Tag: What to Read

What to read about what to eat

Many of you already know that I started paying close attention to what I eat a few years ago – and have become steadily more informed and therefore more picky about what I put in my mouth (take that one any way you like).  It started (of course!) with a $3 book, written in 1979 called (I believe) Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Nutrition, which has since disappeared from my collection.  Then I gave up beef because I had a craving I couldn’t get rid of. Then I read Fast Food Nation.  And on and on.  I told my son I would have to stop reading or I wouldn’t eat anything at all.  Thankfully, there are farmer’s markets, cool organic grocery for mindful eaters – such as New Seasons and Natural Pantry – and a growing awareness in the world, so I haven’t starved just yet.

I bring all this up because I read another book on the human-food relationship, this one called The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan, the author of In Defense of Food and other books, and the co-writer of the film Food, Inc with Eric Schlosser (author of Fast Food Nation).  What first surprised me about the book was the dilemma referred to in the title.

In Pollan’s mind, the current U. S. omnivore’s dilemma is too many choices and not enough history.  He’s not supporting the industrialization of the food supply – and he gives economic, gastric and nutritional reasons why – but he puts the current situation of fad diets and flip-flopping nutritional advice into a historical context.

Being an omnivore allowed us to flourish in difficult times, since we could eat so many different things.  But now the availability of so many different things all the time creates a different kind of obstacle.  Culture has always assisted us in making food choices, and it is the absence of a stable, universal culture in the U.S, coupled with the economical success our country enjoys, that make us vulnerable to the crazy food fads and yo-yoing advice on what to eat – much of that advice profit-driven, not health-driven at all.

I really liked the fact that Pollan is not on a fanatical crusade to indict the industrial food complex and those who eat from it. He approaches his research like a journalist and uses his personal experiences for description, not to sensationalize. He does not confuse exposition with indoctrination.  He doesn’t assume that his perspective is universal – he shares his experience and allows you to draw your own conclusions.  He works through the economic calculations with the reader before he shares the results of those equations.  And it’s only those kinds of details that he takes as facts to be applied universally.  Numbers are not subjective.  And if he includes expenses or other factors you don’t consider important or germane, you can see them and re-work the equations for yourself (not that there’s a math test or anything…).

What you get is a treatise on four different food chains – the industrial complex, the organic industrial complex, local and personal.  He puts together four meals, following each item from its origin to his plate, and takes you along with him.   This includes his very first hunt, mushroom gathering, a sustainable farm, the new large-scale organic operations, and the typical corn plant and slaughterhouse cow.  I’ve read a lot on this subject, and I’ve never seen anything this comprehensive, even-handed and enjoyable to read.

Read the book – it’s good for you.

Me and the Little Women

Let us start with a confession:  I never read Little Women.  Nor have I seen any of the screen adaptations of said book.  I’ll wait while you recover from the shock.

There’s no particular reason I never read it.  I just never did.  And I’m betting neither of my sisters read it, either – because I read almost every book that came through that house.  I have no good explanation – somehow I missed it.  So, I decided my education was seriously lacking and picked it up at the library.

I didn’t expect to like any of the girls in LW except Jo. Not sure why. I also expected the girls to feel more stereotypical than they did. But I really liked Meg, and liked Beth and Amy, though not as much. And I didn’t identify with Jo as much as I might have if I’d read it when I was younger.

Of course, I am more like Jo than any of them. But Jo has virtually no capacity for introspection – she didn’t seem to know herself at all. Amy did a better job of that and at a much younger age. And I never really wanted to be a boy – I just did the ‘boy’ things. But gender roles have eased considerably since Alcott’s time – lucky for me!

I liked how Jo & Laurie were best friends but at least one of them knew they would make a terrible couple. And Alcott writes in the awkward scenes that are necessary when people who care about each other have to deal with how the nature of their relationship has changed. Those who cannot navigate that space end up leaving their friends behind because they can’t talk to each other about the things that are really important. Jo & Laurie had to reconnect with who they were to each other so they could be friends without causing harm to his marriage or Jo & Amy’s relationship.  It makes me crazy when people think that – because we don’t talk about it, that means it can’t hurt anyone. That is the stuff that causes the most damage.  I also liked how Marmee let the girls learn from their own mistakes – always available to advise but never preachy.

I’m sure the reason that all the TV shows & movies & whatnot focus on Jo is because she was a writer – and it is the writers that are making those representations. Those that identified strongly with Meg are not writing books, they are doing other things with their lives.  Same with Amy.  And of course, those that identified closely with Beth didn’t live long enough to create any such thing.

I really liked the theme that a woman should have substance and follow her own heart and moral code instead of social pressure (and I would add – what her man/husband thinks).  And I was pleasantly surprised when Marmee told Meg she should invite her husband into the nursery because he had a place there. And that she should make a point of getting out of the house w/out children regularly to be refreshed.  And it wasn’t all phrased as ‘what she should do to make her husband happy’ but how to make a marriage work and be happy herself.  If you left out the presumption that the wife would stay home while the husband worked, it was valid advice for any new mom today that was struggling with that transition.

So, now that I’ve read and enjoyed Little Women, can I get back in the clubhouse?

Who doesn’t like getting naked?

David Sedaris is one crazy man, and I mean that in the best way. I collect crazy people. I only wish that I could add him to my stable of friends instead of just my bookshelf. The David Sedaris I know from his memoir, naked, is the kind of friend you want to hang out with (though probably not live with or depend on in any significant way).  He is not afraid to reveal the most embarrassing details of his life – past and present – and possibly even invent more so as to be even more entertaining.  His self-deprecating manner belies his ego and together make the David we read about a hilarious character in a mundane world.  No subject is off-limits.  Incest, poor job skills, immigrant grandparents, facial tics, cancer – none of these topics fails to get a laugh in his capable hands.

For those who have issues with that big, fat line between the Truth and everything else, this may not be your kind of memoir.  I don’t mean to say that Sedaris is a liar (see: James Frey making up whole sections of his supposed true story of addiction and recovery), but that he relates his past in the way that he experienced it  – full of imagined realities and the recurring wish that his life was other than it was.

The line between truth and fiction is porous and often impossible to find — and really unimportant here. Sedaris seems to write memoirs in order to reveal a truth so universal that we all know it while we spend our lives trying to escape it.  Namely – we are all crazy and misunderstood, but somehow loved all the same.  Families are dysfunctional and damaging but still the thing that made us into the incredibly unique and hum-drum individuals we are today and will become tomorrow.

I took a Creative Non-fiction writing course last summer, and Sedaris was one of the authors we read examples from.  I liked what I read, so his name was added to the ‘maybe’ list.  I saw his Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim at the library and loved it.  I got naked at Borders, along with bonk.  So you all know what was on my mind that day….

Sedaris is often lumped in with Augusten Burroughs, both funny, gay male memoirists.  And while I enjoyed Running with Scissors by Burroughs, Sedaris is more to my tastes.  I think the quality of observation in Sedaris’s writing is thorough and expressive, whereas Burroughs is closer to internal monologue than analytic exposition.  Which is a lot of big words to say that Sedaris has more to say about his life (or imagined life), while Burroughs seems to just describe it –though he does that in an entertaining and skillful manner.  Anyone unaware of my penchant for analysis has not been paying attention.

So next time you have an evening with no friends to entertain you, curl up with with my buddy, Dave, and exercise your mind and your abs at the same time.  Cocktails optional.

Master James

I discovered The Master by Colm Toibin in a Powell’s newsletter.  It won several awards and was short-listed for the Man Booker prize (likely because of it is just the kind of book us lit-geeks love – books about literary figures that are written by powerfully articulate authors) and it was on sale when I saw it on the shelf.  The Master is a fictional account of Henry James’ life from his own perspective.  Henry James, of course, is a huge figure in Modern fiction, a prolific author of novels as well as literary criticism.  His most popluar works are probably The Portrait of a Lady and The Wings of a Dove (both of which I have seen film adaptations of, neither of which I enjoyed very much).

If you had asked me – before I read this book – where Henry James was from, I would have said he was from England.  And if you’d asked me if he was gay, I would told you that I’d heard nothing to the contrary (but I would never rule it out, of course).  Oscar Wilde – everyone (read: English geeks) knows he was gay; Henry James, never heard a whisper.  Well, James was American – and gay.  However, I often confuse Henry James and James Joyce in my head – so I’m hardly a good person to ask these questions of.

James is portrayed as a character on the edge of, but rarely involved in, many experiences and events.  He had two brothers who fought in the American Civil War. He was born and raised in America but spent time in Europe as a child and young adult and eventually made his home there.  He never married but had close women friends and was closest to his sister of all his siblings.  He was welcomed in high society in Britain and Europe as an artist but was not truly included in that strata. He was attracted to men but was not able to truly pursue that as a lifestyle.  He was a lauded author but not actually well-read by the general public.

The Master is engaging and well-written, but doesn’t paint Henry James as a very likable character, at least in my eyes.  Well, not truly unlikeable, but probably not someone you’d want as a close friend or lover.  He seems to have a difficult time actually experiencing any moment that he’s in.  Rather, he removes himself as much as possible from what is happening around him and only later allows himself to feel one way or the other about it.  We probably all know people like this, but few count them as close friends.  Some might think it horrible that he used his personal experiences as fodder for fiction, but that doesn’t really bother me. What bothers me is that he only seems to really be able to connect with people through fiction, either his actual work or the stories he tells only to himself.  So any happiness he might give or receive is difficult, if not impossible.  Instead, he hurts the people he cares most about and doesn’t seem to realize it until after they’ve died and it’s too late to do anything about it.  Such a sad way to live.

Strange coincidence – I read this book right after Sandra Day O’Connor’s book, and Henry James was a friend of Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. (as young men and throughout their lives).  It even implies – and again, this is a work of fiction based on facts, not a biography of established facts – that James and Holmes had a one-time sexual encounter during their friendship.

Toibin is clearly a skilled writer (a master, one might say) who can create authentic atmosphere and character for people, places and eras.  He made the character of James interesting and sympathetic without ignoring his negative traits.  I will surely be looking for other books by Toibin.  If you are looking for an enjoyable way to learn more about Henry James, artists in the early modern period, American ex-patriots, gay men in the Modern period, the English relationship with Ireland, American views on the Civil War, or the thought processes of conflicted people – all of these and more can be found here.

Fangirl post: Justice Sandra Day O’Connor

I think I have always been a fan of Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor.  I can remember being in sixth grade and finding out that President Reagan had nominated a woman as Supreme Court Justice.  We must have talked about it at school, because the memory is attached to my classroom (shout-out to Mr. Brown’s sixth grade, Iditarod Elementary!).   She’s been a fabulous role model and has written some wonderful decisions that make clear (to me at least) how the law protects individuals from government intervention.  I recently read two books of hers – Lazy B: Growing Up on a Cattle Ranch in the American Southwest (with her brother H. Alan Day) and The Majesty of the Law: Reflections of a Supreme Court Justice.

I saw Justice O’Connor on Charlie Rose years ago (I believe in support of Lazy B) and was so impressed with her class and poise.   Rose – hardly a pushy interviewer – had asked her to comment on her fellow justices (Clarence Thomas, in particular – a rather mild question regarding his lack of decision writing during his tenure on the Court) and she told him, very calmly and politely, that she would not discuss her colleagues.  When he asked another question similar to the first, she just sat – dignified and attentive – waiting for the next question.  Not sullen, not defensive, not angry or even irritated.  She had already answered him and was very comfortable sitting in silence until he asked a new question worth answering.  It was so cool!  My respect for her leaped higher.

I tend to be a passionate defender of women’s rights and the feminist perspective.  Justice O’Connor is a calm, reasoned defender of the inherent rights in all persons, defended in this country by the Constitution and the three branches of government created by that fabulous document.  I get riled up about women getting paid less and treated as sex objects; she deliberates quietly about what the Bill of Rights says, how men and women have used the Rule of Law to defend themselves against unjust actions.  When I read what she’s written, I remember that what provokes my – often emotional – response can also be defended by citing law and reason.  I’m glad she’s around to do it for us, because I certainly do not have that kind of poise and equanimity.

That interview was 7 years ago, but I just finally read Lazy B, as well as The Majesty of the Law.  Neither of these books is terribly exciting or plot-driven.  Lazy B – written with her brother – is the story of their childhood on a ranch which cut across the border between Arizona and New Mexico.   Lazy B reads more like an essay or a biography – but not of a person, but rather a place and way of life.  It follows the lives of the people who lived and worked that ranch – their parents, cowhands and others – and how a great deal of self-confidence and self-sufficiency was necessary to keep it running profitably.  Anyone interested in ranching life in the Southwest during the first half of this century would enjoy it, as well as those who were interested in Justice O’Connor’s early life. Anyone looking for juicy details about O’Connor (or her family) will be disappointed.  She brings the same sense of decorum to the book as she does to other aspects of her demeanor.

The Majesty of the Law is what to read if you are looking for insight into the mind of O’Connor.  Again, not a personal or exciting book, but filled with what influenced her in the past and interests her now regarding the law in the U.S. and beyond.  She looks at the creation of the Supreme Court and its authority, how the Court has changed, and influential Justices over the last 200 years.  She also discusses her views on way to improve the current system (revamp the jury system, reintroduce ethics into the legal profession) and the spread of the Rule of Law throughout the world.  All of this with a thoroughly reasoned approach that makes it clear that she has facts, figures, history and law to back up her conclusions.

I wonder if she was chosen as Supreme Court Justice because of her grace, or being a Supreme Court Justice caused her to become so refined.  Either way, it makes me sad that she no longer sits with those who are looking out for us.