"Robin," by Dave Itzkoff

Like so many people who live in the San Francisco Bay Area, my family had, over the past thirty-plus years, various brushes and contacts and overlaps of friends and classmates and neighbors with the great comic and actor Robin Williams and his family. I absolutely don’t mean to claim any closeness, not at all, but only the kinds of occasional fleeting contacts one has when living in the same neighborhoods, seeing each other on the street, one’s children going to the same schools and socializing in the same circles, seeing each other at local restaurants, etc. I was always a great admirer and fan of Williams, and knew quite a bit of his story already, but I was still very interested in his biography, “Robin” (Gale, 2018) by Dave Itzkoff. It seems to be very thorough, based on many interviews and much research. The prose is perhaps a bit workmanlike, but Williams’ personality, character, career, and story are well presented. The story is such a mixture of joy and sorrow, highs and lows. Robin Williams was such a gifted performer, and loved his family so much. It is true that he had his demons, became addicted to alcohol and drugs, and sometimes didn’t spend the time with his family members that he wanted to. He made some mistakes in his career as well. But everyone who knew him acknowledged his extraordinary talents, and that he was at heart a good man. One thing I wish Itzkoff had written more about was Williams’ many, many contributions to charities, to American soldiers, and to countless friends in need, sick children, and others, very often anonymously or with minimal publicity. The author does mention some of these, but not enough, in my opinion. In any case, I recommend the book “Robin” to anyone interested in Robin Williams and his complicated, unparalleled life and career, cut short too soon by a dreadful disease.

"Cork Dork," by Bianca Bosker

Continuing in the vein of my 8/19/18 post about the chef Eric Ripert’s memoir, I turn to a book -- a sort of memoir -- about learning the world of wine. “Cork Dork” (Penguin, 2017) (clever title!) is well-summarized by its subtitle: “A Wine-Fueled Adventure Among the Obsessive Sommeliers, Big Bottle Hunters, and Rogue Scientists Who Taught Me to Live for Taste.” Author Bianca Bosker is a journalist who decided she wanted to immerse herself in all things related to wine, and she did so in a big way (and with a large measure of obsessiveness herself!). She took classes, joined tasting groups, followed sommeliers around in their fine restaurants, spoke to scientists, studied for wine certification tests, and tasted, tasted, tasted all types of wine. Her base was in New York City, where she lives, but she traveled across the United States (especially to California, home of so many great wines) and to Europe as well. Some sections of the book are rather technical, but Bosker mostly manages to convey information in an interesting way that drew in even this only-mildly-interested-in-wine reader. (I love good food from various cultures, and fine and varied restaurants, and I occasionally drink a glass of wine, but I am not very knowledgeable about it, and don’t have any urge to go to any particular effort to learn more.) It is quite a feat that Bosker makes the book interesting for both the wine enthusiast (e.g., my son-in-law, who read and enjoyed the book) and the reader who is less so (e.g., me). The strength of this book, for the non-wine-fanatic reader, is the stories Bosker tells about her adventures and about the people she meets along the way. She has an eye for the telling detail that brings a story to life. I especially enjoyed the engaging, revealing, and often funny stories that took place in restaurants where the author observed and worked. Like most people, I enjoy the sense of seeing what happens “behind the scenes.” And I definitely learned a lot about wine in the course of reading the book.

"32 Yolks," by Eric Ripert

Eric Ripert, the co-owner of and chef at the famed New York City seafood restaurant Le Bernadin, has written a fascinating and compelling memoir of his life before he arrived in the United States. He is French, and he describes his childhood with candor: both the ways in which he learned about good food and cooking from his mother and other family members and friends, and the ways in which his childhood was difficult because of his parents’ divorce and remarriages. “32 Yolks: From My Mother’s Table to Working the Line” (I love the title!) (co-authored with Veronica Chambers; Random House, 2016) is suffused with Ripert’s love of food and his intense enjoyment of learning about it, preparing it, watching others prepare it, and of course eating it. His mother cooked very special dinners every evening, complete with crisp tablecloths, candles, and flowers. His grandmothers taught and showed him about the importance of fresh ingredients and of taking the time to prepare food well. Despite his difficulties and sadness about feeling somewhat abandoned by each of his parents after they separated and began new relationships, Ripert was fortunate to have several good models and mentors along the way, including some who recognized his interests and gifts early on. Ripert went to culinary school, and then experienced the exciting yet grindingly hard experiences of being a sort of apprentice and then gradually rising up in the hierarchy of the restaurant world. Coincidentally, I had read about the famous chef Joel Robuchon’s very recent death just before I picked up this memoir of Ripert’s, which devotes a big chunk of the pages to his time working at Robuchon’s great restaurant, Jamin. Ripert says this was one of the most difficult experiences he ever had, because Robuchon was such a perfectionist and didn’t hesitate to yell at anyone who did a less than perfect job in carrying out the chef’s vision; however, Ripert also says he was in awe of Robuchon’s creativity, and learned an incredible amount from him. (I once dined at the Atelier Robuchon in London with my daughter and had a superb meal there - lucky me!) He also turned out to be a mentor, and at the end of the book, has helped Ripert find a job at a prestigious restaurant in the United States. That is where the book ends, but we know that he has since gone on to become one of the best known chefs in the U.S. I was fortunate enough to have a meal at Le Bernadin with my friend E. some years back, and it was a wonderful experience, almost sublime! Of course having had that experience made me value and enjoy this memoir all the more. The book is fairly short and very readable, and we learn much about Ripert’s experiences with family, food, romance, and relationships during those formative years that the book covers. It is a worthy member of the group of restaurant memoirs that have come out in the past ten to fifteen years (as well as earlier ones). Some that I have posted about here are those of Anthony Bourdain (RIP), Marcus Samuelsson, and Gabrielle Hamilton. I also posted a list of favorite books (mostly memoirs) about the restaurant world (mostly by chefs, but also by servers and other members of that world) on 2/4/10.

"Astrid & Veronika," by Linda Olsson

As I mentioned in my 7/15/18 post about what I read on a recent trip to Canada, I liked the novel “A Sister in My House,” although it was sad and even a bit grim. After that, I read another novel by the same author, Linda Olsson, titled “Astrid & Veronika” (Penguin, 2005). I also liked this book, partly because of and partly in spite of its similarity in tone and even plot to the “Sister” book. In both cases, the main characters, two women, have had difficult lives full of childhood trauma and further losses in adulthood. In both cases, the two gradually learn to trust each other, and allow each other to see each's vulnerabilities. The novels are both rather slow going and fraught, but also are both positive in the sense that the characters learn (slowly, partially) to heal. Veronika is a young woman writer from Sweden who moved to New Zealand to be with the man she loves. As this novel starts, she has (because of something tragic that happened in New Zealand) returned to Sweden and is renting a house in the forest outside a small village, using it as a refuge and also a place to work on her novel. There she meets her nearest neighbor, a much older woman called Astrid who is more or less a recluse; gradually they become very close friends, and teach each other lessons about life. The writing is beautiful, as it describes the two women savoring the simple pleasures of walks in the woods, good food and wine eaten and drunk slowly and companionably, and halting but encouraging conversations. Not least of the pleasures for the reader is the portrayal of the joys and rewards of female friendship. A lovely book.

"The Ensemble," by Aja Gabel

“The Ensemble”(Riverhead, 2018), by Aja Gabel portrays the contemporary world of music, as seen in the form of a classical music quartet. The novel’s author, a former cellist, seems to know the world well, and shows the beautiful, even ethereal, aspects of being immersed in music, as well as the more difficult aspects. She describes the music itself remarkably effectively, as well as the long hours of practice, the worries, the insecurities, and the physical and mental toll the life of musicians can take. (I had never before thought -- although I probably should have -- about all the arm, shoulder, elbow, back, etc. injuries that can affect musicians’ bodies.) Intertwined with all of the above are the personal lives and loves of the four musicians and their families, lovers, and associates. The Van Ness Quartet consists of Jana, Brit, Henry, and Daniel. They need each other and love each other, and have various relationships among themselves, including romantic and sexual ones, sometimes concealed and sometimes not, but they also have arguments, fallings-out, and tough times. The novel follows the group for many years. As a San Franciscan, I enjoyed the early scenes set in San Francisco, where the quartet studied music and met each other. Later, after some intermediate moves, including to New York, some of them live north of San Francisco in the Sonoma Valley (just a bit north of where I live). The combination of the musical aspects and the personal aspects works well, although occasionally the plot and the writing verge on being a bit overwrought. But that is a small quibble; the novel is compelling. In addition to enjoying it, I learned quite a bit about music, instruments, quartets, concerts, and in general the world of classical musicians.

"The Great Believers," by Rebecca Makkai

Reading “The Great Believers” (Viking, 2018), by Rebecca Makkai (whose novel “The Hundred-Year House” I wrote about here on 8/31/14) takes us back to the time when the initial scourge of AIDS suddenly devastated whole communities, mostly of gay men, in the early 1980s and beyond. The novel is mainly set in New York; as a San Franciscan, I remember very clearly that the disease rampaged through this city as well. Half of this novel focuses on a group of friends in New York, gay men, mostly in creative careers related to the arts, who one by one are dying of AIDS. (This was before any of the current life-prolonging treatments were discovered.) The novel portrays this catastrophic time, and the emotional and social as well as physical damage and suffering that took place, well and even graphically. The other half of the novel (the two halves are presented in alternating sections) takes place thirty years later, when Fiona, whose brother and many friends were among the victims of the disease, and who was a main character in the first half of the novel, now goes to Paris to look for her daughter, who has become part of a cult. The two stories weave back and forth, and there are some happy memories and happy times despite and even amidst the nightmare of the AIDS disaster. There are a few subordinate but related plot lines, one related to the main character, Yale, as he tries to acquire a hitherto unknown art collection from a dying woman who had known and posed for many famous artists in Paris in the early twentieth century. Although the main topic of this novel is obviously incredibly painful and sad, the novel is much more multilayered and complex than one might think when reading the above description. This is a compelling and important novel, and I highly recommend it to you.

"The Destiny Thief," by Richard Russo

Although I mostly read fiction, I also enjoy – as regular readers of this blog know – memoirs and other nonfiction. Once in a while, I read and am thoroughly drawn into books of essays, often by writers that I already know and appreciate as fiction writers. I recently read “The Destiny Thief” (Knopf, 2018), a collection of essays “On Writing, Writers and Life,” by one of my very favorite novelists, Richard Russo (some favorite novels: “Straight Man,” “Empire Falls,” “Bridge of Sighs,” “That Old Cape Magic”). The main reasons I enjoyed these essays were: 1. interesting topics; 2. insightful comments on writing and other topics; and 3. the author’s persona and voice. About the latter: Russo seems like a genuinely good and nice person (and I have heard from a writer friend who knows Russo that this assessment is correct). I know this (being nice) isn’t supposed to matter in writers, and perhaps it doesn’t – too much – in fiction. But in essays, writers are writing about themselves and topics they know, in a more straightforward way than in fiction, and their personas are more easily revealed. Some of the essays in “The Destiny Thief” contain advice about writing and the writing life (Russo was a professor of writing for many years); some are about specific authors (notably Dickens and Twain); others are about people and situations in Russo’s own life. One piece details his musings about the phenomenon of self-publishing, and his concerns about what this movement, along with its accompanying movements related to marketing self-published books on Amazon, will do to the world of literature and to the preservation of distinctions between literary writing and commercial writing. An outstanding and compelling essay is “Imagining Jenny,” about Russo’s longtime close friend and colleague, formerly named James Boylan, as she goes through a transition to womanhood as Jenny Boylan. In particular, the essay focuses on the days of and after Jenny’s surgery, in a city to which both Russo and Boylan’s wife Grace have accompanied her, visit her in the hospital for long hours every day, and unexpectedly become caught up with the difficult life of another transgender patient at that hospital. Russo is devoted to his friend, and fiercely loyal and supportive, yet lets the reader see that he has had some ambivalance, some questions, along the way, since the day two years before when James told his friend about seeing herself as a woman and embarking on hormone and other therapies. Russo is candid and generous in sharing his mixed feelings with readers, showing very human reactions and concerns, although the loyalty and support are always predominant by far. This essay collection is rich and engaging, and although the essays address somewhat diverse topics, Russo’s voice and sensibility tie them together. I thoroughly enjoyed spending a few hours in the company of Russo's voice in this collection.