The Wind Through the Keyhole by Stephen King (audio)

Posted on August 1, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Edit – Update! I’ve just linked up to The Stephen King Project blog, where we’re being encouraged to read King (or listen!) and share our reviews. Thanks Natalie for the reminder. I didn’t join on purpose with a plan or anything, but I’m happy to be here now. …and back to the book review.

My word, this is lovely. I have never been disappointed in Stephen King, but this is definitely my favorite of those I’ve read. The Wind Through the Keyhole is part of the Dark Tower series, to which I am new, and therefore I appreciates the introductory remarks, in which King notes that it is not necessary to have read others in the series, but it would help to know a few facts about MidWorld, which he then relates. It’s true: I didn’t have any trouble following the action or keeping track of the rules of this alternate world.

King employs the story-within-a-story format here, and puts it inside another story for good measure. I got so immersed in the innermost story, about young Tim and his frightening journey into the forest in the starkblast, that when it ended I expected the book to end! I suppose it might have been jarring to then return to the story of young Bill and the skinman (which is in turn being told to the characters of the outermost story), but it wasn’t. I was just relieved that there was more to hear.

Stephen King reads this audiobook himself, and does it beautifully. I have listened to a handful of author-narrated audiobooks, and they have all been great. The actors, or professional narrators, are often wonderful as well, but some of these authors do amazing jobs too. Barbara Kingsolver’s reading of The Lacuna was extremely impressive, because of all the different accents necessary. It makes me marvel that a person can be such a talented artist in two different media! But I’m getting off track. Stephen King does a great narration, everything felt very real, and I was comforted knowing that the names of his imaginary lands and people were pronounced just as the author imagined them in his head.

So what is this book about? It opens with Roland Deschain and his traveling companions, chatting on the road to who-knows-where (presumably this is part of a larger storyline that I would know if I were reading the series). A particularly strange and threatening storm called a starkblast is coming, and they seek shelter, and find themselves up all night in the howling wind; so Roland agrees to tell them a story. This is where we leave the outermost story and enter the middle-layer story.

Roland is a young man and a novice gunslinger. I quote Stephen King’s foreward: a gunslinger is “one of a small band that tries to keep order in an increasingly lawless world. If you think of the gunslingers of Gilead as a strange combination of knights errant and territorial marshals in the Old West, you’ll be close to the mark.” He has just lost his mother – killed her, in fact, in an obviously traumatic incident that is only alluded to in this book – when he takes a trip with fellow youngster gunslinger, Jamie, to solve a mysterious series of bloody murders in a small mining town. It is theorized that the murders are being committed by a skinman, a shapeshifter. Roland befriends a young boy, Bill, who has witnessed his father’s murder, takes pity on him, and sits down to tell him a story Roland’s mother used to tell him when he was a little boy. This is the innermost story, and it is called – what do you know – The Wind in the Keyhole.

Once upon a time, in an ironwood-logging town called Tree, Big Ross is killed by a dragon in the woods. His partner, Big Kells, marries Ross’s widow Nell, and becomes stepfather to the boy Tim. Tim’s story is an adventure and sort of a dark and frightening fairy tale. He finds out a sinister secret about his stepfather and takes a journey deep into the treacherous forest where his father was killed; he encounters strange creatures, dragons, fairies, tigers, good magic and bad magic. This innermost story is the one we spend the most time with, and is set in a marvelous otherworldly world, fully developed, filled with creatures and characters and conventions and rules, fascinating and glorious and strange and scary, but also rather sweet.

Roland concludes the telling of The Wind Through the Keyhole to Bill, and then concludes the telling of Bill’s story to his companions, so that we close the stories we’ve opened and finish back with the elder Roland and his companions weathering the starkblast. There is a sense of circularity, and completeness.

The outermost story, of Roland and his fellow travelers, is engaging and also set in another world (MidWorld) I found interesting and would like to hear more about. The middle-layer story, of the young Roland seeking the skinman, involves some good old-fashioned detective skills and has a satisfying conclusion. But the story of young Tim and his quest through the forest was clearly the star. I was entranced, and sorry it was over. I shall be searching out more King, without a doubt! And I appreciated his narration, as I said earlier; I hope he’ll continue to narrate his audiobooks.

Stay tuned: tomorrow I’ll tell you about the teaser chapter for an upcoming book that was included at the end of this one.

Rating: 7 puppy dogs.

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Bike Snob: Systematically & Mercilessly Realigning the World of Cycling by BikeSnobNYC

Posted on July 30, 2012 by pagesofjulia

The Bike Snob book! As noted in a previous post, Bike Snob has authored a blog by the same name for many a year. I have been a fan for four years or so; his pithy observations and opinions about cycling and cyclists in all their forms – pro racing, amateur racing, commuters, messengers, hipsters, and more – are wise and hilarious. I admire his writing, both its style and its profusion. I have wondered, does this guy have a full time job? Because he sure does blog furiously! And I thank him.

So it’s rather strange that it’s taken me this long to get a hold of his first book. (There is already a second out there somewhere.) And it’s well worth it! Like his blog, the book is filled with observations and judgments, always irreverent, tongue-in-cheek, and usually laugh-out-loud funny. Yes, I laughed out loud all the way through this short book. It includes chapters like “Velo-Taxonomy” (the various subsets of cyclists, along with their compatibility with other cyclists – funny gold, here) and “A Brief Guide to Etiquette for Non-Cyclists” (which I appreciated very much, and which begins with a request to “let bikes inside”). Bike Snob is an actual, helpful education for newer cyclists, non-cyclists or regular citizens, and yes, for the experienced cyclist as well.

The Snob imparts astute wisdom. Even though I believe firmly in helmets for everybody at all times, I can respect his recommendation that, if you’re only going to use a helmet or brakes, that you should use brakes, because a helmet will only protect you from some injuries. But perhaps the most awesome feature of this book is the laughs. Anybody with a little bit of cycling experience will recognize the truth and humor in his statements about triathletes (“why other cyclists don’t like them: they’re the turduckens of the cycling world. Compatibility with other cyclists: can occasionally mix with Roadies, like when you see a couple of pigeons hanging out with a bunch of seagulls.”) or how bike messengers’ functional gear has become ubercool even where it’s not functional. I appreciate that many of his philosophies of cycling expand to life in general (further proof that cycling is life!). For example: bikes are great, but they’re for riding, not polishing to a high shine and storing with an aura of reverence at the expense of getting out there and experiencing the world. And bikes get stolen. So enjoy them while you can, and know that possessions are ephemeral, while experiences linger. Don’t let your possessions own you.

It is worth noting the visual design of this book. I don’t usually get very interested in physical features of books (I am a reader of print books. but if it’s print, that’s good enough; I don’t go for gilded pages or whatnot), but this one was remarkable. The end and fly pages are decorated with a variety of bicycles and chain rings; there are little design details throughout, including tire treads and whatnot, that draw the eye. I dug the gold color theme, strangely. And as a final bonus, the book came with four Bike Snob stickers! I am the second owner of my copy, presumably, because one sticker was missing and I took a second; there are two left, possibly for the next two owners, but I don’t intend to get rid of it any time soon. Good job with your marketing, Bike Snob, you are now represented on the beer fridge in the garage.

I recommend this book highly. Although, I should point out that one of my cycling friends quit just a few pages in, feeling the Snob was full of himself and unfunny. It takes all kinds, and everybody’s tastes vary; bring an appreciation for the absurd and an expectation that the Snob won’t take himself at all seriously, and hopefully you’ll love his sense of humor as much as I did.

A note on the author: the Bike Snob remained anonymous for years of fame, being photographed (for example) for the very mainstream Bicycling magazine with his face covered, etc. When this, his first book, was released, he knew he’d have to come out of the closet of anonymity to promote it, and that was an event of some newsworthiness (the Wall Street Journal cared). We now know his name is Eben Weiss. I’ve kept “Bike Snob” as the name of the author for this review, because that’s how the book was originally listed.

Rating: 7 bicycle wheels (of varying sizes).

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The Red Queen by Philippa Gregory (audio)

Posted on July 26, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Ah, Philippa Gregory, my choice “fluffy” historical fiction author. A slightly guilty pleasure, yes.

In a nutshell, this is the (fictionalized) life story of Lady Margaret Beaufort. She is a very pious young girl, married off against her wishes first to Edmund Tudor, who widows her before she gives birth to his son at the age of 13, and then to Henry Stafford. After she’s widowed a second time, she makes her own marriage of politics, not love, to Thomas Stanley. The Tudors’ fortunes have shifted, and her son has been raised by his paternal uncle Jasper, as the House of York holds the English crown. Margaret works to promote her own son’s claim to the throne through various machinations and deceptions, pretending service to the York King Richard III and his Queen Anne. Richard is defeated on the battlefield and her son does finally take the throne himself as King Henry VII. The story is told in Margaret’s voice in first person, aside from a few passages of third-person narration towards the end, describing battles and events that (presumably) Margaret could not have described as she would not have been present.

I found Margaret unlikeable. This does not necessarily preclude me liking the book. She was self-consciously pious to the point of being self-righteous and often hypocritical: as in, “my piety is so great and God loves me so that I am deserving of the highest of honors, you should make me an abbess although I am only 13 years old,” etc. She demanded a life that was unavailable to girls or young women of her time and of her social standing; this struck me as anachronistic. I am certainly fuzzy on my historical accuracy for 15th century England! But I suspect it is unlikely that this young lady, nearly from the cradle, as it were, would be demanding such an unknown level of independence and control over her own destiny. On the other hand, perhaps the point about the young Margaret is just this: that she was odd, demanded unusual or unheard of honors. After all, the book opens with her having visions of herself as Joan of Arc. She certainly saw herself differently. So, my criticism here is qualified. And it didn’t particularly take away from my enjoyment of the book; it’s something I noted, as I continued to listen with interest in what would happen next. Did I like Margaret? Not for a moment. But I enjoyed and was held captive by her story.

There were weaknesses. The political intrigue aspects tended to be painted with a broad brush, in the fairly lazy literary convention of having a character recite the action in a monologue with explication that would not realistically be necessary if she were really making this speech. In other words, an info dump in the voice of a character. [Late in the book, we do get some passages of narration in a third-person-omniscient voice. Unfortunately, this didn’t improve things for me, particularly in this audio format, because a different reader took over; I found it a little jarring. But maybe by that point I was becoming difficult to please.] I felt that the book was most concerned with Margaret’s feelings and internal action, and it was occasionally necessary to fill us in on why so-and-so is riding into battle with so-and-so, and Gregory did it as quickly and easily as possible. This stands out in contrast to a historical fiction author I really like, Sharon Kay Penman, who takes her historical accuracy very seriously and takes the time to spell it all out very meticulously while keeping her characters very lifelike. Now, Penman and Gregory create very different reading experiences, and readers – entirely validly – are likely to prefer one or the other, and both are okay. Gregory’s books are fast-paced, emotional, hopefully riveting, and lighter on historical accuracy. Penman’s are longer, rather denser, accurate, and engrossing in that they bring the world in which they are set fully to life. One is not “better,” but they are different.

A few character developments felt rushed and unexplained to me. There is a certain man with whom Margaret suddenly shares a seeming bond of love, but I missed the progression of feelings; they were just there and then suddenly… staring into each other’s eyes and making declarations (or worse, references to an unspoken but understood shared feeling). And again, Margaret’s loyalty to and passion for her Tudor line came out of nowhere for me. When the book began, her mind was focused on God; and a little later she is full of loyalty to the Lancasters and rebuking those whose loyalty wavered. Again, I seem to have missed the part where she discovered the strong tie she felt to her relatives.

And yet I remained intrigued and kept reading. I was occasionally exasperated, but overall my experience was overwhelmingly one of enjoyment. Verdict? I am more a Sharon Kay Penman reader than a Philippa Gregory reader! I seem to be left feeling like I need to do a little research when I finish a Gregory book. But they’re good fun. And I haven’t found any audiobooks of Penman’s work yet!

Rating: 4 haughty sniffs.

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Racing Through the Dark by David Millar

Posted on July 25, 2012 by pagesofjulia

The unexpectedly inspirational story of a pro cyclist’s “clean” return to the sport after doping.


David Millar was an avid bicycle road racer in his teens, and after he turned pro at age 22, he raced in all the big European events, including the Tour de France, where he wore the yellow leader’s jersey. He resisted doping for years, but not forever; he was eventually busted for the illegal use of performance-enhancing drugs. His story was, perhaps, not highly remarkable in a sport already ridden with doping scandals, but it became noteworthy when he spoke out about his experiences, took a strong anti-doping stand and returned to the sport as a high-profile–and still highly accomplished–“clean” racer. Racing Through the Dark is his story.

Millar’s memoir begins in childhood and follows through rocky years on the pro circuit, the painful decision to dope after abstaining for years, the details of his bust and the raging alcoholic haze of his ban before returning to the sport. It includes anecdotes featuring many of pro cycling’s biggest names, including Mark Cavendish, Stuart O’Grady and Lance Armstrong. Millar’s voice is appealingly open and artless. He takes full responsibility for his poor decisions even as he criticizes pro cycling’s traditional code of silence that overlooks or condones widespread use of illegal drugs. While Millar excoriates the culture of doping, he doesn’t use it as an excuse. He comes across in the end as a surprisingly honorable figure, whose continuing professional career offers a final theme of redemption.

This review originally ran in the July 3, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

Rating: 5 skinny tires.

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The Boy Kings of Texas by Domingo Martinez

Posted on July 23, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A starkly honest memoir of growing up on the Texas-Mexican border in the 1970s and ’80s, with a wry twist.


Domingo Martinez was born in the early 1970s in Brownsville, Texas, on the Mexican border. His youth was marked by violence and family drama; he grew up wanting only to escape, but unsure how to do so. The Boy Kings of Texas introduces readers to Martinez’s embarrassing, philandering father; his terrifying, work-obsessed grandmother; his older sisters (two of whom successfully pose for a short time as rich white girls); his generally forgotten mother; and centrally, his older brother, Dan. (There’s also the passed-down story of his grandfather, who died young–a Mexican criminal celebrity recalled as the Brer Rabbit, the Billy the Kid, the Rhett Butler of his day.) Martinez describes in glaring, painful detail his drug-dealing friends and family–one time, he bought pot from two local thugs who turned out to be his uncles but who didn’t recognize him through their drug-induced haze–and his gradual, excruciating withdrawal from Texas and the life he’d always known.

The Boy Kings of Texas eventually follows Martinez to Seattle and his agonizing attempts at starting fresh there, handicapped by a misguided childhood whose dominant lesson was machismo at the expense of all else. While a final, happier ending is hinted at (“but that is another book”), this memoir is concerned with the deep distress of a bordertown kid unclear on his place in the world. Martinez’s story is heartrending and uncomfortable, but he maintains a surprising sense of humor that keeps his reader cringing and rooting for him.

This review originally ran as a *starred review* in the July 3, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

Rating: 5 tortillas.

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Kristin Lavransdatter: The Cross by Sigrid Undset (trans. Tiina Nunnally)

Posted on July 19, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Kristin Lavransdatter is a trilogy, comprised of The Wreath, The Wife, and The Cross. As my single volume runs nearly 1200 pages, I thought you might permit me three book reviews. 🙂 Here is book three; book one was reviewed here and book two here.

In my reviews of the first two books of Kristin Lavransdatter, I went heavy on the spoilers. It felt difficult to discuss the plot, the action, even the development of the characters – let alone my reactions, without taking that route. I’m going to try to keep this one spoiler-free, though, which also keeps it brief.

In this final installment of Kristin’s life, I felt that she changes more than she did in the first two books. Her children grow up; her circumstances change significantly. Her family grows smaller, between the loss of her children (eventually eight) to death, marriage, and travel, and the deaths of many of her loved ones as she ages. Having done battle with Erlend until the very end, she is left with a sense of remorse that she didn’t appreciate him more, that she focused on the faults. As her world narrows, she’s relegated to the place of an old lady whose values (she’s told) are out of touch; she ends up retreating to a smaller world and focuses on her relationship with God. Kristin experiences a few reunions, towards the end, but the mood of the story continues to withdraw, becoming introspective, turning away from the world.

I found the ending a little strange, circling back as it does to Kristin being an object of admiration… but it did accomplish what felt like the right tone. Kristin Lavransdatter is a fascinating, thought-provoking study of one woman’s life in a time (and place) foreign to me, and to today’s readers generally. It was hard to believe, on finishing, that the trilogy spanned well over 1000 pages. It didn’t feel like it went on that long; it was just one lifetime. But it dealt with all the phases, moods, and issues one could hope. And it was a lovely glimpse into medieval Norway that I would not have otherwise encountered.

I agree with Erin that this is a unique and beautiful book. I also agree that the translation was of high quality, and I’m sorry for those (like my father) who tried older versions and were turned off. It’s long, but it’s an easy read. Check it out.

Rating: 5 babies (whew).

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Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig

Posted on July 18, 2012 by pagesofjulia

My paperback copy of Blackbirds instructs me (on the back cover, at the top, near the spine) to “file under Urban Fantasy.” I am a fan of these labels, not least as a librarian (!), especially with a book like this one that deviates from my usual genres a little bit. (My usual genres, if you’re a new reader, are mystery/thriller and various nonfiction, especially biography/memoir and nature writing.) So, this is fantasy. Urban. With paranormal aspects. And a very dark tone.

Miriam Black knows when and how people will die. All it takes is skin-on-skin contact. Shake her hand, bump her bare arm on the bus, and she sees your final minutes or moments in a flash. This is, not surprisingly, disturbing and traumatic for Miriam, but she’s learned how to make it work for her. She describes herself as a vulture, not a falcon: she doesn’t cause death (indeed, when she’s tried to stop it, she can’t, and often makes things worse), but she feeds off it. At the very least, she’ll rob the corpse.

This has gone on for a number of years at the opening scene of Blackbirds, and Miriam has developed a cynical, detached outlook that allows her to view death without so much internal damage. Of course, she’s experienced trauma in her life, not all of it linked to her unique gift. But then two forces impact the carefully orchestrated system she’s worked out. First, she meets a man – a nice man, in fact – and shakes his hand, and sees something she’s never seen before: a death scene in which she plays a role. Next, she meets another man who knows what she is and what she can do, and wraps her up in his own con.

The chronology of this story jumps around, which is a format not all readers appreciate, I know; but I think it works nicely here. We follow Miriam through “real time” in main chapters, and spliced in between are interludes, in which we hear her story as told to a young journalist, and the stories of other characters as told to Miriam. Chronology is further confused by the time-travel element in Miriam’s vision. Well, it’s not time travel, but it is a brief view of future events: she sees what happens and knows exactly when, without the benefit of knowing where or why. So we know what we’re rushing up to, but not how to get there.

This is a fast-paced, tremendously suspenseful read. I read it through in one sitting. [Warning: make time for this.] The sense of time passing, of momentum, is great. I couldn’t put this book down and halt the progression of Miriam’s fate; the stakes were too high! While there’s a feeling of inevitability, the ending applies a twist. I loved the dark atmosphere, too. Miriam is damaged, foul-mouthed, crude, but good-hearted and vulnerable, like so many great hero-villains. [While not entirely like any of them, Miriam evokes certain elements of Jack Reacher, Dave Robicheaux, Harry Bosch, Lizbeth Salander, and Mallory.*] In fact, my pleasant-surprise-observation is that this book is more similar to some of my murder mystery/thriller favorites than I expected. I think I feared a gothic blood-sucking-evil-death darkness and/or horror elements that would be too much for me, but instead I find this a great crossover read, and will be seeking more Wendig. Apparently there is a sequel coming soon! I am anxious!

*Fictional characters written by, respectively, Lee Child, James Lee Burke, Michael Connelly, Stieg Larsson, and Carol O’Connell.

Rating: 8 deadly daydreams.

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Prehistory, Personality, and Place by Jefferson Reid and Stephanie Whittlesey

Posted on July 16, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I picked this book up on a recent trip to the Gila National Forest in New Mexico. We stopped by the visitor’s center for the Gila Cliff Dwellings, and it just caught my eye; what can I say? I think it was the subtitle, Emil W. Haury and the Mogollon Controversy. I casually find archaeology as intriguing as the next person does, although it’s never been a serious interest; but the idea (as expressed on the back cover) of a controversy over whether a people deserve to be recognized as unto themselves, with their own accomplishments and culture, definitely appealed to me.

First of all, I appreciated the Preface, wherein the authors explain their personal connection to Haury (a teacher and mentor), their interest in the Mongollon question, and what they intend with this book. This is not to be a biography of Haury, but his story coincides heavily with the one they will be telling. I like to hear from authors (of nonfiction, anyway) what they’re up to like this.

Reid & Whittlesey do a fine job of completing their stated task. After reading this short (~150 pages) but dense book, I feel fairly well-versed (you know, for an amateur) in the Mogollon controversy and the players involved. In a nutshell, Emil Haury was a young and gifted archeologist who, in the 1930’s, discovered artifacts in the southwest United States (Arizona and New Mexico) that did not fit into the contemporary understanding of the two cultures then known to have inhabited those parts: Anasazi and Hohokam. He postulated that he had discovered evidence of a distinct culture which he named after the mountains where he was working: Mogollon. The archeological community was immediately up in arms over a few key issues, namely, whether the Mogollon were indeed a distinct and different group, and whether they were as ancient as Haury believed. There was also some question of their eventual fate: were they assimilated into the Anasazi culture, or did they continue to exist as a morphed but still individual culture, past 1000 AD?

Haury would spend the rest of his life and career working to validate the existence, antiquity, and distinctiveness of the Mogollon, while also investigating other cultures (there is tangential reference to the apparently significant-in-its-own-right Hohokam controversy), establishing field schools, and teaching. He seems to have been a remarkable man. By the mid-1960’s, the controversy was all but entirely resolved, more or less in favor of Haury’s initial theories. There were other important players as well, of course, and we meet many of them on both sides of the controversy; but Reid & Whittlesey make an excellent argument for the strength of Haury’s personality and his academic authority playing a key role in the decades-long discussion. Which brings me back to the title of the book. This book is about the Mogollon controversy, yes, but it is also about the relationship between personality, place, and the study of archeology (or prehistory, or anthropology, or – I venture to extend the concept – the study of most social disciplines). Reid & Whittlesey demonstrate how Haury’s personality was a key player, and also how the places that formed and influenced him – his birthplace in the wide-open Kansas plains to the striking vistas of the southwest – played their own roles in the drama.

I found their arguments about personality and place convincing and appealing. The archeology, and the questions (and relatively few answers) about prehistoric peoples, were mildly interesting to me; but I was definitely more engrossed by the drama of academic minds in debate. That was the more accessible human-interest story, if you follow. I continue to have questions about that debate, in particular its partisan nature. it seemed to me that there were really two “schools” of thought, and they follow the lines of literal schools of study so remarkably that I felt sure this was not a coincidence. In other words, it struck me not as a difference of intellectual interpretations of data, but of two groups of people pitted against each other. The archeologists who had helped establish our understanding of the Anasazi were invested in keeping that culture supreme in prehistory; they resisted the idea that there may have been other players in the same (or earlier) time, like they were rooting for their own dog in the fight. It’s a shame to think that these men (they were mostly men) were inserting personal feelings and alliances into the study of science. But that’s humanity for you, I suppose. For the record, this understanding, of the personal rather than scientific nature of the controversy, is mine, and not the authors’.

I thought this was a well-executed and informative book, and I recommend it, but be aware: it’s a little dense and academic for the general audience. I understand that it was intended for the general public, and I do think it works (I had no prior expertise, certainly) but it took a little extra effort, so bear that in mind.

I’m glad I picked up a total unknown, and I enjoyed it.

For another general-audience book on antiquity & archeology, you might be interested in my review of Tutankhamen: The Search for an Egyptian King by Joyce Tyldesley.

Rating: 5 academic papers.

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Hayduke Lives! by Edward Abbey

Posted on July 12, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Hayduke Lives! What fun! I have been looking forward to this one – with some trepidation, yes, since lovers of The Monkey Wrench Gang tend to be disappointed; but also with good cheer, because even if it’s not the bible of eco-warriors that the other is, I have faith in Abbey and his sense of humor. And my instincts were more or less correct.

We follow a few different plots in this installment. One: George Washington Hayduke is, yes, alive and well, and trying to reconnect with his fellow monkey-wrenchers Bonnie, Doc, and Seldom Seen. Bonnie and Doc have married and have a second child on the way, and Seldom Seen is trying to (ha) lay low and play family man to all three of his wives; none wants to be pulled back into criminal activity, but each is eventually sympathetic to the cause (naturally). Two: A new, younger generation of eco-activists, including the nascent Earth First!, is organizing (sort of) to stop the latest earth-terrorizing mega machine, in this case the Arizona GEM (Giant Earth Mover). [And this is getting kind of meta, since EF! in real life came about after publication of The Monkey Wrench Gang, inspired by it. Abbey never refers to the first book or his own role, in this second book.] Three: An unnamed government organization is working with local Utahn Mormon yahoo J. Oral Hatch and (from book 1) Bishop Love to try to infiltrate and undermine EF!. Hatch and Love are both total boobs, in their own ways, and provide much of the comic relief of this book.

As in TMWG, Abbey portrays a bumbling but good-hearted, solid, self-deprecating love of Mother Earth, some action, and some laughs. What doesn’t carry over is plot: I could sort of feel that Abbey was riding the popularity of TMWG, playing around with the well-loved characters and theme, without crafting the same total package. The first was not only a good story, with a little more plot to it, but also a remarkable magic chemical confluence of characters; I think part of what we fell in love with was the odd foursome that made up the Gang, and the way they all clicked. Where the first book was already a little silly, farcical, juvenile, and heavy on the penis jokes (and don’t get me wrong, I loved it), this book is practically only those things. Enjoyable? Yes, absolutely. As important as Monkey Wrench? Not by a long shot. But I have no regrets that I (appropriately) spent part of my camping-out-in-New-Mexico vacation time reading this silly romp; it was worth every minute.

And yes, I have already purchased my bumper sticker.

Rating: 6 raucous whoops.

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Bossypants by Tina Fey (audio)

Posted on July 11, 2012 by pagesofjulia

This book has been out for a little over a year. What took me so long? Thank you, fellow bloggers who raved about this book, for finally getting it into my ears. As others have said before, get the audiobook! It does make it slightly cumbersome to go find your pdf file to see the pictures she refers to; but it’s so worth it to hear her make her jokes herself.

Tina Fey is a funny lady. This I knew, and I looked forward to the laughs, which are there in abundance. But what I hadn’t entirely expected was the more serious handling of issues like a woman’s place in male-dominated industries – which was silly of me, because Tina Fey does address issues. She tells stories about her own upbringing, her youth, her discovery of acting and comedy, her time spent at SNL, the creation of 30 Rock, her honeymoon, motherhood, and more. She is always classy in her discussion of other celebrities or folks from the industry: any criticisms are well packaged in understanding and explanation, while she mostly praises her colleagues in glowing and meaningful terms. She doesn’t just call everyone talented and charming – she gives thought-out, complex, positive evaluations. And any time she has dirt on someone, she leaves that someone entirely cloaked in anonymity (“the letters from their names are sprinkled randomly through this chapter”). I never got the impression she was being less than honest, because she still made her criticisms, but she was always respectful of the people she has worked with, and that impressed me.

Tina analyzes the challenges that face a woman in a position like hers, breaking into a field that (in her early days especially) was thought to be men’s work, and she does so fairly. For example, she writes (narrates) a funny and wise anecdote about the moment that she realized that she was experiencing, not institutional sexism, but a sheer male ignorance of menstruation and “feminine hygiene.” And she gives good advice.

She is also hilarious, and wise, about women’s fashion and body image, and the culture of Hollywood, modeling, and television. In the chapter entitled “Amazing, Gorgeous, Not Like That,” she describes a “typical” magazine photo shoot in great detail. I found the scenes regarding hair and makeup especially exotic, weird and different. I’m pretty far from a fashion photo shoot, myself.

This book was great fun and very funny, as you might expect; but as you might not have guessed right off (I didn’t), it also makes some good, serious points. There’s some well-stated feminism to be found here amid the good times. Highly recommended, and as many others have said before me, do get the audio version.

Rating: 7 pairs of Tina Fey glasses.

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