer the question: Of course reviewers should be honest. Otherwise, what’s the point? The review should accurately represent the book and be a legitimate response to it. One of the risks of putting your writing out there is that some people won’t like it. If you can’t take the heat . . .