Twelve Twelve Ten: April 2010

April and May proved to be busy months, relegating me to the classroom and to all-night grading sessions, though I've been keeping up with my reading list. Regular posts, however, have suffered. To catch up, I will present capsule reviews of all the books I've been reading through (there have been a lot) and will preview what's to come for June. I will resolve, as always, to make my June 30th deadline this month, which shouldn't be too hard as I'm already 70 pages into The History of Love (along with a handful of others). Anyway, on to the reviews...

The list for April:

The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil
by George Saunders
144 pgs.

While pulling pick list in the Adult Fiction section of the Madison Public Library, I came across Saunders' little grouping of books and left work that day with a pair: The Persistent Gappers of Frith and The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil. Anyone familiar with Saunders will know he's not a stranger to the novelle--one of his most popular stories is the novelle-length "Pastoralia" (the capstone and title story to his second collection). This novella shares the same satirical bite of "Pastoralia," though it deviates farther into the surreal.

The novella follows the residents of Inner Horner, a country so small that only one of the half-human, half-machine Inner Hornites can fit into it at any time. (The rest must wait in the Short Term Residency Zone for their turn to step into their country). However, when Inner Horner shrinks, forcing the lone Inner Hornite resident to overflow into Outer Hornite, all hell breaks loose. Phil, a boisterous Outer Hornite with a loose brain (and continually falls off its track) and an attitude poisoned by jealousy toward the Inner Hornites, sweeps into action, declaring an Invasion In Process and levying taxes for trespassing against the Inner Hornites. Things spiral out of control from there.

The book has been compared to Orwell's Animal Farm for good reason. Both novels satrically skewer the predominate mindset of their respective ages, Orwell's novel illuminating the corruption that would inevitably take down a utopia and Saunders' novella pointing out the ridiculousness of uncontrolled nationalism and the danger of inept leadership. Saunders sketch is so relatable to real life that it is hard to stave off depression. This isn't a far-fetched story. Saunders' view of things could easily come to pass (for instance, if a certain former governor somehow becomes president). Hopefully, God will get us out of our mess too.

The Wild Things
by Dave Eggers

300 pgs.

If the cover hooks you from across the bookstore or the library, if you like the feel of the pages, the type-design that always sets apart a McSweeney's book, if you see Eggers and think, "Yes, a follow up to that memoir/novel/movie of his I loved," resist the temptation to take the book home. I don't mean to come down hard on a book that after all, it is aimed for children ages 9-12. Why should I, with my big huge brain, be drawn in by it? Why should I be reviewing a book for children?

Good questions, but let me propose this: Children's literature is often one of the last places we look for worthwhile and engaging literature, but often times, that's where its found. The action sequences, the mysteries, the strong-voiced narrators, the simple yet universal morals, the unbridled imagination unsoiled by age and responsibility and all the shit slog of life. The clay of Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are" plus the literary skills of Eggers (a man with no shortage of imagination and cheekiness) should have equaled a children's novel with a simple message adults could still grove on. After all, the picture book is nothing if not dark and resonant beyond its audience and initial plot line.

Eggers adaptation, however, fails to deliver on the promise of the original. For such a strange yet imaginative boy, Max could make for an interesting narrator. However, he lacks depth and any sense of wisdom (even the skewed logic of an intelligent 12 year-old). Quite simply, he is boring, which makes for a long and frustrating read. Beyond that, there is little sense of change throughout the narrative. Max visits the island of the "wild things," causes a bunch of havoc, and returns home unmoved and unchanged. It's hard to pick out the purpose or the point of the narrative--what are we to take from this?--and that's fine if the story is interesting. Unfortunately, this one just isn't.

The Persistent Gappers of Frith
by George Saudners
84 pgs.

A novella, a children's book, and now a picture book? I promise that from here on out (or at least for the rest of this and May's reviews), I'll devote my attention to "adult" literature, but I couldn't go without mentioning this wonderfully simple picture book. Don't let that categorization throw you, though. Like Where the Wild Things Are, the book seems aimed at adults as much as children (and in the Madison Public Library, it is actually shelved in the adult fiction section). It tells the story of a small town (composed of three families) who every evening is overrun with Gappers, baseball-sized creatures who love goats so much, they cling to the goat fur and let out squeals of delight. Doesn't sound so bad, does it? The problem is that these squeals wake up the goats, thin them out from worry, and keep them from producing milk--the lifeblood of the community.

To keep the milk flowing, the children of each family comb the Gappers off of their goats and toss them into the sea, where the process starts all over again. One day, they decide that instead of splitting up evenly between the families, the Gappers will all attach themselves to the goats of the nearest house. That's when things start to change...

An interesting (and quick) read, this book again delivers an indictment of society (the second from Saunders in this post). Add to that Lane Smith's illustrations (who's illustrated such classics as the Stinky Cheese Man and The Time Warp Trio series, and here's one you should devote an hour to, preferably on a rainy day when you can imagine yourself living next to a sea full of Gappers.

Wampeters, Foma, & Granfallons
by Kurt Vonnegut

288 pgs.

I thought this book would finish my spring fascination with Vonnegut, first brought on by his novel Galapagos. A collection of his non-fiction writing (in particular, a grouping of speeches he had delivered to such groups as the American Physical Society and the National Institute of Arts and Letters), WFG (for short) seems a bit unnecessary. Often times, his personal philosophy is better voiced and developed in his novels, and I found some of the short pieces (book reviews and random anecdotes) unnecessary. The reviews, along with the longer non-fiction pieces he wrote on Transcendental Mediation and Madame Blavatsky restricted Vonnegut from opening up his voice and scattering his asides throughout the pieces. For me, this is what makes Vonnegut's writing worth reading.

Still, the book contains some stand-outs: "Biafra: A People Betrayed" recounts Vonnegut's experience watching firsthand the final days and collapse of Biafra (and provides an interesting lens behind which to view Vonnegut's characterization of Ecuador in Galapagos). His screenplay "Fortitude" provides an interesting view of a novel premise that didn't quite make it to the development stage but is interesting nonetheless. The lengthy Playboy interview that finishes off the book is filled with Vonnegut-isms and insights. Overall, this is a book for the Vonnegut fan looking for a different venue in which to hear Vonnegut offer up opinions. Start somewhere else--Slaughter House Five or Cat's Cradle--then proceed on to other novels--Galapagos or Breakfast of Champions. Only tread here when you have nothing left.

Revolution in the Air: The Songs of Bob Dylan, Vol. 1: 1957-73

by Clinton Heylin

482 pgs.

Nobody but the die-hard Dylan fan will care much for what I have to say about this book, so I'll keep it short. This first volume (of two) that researches and reports on the composition of every Dylan song (even the scraps and rumored songs) up to Planet Waves is an interesting read, particularly during Dylan's fertile years when he was producing a new album every eight months. Because of it's layout, it provides a nice reference for the casual Dylan fan who wants to skip over unfamiliar songs, but it also brings the meat for the Dylan-aficionado looking for a discussion of the best studio take of a song like "Sign on the Window." The only problem with the volume is Heylin's pretentiousness. His one-upmanship gets tiresome and his refusal to cite internet sources is downright deplorable. Bad people can still write good books; all us AWP goers can attest to that, having watched our literary heros drunkenly fondle undergraduates in dingy bars. And Heylin has done that: written a good first volume. That doesn't mean, though, that I'd ever buy the guy a beer.