So, to get started, the list of books I bought in June 2010:
Books Read in June 2010:
Ok, that looks bad, I know it. If we’re measuring success rates, my buy/read rate is, “Quick, someone get the smart kid to figure out the percentage” bad. Before you start hurling rotten tomatoes and copies of The DaVinci Code at me let me try and explain some of why that is.
First, I have this thing about buying books that I’ve read and really liked, that I intend to give away at a later time as gifts, extras in packages, or to people who come over my apartment and ask, “Do you recommend any good books?” I like to have a stockpile ready to go, and this month I added a few extras to that pile (The Risk Pool, The Beach, and a few others.) Plus, whenever possible, I also try and “upgrade” books that I’ve already purchased/read/enjoyed (and by upgrade I mean a hardcover or full-size paperback versus a trade edition, or finding a 1st Edition, etc.) Also, sometimes I forgot what I already have. It happens. A lot. Plus, for the better part of June, I was traveling across half of the US. From Rochester, NY to College Station, TX. In between I worked. And tried to fight the heat. These are my excuses and I’m sticking to them. But those out of the way, I digress to the discussion…
I’ve never read Leonard. Or Boyle. Or Proulx. Or Augusten Burroughs. I’ve been meaning to read The Kite Runner, and House Of Sand and Fog, and Prozac Nation for a while. I’ve seen the movie adaptations of the latter two, and liked them well enough. Pynchon, Rushdie, and Oates are held in such high regard that I figured I owed it to myself to figure out why. And somehow, through years of taking Lit class after Lit class I managed to avoid reading some of the classics: Moby Dick, Brave New World, The Dubliners, and Tender Is The Night. I know, I’ve sinned, what can I say? And I understand that the sin of not having read Moby Dick doesn’t even come close to the sin of spending money–albeit a quarter–on a Dan Brown book. There is no defense for such treachery, I accept that. But if there was it would sound like this: years ago and knee-deep into the hype I bought The Da Vinci Code for my then girlfriend as a Christmas present because she really wanted to read it. I admit I too wanted to see what all the hype was about. So when she wasn’t looking I read some of The Da Vinci Code. I didn’t finish it but I read enough to see how Brown could sell so many copies of that book. One, the story read quick. Two, it didn’t take much in the way of intelligence to read it. And three, it was rooted in Christianity. Mel Gibson proved you could make billions on a movie if you just put Christ’s name in the title, even if the end result was a video for Devo’s “Whip It” thirty years too late. But anyway, back to Brown, when reading The Da Vinci Code I didn’t think much at all in terms of his writing skill, but still, as someone who also likes to write, I think there’s something to be said about studying the hows and whys of best-selling writers by giving their books a chance. Even if you think what they’re producing is crap. I guess it’s sort of like watching The Hills if you’re a wannabe screenwriter, only without semi-good looking obnoxious rich chicks. Or something. Anyway, that’s my defense.
Some other ones on the “Bought” list that I’m really looking forward to are Tree Of Smoke by Denis Johnson and Cormac McCarthy’s All The Pretty Horses. I’ve read a few of McCarthy’s books and they all make me hate him because he’s so damn good. This book I’ve always put off reading with the sole reason being the Matt Damon connection from the movie adaptation. Matt Damon makes me want to choke midgets, and though I know I shouldn’t hold Cormac McCarthy’s novel responsible for that, for years I have. This copy I picked up at a gem of a used bookstore just outside of Rochester for $2.98, and it came with an inscription:
A big part of the reason why I love used books so much is their collected history: who owned the book, who loved it, who hated it, where they read it, when they read it, etc. Sometimes you get little notes and phone numbers jotted in the margins. Sometimes you get certain passages underlined. Sometimes those passages are highlighted. Other times you get personal endearments. On a side note, the first time I actually signed my name to a book with my name printed on the author page, I’ve looked different at books that are signed by names other than the one who authored the book. I’m not saying anything against the practice of doing that, but it’s kind of strange I think, like autographing your name and super-personal message to the liner notes of Bacdafucup by Onyx. It just seems sort of out of place, like telling your first cousin at their wedding that they are the love of your life. But anyway…the message in this copy of All The Pretty Horses seemed especially endearing. It was given as a Christmas present, and judging by the choice of words it seems perhaps that the giver hoped McCarthy’s words might say things that perhaps he couldn’t. But somehow, for some reason, it ended up on the carpet in a bookstore in Spencerport, New York. Maybe the person who received All The Pretty Horses thought it read more like an ugly dog. Maybe the person who was gifted the book didn’t feel the same way for the person who did the gifting. Maybe they just needed to clear room on their bookshelf for the new James Patterson book. I don’t know. But with used books the unknown is half the story.
Last, at least in terms of the “Bought” books, Fredrick Douglass’ Narrative Of The Life Of Fredrick Douglass has always been a must read for me. Douglass is a very large figure in the history of the city of Rochester. So much so that he’s buried here. I figure I owe the man the respect of reading his life story considering I’ve stood six feet above his remains. In fact, that should be a new rule or something; if you visit the grave of someone who is famous you owe them the respect to study why. Used copies of Douglass’ book don’t pop up too often around Rochester. It figures that I would be 1600 miles away, in Texas, where the majority of people probably don’t know who the hell Fredrick Douglass was, when I finally found a copy.
Now, in terms of the two I read, Chuck Palahniuk’s Tell-All was lackluster, predictable, and further evidence that he’s turning into the literary version of M. Night Shyamalan, while The Card: Collectors, Con-Men, and the True Story of History’s Most Desired Baseball’s Card was a riveting page-turner if, for no other reason, because I grew up collecting baseball cards, Honus Wagner’s card is the Holy Grail of the hobby, and the most famous example of this card (which makes up the bulk of the heart of this book) has such a compelling story to it that it’s like a soap opera and your favorite detective novel/tv show rolled into one. It’s really good, and perhaps the best part, I picked a copy up at Dollar Tree. It was easily worth double what I paid.
Truth be told, Tell-All does have its funny parts, and it’s full of Palahniuk’s trademarks. But the never-ending name-dropping (Yes, I get that was the point) of long-dead “stars” that most non-celebrity whores like myself have probably never heard of was such a distraction that I had to put the book down every other paragraph to try and refocus. I got through it, but barely. Add in the inevitable Palahniuk twist, which becomes see-through less than a quarter of the way into the book, and it didn’t even feel fun to read. It felt like the novel equivalent to watching the E: True Hollywood Story on the cast of “Emily’s Reasons Why Not.” What was that show? Exactly. Tell-All was “better” than Palahniuk’s last effort Pygmy but only by default.
To people reading this, if you’ve read any of the books listed above and have anything–good or bad–to say about them I’d be interested to hear it. I don’t have a “To Read” pile of books anymore; at the rate I buy books I don’t want to risk such a pile crashing down on my foot when I’m not looking. Health insurance costs too much, and my dog is clumsy to begin with, so help a brother out.
I realize this, whatever you want to call it, was unbalanced and all over the place. There’s always next month and try and get things “right.”
In closing I leave you with a page from Elmore Leonard’s 1o Rules Of Writing (I lied, I have read something of his before.) The book is super-quick to read (like less than 10 minutes), insightful, and pretty damn funny. Anyway, to the rule, which I totally agree with:
