r
e
a
d
0
2

and
kzs
tr
dfan
zola
crev
glb
ml
nyt
nyrb
post
rt

--{ read02 }-----01--- 00--- 99--- 98--- 97--- i---

yes

Life: A User's Manual, Georges Perec
And then there are the books that make you feel too stupid even to contemplate writing anything. This would be one of them. Wow. I don't even know how to describe it. Its structure is a description of stuff in a building (much like a condominium), but actually amounts to a collection of short stories, only more. I don't know what else to say. Just wow.
Thinks..., David Lodge
Great (because gosh I always like discussions about consciousness and stuff), but not as great as the other works of Lodge I've read. The affair just doesn't seem believable somehow, and the satire just isn't as biting. Which is too bad. It's weird that critics seem to like this work of his more than his others, because I so prefer the others.
The Cheese Monkeys: A Novel in Two Semesters
It was pretty light, but gosh I liked it. I liked the narrator, I liked Winter Sorbeck, I even kinda liked Maybelle. But Himillsy Dodd was too much. And she kept reminding me of Marla from Fight Club, which was also a little distracting. But the art projects were a fun read, as was the subtle (almost) coming out story embedded in there.
Erasure, Percival Everett
Oh dear me. This was great. That is to say, I like the way that everett explores the narrator's frustrations with the accusations of not being black enough, frustrations with being a minority in a certain type of fiction often regarded as "white." So. And, of course, I like the theme of a prank gone wild. I've always liked that.
The Father Costume, Ben Marcus (with images by Matthew Ritchie)
Ooh this was really creepy. And pretty. It felt like a slow lament, that wraps you more and more as time passes.

A note: earlier I had an exchange with him about the book! I'd written (about Notable American Women and The Father Costume), "Ben Marcus's faculty web page at Columbia says this will be published in the spring of 2001 by Artspace Books. But I haven't seen it anywhere! Where is it, Ben?" and Ben wrote back,

"The novel, Notable American Women, is coming out in March from Vintage. The Artspace book is called The Father Costume and has images by Matthew Ritchie. It is scheduled for April or May, 2002."
Zazie in the Metro, Raymond Queneau
Dare I say it? Foul-mouthed Zazie is endearing. I was expecting not to be endeared, but oh, I was. Nasty nasty child.
Fever in Urbicand, Francois Schuiten and Benoît Peeters
More from Schuiten and Peeters (this one more like Invisible Cities and less like Brazil. Again, the horrors of overzealous urban planners. I'm liking this "Cities of the Fantastic" theme.
Brusel, Francois Schuiten and Benoît Peeters
Kind of like a graphic novel version of Invisible Cities mixed with Brazil. Lighter than I'd hoped, but still great. Oh, the terror of overzealous urban planners.
Yeats Is Dead!, Joseph O'Connor (ed.)
Hilarious, though fluffy. A mystery written by a bunch of Irish authors, chapter by chapter. It'd be neat to have seen the process. Anyway, it reminds me of the Eyre Affair a little, in the manner that it's set in a world where certain literature is highly prized. There are some darned good twists in here.
The Poor Mouth, Flann O'Brien
Spoof of a lot of other Irish novels. Everyone eats potatoes, and complains about their hard Gaelic life.
Manhattan Transfer, John Dos Passos
Um, wow, was this book really written in 1925? The style is just so . . . modern, the way you hear little snippets of conversations and see tiny pieces of interactions. It's very Gaddis. It's very New York. And some of the character portrayals, wow.
Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron, Daniel Clowes
How creepy and surreal and sad can you get, all at once? This seems like the extreme.
A Void, Georges Perec
I don't know why I had such a hard time reading it last time! Because it was really pretty easy this time. Maybe it was just that I was home for the holidays last time. I dunno. But yeah. Good, despite the mild contrivance of the curse. But you just have to be impressed by having no e's.
53 Days, Georges Perec
It is strange that this is unfinished, because the actual unfinished nature of the real book fits into the set-up of the story inside the book almost too perfectly. It is good. I wish Perec had been able to finish it before he died. What a great mystery it would've made. But now it's all unsolved.
Around the Day in Eighty Worlds, Julio Cortazar.
God! Cortazar is sweet! I can't say that more! Favorite essays: "Only a Real Idiot," "Louis, Super-Cronopio," "Journey to a Land of Cronopios," "No, No, and No," and "Glass with Rose."
The Cambridge Quintet, John Casti
Hmm. Not sure what to make of this. I really wouldn't call it a novel, see, because the characters (of real people) just didn't feel fleshed out, and, well, all the book was was just a conversation between them. But though it lacked character, it wasn't a bad conversation in terms of ideas, it was a nice edifying one similar to the conversations between Achilles and the turtle in Godel, Escher, Bach, only here it was between C.P. Snow, geneticist J.B.S. Haldane, physicist Erwin Schrodinger, mathematician Alan Turing, and philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. Or it would've been edifying had I not read lots of stuff about this already. Still, it was fun.
Nice Work, David Lodge
Funny satire of English academia, though a wee bit too harsh on the lit-crit feminists, methinks. Still, the book's full of amusing characterizations of all the types of people in those fields.
Chimera, John Barth
This totally rocked! Funny, self-referential, and lit-theoried all at the same time, but in a spoofy kind of way! And I bet this is why David Foster Wallace got all into Medusa in Infinite Jest. Okay, the ending kinda petered off, but most of it was a total pleasure to read.
The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks
Iain Banks is one sick fuck. What a great book. Except for the last half chapter, which was a wee too explicative. Otherwise, fab. Enjoy the grotesqueries, ignore the unrealities.
Fingersmith, Sarah Waters
Boy, did she throw on the twists in this one! Okay, so some of the twists got unbelievable, it was so over-the-top. But if you ignore that and just play along, it's so fun! What a great adventure! Madness, intrigue, betrayal!
Affinity, Sarah Waters
Wow, much more depressing than Waters's other book, endingwise. But still nice. I liked the twist, I love the description. I can't help but think, though, that Waters is showing off her academic background in history, some of the details seem so in depth. But hey, it works.
Stranger Things Happen, Kelly Link
I can't tell if I adore her or if I'm annoyed by her. Or both. She's weird, and creepy, which I like. But she's so het, and in a boy-loving way. Which I am, sometimes, but not as often. I'm more often het in a girl-loving way. Except not. Except torn. But I really like her creepiness. The blending of horror and fairy tales and Nancy Drew and Lorrie-Moore-like angst. It's not bad. It's pretty good.

A later note: Now that I'm not writing the blurb while drunk, I should add that what I meant by "I'm more often het in a girl-loving way" is that the times I really truly feel het is when I feel like a boy who likes girls (rather than when I feel like a girl who likes boys, as I never quite feel like I approach boys in a het-girl way). Because when I like girls, I usually feel more like a boy who likes girls than a girl who likes girls.
Notable American Women, Ben Marcus
I liked it, but not as much as The Age of Wire and String. Maybe because this was so much creepier, and I just didn't expect that. There's this whole theme of maybe child abuse in there that just squicks me. But it's fascinating, nevertheless. I wish I could disassociate myself like that.
Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters
Great! I haven't read great lesbian fiction in awhile, and this was definitely great lesbian fiction. Victorian adventure-ey stuff, in a light, rompy tone. The final romance at the end wasn't totally believable, -- seemed like Waters kinda ran out of steam there. I completely couldn't figure out why the narrator had a thing for the last woman she did. But the rest of it was marvelous.

Glad Andrea lent it to me, and will probably look out for Waters's Affinity and Fingersmith.
Intimacy and Midnight All Day, Hanif Kureishi
Because I enjoy a good, cold emptiness, I read Kureishi's Intimacy while listening to Death Cab for Cutie's new EP, Stability. Both the novella and the EP are stark stark stark (especially the cover of Bjork's "All Is Full of Love"), and made me feel as if my layers are being slowly frozen and crushed into some kind of organic powdered snow.

You wouldn't believe how pure Intimacy feels, how weird and transparent and filled with conflicts that are too icy to be angstful. It makes me feel so empty I can't even cry.

The weird thing is that the book is little, plotwise, like the movie. I mean, you can see bits and pieces of where the movie came from in the Midnight All Day part, the short story collection part (like "Strangers When We Meet" and "A Meeting, At Last"). But the book is about the night before a protagonist leaves his girlfriend and their two children, and his thoughts. The words have the same jumpy resonance of Wittgenstein's Mistress, and the same echoing truths of, well, Kureishi's other stuff. While the movie centered around a protagonist's weekly trysts with a woman he didn't know at all.

Wait, correction. That's not the weird thing. The weird thing is how the book's tone is exactly like the movie's even though the book's plot is little like the movie's. They have the same all-too-true emptiness. The protagonist's recognition of responsibility, at least in part. But the coexistence of hope for the future, despite it all. And the transience, always the consistency of transience.

The relationship between the book and the movie was similar, too, for Ghost World. The remarkable similarity in tone and atmosphere, given the plot differences. As if under an impressionist's scheme, the book and the movie would be the same work. Anyway, I think it's pretty neat how this was done.

But back to Intimacy and Midnight All Day. The other stories in the book (that is, other than Intimacy, and with the exception of "The Penis," which was just too gimmicky) have the same stark mixture of failing and hope. Like "Four Blue Chairs," "Girl," and "Midnight All Day."

As usual, I've found that someone else has pointed out what I could not point out about the clear sadness I found so wonderful about this book, and has done it much better than if I had even tried to do so. From Ben Marcus, in a book review (of another book) in the News and Observer: "Yates makes you think for a while that no other outcome is even likely, but the upside is that we do things, we live, we have relationships, for their intrinsic pleasure, and not as a guarantee. His bleakness is in fact an argument for joy right now."

Yes. That's it.

Read the last paragraph of Intimacy. It does exactly that.

Small World, David Lodge
Hilarious. It's a comedy (about academia), so I don't mind how all the plotlines tie up. And tie up they do, in an amusing fashion. I read it twice just to catch everything I missed the first time.

A funny coincidence with Small World: so I'm reading it pretty soon after The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond, right? And one of the last short stories in Paradoxes has this deal about a pantomime of Puss in Boots, go figure. The funny thing (at least to me) is that Small World opens up by mentioning this very same Puss in Boots pantomime! Is this a Brit thing? Are there tons of Puss in Boots pantomimes over there such that you can't help but mention them? But I've never run across them in writing before!
Ghost World, Daniel Clowes
This was so much better than the movie! Wow! Starting off with Enid saying, in reference to Sassy, "I hate this fucking magazine! These stupid girls think they're so hip, but they're just a bunch of trendy stuck-up prep-school bitches who think they're 'cutting edge' because they know who Sonic Youth is!" and Becky responding, "You're a stuck-up prep-school bitch!" It captured my frustrations, and the problems with my frustrations, oh so well.

The book was also pretty different from the movie. Like Steve Buscemi's character is nothing in the book. Same with the whole art-school storyline. But both the movie and the book kept very much the same tone (with the book being more subdued, but similarly melancholically ambivalent), which was interesting.

Everyone else's escape dream involves cars, but Enid's dream -- getting on a bus and just going -- is still my dream.
The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond, G.F. Chesterton
More detective stories by Chesterton. Again, of the Sherlock Holmes/Agatha Christie problem-solvingy sort.
Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
This was just like the movie. Really. (I'd borrowed it from Ed, who said, "This was just like the movie. Really.")
The Club of Queer Trades, G.K. Chesterton
A few light-hearted stories by Chesterton -- almost detective stories, but not quite. Flavored kinda like the Sherlock Holmes stories, though, but weirder.
The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
Okay, this was just candy. I mean, it has everything I love -- time travel, literary detectives, alternate universes, death -- and tons of it. It's fun, it's fluff, it's fun fluff. But if it weren't for all those things (time travel, literary detectives, alternate universes, death), I'm not sure I'd read it. Everything wraps up a little too nicely for my tastes. I prefer my ends loose.
The Voice Imitator, Thomas Bernhard
What an odd book. I picked this up from Politics and Prose, because it was on their recommended list. Found out just now that Ben Marcus reviewed it, and had this to say: "Those still reading can be assured that simperingly positive attitudes, blind faith, feel-good philosophy and deluded optimism -- all of which have become like a new form of oppressive American weather -- will never show up in the brutal darkness of Bernhard's work."

It's really not that brutal. I mean, it occasionally is, but the violence in each of the stories is as cold and clean as you'd expect in a story that's less than a page (as they all are). They have to be. Maybe callous is a better word for them. Reminded me of the violence, when it appears, in Ben Katchor's works. Maddening and short.
The Impossibly, Laird Hunt
A quick way to get yourself off my to-read list is to email me, and tell me to read your book. That's what happened here. It won't guarantee a good review, though. But (thankfully) The Impossibly was a great great read.

The greatness of this book lies in the narrator's voice, which is both detective-noiry in its vagueness and darkly humorous, in its self-contradictingness. Only teensy bits are revealed at the time, and the narration continually folds back on itself in surprising ways.

Plus there are some great quotes, like this: "I was told once in a big bed in the countryside by the woman I loved that what made it always so difficult, all of it, was being an interior in a world of exteriors. The skin embraces while the bones, stripped of their flesh and fat, long to click and knock against each other. It is only when the skin is gone and the flesh, a function of decay, releases its water that they finally heap the bones together, she supposed, but this is too late."

A personally endearing thing about the author is that he used to be a U.N. press officer, which gives me hope, too, that someday I'll get the chance to write fiction, despite my anchor in legal writing.

Another personally endearing thing (this time about the book, not the author, though it's kind of about the author, too), is that there's a little quote of Ben Marcus in the book, at the beginning of chapter C.
The Melancholy of Resistance, Laszlo Krasznahorkai
That took a long time to read, but it was pretty worth it, in the way that Gaddis is pretty worth it. In fact, the book is very much like Gaddis's books, only inverted. That is, rather than showing the external dialogue of people, this book almost entirely focused on the internal dialogues of people. Very meanderey and wanderey, therefore, with constant interjections. But not Joyce-ey, because the emphasis was almost entirely internal, rather than providing various references to outside works of literature. Or so I thought. It was interesting seeing how the train of events wove together. And the quotes around "verbatim" thoughts seemed a fairly novel (no pun intended) technique, at least the way it seemed employed by Krasznahorkai.
Birds of America, Lorrie Moore
Okay, let's get this straight. I enjoyed this lots. It was eminently readable. But I'm not sure I could stand too much of it (certainly I couldn't read too much at once). There's something too . . . arranged in Lorrie Moore's writings. Too composed. Smooth. Elegant. Witty. Which makes it, I dunno, not quite what I look for in books, even though I enjoyed reading this book. On a weird note, this is exactly how I imagine Rusty would write, if he were older (and more "mature") and female. There's something similar there, in the observant style, in the witticisms.
Holidays on Ice, David Sedaris
A few mean and funny short tales by David Sedaris. Present from Louise.

maybe

Ella Minnow Pea, Mark Dunn
Clever, but unbelieveable (even within the context of suspending disbelief.) Plus the girl was a little annoying.
Exercises in Style, Raymond Queneau
Better as a sort of cookbook for narrative styles. As fiction, though, kinda tedious.
The Barnum Museum, Steven Millhauser
Okay, the one really derivative story ("The Barnum Museum," of Borges) I liked a lot. The others were enjoyable, but didn't wow me, they kind of felt like they dragged a little--not too much to be annoying, but enough not to make me fall in love with them. Oh well.
Pricksongs and Descants, Robert Coover
Pretty decent collection of short stories, but not as metafictional as I'd expected. And some were just plain creepy, like "The Marker" in "Seven Exemplary Fictions."
Milosz's ABC's, Czeslaw Milosz
Wow, that took me awhile to go through, even though it wasn't so long a book. Basically an ABC compedium of interesting things in Milosz's life, as perceived by Milosz. Which meant it would help if I knew something about him other than the fact that he was the winner of the 1980 Nobel Prize in Literature. But I really don't. So.
The History of the Seige of Lisbon, Jose Saramago
I read this because I wanted to familiarize myself with more Nobel prizers in Literature. It took me awhile to get into it, but I finally did. Still--it wasn't amazing. Felt like a lighter Cortazar (in Hopscotch, perhaps, or 62: A Model Kit.) I did like the interplay between the proof-reader (more like fact-checker) and the editor and the author, though. I totally dig that kind of stuff. But the love story? It was too tentative, too nervous. Eh.
Moon Deluxe, Frederick Barthelme
Okay, though, coming off Kureishi's Intimacy, not nearly as incredible. I mean, they're the same stories of frustration and longing, only dulled. Maybe that means they're more subtle, maybe it just makes them less distinguishable from each other. Still, the book was not bad, overall. I can see why Rusty likes him.
The Atlas of Experience, Louise Van Swaaij, Jean Klare, David Winner
Weird book -- basically this fictitious atlas of things conceptual. It's a little gimmicky, but fun in the way that the map in The Phantom Tollbooth was fun.
Omon Ra, Victor Pelevin
Maybe I'd need to read this again to get the full effect of it, but I found it mostly confusing and weird. Kind of Tim Burton-ey, but not in a good way.
New Japanese Voices: The Best Contemporary Fiction From Japan, Helen Mitsios (ed.)
Okay, so the big reason I wanted to read this is because it has the only other (other than "Christopher Columbus Discovers America") translation of a Gen'ichiro Takahashi short story that I've found -- "The Imitation of Leibniz", which I think would've been pretty durned good, except that I know nothing about baseball. The other short stories were, well, okay. "On a Moonless Night," by Sei Takekawa, had a good element of horror to it. And "Living in a Maze," by Kyoji Kobayashi, was fun in describing this guy's waking dream. But "X-Rated Blanket," by Eimi Yamada, was a somewhat boring erotic story. And the translation of Murakami's "100 Percent Perfect Woman" by Kevin Flanagan and Tamotsu Omi, lacked the zing of Alfred Birnbaum's translation. So.

no

The Human Stain, Philip Roth
Ugh, I really thought this book was badly put together. First, the writing was inconsistent -- I mean, a lot of it was just annoying, though it was interspersed with pretty good parts. And so many of the characters (the Vietnam vet, the postmodern French-born professor) were all too stereotypical. And even the narrative frame was inconsistent. I mean, it seemed to be told from the first-person, with that first-person being a friend of the protagonist, but all too often, the narrator seemed to know far more (or at least seemed to be able to relay far more) than what he should've been able to know.

poetry

The Best of The Prose Poem: An International Journal, Peter Johnson (ed.)
David Foster Wallace was right--it's a mixed bag. But there were some lovely ones in here (if I were a good reviewer, I would've flagged them, but no, I'm not, and plus I'm just logging these for myself mostly, so there.) The ones I enjoyed were not, however, the ones DFW seemed to admire. Well.

Here, by the way, is what DFW wrote (in Rain Taxi) about the nine entries "that are so great you end up not even caring what genre they're supposed to be part of."

"Paradoxical consequence of the [mediocre/bad poems in the book] for the 31 p.p.s [prose poems] in the book that really are rich and alive and fine: It makes them even better. And not just better in comparison to the dross that surrounds them. It's more like the 173 mediocre/bad p.p.s here help the reader appreciate the terrible, almost impossible disadvantages of the P.P. form, which then makes the pieces from Davis, Ignatow, et al. seem less like just successes than like miracles. The experience of reading a piece like Davis's 'The Frogs' or Stevens's 'The Sign' or Ignatow's 'My Own House,' of watching the p.p. somehow achieve poetry's weird blend of logic and magic with hardly any of poetry's regular assets or tools, helps us to understand the allure of transgressive forms for writers, and maybe to remember that most formal conventions themselves start out as 'experiments.'"

Okay, so he really said it about thirty-one "good/alive/powerful/interesting enough to persist in reader's mind more than 60 seconds after completion," of which nine of them are the aforementioned Nine. Oh, and that quote should've been block-quoted, I know. But while I'm being lackadaisical about following Good Editing Conventions, here's another quote:

"Big paradox/oxymoron behind this raison [transgression!] and the current trendiness of transgeneric forms: In fact, these putatively 'transgressive' forms depend heavily on received ideas of genre, category, and formal conventions, since without such an established context there's nothing much to transgress against. Transgeneric forms are therefore most viable -- most interesting, least fatuous -- during eras when literary genres themselves are relatively stable and their conventions well-established and codified and no one seems much disposed to fuck with them. And ours is not such an era."

But let me propose this one theory. That if prose poetry is to have any increased appeal, it will not be because of its transgressive qualities, but its ability to fit more easily into the medium of internet publication. The common features in the "good" p.p.s described by DFW -- tightness, brevity, subtle iambicness, intimacy rather than formality -- these are features that really really shine in web publishing. Longer pieces do not shine. Nor, I think, do many rational arguments, at least the kind that need full, fleshed out discussion. The space thing, like I said.

So good p.p.s (the ones with the aforementioned quality) really has, I think, the opportunity to thrive on the internet. Man, that was a big tangent.

essays

Consciousness and the Novel, Connected Essays, David Lodge
This book both inspired to write more, and scared me from writing more. The first essay, "Consciousness and the Novel," is just incredible, describing how literature's approach to, well, telling both reflects and sheds light on consciousness itself. (I didn't know Lodge had it in him. I mean, I guess at the back of my mind I kinda knew, but because my main introduction to his works was through his satire, I never saw what his analytical side had to offer.)

I varied in how much I liked the other essays. "Literary Criticism and Literary Creation" I thought captured pretty well how these to spheres interact. "Dickens Our Contemporary" and "Forster's Flawed Masterpiece" gave me new appreciation for the respective authors being discusses. But ewwww, David Lodge appreciates Philip Roth? Eww eww ewww! Reading Lodge's essays gave me no understanding as to what Roth's works has to offer. The same things that Lodge finds fascinating, I find despicable, and even more damning, flat. But wade through that essan and get to Lodge's "A Conversation About Thinks" (where he discusses his recent novels), and all is good again. Ah.

periodicals

McSweeney's 7
None of the pieces really wowed me except "The Former World Record Holder Settles Down," by Courtney Eldridge, which was pretty amazing. But other than that, eh. The design was lovely, though.
McSweeney's 6
Some of this was enjoyable, other parts of it didn't work so much. First of all, when the songs were too short, there was all this pressure (intended or not) to read quickly. Secondly, some of the songs were way too literal. But I did like the blue stones. And the song about bangs was nice. And the art of Walter Koenigstein (and the accompanying music by They Might Be Giants) was actually pretty incredible.
McSweeney's 5
Overall, enjoyable, but still, a bit of a mixed bag. Enjoyable (Marcus's "Literary Enhancement Through Food Intake," Lennon's "The Accursed Items," and Klemm's "Mr. Squishy") to funny (Werthmann's "Hot Sex Story Lost in the Thicket of Humanity") to just kind of eh (Feeney's "The Days Here," Davis's "Marie Curie, Honorable Woman," and LaFarge's "The Observers.") My take on these stories is probably more due to my personal tastes, though, than any skill or nonskill on the part of the authors, who seem genuinely decent. So.

nonfiction

The Social Construction of What?, Ian Hacking
Almost makes the social constructionist side of the science wars sympathetic (to me). But it seems to verstate the "scientists'" viewppoint in regards to the development of science as more dogmatically predetermiistic than it really is. Lots of us accept the idea that science could have and still can develop in many directions, and that certain ideas could conceivably have been skipped entirely in development. Or that there are multiple ways of formulating the same idea (wave v. matrix mechanics, for example).

Overall, though, it's a good book, and captures the "debates" pretty well (and in some ways, reframes them well). That said, argh, the copy editor sucks. Too many typos mar this well-argued book.
The New Geography, Joel Kotkin
Maybe I've been reading too many legal texts lately, but the problem I've had with reading city-studies type books is that they don't make their argument very clear. What's the thesis of this book? It's unclear. Somehow changes is technology is changing how we view cities. Nice, but not well structured. Blah blah blah, we gain stuff, blah blah blah, we lose stuff. Um.
The Economy of Cities, Jane Jacobs
I need to read more, I need to figure out more. Jane Jacobs goes into her theories about the evolution of cities. It's almost like a prequel to Rise of the Creative Class, a book that's out nowadays that I haven't read but I can't imagine doesn't build off Jacobs's writings. Her ideas center around her thesis that what makes cities economically vibrant is how they enhance innovation--a simple thesis, but she develops it well.
Free Agents: A History of Washington, D.C. Graffiti, Roger Gastman (comp.)
Pretty incredible. Not just for the art, which is in itself pretty incredible (it's *hard* to paint with spray cans, at least for me), but for the language of it all. Tags. Getting up. Writers. Black books. Bombing. Toys. Piecing. Wildstyle. Wow, just wow. I am just so ignorant. The feeling of discovery I had reading this book was amazing. (One minor annoying point about the book, though--there's some awful typos in there. annoying.)
The Power of Maps, Denis Wood
Odd postmodern critique of maps, and about how they obscure judgments under the guise of objectivity. Sure. Anyway, I read it for fiction-writing inspiration, and I think I got that out of the book, so yay.
Bird Watching in the Americas, Donald Heintzelman
Not amusing as the other bird book I'd bought. I mean, sure, it lists what major types of birds are found in each location, but it doesn't have enough about bird watcher culture, which is what I'm really fascinated by.
Nicaraguan Sketches, Julio Cortazar
Cortazar, in the early 80s, traveling and living in Nicaragua and documenting the lives of the people.
Birding for Beginners, Sheila Buff
Yeah, I've decided to learn about birding. Both as a hobby (not that I've started, but I've been putting out feelers), and as professional development. Because in my line of work, it seems somewhat useful to know what a woodcock is. This book isn't a bad introduction. Buff says things like, "You should wear such-and-such -- it'll make you look dorky, but who cares! You're a birder." That kind of acknowledgement is just great. And the lists, the way birders like to keep lists, that just makes me all warm and fuzzy with empathy.
Dirty Little Secrets of the Twentieth Century, James Dunnigan
No idea how I got this book (a gift? an accidental self-purchase? a loan?), but there it was, in my unread pile at home. So I read it. And it was awful. I won't go into how it's a pile of right-wing claptrap, or how I know that tons of the "facts" in there have been rebutted, many times, in mainstream analyses. I'll just say this: there are no sources in the books. Nada, zip, nothing. There.
The Alphabet Versus the Goddess, Leonard Shlain
I got this book specifically to get annoyed, and boy was I not disappointed! First of all, the logic used in the book was just terrible. Like numerologists, Shlain picks on tenuous and contrived connections, and converts them into "proofs" of his theory -- that writing itself leads to dominance by the patriarchal mindset. Every chapter is a parade of horribles ending with "and all because of the madness of the printing press."
Conspiring with Forms, Terry Caesar
Just weird. I mean, I got interested in it because it started off as a lit crit analysis of, er, recommendation letters. Then the rest of it gets all lit critty about English department politics and stuff, which is fine, but which I'd rather see in fiction.
A Beautiful Mind, Sylvia Nasar
I'm guessing this was much more in-depth than the movie was. Certainly Andrea (who read and watched both, and from whom I borrowed the book) says so. I'm told the movie left tons of stuff out, too. Ugh. The book, however, is a great narrative of Nash's life, tons of stuff I'd never known, being familiar with him only through the Nash equilibrium and all. It was also nice (as Andrea said to me) to see our MIT prof, Arthur Mattuck, in the book.
Who Rules in Science?, James Robert Brown
Wow. This was a great overview of the "science wars" (the debates between and among scientists and humanities people regarding the nature of science, the existence or nonexistence of objectivity, and the methods of science. Brown does a pretty good job of remaining respectful throughout, and of describing all the "camps" (with numerous caveats, of course) in the debate.
Salt: A World History, Mark Kurlansky
I got this book because I like salt. And it's great. . . for someone who likes salt. Otherwise, it doesn't have much of a point, as the Washington Post book review pointed out. (Someone at the book signing pointed out that Kurlansky's other food tome, Cod, is much better. "My heart belongs to Cod," as she put it.) But Salt's still a great history on salt! It's also inspired me to maybe get a tattoo of the word "salt," in old Chinese calligraphy form, just over my left shoulder. A celebration of my love for salt, some sort of cultural representation, and a warding off of bad luck, all at once.
Culture Matters: How Values Shape Human Progress, Lawrence E. Harrison and Samuel P. Huntington (eds.)
Eh, this was okay. I mean, you have to hand it to them to take on such a controversial topic, and to try to include various opposing views (like Richard Schweder's), but all the same, it was fairly uneven. Some essays were pretty insightful ("Disaggregating Culture," by Nathan Glazer, I'd pick as one), while others were terribly simplistic. Plus a lot of the analyses seemed to have a bunch of (unstated) assumptions. And I think I disagree with tons of it. Though it's good for me to read stuff I disagree with.
Emergence: The Connected Lives of Ants, Brains, Cities, and Software, Steven Johnson
Awesome! Fun stuff about self-organizing forms in biology, software, urban spaces, and the internet. Gets a little too giddy about the potentials they have, but hey, it's still a great read.

that i won't be finishing, for various reasons

Digital Leatherette, Steve Beard
Too cyberpunk! And too disconnected, in the same way that Coover's A Night at the Movies was. Trying to be clever, but not.