Book Report: Name The Baby

Name The Baby
by Mark Cirino

Found this book at Half Price books, in the clearance bin.

From the flap:
Name the Baby is the hilarious, heartbreaking rant of a young man whose girlfriend has just committed suicide in their New York City apartment. Burdened with guilt, sadness, and rage, he can't bear to stay in the apartment, so he grabs the gun his girlfriend turned on herself and heads out the door.
Embarking on a wild search for meaning and solace, he hits a blues bar first, gets kicked out, and continues on to a dance club where he dances the night away with a beautiful girl he'll never see again. He then visits his family in New Jersey, where he walks the family dog, takes mushrooms with his younger sister, and watches the local high school's performance of Romeo and Juliet. After the play, he boards a bus back to New York City and returns to his apartment, where he finds something that forces him to finally face up to his sadness and guilt.
Over the course of his three-day odyssey, he reflects with rousing originality on family, failed relationships, music, Shakespeare, dogs, cemeteries, and drugs. Conversational and intimate, he sweeps the reader away into his turbulent twenty-one-year-old world. Full of haunting surprises, unexpected warmth, and brutal honesty, Name the Baby is a raucous, soulful tale about the mysteries of life and love.

At page 38, I wanted to hurl this book across the room and call it a loss.
At page 39, I was in love.

This first-person story is so heavily saturated in dialect, just getting used to the sometimes-grating New York accent took some work. The words crowd each other amidst long, chunky paragraphs--not the type of book to read if you're tired or have ADD. The opening pages introduces the reader to a cocky, arrogant protagonist who tries to forget his troubles by drinking them away in night clubs. I could not feel any empathy, in fact, I was even turned off by him.
But after his night out, the protag decides to catch a bus home, and everything about the book got better: the accent fades, the protag shows vulnerability, the writing becomes more wistful and poetic.

Going home, somehow, is like defeat in the worst way. You don't go home; you retreat home. There's nothing, I mean nothing, glorious or victorious about visiting your parents at your old house.

The story procedes with a sense of familiarity and of strange comfort as the protag goes through the motions of normalcy, reflecting about events that are anything but.

And the images of the night turn familiar, and the stones on the street compramise their shapes, and the glory moon in the high heaven splits and scatters, and the stars in the sky are spread for all seasons. Is it selfish to think all those things are only there for you? Is it selfish to think that no one else is looking at the stars at that instant, and that they're just putting on a show for you, so you can have an inside joke, a secret, among just the two of you?And, of course, shortly, the phenomenal theater of the universe fades, and I imagine Leonia, with her grace of a diamond, until I showed on the scene and interrupted, stomping my Timberlands to the wrong rhythm, tripping her up in the process. Only way for me to look at it is that life got in the way of love, and death got in the way of life, restoring the love.

Cirino has a gift that was buried in this story under his own character. His writing in lyrical and dazzling and thoughtful, the story moving, the emotions real. There are many hints and questions sprinkled throughout, details fed out slowly but never completely, so that the end of the book resonates with perfect finality and yet, is not. Cirino brings the resolution to the surface, but it is up to the reader to make the grab.

Four out of five stars for permeating tone, insightful and revealing reflections, exposing the bleeding heart of a man who pretends not to have one, and for so cleverly leaving me hanging.

Book Report: The Preservationist

The Preservationist
by David Maine

Found this book in Cargo Largo and bought it on principle.

From the flap:
Noah's family (or Noe, as he's called here)--his wife, sons, and daughters-in-law--tell what it's like to live with a man touched by God, while struggling against events that cannot be explained. When Noe orders his sons to build an ark, he can't tell them where the wood will come from. When he sends his daughters-in-law out to gather animals, he can offer no directions, money, or protection. And once the rain starts, they all realize that the true test of their faith is just beginning. Because the family is trapped on the ark with thousands of animals--with no experience feeding or caring for them and no idea when the waters will recede--what emerges is a family caught in the midst of an extraordinary Biblical event, with all the tension, humanity, and even humor that implies.

I almost set this book back down, but the more I thought about it, the more my imagination conjured up what could possibly fill these pages. And come on, I've never seen a book about the Ark before.

This book is a fairly quick read, and fairly easy to read. It is written simply, rustically, and an aura of the time seems to permeate the pages. Rotating POVs track this plot from Noe's initial sign from God, through the building of the ark, through the first drop of rain and through the hundreds of days trapped on board with the constant job of mucking stalls and using most of the food for the animals. When at last the dove brings back the olive branch, the reader is as relieved as Noe and his family, however, they are still trapped on top of the mountain, held prisoner until the waters below recede. When at last they are free, the ark is unloaded and each new family heads off in a different direction across virgin land with the mission of repopulating the earth.

Much of this is based on established facts: the names, the order of events, and the details (size of the ship, etc.). Maine did a fantastic job of logically filling in the blanks where needed. How did Noe and his family obtain the supplies? How were the animals gathered? What was it like?

For days after, clouds clot the sky like blood.
Noe gathers his family and says, I have given much thought to how to organize the animals on the ship. I propose that we follow God's natural order. As humans created in the image of God, we shall inhabit the top deck of the craft, along with the apes and other two-legged creatures. Below us, in the middle deck, shall be the animals with four legs. Worms and serpents, insects and other abominations, whether multi-limbed or altogether legless, shall be left to the bottommost breaches.
Japeth shrugs.--All right then, that's settled.
Sem is frowning, but it is Chem who speaks.--That's preposterous. Those huge monsters out there, the what do you call them? Elephants, hippos and whatnot? We can't have them amidship, they'll make the boat more unstable than it already is. Which is bad enough, he adds.
Noe blinks.--I see.
An awkward lull ensues, everyone waiting as if for judgment. Sem pokes his wife, who is gazing hard at the floor.--What do you think, Bera? You brought them. How would you arrange them?
She blinks as if preoccupied.--Hmm? Oh, color, I suppose. Brown and gray on bottom, yellow and orange in the middle, black and white on top. Red in the front and blue in the back. Is anything blue?
No one can remember if there is anything blue.
--Anyway, Bera goes on, you can do it the other way round, if you prefer.
Noe stares with mouth open as if wondering at her sanity.--Birds too? You'd put the orange birds in with the orange wild cats and orange snakes?
Japeth laughs.--And orange monkeys, Da. Orange butterflies.
--You asked, shrugs Bera.--That's my thought.

If you've ever wondered, and even if you haven't, this is a great book that is just as much about family dynamics as it is about the animals and the voyage of the ark.
Four out of five stars for imagination and detail, poetic style and originality

Book Report: Then We Came to the End

Then We Came to the End
By Joshua Ferris

This 'National Bestseller' grabbed my attention while I was shopping for a friend. With it's playful, blocky yellow words set against a red spine, I couldn't help but reach for it.

From the Back:
No one knows us in quite the same way as the men and women who sit beside us in department meetings and crowd the office refrigerator with their labeled yogurts. Every office is a family of sorts, and the Chicago ad agency Joshua Ferris depicts in his exuberantly acclaimed first novel is family at its best and worst, coping with a business downturn in the time-honored way: through gossip, elaborate pranks, and increasingly frequent coffee breaks. With a demon's eye for the details that make life worth noticing, Joshua Ferris tells an emotionally true and funny story about survival in life's strangest environment--the one we pretend is normal five days a week.

I actually set this book back down. It was full price at a real bookstore, and I was supposed to be buying a gift. The blurb also struck me as somewhat vague... hinting of humor, but still vague.

Obviously, the next day I went back and shelled out fourteen bucks.

This book is... different. Firstly, this is the first time I've read a story set in the narrative 'we'. About 100 pages in, I realized that the main character is nameless, featureless, voiceless... a fly on the wall describing what goes on around him (him?). The narrative didn't bother me, so either I got used to it quickly or it was very well written--maybe the latter just a little more.

If you're looking for a book about characters, this is the Grand Daddy of them all. This monster of a book (385 pages) consists of very little actually happening in real time. I felt like I was part of this workplace, clustered in so-and-sos office, gossiping and speculating and creating rumors. The pack mentality is spot-on. The 'lens' with which you see this story darts back and forth through time and place, much in the essence of the newer, dry-humored sitcoms like 'The Office'. Much of what happens is told in story form by the characters themselves, which is often interrupted with questions from the other characters. Sounds confusing, and it is a bit, but it's meant to be take in stride and it works. We learn about the history of about half a dozen employees, each with unique personalities and relationships with each other. As the blurb says, this story is most certainly about a family--the sort of family that exists in every workplace. Every behavior is brought to light and rationalized, including the stuff we think nobody knows:

"We loved killing time and had perfected several ways of doing so. We wandered the hallways carrying papers that indicated some mission of business when in reality we were in search of free candy. We refilled our coffee mugs on floors we didn't belong to. Hank Neary was an avid reader. He arrived early in his brown corduroy coat with a book taken from the library, copied all its pages on the Xerox machine, and sat at is desk reading what looked to passerby like the honest pages of business. He'd make it through a three-hundred page novel every two or three days."

Hee. Bloody Brilliant.

"We settled down to the fund-raiser ads. We opened a new Quark document, or took out our pencils. Every once in a while a nicely sharpened pencil would crack on the page upon impact and we'd have to go in search of the one electric pencil sharpener. That was annoying. Back in our chairs we drummed the eraser between our teeth. If a stray paper clip happened to be lying around we were likely to bend it out of shape. Some of us knew how to turn a misshapen paper clip into a projectile that could hit the ceiling. If our attention was drawn to the ceiling, we usually recounted our tiles. When we returned to our computer screens, we erased whatever false starts we found there, suddenly embarrassed by them."

Gee, sounds a lot like the life of a writer...

This book isn't all paranoia over bar coded chairs, and totem poles worth more than two cars. Lynn, the quiet, professional boss, has cancer. Rumor of it has spread and when she schedules a week off from work, the menagerie assumes it is for her operation and recovery. Why, then, does she show up at her office on the morning she should be getting a mastectomy?

The middle third of this book changes gears, and perspectives. We get a glimpse into Lynn's life, her discovery of the lump, her admitting her concern to her boyfriend, and the two of them confronting her innate fear of hospitals. The tone is bittersweet and solemn.

When time catches up to the morning Lynn skips her appointment, Ferris changes the POV back to the collective 'we' with none of the employees none the wiser. They continue to speculate about why Lynn is in the office, throwing out ideas until finally one of them confronts her. Lynn remains cryptic, and 'we' come to the wrong conclusion that Lynn never had cancer in the first place.

As the ad agency continues to go under, characters are lost. The rest of the story weaves together the remaining group's fear and struggles to come up with a pitch they think will save the company (and their lives): What is funny about breast cancer?

The characters drive the story, though, and I really enjoyed a narrative turn for the worse when a recently fired employee returns... dressed as a clown and packing a weapon, seeking revenge on those who wronged him.

Anyone who works with a regular group of people can appreciate this story.

"Tom Mota, ladies and gentlemen--martini addict, gonzo e-mailer, sometime wielder of an aluminum bat, great garden enthusiast, paintball terrorist, and our own in-house Emerson scholar. He had the annoying tic during his time with us of pinning aphorisms to the wall. We liked nothing less than people quoting at us from their corkboards. Hank Neary was the only one who could quote at us with impunity because he rarely made and sense, so we knew the quotation must add up somehow and we marveled at the obscurity. Quotations that tried to instruct us or rehabilitate our ways, like those Tom favored--we didn't like those quotations. We were especially put off by Tom's because it seemed a great irony that Tom Mota was trying to reveal to us a better way to live, when just look at the guy! What a fuckup. He quotations were never allowed to stay pinned up for very long. It would take him days to notice and then he would holler out into the hall, in his inimitable and eloquent manner, "Who the fuck's been stealing my quotes?"

My one complaint with this book is that I was unable to remember everyone. I couldn't make the connection between names and the people they were, until prompted. Ferris makes mention of this syndrome in the story, relating it to starting work at a new place and taking weeks to learn everyone--so I wonder if maybe he purposely did not work to connect the reader with each person but instead let their characters unfold.

I truly have never read a book like this, constructed in such a unique (and let's be honest, odd) way. The resolution takes place five years after the ad agency finally went under, and all the employees come together for a reading of Hank Neary's book, which turns out to be the story of Lynn and her battle with cancer--the exact words from when this story veered off into more mature matters. Interesting.

Many times I could relate, and it made me feel good to know that I'm not the only one who hates my coworkers, steals company time, or enjoys a good gossip session.

"The funny thing about work itself, it was so bearable. The dreariest task was perfectly bearable. It presented challenges to overcome, the distraction provided by a sense of urgency, and the satisfaction of a task's completion--on any given day, those things made work utterly, even harmoniously bearable. What we bitched about, what we couldn't let die, what drove us to distraction and consumed us with blind fury, was this person or that who rankled and bugged and offended angels in heaven, who wore their clothes all wrong and foisted upon us their insufferable features, who deserved from a just god nothing but scorn because they were insipid, unpoetic, mercilessly enduring, and lost to the grand gesture."

Definitely plenty of food for thought.

Four out of Five stars for sly humor, realism, originality and teaching us all a lesson.

Book Report: P.S. Your Cat is Dead

P.S. Your Cat is Dead
By James Kirkwood

Found this book in a bookstore that was going out of business. This is an 'advance uncorrected proof', though the book was originally published in 1972. The title, written in black and set against a stark white spine, grabbed my attention.
I can't resist a snappy title.

From the back:
"It's New Year's Eve in New York City. Your best friend died in September, you've been robbed twice, your girlfriend is leaving you, you've just lost your job... and the only one left to talk to is the bisexual burglar you've got tied up in the kitchen."


I quickly debated over this book. 1972 is a long time ago, but the blurb on the back brags about how this story was transformed into a play and preformed 'over 200 times a year in productions around the country.' It's obviously going to be funny, and if it's really been made into a play, it has to be good, right? (AND, while gathering links to this entry, I discover a movie has also been made.)

While slow to get started, this story explodes into action around a quarter of the way in. James Zoole is a down on his luck, out of work actor, who lives in an abandoned apartment building with his cat, Bobby Seale. After much set up and illustration of Jame's back story, we witness a fight (which escalates into a fruit-throwing shouting match) between him and his girlfriend, which of course results in James being left alone in his apartment, angry and hurt. Little did he know, though, that laying in hiding under the bed, was a burglar--and not just any burglar, the same burglar who'd broken in twice before. Jimmy, who's caught up in the heat of the moment, makes a bold decision born of desperation and attacks the stranger, and WINS, then proceeds to tie the man face down to the kitchen island (strategically placed over the sink, just in case).

The rest of the story bears birth to a unique relationship--dare I say friendship--between Loser Gone Crazy and his Captive. Much of the story takes place in the kitchen, much of it dialogue, as the two explore each other through alternating fits of banter and anger. Each has been hurt, each finds a likable commonality with the other. As the night wears on, different people from Jimmy's life intrude:

"I didn't even hear the door open, only heard my name. "Jim...?" We both turned, just in time to see Kate's head peek in the door. She was surprised, too surprised to speak at first, so was I. I had certainly not expected to see her. She'd stepped into the room now and was focusing on the strange tableau we must have presented, to the background music of the Mozart String Quintets: the prone figure of Vito, tied down, bare-assed as a babe, yet cynically wise of face, me standing attendance, inserting the cigarette for him to puff, then taking it away as he exhaled. For what seemed like ages the only sound in the room was the music. The expression on her face was priceless. Her eyes mirrored her speechlessness. Yes, for once Kate was speechless. I glanced down to Vito. His eyes flickered from Kate to me. There was a twinkle, an immediate spark between us."

Needless to say, the ensuing scene between Jimmy, Vito, ex-girlfriend Kate and her new guy Fred is priceless. Jimmy and Vito ad-lib well together, each an actor in their own right, and play up the moment to the maximum--two men coming together just for the sheer joy of revenge against a cheating woman.

This story is truly unique, but there are subtle rises and falls and during the 'down times', I found myself skipping words in an effort to get ahead. The conversations between Jimmy and Vito are the heart of this book, pure character exploration that took quite a deal of talent and imagination from Kirkwood. His humor is dry and witty and he's not afraid to 'go there'... including terrifying his main character with the possibility of rape at this story's height. The dialect is playful and true, and each character is definately his or her own person. This somewhat unbelievable mishap is handled masterfully and vividly, and somehow manages to end with satisfaction.

Four out of Five stars for characterization, humor, dialogue and character growth.

P.S.--The cat really is dead.

Book Report: Burning Eddy

Burning Eddy
By Scot Gardner

This book was a gift from Caroline. She'd noted that she liked it but not as much as Gravity, and I have to agree. While fast moving and thoughtful, Burning Eddy was juvenile and shallow.

From the back:

In the country, where his fifteenth summer has burned the life from the grass, Daniel Fairbrother is searching. Looking for something that will make tomorrow seem worth the effort. Something that will fix the rot in his family tree. Stop it from falling apart under the weight of a thousand secrets. Dan's clues come from the animals. And the Dutch woman. He works in her garden. Eddy's eighty-six. She has a tattoo, a history, and can make music with her farts. She pays in cash and can read Dan's mind. In a shady corner of Eddy's garden, Dan finds something growing... Hope. But something is burning.

With each chapter named for a different Australian animal, Dan frequently encounters wildlife and learns from their individual traits, though some of these are a stretch. Simultaneously, he befriends Eddy and forms a touching, if stereotypical mother-son relationship. While bordering on over-the-top, Eddy is quite amusing and I found myself grinning at her lively, harmless antics.

"She stood up and broke wind loudly. She took my glass and broke wind in time with her steps to the kitchen. I didn't know where to look. When she returned, she was smiling. 'Did you hear that? I played a little tune with my bum! A windie song. Ha ha!'"

Come on, seriously. Who doesn't laugh at farts??

While Eddy and the animals provide a reprieve and an opportunity to grow, Gardner provides the reader with more somber moments, too. He has shaped Dan into a very 'Gilbert Grape' type big brother to young Toby, and the two contemplate their emotionally distant father in search for answers. This is where the book took on a third dimension, was balanced by light and fluffy with poor family dynamics and emotional pain.

"The house was too quiet. I felt uneasy as I walked to the kitchen door. The car had moved. The P76 wasn't where it had been parked this morning. It was closer to the house. I reached for the handle on the flywire door and it burst open in my face. It was Dad. His jaw was covered in grey stubble. His teeth were bared. He shoved me with both hands and I slammed into the car. Fell to my hands and knees. 'What are you doing going through my stuff?' He kicked me in the guts. If I had been a football I would have flown fifty metres. I'm not a football. The air rushed from me in a wheeze. Something from my guts was forced into my mouth. Bitter like vomit."

I think this book ended a little abruptly. It could have been much longer, much more detailed, much more layered. But it's a young adult book, so I can't fault the author and won't. I still enjoyed it, and appreciated this personal look into one boy's fateful summer.

Three out of five stars for characterization, imagery, and ease.