Memoirs, for me, usually fall into two categories: those I think I could have written, and those whose lives are unique, unusual and fascinating. I prefer the latter, obviously, and this one by Jeannette Walls, falls solidly into the that category. She had a whopper of a childhood: fascinating and horrible at the same time. Basically, it’s the story of her childhood, and what a childhood. Her father was an alcoholic, her mother an “excitement addict”, and her sisters and brother and her were left to fend for themselves. In practically every way. Literally. When she was little, and they were living in the desert — in Nevada, Arizona and California — it wasn’t so bad. But, eventually her father’s drinking got really bad and her mother thought that moving back to his hometown would help (why she thought that was beyond me), and so they moved to West Virginia. From there, Walls’s life became particularly hard. Her parents wouldn’t take welfare or charity, so the kids took to fending for themselves. Digging lunch out of the garbage, getting work where ever they could. The house had no indoor plumbing, and was falling apart. The grandparents — especially Erma — were a real piece of work. It’s a wonder Walls survived at all.

I was caught between admiration for her parent’s fierce sense of independence and lack of judgement of others (and statements that no one should judge them) and horror at the good values gone wrong. They were parents, for God’s sake. They should act like parents. My great-great grandfather was a drunk — he’d go off to work in the morning, earn the money, and then spend it all on booze and come home to beat his wife and kids — but at least my great-great grandmother had the wits and the resources to earn money and raise her children. Neither one of Walls’s parents had that. Her mother spent her days painting and reading and eating chocolate, rather than buying food for her kids. Her father spent his days dreaming about striking it rich and drinking the income away. I felt bad for Walls, even though I don’t think she wanted us to feel bad. This was who she is, and I don’t think she wanted our charity or pity. She survived, she managed to find her way in life. And she did it basically on her own. She’s very independent, she had some wonderful experiences as a child — ones that our kids, as scheduled and structured as they are could never have — and she loves her family, crazy as they are. I think that’s what she was trying to get across — that even though it was horrible, she survived, thrived, and managed not to get stuck in that trap.

There is much to discuss about this book — poverty, and escaping poverty (I’m finding in my reading that one of the best ways to escape is through some sort of brilliance; if you’re smart, you can find a way out.); parenting; structuring of children; judgements; the 50s and 60s… it goes on and on. And it’s a fascinating, well-written, engrossing read. Just not a comfortable one.

I was really glad when I saw that this one came in (Eventually I’ll read Rascal.) at the library. I’ve wanted to read this ever since I saw a bit about it at someone’s roundup of some publishing conference (how’s that for specific) primarily because I’m a fan of Steve Martin. Not a big fan — I don’t love everything he’s done — but I generally enjoy his humor, and I’ve enjoyed his writing in the past. A memoir by him sounded both funny and intriguing.

Martin insists that this book isn’t an autobiography, but rather a biography, because, he writes, “I am writing about someone I used to know.” I enjoyed getting to know that person. While it wasn’t always funny (though there were some great funny bits), it was an insightful, gentle trip into how Steve Martin became the Steve Martin of the late-70s and early-80s. (He’s no longer that Steve Martin. One of my favorite lines was: “At first I was not famous enough, then I was too famous, now I am famous just right.”) I learned that being a comic is work (probably should have figured that), that when people stand up to entertain us, it doesn’t just happen spontaneously. One of the more interesting aspects of the book was the evolution of Martin’s comedy. From magician-banjo-everyguy to hippie-cuttingedge-philosophical guy (get the book just to see photos of Martin’s hippie days… they’re hilarious) to finally what he ended up as: manic-physical-crazy guy. Fascinating stuff. I also learned that his rise to fame was not just a product of hard work (he’d tape his shows and make corrections/adjustments based on what he heard), but also a bit of luck (he got on as a writer on the Smothers Brothers show because an ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend was a writer), and because he’s basically a decent guy. He was willing to be polite and willing to be humble and willing to make the effort to make it all happen. And it was interesting watching the evolution of it all and finding out why he gave up the life of a stand up comic for movies and writing (well, who wouldn’t?).

The weirdest thing about it all was the writing style. I don’t know what I was expecting and I can’t quite put my finger on it. But there was something about the way it was written that kept nagging at me. Perhaps because he got a bit overly sentimental at times? Or maybe because he kept flipping back between past and future and the foreshadowing just didn’t fit? Or maybe because it wasn’t as funny as I was expecting it to be?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to keep me from really enjoying this trip down Martin’s memory lane. I’m glad he invited us along for the ride.

My friend Sarah recommended this one for our in-person book group; we’ve been passing her two copies around since the library doesn’t have one. And it was my turn to have the great pleasure of reading Tetsuko Kuroyangai’s wonderful little memoir.

It’s the most unusual memoir I’ve read recently. It’s in the third person and reads more like a work of fiction than a collection of personal recollections. That, and it’s so simply, so cheerfully written that it’s not just an easy read, but an entertaining one as well.

The story is about Totto-Chan, Kuroyanagi’s childhood name, and her experiences at the Tomoe (to-mo-e) Gakuen school, an alternative elementary school outside of Tokyo designed and run by Sosaku Kobayashi from 1937 to 1945. He believed in a whole education — and this book is as much a portrait of an ideal school as it is a memoir — and letting the child determine his or her place in school. He taught music, believed in exploring nature, used everyday experiences (like lunch) as teaching tool, and created a wholesome environment so that the children attending developed confidence and self-esteem. It was truly remarkable to read about.

I’m sure much could be said about the educational value of the book, and the critique it indirectly gives of modern education. I, however, preferred enjoying it on a simpler level: as a series of sweet reflections of a woman about her idyllic childhood. Either way, it’s a wonderful little book.

This little book, by puppeteer Kevin Clash (with Gary Brozek, in very small print), is one-part memoir, one-part glimpse into the world of Sesame Street and one-part life-affirming-self-help-ish-type book. I liked two-thirds of it.

The memoir part was fascinating. Have you ever wondered how a 45-year-old, tall black guy ends up playing a 3 1/2-year-old furry red monster? I have. Ever since I found out that the same guy played both Hoots the Owl and Elmo (as well as Natasha the baby monster), I’ve wondered about him. How did he get into puppetry? How did he end up being Elmo, of all muppets… This book answers some of those questions. He had a poor, but loving, and nearly idyllic (if you believe everything he writes) childhood. His parents were awesome — how many parents would take their child’s love of puppets and wholeheartedly support it? And his evolution as a puppeteer and a performer is fascinating, too.

I loved the parts about Sesame Street, too. Jim Henson was probably the world’s best boss, and Clash gives you a little insight into that world. I appreciated the logic and the insider dope on some of the global spin-offs, as well as the Sesame Street’s evolution here. (Especially since I stopped watching the show with my kids sometime in 2002. C was the last one who really watched it. A didn’t have much interest in it, and since we don’t have cable now and the local PBS station’s signal is weak, we don’t even get it anymore.) I haven’t always liked what they’ve done with the show, but I understand the reasoning behind it. Clash took us through the whole process from curriculum design through to rehearsals and test audiences. It was pretty interesting, too.

But when he tried to sum the whole thing up into little bits of advice (good advice: love, joy, creativity, tolerance courage, friendship, cooperation, learning, optimism), it just felt forced. I would have rather read a book about Clash’s life, his experiences with being a master puppeteer, and left the whole life affirming stuff off. Even so, it wasn’t too obnoxious and overbearing. And it was worth it to read about his life and work.

I’ve had my eye on this for a little while; I know it’s been making the blog rounds where it’s been getting overwhelmingly positive reviews. So, when Hubby’s colleague loaned it to us a month ago, I jumped at the chance to skip the hold line at the library and actually read the book.

A. J. Jacobs is a man with a mission, crazy though it might be (especially for an agnostic, secular Jew): to live the teachings of the Bible — all of them — as literally as possible for an entire year. He grows a huge beard, he wears white, he dances with joy, he sacrifices an animal (well, pays to have one sacrificed), he prays… the list goes on.

It’s an ambitious project, as Jacobs soon finds out; he’s attempting to do in one year what most people don’t accomplish in a lifetime. But he’s game, almost naively so, to give it a try. And the result is a funny, fascinating, enlightening book.

Jacobs spends eight months of the year exploring the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible, partially because he’s Jewish (at least by heritage) and partially because so much of the Bible (comparatively speaking) is made up of the Old Testament. It’s an interesting journey, full of bumps and starts and failures and revelations. I thoroughly enjoyed his journey with prayer; being reminded, in the process, of things that I could be doing better. I enjoyed his experiences with the weirder aspects of the Bible (like not wearing mixed fibers), and his
ultimate realization that sometimes you do things just because God asked you. I liked the New Testament part less, mostly because — and Jacobs admits that this is a problem — without believing in Jesus as the Savior, the New Testament isn’t as easy to follow. Still, he makes a go at it, exploring many facets of Christianity (including snake handlers… go figure) with an open mind.

It helps that Jacobs is a witty, engaging writer, as well as an honest and forthright one (well that is one of the commandments, after all). It’s an excellent read.

First, some history. Back in 2001 Hubby brought home a New York Times Magazine article by Michael Pollan had written about corn and the effect it is havingAmerican diets. I read it, was sufficiently shocked, and started reading ingredient labels. A anti-corn syrup activist was born. I have changed my diet (and my family’s) significantly in the past 7 1/2 years: I make my own bread, we limit the cereal and snack intake, we only have soda rarely. Aside from that article, the other motivators for food change over the years have been Fast Food Nation (which Hubby read; he said I probably couldn’t stomach the slaughtering chapters) and Crunchy Cons. We rarely eat at fast food (not never, though I do loathe McDonalds these days), and we try our best to buy local, especially when it comes to food. (Warning: this is one LONG review. Sorry.)

So this book, for me, was not so much a revelation as a confirmation. I can — and should — take the next step, take our food awareness to a slightly higher level (even if that means, much to C’s distress, getting rid of chicken nuggets and hot dogs and mac-and-cheese in a box).

The book is divided up in to three parts: Industrial, Organic, and Foraging, where he follows four meals from the beginning through to eating them. In industrial, he follows corn through corn-fed steers being “processed” to eating at McDonalds. If you read nothing else out of this book, read this section. Please. The only way we’ll even remotely begin to change the hold of industrial agribusiness has on this country is if more people know. (At one point, Pollan writes that the best way to change things would be to require glass walls on all slaughterhouses. Then, the public would be forced to acknowledge what goes on in those places in the name of cheap beef.)

The organic section was the one that I found most interesting. Pollan’s ultimate conclusion is that big organic (Whole Foods, Trader Joes, what you get at the supermarket) isn’t a whole lot better than industrial agriculture. I found this somewhat surprising. But, he visited farms and feedlots, and was unimpressed with the organicness of it all. Sure, they didn’t use pesticides or antibiotics, but the vegetables were still being picked by immigrant workers and the animals were still living in overcrowded conditions. Not exactly environmentally healthy, even if there is an “organic” stamp on it. (He also spends a lot of time talking about USDA regulations. If you can read this book and not end up angry at the USDA, I’ll be impressed.)

The second part of the organic section is Pollan’s ultimate ideal. He spent a week at Polyface farm, run by Joel Salatin. This man is an impressive farmer. He considers himself a”grass farmer“, rethinking how he raises cows, chickens, pigs, and rabbits. Everything is eco-friendly, local and interconnected. It’s an amazing place (it almost sounds too good to be true), and it made me wish for such a place closer to me (either that, or that I still lived in the DC area so I could pop down for a visit). It also made me realize that even though I buy local, I haven’t visited the farms where I get my meat. How are the animals living? How are they slaughtered and processed? I should be more proactive.

The final section is his attempt to recreate the hunter-gatherer. He hunts for wild boar. He forages for mushrooms, and serves a meal, in the end, that cost him practically nothing (except for time). He also visits vegetarianism, and the implications that has for modern eating. It’s all very fascinating (and well-written).

But, in the end, it leaves me slightly depressed. How many people are going to pick up this book? How many people can it change? Sure, organics and farmers markets are growing, but (as we’ve found out), it’s expensive. We spend a good chunk of our monthly paycheck on food, and it’s not because we’re buying more. I liked this quote (from Joel Salatin):

“Whenever I hear people say clean food is expensive, I tell them it’s actually the cheapest food you can buy… [W]ith our food all of the cost are figured into the price. Society is not bearing the cost of water pollution, of antibiotic resistance, of food-borne illnesses, of crop subsidies, of subsidized oil and water — of all the hidden costs to the environment and the taxpayer that make cheap food seem cheap. No thinking person will tell you they don’t care about all that. I tell them the choice is simple: You can buy honestly priced food or you can buy irresponsibly priced food.”

It just seems like a huge, uphill battle. But one in which I’m more than willing to do my part.

It’s not a perfect book, but I am glad I read it. Maybe I will survive my girls being teenagers. It’s like everything else: hard work, perseverance, mistakes, crying, and joy. Either that, or just cross my fingers and hope. Right?