The Book-a-Week Project, to Date
I decided earlier this year to read a book a week for the duration of the time that I live within the bounds of the Multnomah County library system, and probably for the year even if I move. Don't get me wrong – I still love TV, heavy drinking, drugs, and other distractions, but I’m starting to feel stupid.
Here's where I am so far on the reading front:
Week 1
Right Ho, Jeeves
P.G. Wodehouse
Even Wodehouse’s bad writing is hilarious, and this is one of his best. His brilliance lies not in the plotting of his stories – this, like most, centers around familial and romantic mishaps exacerbated by Bertie Wooster and repaired by his butler, Jeeves – but in the precise wordplay. Bertie narrates and again manages to inadvertently convey his complete ineptitude as he attempts to document his own deft social maneuvering.
David Sedaris is the only other humor writer who consistently makes me laugh out loud as much as Wodehouse. This is one of his best books, as is (based on what I’ve read of his so far) Bertie Wooster Sees It Through, which I read after reading in an interview that it is one of Mystery Science Theater 3000 head writer Mike Nelson’s favorite books.
Week 2
The Informers
Bret Easton Ellis
I try not to start the new year off with any tale that includes the throat slashing of a ten-year-old boy, which is why I saved this book for the second week. Ellis's stories of industrial soullessness never fail to entice me with their depictions of pointless sex and cocaine and heroin use, and the series of stories in The Informers keep up the sad, gray emptiness with aplomb. Violence, emotional dissociation, and self-loathing are similar and predictable in all his books, and present in every single story here.
All of his books are borne of magnification of the anti-social tendencies present in the high-income lifestyle of New York and L.A. socialites, and seem to jibe with the presentation of the higher-profile members of those societies apparent in mass media. All leave me tremendously depressed, except for American Psycho.
I was 15 and working in a bookstore in downtown Omaha when it came out. At that point, I proudly considered myself a liberal and because of my junior high and high school experiences, particularly championed freedom of speech and press. However, after three or four women entered the store, identified themselves as feminists, and demanded to speak to the owner so they could attempt to convince her to pull the title from the store’s shelves, I hopped on the train of realization that would eventually teach me that whatever their claims, most liberals and conservatives will do whatever they can to get any opposing viewpoint removed from public consideration.
American Psycho, by the way, is not misogynist – its main character is. Feminists, like all ideologues, are so desperately, single-mindedly driven by their absolutist values that they are unable to comprehend contextually sympathetic opposition. Stupid whores.
Week 3
Second Nature
Michael Pollan
(partially)
I started Second Nature with more anticipation than I’ve had for any other book in a year, easily. The reviews were so uniformly glowing, and I love gardening so much, that I knew it would enrapture me until I read the entire thing.
Fuck Michael Pollan. He’s well-read. Yay! He’s erudite. Wa-hoo! His writing is so disingenuous and removed from action that it was impossible for me to make it past page 71. For instance, when defending his decision to to set a pesky groundhog on fire by flooding his den with gasoline and igniting it rather than building a fence, he spends four pages quoting literary and socio-political figures regarding the undemocratic nature of fences rather than just giving his own honest fucking feelings. (He builds one later and fails to offer any literary support.)
When discussing the nature of agriculture and its inherent destruction of the local environment, he mentions that humans are one of the few animals that have the ability to modify their surroundings, and wouldn’t it be un-human not do to so? He offers absolutely no references to support that wildly inaccurate statement – I can't think of a single animal that doesn’t have the ability to modify its surroundings – but carries on nonetheless.
This is a man with no true interest in the world outside of academia. Everything is plugged into a template defined by what he’s read. Any personal actions that demonstrate an antecedent beyond his library are left unexplained. That makes for the worst kind of nature writing. Nature isn’t defined by predetermined ratios and theories. It is a conglomeration of happenstance convergences and unique personal experiences. Michael Pollan writes books that will leave New York Times subscribers rubbing their chins and nodding in agreement while smugly uttering "Ah, yes," under their breath. He’s a fraud and, beyond that, a fucking asshole.
Unfortunately, after abandoning Pollan’s tome of disingenuous bullshit, I dove into All New Square Foot Gardening by Mel Bartholomew as an antidote. What a fucking mistake.
I remembered reading about European intensive gardening, and I thought whatever I’d read had mentioned this book, so I purchased it at a used bookstore while visiting my parents in Omaha. Wrong move. Though the essential concept of compacting a single row's worth of vegetables into a concentrated and easily managed 2-4 square foot plot of land is valid and well-documented elsewhere, Mel Bartholomew covers it in the worst possible way.
He is clearly a marketer who happened to write a book. Marketers should stick with cola beverages and fast food, not gardening. The margins are inexplicably filled with quotes from people who have apparently had their dicks and/or pussies professionally wolfed down by Mr. Bartholomew himself, including such RonCo-worthy lines as “I couldn’t believe the amount of vegetables it raised,” from “Dan from Texas”, and “I was surprised at how much I could get from such a small area,” from “Michael from Georgia”. I already bought the book, motherfucker. WHY ARE YOU STILL SELLING IT TO ME?
Though the idea of intensive gardening is well-founded (and explored better elsewhere), his idea to limit raised beds to six inches of growing medium is completely asinine. What about tomatoes? Potatoes? Every fruit and vegetable will do better with more than six inches of root depth.
Also, he briefly mentions that pests will be greatly reduced with his method of gardening, and provides absolutely no information or resources for combating any that do happen to infiltrate his squares of wonder. In fact, he mentions no other gardening books anywhere in the entire book. I’ve read a lot of gardening books, and never before encountered one that was so self-satisfied (or insecure?) that it considered itself the singular guardian of all gardening knowledge heretofore and henceforth.
I hate Mel Bartholomew only barely less than Michael Pollan. If you’re interested in intensive gardening (and you should be – it’s much smarter), read The Vegetable Gardener’s Bible by Edward C. Smith. It’s thorough and comprehensive in its reach and a great first book for new gardeners, but not the only one.
Week 4
Better Off: Flipping the Switch on Technology
Eric Brende
My girlfriend bought me this as a jocular conciliatory gift after she ixnayed my plan for us to move into an uninsulated, barely heated barn in rural Oregon. I accepted it bitterly and didn’t imagine how much I’d love it.
Brende and his wife moved to an Amish/Mennonite-type community that holds strict standards about the use of technology. He arrives already harboring apprehension about the effects of technology in human society, but restricts his usage to none as an 18-month experiment.
I’m already thoroughly familiar with primitivist and anti-technology ideology, especially from the likes of John Zerzan, Derrick Jensen, and the Unabomber. It makes a lot of sense, considering what it’s taken from us and what we stand to regain by its rejection. That said, there are several books I previously would have suggested to people interested in the idea of abandoning technology or civilization.
Now, though, Better Off tops the list. Brende’s writing is so warm and honest that it immediately coaxes the reader into friendship. He enters the experiment with slight misgivings, then fully explores his feelings and watches them blossom into well-honed arguments that stand solely as a product of his open-minded experience. His book is totally free of dogma, and I truly fail to see how anyone could come away from it without at least an oblique sympathy to his conclusions. Please read it.
Next up is World War Z by Max Brooks. Zombies are fucking awesome.
Here's where I am so far on the reading front:
Week 1Right Ho, Jeeves
P.G. Wodehouse
Even Wodehouse’s bad writing is hilarious, and this is one of his best. His brilliance lies not in the plotting of his stories – this, like most, centers around familial and romantic mishaps exacerbated by Bertie Wooster and repaired by his butler, Jeeves – but in the precise wordplay. Bertie narrates and again manages to inadvertently convey his complete ineptitude as he attempts to document his own deft social maneuvering.
David Sedaris is the only other humor writer who consistently makes me laugh out loud as much as Wodehouse. This is one of his best books, as is (based on what I’ve read of his so far) Bertie Wooster Sees It Through, which I read after reading in an interview that it is one of Mystery Science Theater 3000 head writer Mike Nelson’s favorite books.
Week 2The Informers
Bret Easton Ellis
I try not to start the new year off with any tale that includes the throat slashing of a ten-year-old boy, which is why I saved this book for the second week. Ellis's stories of industrial soullessness never fail to entice me with their depictions of pointless sex and cocaine and heroin use, and the series of stories in The Informers keep up the sad, gray emptiness with aplomb. Violence, emotional dissociation, and self-loathing are similar and predictable in all his books, and present in every single story here.
All of his books are borne of magnification of the anti-social tendencies present in the high-income lifestyle of New York and L.A. socialites, and seem to jibe with the presentation of the higher-profile members of those societies apparent in mass media. All leave me tremendously depressed, except for American Psycho.
I was 15 and working in a bookstore in downtown Omaha when it came out. At that point, I proudly considered myself a liberal and because of my junior high and high school experiences, particularly championed freedom of speech and press. However, after three or four women entered the store, identified themselves as feminists, and demanded to speak to the owner so they could attempt to convince her to pull the title from the store’s shelves, I hopped on the train of realization that would eventually teach me that whatever their claims, most liberals and conservatives will do whatever they can to get any opposing viewpoint removed from public consideration.
American Psycho, by the way, is not misogynist – its main character is. Feminists, like all ideologues, are so desperately, single-mindedly driven by their absolutist values that they are unable to comprehend contextually sympathetic opposition. Stupid whores.
Week 3Second Nature
Michael Pollan
(partially)
I started Second Nature with more anticipation than I’ve had for any other book in a year, easily. The reviews were so uniformly glowing, and I love gardening so much, that I knew it would enrapture me until I read the entire thing.
Fuck Michael Pollan. He’s well-read. Yay! He’s erudite. Wa-hoo! His writing is so disingenuous and removed from action that it was impossible for me to make it past page 71. For instance, when defending his decision to to set a pesky groundhog on fire by flooding his den with gasoline and igniting it rather than building a fence, he spends four pages quoting literary and socio-political figures regarding the undemocratic nature of fences rather than just giving his own honest fucking feelings. (He builds one later and fails to offer any literary support.)
When discussing the nature of agriculture and its inherent destruction of the local environment, he mentions that humans are one of the few animals that have the ability to modify their surroundings, and wouldn’t it be un-human not do to so? He offers absolutely no references to support that wildly inaccurate statement – I can't think of a single animal that doesn’t have the ability to modify its surroundings – but carries on nonetheless.
This is a man with no true interest in the world outside of academia. Everything is plugged into a template defined by what he’s read. Any personal actions that demonstrate an antecedent beyond his library are left unexplained. That makes for the worst kind of nature writing. Nature isn’t defined by predetermined ratios and theories. It is a conglomeration of happenstance convergences and unique personal experiences. Michael Pollan writes books that will leave New York Times subscribers rubbing their chins and nodding in agreement while smugly uttering "Ah, yes," under their breath. He’s a fraud and, beyond that, a fucking asshole.
Unfortunately, after abandoning Pollan’s tome of disingenuous bullshit, I dove into All New Square Foot Gardening by Mel Bartholomew as an antidote. What a fucking mistake.I remembered reading about European intensive gardening, and I thought whatever I’d read had mentioned this book, so I purchased it at a used bookstore while visiting my parents in Omaha. Wrong move. Though the essential concept of compacting a single row's worth of vegetables into a concentrated and easily managed 2-4 square foot plot of land is valid and well-documented elsewhere, Mel Bartholomew covers it in the worst possible way.
He is clearly a marketer who happened to write a book. Marketers should stick with cola beverages and fast food, not gardening. The margins are inexplicably filled with quotes from people who have apparently had their dicks and/or pussies professionally wolfed down by Mr. Bartholomew himself, including such RonCo-worthy lines as “I couldn’t believe the amount of vegetables it raised,” from “Dan from Texas”, and “I was surprised at how much I could get from such a small area,” from “Michael from Georgia”. I already bought the book, motherfucker. WHY ARE YOU STILL SELLING IT TO ME?
Though the idea of intensive gardening is well-founded (and explored better elsewhere), his idea to limit raised beds to six inches of growing medium is completely asinine. What about tomatoes? Potatoes? Every fruit and vegetable will do better with more than six inches of root depth.
Also, he briefly mentions that pests will be greatly reduced with his method of gardening, and provides absolutely no information or resources for combating any that do happen to infiltrate his squares of wonder. In fact, he mentions no other gardening books anywhere in the entire book. I’ve read a lot of gardening books, and never before encountered one that was so self-satisfied (or insecure?) that it considered itself the singular guardian of all gardening knowledge heretofore and henceforth.
I hate Mel Bartholomew only barely less than Michael Pollan. If you’re interested in intensive gardening (and you should be – it’s much smarter), read The Vegetable Gardener’s Bible by Edward C. Smith. It’s thorough and comprehensive in its reach and a great first book for new gardeners, but not the only one.
Week 4Better Off: Flipping the Switch on Technology
Eric Brende
My girlfriend bought me this as a jocular conciliatory gift after she ixnayed my plan for us to move into an uninsulated, barely heated barn in rural Oregon. I accepted it bitterly and didn’t imagine how much I’d love it.
Brende and his wife moved to an Amish/Mennonite-type community that holds strict standards about the use of technology. He arrives already harboring apprehension about the effects of technology in human society, but restricts his usage to none as an 18-month experiment.
I’m already thoroughly familiar with primitivist and anti-technology ideology, especially from the likes of John Zerzan, Derrick Jensen, and the Unabomber. It makes a lot of sense, considering what it’s taken from us and what we stand to regain by its rejection. That said, there are several books I previously would have suggested to people interested in the idea of abandoning technology or civilization.
Now, though, Better Off tops the list. Brende’s writing is so warm and honest that it immediately coaxes the reader into friendship. He enters the experiment with slight misgivings, then fully explores his feelings and watches them blossom into well-honed arguments that stand solely as a product of his open-minded experience. His book is totally free of dogma, and I truly fail to see how anyone could come away from it without at least an oblique sympathy to his conclusions. Please read it.
Next up is World War Z by Max Brooks. Zombies are fucking awesome.
posted by Torso Fever at 7:33 PM
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