Non-Fiction

From Scratch

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Inside the Food Network
by Allen Salkin
First sentence: “Before there was a Food Network, there was no Food Network, or even a world in which it was obvious that there ought to be a Food Network.”
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Content: It’s a non-fiction book, so there’s that. And people don’t always talk nicely, and Salkin didn’t do anything to prettify it, so there’s a lot of swearing, including f-bombs. It’s in our film/TV section of the bookstore.

I picked this up because I have watched Food Network in the past (back when I lived in Mississippi and Arkansas) and I was, well, curious to see what Salkin had to say about the behind the scenes goings-on at the network.

The thing is: this wasn’t. Not really. It was a little bit: there were stories of how Alton Brown and Rachel Ray and Paula Deen and Emeril and Bobby Flay all got their shows, but it was more the story of the network as a whole.

Which means there was an awful lot about the whole business of the network. Getting it started, ad revenue, selling it, CEO changes, programming…. all of which is behind the scenes and dishy, but none of which I was interested in.

So, in truth, I actually ended up skimming this one, looking for the “good” bits (read: the stuff I was actually interested in), and then just kind of petering out near the end. I guess I wanted more gossip. (I suppose that say something about me.)  It wasn’t a badly written book, and I think someone who is interested in the business of television, or is interested in the Food Network and doesn’t mind the business of television would actually really like this one.

That someone just wasn’t me.

Audiobook: One Summer: American 1927

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by Bill Bryson
Read by the author
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Content: It’s popular history. And because of that, there is talk of sex and some swearing (maybe 4 or 5 f-bombs). It’s adult-oriented, but I’m sure an inquisitive high schooler could read it.

I adore Bill Bryson. Sure, he’s a former journalist and a popular historian, but he comes at history in such unique ways that I can’t help but love him. Rather than Another Dry Biography of any of the people he talks about in this book — Charles Lindberg, Babe Ruth, Jack Dempsey, Al Capone, Calvin Coolidge, Ruth Snyder, Niccola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, among others — he realized that talking about a summer, the summer where everything seemed to gel, would be so much more interesting.

And he was right.

He had me enthralled from the prologue when he talked about the failed attempts at flying across the Atlantic in the early 1920s. And he kept me enthralled (for the most part; I did tune out the banking parts) for the whole of the entire book. (Granted, that may be because I listened to it, and I love listening to Bill Bryson read his books. Kind of like Neil Gaiman.) It was chock full of trivia (the one thing I remember is that the summer of 1927, Memphis had the highest murder rate in the country, not Chicago), sure, but also of insightful passages. (I would quote them, but again: audio book.) That’s one of the things I love about Bryson; the way he throws in asides and commentary about his subject, but you never quite feel he’s being didactic. Snarky, yes. But didactic or preachy? No.

One of the things that I kept thinking as listened is just how much history repeats himself. And how much we ARE. Racism and trying to block immigrants? Check. (Except it’s south of the border and Middle East rather than Ireland, Italy, and Jews.) Banking bubble because politicians won’t regulate it? Check. I’m sure there are others, but (audio book, dangit!) I can’t think of them right now. I’d say everyone needs to read this for that reason — so we can grow and change and become better — but really? Read it because it’s Bill Bryson and it’s fascinating and a lot of fun.

You won’t regret it. Promise.

Blue Plate Special

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by Kate Christensen
First Sentence: “Often, whenever I come up against anything painful or difficult, my mind escapes to food.”
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Content: There are other issues, but mostly, lots of f-bombs (didn’t count).

I’m going to spare you this review and tell you what I think straight up: much like Vizzini, this book is not what Christensen (or I) thought it was. It says, right there on the cover, “An Autobiography of My Appetites.” And I thought: “Oh good! Food book!” Even though Christensen threw me a bone in the form of a recipe every once in a while (though honestly: BEAN BURRITOS), this had none of the hallmarks of a food book (except said recipes): luxurious, descriptive, evocative passages about the food and the eating experience.

What it was, however, was a very long, very involved, very sordid, very blunt telling of Christensen’s very messed-up life. It’s the epitome of tell-all: she Told it ALL, from her father’s abuse of her mother to her very horrid first marriage. I read the whole thing, though I often wondered why. (Actually, I knew why: it was one of those books that I kept hoping would get around to being what I Wanted It To Be, but never did. Those are the WORST KIND.) I wondered what the point was, because even though Christensen led an adventurous life, the book version of it was anything but interesting. I don’t know what her purpose was: to make us feel sorry that she never appreciated anything? To purge all her secrets so that she can make a fresh start? Whatever it was, all I got was annoyed: annoyed that she was going amazing places and not Taking Advantage. Annoyed that she spent her 30s drunk and unhappy. Annoyed that I picked up this stupid book in the first place.

The writing wasn’t even lyrical, or evocative. It was boring on a sentence level. Which makes me wonder about her novels, which I’ve never read. But then again, a person may be able to write a novel, but not manage to be evocative about a picnic in Italy. I think I’ll go find some Frances Mayes as a counter balance.

Audiobook: I am America (And So Can You)

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by Stephen Colbert
read by the author
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I picked this up on a whim because I needed something short, and I was in the mood for something funny. And, even though I’m not a fan of his show, I had hopes Colbert would be both.

Well. It was short, anyway.

As for the funny, sometimes it was. There were moments — I can’t remember them now, though — when I did chuckle, guffaw, and few when I snorted. But, mostly I had to constantly remind myself that he doesn’t mean any of this. I’m not quite sure if this was a parody of or a commentary on conservative thinking, but either way, I spent a good part of the time thinking “What’s the point?”

If his point was commentary, then sometimes it was brilliant. Sometimes, he went on rants that I thought worked if you heard (in this case) them ironically. And sometimes, I thought that it was a terrific parody of conservative culture. But — perhaps like all good parodists (is that a word?) — it was uneven. Sometimes it worked. Mostly, though (and this is because humor is really subjective), it didn’t work for me. Every time I found myself ticked off or agreeing with something Colbert said, I had to remind myself he doesn’t mean ANY of it. Or if he does, it’s so hard to filter what’s “real” and what isn’t that I just gave up.

I did come to one conclusion, though: give me Jon Stewart and I’m a happy person.

The Telling Room

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A Tale of Love, Betrayal, Revenge, and the World’s Greatest Piece of Cheese
age: adult
First sentence: “This particular story begins in the dusky hollows of 1991, remembered a rotten year through and through by almost everybody living, dead, or unborn.”
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This tale — and it is, in many, many ways a “Tale” — begins in my hometown of Ann Arbor, Michigan, with a University of Michigan masters writing student. He needed a job, so he picks up one as a copyeditor for the Zingerman’s Deli newsletter. There he is introduced to Ambrosio Molinos and the Páramo de Guzmán.

And he — the author — is enthralled. Ambrosio is larger than life. Guzmán is charming. So much so that Paterniti moves his family there for a year. And the cheese… well… by the time Paterniti gets to Spain, the cheese doesn’t exist anymore. See: Ambrosio had a good thing going. He dreamt of, and made by all accounts, a brilliant sheep cheese. It won awards. It got the attention of the king, of international buyers. But. Things went south. Ambrosio said it was his best friend, the lawyer Julián who betrayed him. He sold the business out from under Ambrosio, leaving him destitute.

Except, while that makes a good Story, the truth is so much more complicated than that.

One of the things that made this story so fascinating for me was that Paterniti was so caught up in it all. This book took 10 years for him to write, mostly because he didn’t want to believe Ambrosio’s story could be wrong. He wanted to believe that Ambrosio was a Real Thing, that his ideal of Rural and Simple could work. And it took a long time for him to be able to step away from it and see the big picture. But, as he writes about Abrosio, Guzmán, and his own personal journey, you can’t help but get caught up in it all as well. It’s a layered story, with many diversions (my only real complaint is that the footnotes would sometimes get in the way of the story), side roads, and interesting people along the way. It’s a great story.

And a great book.

The Dude and the Zen Master

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by Jeff Bridges and Bernie Glassman
ages: adult
First sentence:
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The thing I like most about this book — and what drew me to it in the first place — is the title. I liked that they’re playing off of The Big Lebowski and Jeff Bridge’s role in it. I like the thought that the Dude is a Zen master. I also like the idea of Jeff Bridges as the Dude and the Bernie Glassman is a Zen master.

I don’t know what I really expected from this book. It is exactly what it claims to be: a conversation between Jeff and Bernie. Nothing more.

And that’s where the problems lie. Although we get a bit of history about Bridges’ life — his childhood, his marriage, his acting — it’s mostly just a long, winding conversation about whatever strikes the fancy of these two men. Which is interesting, for the most part. They riff (best word, that) on Zen, The Dude, Buddhism, acting, activism, love, music, politics.

What it’s not is linear. And (for me at least), that mattered a great deal. I think they tried to have everything tie into something Meaningful, but it just didn’t work as a whole. So, I took to reading it in small chunks. Which made it work better. I’d read until I got tired of their circular discussion (and honestly, of Bridges: he talks a lot — either that or Bernie is just a great listener — and he doesn’t always make sense) and then put the book down for a few days.

In the end, it wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t terrific either. I’m going to be Zen about it though, and just accept it and move on.

It’s what they would have wanted.

Mama Makes Up Her Mind

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And Other Dangers of Southern Living

by Bailey White

ages: adult
First sentence: “The other day Mama made up her mind she wanted some smoked mullet.”
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This one, generally speaking, has everything I want in a book: short, personal essays with Southern flavor. But, perhaps for the same problem I have with David Sedaris, I didn’t find it funny.
I  wanted to: Bailey White, first grade teacher and unmarried woman living with her eccentric mother, is a good writer, and the stories she tells were pretty outrageous. The sort of rural crazy that you really only see down South. But, while I enjoyed some of the stories the — the bit about the wildflower garden was my favorite, as was her stories about cleaning out her mother’s house — I never really laughed.
Maybe I was expecting too much, hoping for hilarious when all I got was amusing. I’m not sorry I read it, but it’s also not something I’d want to read again. 

Audiobook: Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls

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by David Sedaris
read by the author
ages: adult
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A long, long time ago my frend Wendy dragged me (literally; I had no idea what was going on) to see David Sedaris live. I had a blast; he was hilarious, and I couldn’t wait to read some of his writing.

Except. I didn’t laugh when I read his essays. Which lead me to believe one thing: Sedaris is better when he reads his writing than when I do.

And I was right.

I picked up the audio book of his latest group of essays, and I actually found them funny. Some more so (Obama!!!!! or The Cold Case) than others (the stories on the last disc were pretty weird; though there’s satire about the “slippery slope” of having gay marriage legalized that’s pretty topical). I think I laughed the hardest on the ones where he recorded before a live audience; something about other people laughing made me laugh as well.

I don’t really have much else to say about this one. It’s quintessential Sedaris, with his trademark irony and dead-pan humor. Which means, if you like that kind of thing, you’ll like this. I’d just recommend listening to it.

The Little Way of Ruthie Leming

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by Rod Dreher
ages: adult
First sentence: “
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Review copy was sent by the publisher to my husband, who then passed it on to me.

I’ve been hearing for years from my husband about Rod Dreher, with whom he’s had a passing internet “relationship” for quite some time. I’ll be up front: Hubby loved this book. And when he (Hubby, not Rod) passed me this book he said, “You need to read this so you can understand why I want a cow.”

The book, simply, is Rod’s memoir about his growing up in a small Louisiana town, and his relationship with his younger sister as she battled cancer.

Writing that sentence made this book seem really trite, when it actually wasn’t. There are a lot of layers to this — I can see why Hubby enjoyed it — about the the good and bad in individual people, about tension within families, about the tragedy of an early death. Rod has a good story here, and is (thankfully) honest about the good and the bad in all situations. But, mostly what comes through is the love that he has for his sister, Ruthie, and the love that the town had for her.

I was grateful that he showed the tension between the positive and the negative; Ruthie was never deified (even though he considers her a Saint, in the traditional religious sense), and came off as a very good, very human person. I appreciated that he acknowledged the importance of place in a person’s life, and how good it is to belong somewhere. I appreciated, too, that he recognized that living in a small town (especially a small Southern town) is a double-edged sword: there are equal measures of generosity and backbiting involved.

The only drawback was the kind-of clunky writing style. Rod’s a columnist, and many times this read like a really, really long newspaper column or blog post. But, once I got used to that, I could sit back and enjoy the story he had to tell. I don’t know if it was a great one — and I’m still not sure about the whole cow thing — but it was a good one. And I appreciate my husband wanting to share that with me.

What Would Barbara Do?

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How Musicals Changed My Life
by Emma Brockes
ages: adult
First sentence: “To give you an idea of the scale of what we are dealing with here, I’d like to begin with an act of superstition.”
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Emma adores musicals. And that’s not exactly a cool thing for a 20-something English gal. So, she adores them in quiet. (Well, only some of them. The Good ones.) As she’s grown up, she’s discovered that there are two types of people: those who like musicals, and those who don’t Get It.

This little book is basically a memoir framed around musicals. Which wasn’t a bad thing. Brockes has Definite Opinions about musicals (some of which I agreed with; others which I didn’t), and isn’t afraid to own the fact that she adores the whole genre. She’s not an “expert”, but she is an enthusiast, which qualifies her to give her opinion about such things. Right?

Well… actually, that’s kind of what annoyed me about this one. The subtitle gave me the impression that either 1) she really had something new and original to say about musicals, or 2) she had a really crappy life, and somehow musicals pulled her out of it. But, truth be told: it was neither of those things. It was a story about a middle class suburban girl who grew up with a mother who loved musicals and thought they were dorky until she was able to accept the dorkiness and own it. (Oh, and there was actually very little about Barbara Streisand to boot.) And she needed 264 pages to get through that.

In the end, I’m not sure if I disliked this one because of my expectations about it. Or if it was Brockes came off as a pompous twit. And even though I finished it (admittedly skimming the last bits), I don’t think it was worth my time.

Is there any other book about musicals out there that would be a better read than this one?