Non-Fiction and Fun (Or the lack there of…)

Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov, A Brief History of TIme by Stephen Hawking Ph.D., Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks by Ethan Gilsdorf and Structural Power and the Construction of Markets: The Case of Rhythm and Blues by Timothy J. Dowd Ph.D., an article published in Comparative Social Research, Volume 21: of all of these, I think I enjoyed the latter the most.

I don't read a lot of non-fiction so perhaps I don't know what to look for to judge it's merits and faults, but in terms of what was the most fun, or what would I recommend to someone else, I have to go with Gilsdorf. If you make it through the free online preview without laughing, then I doubt our reading interest will ever coincide. I wish I'd taken notes while reading the Hawking, my retention would then have been much higher. I should have known that Nabokov would be the most cerebral and intellectual of the bunch with his command and elegant mastery of the English language. As for beautiful writing, Nabokov again wins in terms of prose and sheer creativity in presentation of a memoir. (I still think the, 'best' bit of writing within Speak, Memory was Nabokov's 'review' of the work at the end. It is much like the forward to Lolita except greatly expanded.)

I think non-fiction has some form of reader engagement that is, at the present, foreign to me. I can't say I ever, 'got into' any of these books except for the Dowd article--which covers a subject that I knew going into would have great immediate interest to me. Perhaps I'm going about things incorrectly and I need to follow some sort of primer as to how best enjoy non-fiction, and as always, I'm open to suggestions, but at the moment, I'm at a loss to see how book stores stay in business carrying as little fiction as they do. How does non-fiction sell as much as it does?

What am I missing? Why is the fiction market so tiny and yet that is what holds all my reading interest outside of academic writing concerning sociology? I once heard that the average person reads seventy pages in a book and then puts it down forever. If that statistic took into account non-fiction I kinda understand. I'd love to know further details of that study. To all the non-fiction lovers out there, I'm not hating, but have you heard of Arturo Perez-Reverte, John Connolly or a host of other I-have-read-everything-by-this-person-ever writers?

I've never been in with the 'in crowd' and I don't take the side of the minority 'just because,' but I'm missing (or have missed) the point when it comes to most non-fiction.

Atlanta Vintage Books

With used book stores I find it best to go inside without an agenda. If there is something specific you want, sure look for it but don't be surprised with what end up purchasing.

This is a store I had to tear myself away. A prior dinner engagement on the other side of town hastened me away and probably saved me a good bit of money as well. I need to dedicate a Saturday morning to going here in an effort to take it all in. I would also need a second job to shop here with regularity. (Actually, I need a full-time job, right now...)

I've already failed in my effort to not buy any books in the month of March so I didn't feel bad about the two I picked up today. The Dispossessed by Ursula K. LeGuin and Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev as translated by Constance Garret. (I usually limit my Russian translations to Richard Peaver and Larissa Volokhonsky but I seem to recall an interview where they greatly endorsed Garrent's work and haven't seen the need to do their own translation.) I've been wanting to read LeGuin for a long time, and I have been without any nineteenth century Russian literature longer than I would like.

Now to make you jealous. These are Easton Press Editions I purchased. In mint condition as defined by book antiquarians. I had never seen, or heard of these wonders of print until today, and I'm still blown away. The amazingly thick and textured paper, binding, and type surpass even what I had previously thought to be the pentacle of modern printing, the Everyman's Library. The ornate leather binding, and gold gilt edges combined to make you think of a brand new, really old book.

If you have the cash, and really like the book you are considering, they are well worth the price. If you find them as I did--in a used, second hand store-- in mint condition for twenty bucks a piece, you have to buy them. I'm here to tell ya, you may find no nicer book ever assembled than the Easton Press Editions.

These purchases bring to mind and interesting quandary and one I'd never thought to entertain before. Being these books are collectors editions, and perfect, should I got to the library and check out copies I want to read? I know myself too well. I'll read these, and enjoy them for the literature they are and the appreciate the art of the physical book, themselves. The illustrations rock something fierce for the record. Talk about, 'bringing the awesome...' Happily they are both short, so I won't have to worry about taking them around with me while reading. They look to be manageable in a small amount of reading time.

Now that you know how awesome I am because of what I bought today, I'm going to tell you why you should stop by Atlanta Vintage Books should you be in the metro area: it is a giant treasure box of stuff you didn't know you wanted, but upon entering you realize you can't do without.

Non-fiction is their staple, as is true with any book store, and they do a good bit of business with old books, like William Shakespeare's complete works in twenty volumes as published by blah blah and blah. As much as I loathe (and yes there is a difference between loath and loathe) the idea of people buying sets of books solely for looks, I do have to admit: those old books, look really cool. As do the 'new old' books I bought.

I was able to hold back and not go all out on the first edition, signed copies of Gone with the Wind or Atlas Shrugged simply because I've never made as much money as those books sell for let alone had as much expendable cash.

It's not Borders, or Barnes and Nobles, and things aren't filed or shelved as neatly as Amazon… but they do have a kick-ass espresso machine and pastry--both at no charge--in addition to providing a wonderfully unique and altogether pleasant book buying experience.

Shipwrecks by Akira Yoshimura

In this novel we are given an example of stark storytelling at it's best. You'll find none of the oft praised lyricism or deftly crafted (i.e. overwrought) literary allusions commonly employed by many writers. Instead, you are given a straightforward, dare I even say simple, account. The result may surprise some readers: power.

The emotions felt by the reader are a testament to Yoshimura's craft. He does not try to sway your feelings, but convincingly commands you to experience the story the way he wants you too. The prose itself is a bit of a paradox. I doubt the prose garnered any attention (in Japanese or English) for it's 'colorful brilliance' and yet, it is that lack of manufactured affectedness that is so often lauded and sought out in today's literature that makes Shipwrecks such a force to read. The nature of the prose is directly related to one of the major themes of the story: depravity. There is enough of all that is base and vile in human beings here to make Dostoevsky call shenanigans.

A small Japanese fishing village is incessantly teetering on the brink of starvation. This harsh reality has breed a very harsh people. Elderly and the sick are seen as mouths to feed that can make no contribution to the working healthy, and babies are mixed blessing for the same reason. Those in the prime of their life subject themselves to the hardest of work in the most difficult of conditions.

To alleviate some of the hardship--and free up on portion of food at every meal--selling family members into indentured servitude has become a viable option for many. The family can reap the monetary benefits right away, and the life of the servant is equally difficult work as life at home, or marginally harder, with better living conditions and a guarantee of regular meals.

Isaku's father has just sold himself for three years bringing his family a very large sum for so short a time. This leaves Isaku, at the age of nine, to look after his two younger sisters, one younger brother and mother. The story is of survival and of Isaku's hyper-accelerated coming of age. Making salt on the beaches to sell in the spring is a communal village custom. An extra added bonus is the occasional ship that the fires under the salt cauldrons lure into the reef in front the of the village's bay during rough weather.

The villagers treatment of a wrecked ship is reminiscent of American Indians collecting their prize on a buffalo hunt, nothing is wasted. The shipwrecks are a blessing that the villagers pray for. They look forward to the plunder, the luxuries, the huge quantity of bales of rich that a ship may have and never even acknowledge amorality of what they do.

As far as the plot goes, I haven't said anything you couldn't read on the back of the book, and there too ends the intrigue. What drives the book forward in the increasing sense of necessary moral depravity. The village occasionally lives under the threat of reprimand but not so much that they would change their ways. We are shown three years of Isaku's difficult, repetitious, not always bountiful life, and amongst the difficulty we find ourselves truly sympathizing with the lot this village has to endure. For me, there were no 'two sides of the equation.' There is no moral ambiguity to speak of as the loss of life and theft that a shipwreck brings is seen as a means of survival.

Through all of the novel's wonderfully blunt presentation it is very hard to put a finger on what propels the narrative forward but events are shaped by looming return of Isaku's father and what will be the state of the people he returns home to. A turn of events comes as the people's nature eventually comes to haunt them and all of their subtle deception and fraud amount to nothing. To say more would be to spoil a very delicate story. I encourage all to read the book and not plot summaries.

If I don't come across a more poignant work all year, I won't be surprised. I'm close to swearing off works longer than three hundred pages, as my favorite three books of the past three months have all clocked in well under that mark. Shipwrecks was a whopping one hundred eighty pages. The impact after so short a book is phenomenal. It is an alien world that feels familiar by the bounds of humanity. This is a book you talk about long after reading.

Rum Reviews: The Third Installment

Welcome to the third entry in my continuing series where I will give you the skinny on the good, the wretched, and the divine concerning what you should be drinking: rum.

It was currency in the Caribbean in the old days, George Washington demanded it be served at his inauguration, Ernest Hemingway lived off a diet of rum and shark flesh during his stint in Cuba, and now I'm here to help you navigate the top, the bottom, and all shelves in between concerning one of the world's greatest treasures.

Nothing fruity here, no flavored spirits to hide terrible production, or inept craftsmanship, just the booze. Feel free to suggest what you will for future installments and liquor representatives are more than welcome to provide me with your product concerning tasting and review.

Mount Gay Extra Old

Wow. We’re in wine country here folks. Put on your Sunday finery and brush up on your pretentious sounding phrases. The Mount Gay Extra Old is that good. A special occasion or a night of sheer debauchery is in order to crack this bottle open. $35 may be a bit much just to get you loaded for the weekend but every cent is justified. The nose on a glass of this is amazing. Few spirits achieve this kind of balance and even less come near the amount of finesse that the Extra Old displays. I could go on with the superlatives indefinitely here. This one adds instant sophistication to any mixed drink while setting you apart as one “classy motherfucker” should you drink it alone.

Verdict: There is something to be said for the experience of more than 300 years, and the Mount Gay Extra Old makes that statement. Why aren’t you drinking this? Run, don’t walk. Go buy it.

Bacardi Superior

I’m pretty sure there are fumes coming off this one. The world’s most popular spirit is what it is: booze; not bad, and not good. With that in mind, I say it needs to be mixed. It is soft enough to take alone, in fact it is not as bad as you might think; there is a very subtle--nigh undetectable flavor of ‘something’ on the palate--but let’s be honest: this is what you drink when you need to get the party started. It does the trick, a handle fits in with the budget, and everyone you know will be comfortable drinking it. I’d like to say more, but what else is there? It’s Bacardi… it is the default rum: world leader in budget, brand name booze.

Verdict: You’ve had it before. There is a lot better and there is exponentially worse. Bacardi is as far from offensive as it is really good.

Bonus Rum Barcardi Select

Select of what I'm not sure, but it cost as much as the Bacardi Gold and Superior White. I sense some heavy food coloring. This stuff made me feel bad… I didn't get sick, only I felt nauseated. It was akin to having an oily meal forcibly made to settle on your stomach or the cloying richness of a dessert made with 97% butter.

The color is disconcerting, the nose is plain awful, and the taste makes the bathtub rotgut of old sound like ambrosia of the gods.

I have nothing good to say about the Bacardi Select.

Verdict: …

Tommy bahama Golden Sun

The Tommy Bahama is in an increasingly large category of rums that are fast becoming an exceptional value for the consumer. It's a sign of the times: the high end niche manufactures are having a hard time pushing their product in the economy of no-consumer-money-spending.

It's a blend, aged for three years in oak. If you can find it for the ridiculously low price of twenty dollars as I did you will be very please with your purchase. Perhaps a bit lighter and not as 'dirty' as the Ron Bacelo, it's equally well made only going in a different direction. The Tommy Bahama is a rum you'll amazed to find yourself sipping straight considering the price.

Verdict: Ron Barcelo and Tommy Bahama are championing a new category. It's not budget drinking, rather value drinking.

You'll want to check out previous highlights if you missed them (January, February) and be sure to check back next month as I will bring you more of the best, worst, and the in between. All things concerning rum: what you should be drinking.

The Month In Review and of Things to Come

The End is Nigh! At least for February. Feb-rue-air-e. Worst word in any language, ever. I thought it would be a slow month for reading, considering the limited days and that I was busy finishing a bookcase--the stacks on my floor finally started to bother me.

I made it through five books this month, which is one more than normal for me.

Guy Gavriel Kay's Finovar Tapestry has helped to restore some of my faith in heroic fantasy, previously my favorite genre. It's a trilogy in which none of the three books felt superfluous and the dialogue wasn't cringe inducing. While it leaned heavily on Tolkien's The Silmarillion (of which Kay was the unofficial ghostwriter) it was fun to read in the familiar, 'comfort zone' of fantasy so to speak. It felt like a great writer's first effort. I don't know how the Arthurian legend got introduced in the second book, and I'm not sure it lent any real strength to the story, but I'm looking forward to checking out more of Kay's offerings.

I can't put together a litany of praise long enough to talk about how much I loved Harlem Redux by Persia Walker.

The last book I read this month was The Somnambulist by Jonathan Barnes. It was weird in a Neverwhere Neil Gaiman kind of way: good weird, though not Gaiman good. Not painful by any means, but underwhelming to the end. I don't say this as a bad thing, but to me, it felt decidedly, "English," if you know what I mean. If the awesomeness of the title triggered your imagination to think something awesome, keep looking. Sadly, the awesome that the title suggested to you is not in between these covers. In consolation of awesome there is, however, a good story.

The Ron Barcelo Imperial Rum along with another I'll be reviewing in March were easily this month's greatest discoveries. And speaking of next month, I'm going to try a little something different; not with the drinking, rather my reading: Non-fiction.

Kinda foreign territory for me. Steven Hawkin's A brief History of Time is of true interest to me because I'm a nerd. It is also the only book with more reprints and hundreds of different editions than the Christian Bible. Nabokov's Speak, Memory is surely more than the greatest title for a memoir ever. And Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks by Ethan Gilsdorf made me laugh out loud just reading the preview. Any one have any crucial non-fiction suggestions for me?

I plan to sneak some fiction in there as well. I have three relatively short volumes that I think I can add to my reading load without cause for worry.

Oh, yeah, I also plan to not buy any books in March as a cost saving venture… we'll see how well that goes.

Harlem Redux by Persia Walker

I had initially planned on writing one of my little commentaries on Harlem Redux by Persia Walker. However, the best of problems arose while reading the book and stopped me from doing so: I enjoyed it too much.

I never took notes on the writing or the affects the book had on me as a reader. This was simply one of the most pleasurable reading experiences I've ever had. Now that I've finished the book and enjoyed it so much any commentary I could offer would be an inane list of superlatives rambling on for pages.

I don't read a lot of historical or crime fiction so perhaps I was merely taken with what a new-ish-to-me genres had to offer. More so than any literary device employed was the social commentary, inherent to the book, that was pertinent at the time of the story's telling and equally so today.

Walker succeeded in giving the reader a lot to think about long after the story is done. I can think of no greater victory as a writer. I haven't re-read a book in years. I plan to do so with this one shortly.

If I were one to do, 'best of' list or rattle off my personal favorites, this would be somewhere in the top five. Harlem Redux has it's share of problems, but it struck a chord with me, and if I have any influence at all in making suggestions to readers; the summation of the commentary I would've written would be: essential reading.

Save your nice for Valentine's Day

Or Mother's Day, your anniversary, or a significant others' birthday, etc. Because anything you do on a day that is not mandated to be special by the Hallmark calendar is a wasted effort. Naturally, I'm addressing a solely male audience here. (Is there any expectation of a woman to do anything for a man on Valentine's? The answer is no, if you are unsure. Is that lack due to male feelings of indifference or society telling us, 'Valentine's is a woman's holiday.")

I'm speaking from personal experience and to further drive home my feelings on the matter neither of the aggrieved women I have in mind are shallow people. They just wanted what they felt was due to them on their 'special days.' The random acts of kindness in the world seem to be dying out with good reason. Strangers in our lives seem to appreciate such acts more so than people we know and live with. Don't plan a big romantic night out or call to say, 'I love you' unless it is one of those days you are supposed to do so. If there is nothing special about Tuesday night, don't make anything special out of it. That would be cursory.

However, if you do make a big to do on a special day, well then, it means something. To any of my fellow 'good guys' out there who have been slighted for not doing the right thing on the right day, or to any who have nothing but apathy for perceived sentimental offenses, do not despair. I have the remedy.

One jigger or rum ( look here, and here for suggestions ) one jigger of pineapple juice, half a jigger of strawberry schnapps. Ice a tumble and a healthy does of lime juice. It cures all pains and ails... for a little while.

To any offended, make yourself the above libation and in all possible ways, relax.