"Restaurant Man," by Joe Bastianich

Remember Anthony Bourdain’s book, “Kitchen Confidential”? Remember how raw and rowdy and profane it was? But at the same time entertaining and informational? Joe Bastianich’s book, “Restaurant Man” (Viking, 2012) reminds me of that book. In both of these books, I imagine that the brash style probably does reflect the authors' personalities, but I also suspect that that style is somewhat hyped-up for effect. In any case, I enjoyed both, but with a sort of ongoing footnote of reservation (no pun intended…well, maybe a little bit!). Bastianich, like Bourdain, tells the story of his own life in the restaurant business, how it evolved over time, how his lifestyle changed over time, and how it all both reflected and affected his relationships with others. Bastianich is, along with his partners, the famed Mario Batali and Lidia Bastianich (who happens to be his mother), the owner/operator of several well-respected and enormously successful restaurants in New York (Babbo, Del Posto, Lupa, Esca, Otto) and elsewhere. His life’s work is to show America what real Italian food and wine are (hint: not just spaghetti and meatballs in red-checked tablecloth restaurants). His story is very interesting, and he tells it well, albeit in the brash and f-word-filled prose mentioned above. Modesty seems to be a foreign word for him now, but he briefly lets us see a glimpse of his earlier insecurities, and he is also good at acknowledging the contributions of others, so as a reader I am inclined to forgive his somewhat excessive macho-ish self-regard. I admire the author’s successes, and I appreciate his service-oriented attitude; he truly wants his customers to feel well taken care of and happy. I have dined at Babbo and enjoyed it very much; we received the kind of service the author describes as his goal there. Next time I am in New York, perhaps I will try to get a reservation at Del Posto, one of the very few restaurants to earn four stars from the New York Times. “Restaurant Man” is a good read for those who love restaurants, especially New York restaurants, and I learned a lot about that world from this book.

The Atlantic on "The Art of Fielding"

There has been so much hullabaloo about Chad Harbach's 2011 novel, "The Art of Fielding," that I felt a certain pressure to read it, or at least to check it out. I read several enthusiastic reviews, but something kept me from reading it. Perhaps it was the baseball theme; I like baseball fine, but am not enough of a fan to want to read novels about it. OK, I was assured by some of the reviews that the baseball wasn't the point; it was just a means. It was pointed out (very presumptuously, in my opinion!) that "Moby Dick" wasn't really about whaling. I still hesitated. Then the May 2012 issue of The Atlantic arrived in my mailbox, with its B. R. Myers-authored takedown of the novel in a review titled "A Swing and a Miss," with the subtitle "Why the Latest Hyped-Up Work of Staggering Genius Fizzles" (note the Dave Eggers reference). Myers decries the way (he believes) many fiction readers "succumb to the loudest promotional campaign every year only because they recognize the recurring need for an 'it' novel, something everyone can agree to read at about the same time." Sure enough, after strong reviews and a "puff piece" (Myers' words) from Vanity Fair, the novel climbed the bestseller lists. Myers is acerbic about "one-novel-a-year" readers, and about those who state that "you may not dismiss a highly praised novel as unworthy of notice until you have finished it." Thank you, Mr. Myers. Although perhaps it sounds philistine, I agree with Myers that time is too short to read everything, and one CAN get a sense of whether a novel is good, and in particular about whether one might like it, without actually reading it. Since Myers is writing a review, he does read "The Art of Fielding," and has some mild praise for it, including "it's not terrible." The author is talented, some of the paragraphs are well-paced, and there is some "brilliant imagery." Myers' ultimate opinion: The novel is "as light and insubstantial as a 512-page [!] book can be. It's not so much what happens or doesn't as the elfin tone in which everything is narrated: baseball, aging, lust, death, even an actual corpse -- all get the same twinkly treatment." Thank you again, Mr. Myers; now I have some support for my decision not to read "The Art of Fielding."

"Hand Me Down," by Melanie Thorne

Melanie Thorne's novel "Hand Me Down" (Dutton, 2012) is heartrending. It tells the story of Liz, a young teenager who has lived a most unstable and disturbing life because of the unreliable and dangerous adults who have failed and are still failing her. Her father is alcoholic and out of control, her stepfather is a creepy sex offender, and her mother has chosen that stepfather over her daughters. Both her father and mother do seem to love her, and her mother used to do everything she could to protect her daughters, but now is in the thrall of her horrible husband. Liz's main concern in life is protecting her younger sister, Jaime. Liz is smart, resourceful, brave, and strong, but she is always on guard, always worrying, always figuring out what she has to do to survive and to protect Jaime; living like that is a terrible strain on her, something no young person should have to endure. The only notes of hope in this story are Liz's strength, her love for her sister, and the caring aunts who take her and Jaime in when their parents fail them. Both Liz and Jaime show an amazing resilience despite their terrible circumstances and the uncertainty and scariness of their lives. Normally I would find a novel like this one too sad to keep reading, but Liz's voice (as the narrator as well as main character) is so strong and real and compelling, and the author's control of her material so sure, that I kept reading and reading. In fact, last night I had intended to grade papers but, instead, sat on the couch with this book and, despite my admonitions to myself after each chapter that I must close the book and stop, kept on reading until I finished the novel.

"Mono Lake: Stories," by Martha Clark Cummings

I know Martha Clark Cummings through professional conferences; she also contributed a wonderful chapter to an academic book I co-edited a few years ago. Over the years, she has become a friend as well. Besides being a great teacher and scholar, she is a gifted creative writer, especially of short stories. I have seen a couple of her recent stories and liked them very much, but only last month did I order and read her earlier collection of short fiction, “Mono Lake: Stories” (Rowbarge Press, 1995). These engrossing stories depict characters, usually lesbian, in harsh situations. Most of them are set in remote, weatherbeaten, barely populated places such as Mono Lake. There is a beaten-down, even somewhat grim feeling to most of the stories. But there is also so much humanity in the midst of those difficult settings, and there are many hints of hope and possibility throughout. The situations and plots are compelling, as are the characters. There is much for us to learn from the stories, about – among other things – sexual identity and social class. There is a restrained lyricism in the style, a style that eschews prettiness for grit and heart. It is a pleasure for me to rediscover what I already knew: that Martha is a fine writer.

Jane Eyre Redux: "The Flight of Gemma Hardy"

I have read and liked some of Margot Livesey’s fiction before; I have now just finished her recent novel, “The Flight of Gemma Hardy” (Harper, 2012). When I read reviews that stated that this novel was a 1950s interpretation of Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre,” I wondered if it would feel gimmicky. But I trusted my instinct that a writer of Livesey’s stature would not allow that to happen, and I was right. The retelling is close enough that readers can see the bones of the Jane Eyre story (unloving aunt and cousin, harsh life as a charity case at a boarding school, life as a governess, love and engagement, an unwelcome revelation, a dreadful time wandering friendless and moneyless, rescue by kind friends, discovery of formerly unknown relatives and friends, and more…) but different enough that it stands up as a compelling independent novel. Readers would not need to know “Jane Eyre” to enjoy this book, but knowing it does add a dimension of depth and pleasure to the experience. The story takes place in Scotland (mostly) and Iceland, and one of its rewards is the descriptions of these settings. But the main draw of the novel is the strong, original, courageous, vulnerable girl and young woman, Gemma. We root for her, worry about her, applaud her, and eagerly read on to see what will happen next. This is a beautifully written and very satisfying novel, whether readers are Bronte fans or not.

My Towering Magazine Pile

Once again, my magazines waiting to be read have multiplied. After being away for about ten days last month for academic conferences, I returned to an alarming build-up of magazines, which I am now trying to work my way through. Below is a list of the magazines I currently subscribe to. There have been others I have subscribed to over the years, but this is the list I have winnowed my subscriptions down to. (This does not include the many academic journals to which I have subscriptions, or magazines that are sent to me because I belong to certain organizations.) I have written in this blog about several of these magazines, and about articles or essays or reviews in them. The magazines are: The Atlantic, Ms., The Nation, New York, New York Times Book Review, The New Yorker, The Progressive, San Francisco, The Threepenny Review, Vanity Fair, The Women’s Review of Books.

"Coral Glynn," by Peter Cameron

The author Peter Cameron has been on the outer edges of my radar, off and on, for a while, but I was never intrigued enough to actually read any of his novels. Until now. I heard Maureen Corrigan review Cameron’s new novel, “Coral Glynn” (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2012) a few weeks ago, read a couple of other reviews, kept being discouraged by seeing the word “Gothic,” but finally all the good reviews made me put the book on my list. Now I have read it, and am glad I did. It is an odd little book, but compelling. Cameron has said he was influenced by the writers Barbara Pym, Elizabeth Taylor, Rose Macauley, and William Maxwell, all writers I like very much. Although he is American, he set the novel in the English countryside of the 1950s…not the charming cottage-y countryside, but the gloomy, isolated countryside. The influence that springs to mind is the works of the Brontes, especially “Jane Eyre,” with less overt desperation, but quiet desperation nevertheless. Another influence or at least allusion is, surely, Daphne du Maurier’s “Rebecca.” However, the “Gothic” element is less than I feared, and I got caught up in the somewhat mysterious characters and their relationships. The main character, the Coral of the title, is sparsely described, so we readers have to work at figuring her out. Clement, the sad man who proposes to her after just a couple of weeks of knowing her, and who is scarred by World War II, is also a fascinating character. This brief novel moves along briskly, despite its mysteries. Coral, although alone in the world, is surprisingly resilient, and there is a surprise ending that is quite satisfying. The writing in this novel is delicate, indirect, and compelling. Although I started by resisting the novel, it won me over with its unusual yet believable characters and its lovely writing.