Time and Materials by Robert Hass

This is another National Book Award winner, which I think caught my eye when I was reading the New York Times Book Review on a regular basis. Hass, a collaborator with Czeslaw Milosz (one of my favorite poets), writes in a style that's very quiet. With a simplicity of lines and a keen eye for theme, Hass can say more about his subject than a lot of other poets, without going over the top or being melodramatic.

Here's a good example of what I am referring to, "Envy of Other People's Poems":

"In one version of the legend the sirens couldn't sing.
It was only a sailor's story that they could.
So Odysseus, lashed to the mast, was harrowed
By a music that he didn't hear--plungings of sea,
wind-sheer, the off-shore hunger of the birds--
And the mute women gathering kelp for garden mulch,
Seeing him strain against the cordage, seeing
The awful longing in his eyes, are changed forever
On their rocky waste of island by their imagination
Of his imagination of the song they didn't sing."

This is deconstruction of myth done on the down low. No grand lines about all the wrongs of the patriarchal past or anything, just "hey, what if Odysseus was terrified by the lack of what he wanted?" It's very well done, but it's done almost so subtly as to be missed. (Though, since this *did* win a major award, perhaps I am wrong in saying it could be overlooked.)

In "The Problem of Describing Trees", Hass takes a few licks, again very quietly, at poetry itself:

"The apsen glitters in the wind
And that delights us.

The leaf flutters, turning,
Because that motion in the heat of August
Protects its cells from drying out. Likewise the leaf
Of the cottonwood.

The gene pool threw up a wobbly stem
And the tree danced. No.
The tree capitalized.
No. There are limits to saying,
In language, what the tree did.

It is good sometimes for poetry to disenchant us.

Dance with me, dancer. Oh, I will.

Mountains, sky,
The aspen doing something in the wind."

Am I reading too much into Hass's lines? Maybe, but that's the fun of being a reviewer, you get to put your own spin on things. "Art and Life", a longer poem, uses a painter as the subject, but the theme also seems to tie into a poet and his writing. I'll only reproduce the ending here:

"...Here is the life that chose you
And the one you chose. Here is the brush, horsehair,
Hair of the badger, the goat's beard, the sable,
And here is the smell of paint. The volitile, sharp oils
Of linseed, rapeseed. Here is the stench of the essence
Of pinewood in a can of turpentine. Here is the hand,
Flick of wrist, tendon-ripple of the brushstroke. Here--
Cloud, lake water lifting on a summer morning,
Ash and ash and chalky ash--is the stickiness of paint
Adhering to the woven flax of the canvas, here
Is the faithfulness of paint on paint on paint on paint.
Something stays this way we cannot have,
Comes alive because we cannot have it."

Change a few of those words, and it's a comment on the writer trying to capture that which he sees and that which he imagines.

And hey, even if you don't agree with me in relation to the meaning--look at that artistry of the flow of the poem. The density of the words, the beauty of the repetition, the power and description placed in every line. This poem itself is a work of art!

As with Milosz, the poems collected here either come from personal experience or are written in such a way as to make the reader feel close to the speaker. There is an intimacy that comes out through the pages which draws me into work such as Hass' that other writers cannot match. We could make character sketches of the speakers, be they women performing daily tasks or a young boy watching his father pull power trips over his wife in the underbelly of the 1950s.

Not all the poems are quite so serious. Hass includes a section of playful writing with his friend Milosz, based on the difference between "o" and "oh", and there's even a short piece featuring cucumber, called, appropriately enough, "Poem with a Cucumber In It." Another poem is an argument between two lovers that's written in verse with dashes indicating the change in speakers. The variety of styles is actually quite amazing.

I usually end poetry reviews with one more parting line from the artist, but I think this time I will merely recommend Hass' work to you, because there really is no definitive piece to quote. As vast as it is quiet, this book's materials will definitely hold up over time.

(I did not, please note, promise not to leave on a horrible pun based on the book's title.)

Star Trek 1 by James Blish

While going back and watching the original series in order, I discovered that I am in fact a rather big fan of Star Trek. Memories of begging to be allowed to watch TV over dinner came flooding back to me, as did trying to tape the old marathon runs on UHF stations and being very upset that I wasn't able to see Star Trek V (or was it VI?) with my friends.

A newer, more critical viewing shows the subtle ways in which the show evolved over time, like how they found that McCoy was a winning character or that Spock works better as a being with a dry wit rather than a complete machine (something Next Gen also learned with Data, come to think of it).

While we were watching the shows, I mentioned how Star Trek novels actually didn't suck, as opposed to the Star Wars adaptations I read. So, in a fit of either inspiration or madness, your call, I figured I would try to run through as many Trek novels as I could before getting tired of the idea.

And because I am a sequentialist, I simply have to read them in order.

So here we are, with the first Trek novel, an adaptation of seven episodes of the original series, written by an Englishman before the show had crossed the pond. None of them are very long, only about 20 pages or so at the max in a mass market format. As a result, the feeling is more like cliff notes of the episodes, hitting the highlights rather than going into depth.

What's most interesting, however, are the little touches Blish adds, like "McCoy didn't like Spock" during the Romulan encounter, that show he's not working from the complete picture of the series, just (presumably) script drafts. There's also notes about Kirk's distaste for desk-bound Federation departments that will use the ships scientific explorations for war, a clear reference to the Cold War military research and the ever escalating levels of destruction made capable in the 1960s.

Blish also seems more inclined to make the Enterprise's crew feel like a sailing ship rather than a science fiction vessal, something that probably ties to England's longstanding nautical tradition. There's stuff about long voyages, lack of communication, reactions to females not onboard the shop, and so on. That's Blish moving out on his own, as the series itself doesn't seem to concentrate on this nearly as much.

The episodes covered here are a bit out of order from how they aired originally, but that honestly doesn't change much, as Blish does not try to use prior experiences to move the characterization (this, I think, is the biggest flaw of the adaptations, other than their extreme brevity). I'm not entirely sure why, unless this was the planned airing order for Britain.

All in all, unless you are a hardcore Star Trek fan, there's probably no reason to read these. I, of course, will continue to do so, because I'm funny that way. You might want to pick one up along the way, just to see the early days of adaptations.

Letters to Juliet by Lise Friedman and Ceil Friedman

Erica kidded me all through this this one being in the house, as, believe it or not, I've never read--nor do I intend to read--Romeo and Juliet. However, as soon as I heard of this book, I knew I needed to read it.

It turns out that, for at least a century, possibly longer, people have been writing letters to Juliet, asking her for advice. This book does some cultural anthropology into the beginnings of the letters, interspersing some of the letters actually written to Juliet over t...more Erica kidded me all through this this one being in the house, as, believe it or not, I've never read--nor do I intend to read--Romeo and Juliet. However, as soon as I heard of this book, I knew I needed to read it.

It turns out that, for at least a century, possibly longer, people have been writing letters to Juliet, asking her for advice. This book does some cultural anthropology into the beginnings of the letters, interspersing some of the letters actually written to Juliet over the years.

I think it's most fascinating that the first "Juliet" to respond was the male groundskeeper and that the second Juliet was also male. Though they worked alone and sometimes in anonymity, today there is a team of eight Juliets that take care of the high volume of mail she receives.

Most of the letters are fairly standard stuff of advice columns, but a few nearly brought me to tears, particularly a letter from a young lesbian in India, who not only had to face cultural bias, but one of class as well in relation to her true love.

This book was not anything like I'd expected it to be. Rather than just copy the letters for over 100 pages, the writers instead choose to focus on the historical Juliet, showing the reader around Verona and trying to locate the site of the original tomb as well as the alleged Romeo's house in addition to telling the story of how the Juliet phenomenon continued in fits and starts over the years. There are a nice selection of pictures to help visualize things, too. We probably didn't need the "history of Juliet" that opens the text, as it's less than what you'd get in an intro to the Shakespeare. However, that's a small quibble.

I think this book would make a great Travel Channel special and those of you interested in Shakespeare definitely should pick this up. It's amazing how Juliet has been turned into something of a modern goddess, in large part due to a man who wanted to do more within the civil service. It just goes to show that if you write a great character, they truly will live forever.

Fire to Fire by Mark Doty

I know it's shocking, but yes, I'm actually reviewing a relatively new book for a change. Usually by the time I get around to things, they're scuffed up, dog-eared, and there's only a little residue to show where the "new" sticker once lived.

But here I am, and with a National Book Award winner, to boot!

Fire to Fire is an odd choice to win an award, at least from my perspective. It's not really a new collection of poems--only the first 50 pages are new material, meaning that essentially a chapbook takes the cake over whatever other poetry books were published in 2008. I find it odd that a "Best of..." wins an award over entirely new material, but since I don't read enough new poetry to say this was or was not the best, I'll just note my eyebrow quirk at the selection and move on.

I must admit that I had trouble with this book. Because it featured a lot of selections from over Doty's life, it was hard for me to get a feel for his poetry at any given time. (I do not, as a rule, care for "best of..." books, preferring to make my own decisions in this regard.) This was further compounded by Doty's seeming desire to show how large his vocabulary is.

When I was in school, my mother made me look up any any all words I didn't know the meaning to, which gave me a life-long hatred of two things--the dictionary and people who used obscure words where common words will do. As a result, Doty's style was not a good fit for me personally, as I kept thinking about how I was really glad I didn't have to read any of his work in high school.

This does not, however, mean I disliked his poetry as a rule. Far from it. I liked his turn of phrase (when not going for five dollar words), and as long-time readers of my reviews know, I am a big fan of poetry of the personal, which Doty writes in abundance. There are quite a few poems dealing with the interrelations of himself and his friends, particularly those who are dying. I am assuming the most personal deal with a dying lover or lovers, but they could possibly be fictionalized.

Here's an example, "Brilliance":

"Maggie's taking care of a man
who's dying; he's attending to everything,
said goodbeye to his parents,

paid off his credit card.
She says Why don't you just
run it up to the limit?

but he wants everything
squared away, no balance owed,
though he misses the pets

he's already found a home for
--he can't be around dogs or cats,
too much risk. He says,

I can't have anything.
She says, A bowl of goldfish?
He says he doesn't want to start

with anything and then describes
the kind he'd maybe like,
how their tails would fan

to a gold flaring. They talk
about hot jewle tones,
gold lacquer, say maybe

they'll go pick some out
though he can't go much of anywhere and then
abruptly he says I can't love

anything I cant' finish.
He says it like he's had enough
of the whole scintillant worldm

though what he means is
he'll never be satisfied and therefore
has established this discipline,

a kind of severe rehersal.
That's where they leave it,
him looking out the windowm

her knitting as she does because
she needs to do something.
Later he leaves a message:

Yes to the bowl of goldfish.
Meaning: let me go, if I have to,
in brilliance. In a story I read,

a Zen master who'd perfected
his detachment from the things of the world
remembered, at the moment of dying,

a deer he used to feed in the park,
and wondered who might care for it,
and at that instant was reborn

in the stunned flesh of a fawn.
So, Maggie's friend--
is he going out

into the last loved object
of his attention?
Fanning the veiled translucence

of an opulent tail,
undulant in some uncapturable curve,
is he bronze chrysanthemums,

copper leaf, hurried darting,
doubloons, icon-colored fins
troubling the water?"

Though a bit longer than the poems I usually quote for reviews, I think it's the best example of Doty's closeness to whatever his subject is, whether it's getting a constantly one-upped massage, the love of a dog, or picking out kimonos with a friend. There is an intimacy of communication that I find deeply enjoyable, when I am not being hammered by the poet's wealth of obscure words.

I really wish I could quote in full another poem that shows, I think the personality of Doty, called "Homo Will Not Inherit," a poetic screed against those who would judge people who don't share their religious views. It starts with the setting, goes on to describe a posting with the title words on it, and then Doty shows the world that he as a homosexual (and to some extent, all outsiders from the norm--childfree couples, atheists, pagans, goths, punks, zinesters, and the like can all find a similar theme here, I think) inhabits is the kingdom he wishes to inherit. The city after dark, uncaring police, the love of a strange man--this is Doty's paradise.

I think this exerpt says it best: "...the exile you require of me,/you who've posted this invitation/to a heaven nobody wants." is a line many people I know can take to heart. "I have my kingdom," is the poem's last line. I couldn't agree more.

Doty's poetic style is a bit of an aquired taste, I think. He grew on me as the collection moved deeper into his earlier work, as I absorbed his world from the lines on the page. If you let yourself do that, too, I think you'll find this book, while a collection of the past, is worthy of an award nod. While I prefer whole texts, and will seek out Doty's other books, those looking for a sampling will find "Fire to Fire" well worth the read.

Lincoln's Youth by Louis A. Warren

In honor of the 200th anniversary of his birth, I am going to read at least one of my Lincoln books every month. This might be hard for other people, but I have about 20 or so of them, so there you go.

This was the only book I had that specialized in the early years of Lincoln, so I decided to start with it. Acquired a few years ago on a trip to Indianapolis, it boasted an account of Lincoln's time in the Hoosier state. Written for the 150th anniversary of Lincoln's birth, I was hoping for an accounting of his time spent growing up, challenging his father's primitive world view and outgrowing the pioneer surroundings about him.

Now the thing is, there are two kinds of old history books. On one hand, you have the ones that, while not having all the modern access of today, are still worth reading. On the other hand, you have jingoistic false-faced simplistic texts that don't dare to criticize the subject at hand. They are worthless to anyone who doesn't think John Wayne movies are historically accurate.

Well, unfortunately for me, this was not only one of those books, it was really a 40 page pamphlet masquerading as a full book, with the extra 150 or so pages filled with childish morality comments, extracts from books "Abraham must have read", and listings of people who had little or nothing to do with Lincoln himself, by the author's own admission.

I should have known I was in trouble when Warren began the book by showing that Lincoln was descended from hearty New England Protestant stock. (He doesn't refer to Lincoln's bloodline as being "pure American" but you can tell by reading through the lines and the pains he takes to find the bloodline for both of Lincoln's parents as well as his step-mother that this is of vital importance to Warren.) But I soldiered on through the scanty facts and past pages of quotes from Franklin's autobiography, Murray's English Reader, a glowing biography of Washington filled with historical inaccuracies that Warren actually praises because it's "the perfect example for youth to follow!"

Perhaps the worst sections are where Warren tries to play child psychologist, predicting when Lincoln got interested in girls (despite ignoring evidence that suggests he may not have been interested in girls at all--that he himself quotes!), began to be his own man, and so on. They're so classically 1950s as to almost be laughable if this book wasn't being reprinted as a good text to use for information on Lincoln's early years.

However, the clincher for me is that Warren repeatedly tries to patch together a good relationship between Lincoln and his father, which is exactly the opposite of everything I've ever read, going all the way back to children's books on the subject. He even claims that:

"Thomas Lincoln was a worthy parent. There is not recorded a single factual incident in which he brought discredit to his family or himself. The death of Abraham's mother tended to draw him closer to his father. It is not difficult to visualize a congenial filial relationship between a father who was good-humored, 'loving everybody and everything,' and a son who was 'kind to everybody and everything.' Certainly these parallel characteristics should have created an ideal father and son companionship."

Now first of all, the quotes come from Lincoln's step-mother, not a person inclined to criticize her husband. Second, Warren places in a footnote that Lincoln's first extensive biographer, William Herndon (his law partner) states the exact opposite was true, rather than deal with that in the main text. (After all, you have to have room to quote the laws of a church Lincoln worked at, which is far more important than his relationship to his father.) And third, Warren himself says "should have created", proof that he cannot find a way to substanciate his family values claim.

It's shoddy research like the above which causes me to question everything else that appears factual, such as Lincoln's first jobs away from his father, or his ambiguous love life at this time. While I appreciate sections that quote Lincoln's writings in his school books, proof that Thomas Lincoln was not poor by pioneer standards, and a little of the history of the surrounding neighborhood, there's simply too much padding and supposition for my taste. Add on the overtly Christian opinions of the writer, who must insert his values onto Lincoln at every opportunity, and I'm left with a bad taste in my mouth.

The book calls Lincoln "Indiana's finest contribution to civilization," which would be like Pennsylvania claiming Dwight Eisenhower was formed here (he lived here for a time, just like Lincoln lived for a time in Indiana). Warren can be excused for not listing David Letterman, as he was only a baby when the book was written. It's an exaggeration that's typical of the book's text--a lot of fluff and only a bit of substance.

Those looking to learn more of Lincoln would be better served elsewhere. Meanwhile, my Lincoln collection just got reduced to 19. I hope for better luck as the year goes on.

Outsiders edited by Nancy Holder and Nancy Kilpactrick

Everyone needs to step out of their comfort zones now and again. Try some ethnic food, walk an extra mile, root for the Cleveland Browns, that sort of thing. So I, despite my reservations, thought I'd give this a try.

After all, there's a Neil Gaiman story in here.

Except that it's a Gaiman poem, and was over all too quick. From there, it was a steady slide into the type of fiction that I really have no interest in:

vampire lust
borderline bestiality, guised as "fantasy"
infodumps larger than a garbage scow
thinly veiled pornographic writing (just write porn and be done with it)
gratuitous violence

This is not to say the entire anthology was like that, but it seems the editors opted to decide that "edgy" and "out there" meant picking things that pushed the envelope for the sake of doing it rather than to tell a good story. It leads to overly clever stories like "Lighten Up" about a group of people who rob those who dislike smoking in bars. That's not outsiders, that's just ridiculous.

None of the stories really have anything going for them. Even those that aren't bad, such as "Ruby Tuesday", a takeoff on RHPS with a grieving girl using a cult movie to assuage her pain, can only be best described as, well, not bad. "Craving" was rather creepy, but the narration style is so narrator-heavy that the reader doesn't get to feel anything or be surprised.

All in all, I just need to accept that this just isn't fiction geared to me. But if you like any all all kinds of fantasy and can stand sex in places it doesn't belong--and I know there's a huge market for that--you might like this better than I did.

The Gun Seller, by Hugh Laurie

Before we get into anything else, yes, it's *that* Hugh Laurie, the guy probably best known now for his role as Dr. House. Apparently, it's not enough that he's a great actor, he also has to be a great parody novelist as well.

This book is a knockoff of the standard spy novel, as our character blends old-style pulp commentary with a plot right out of a Tom Clancy novel. Thomas Lang is a man down on his luck, a former military agent turned something of a drifter. With not much going on, he promptly gets into a hell of a lot of trouble, with all the worst people.

Quipping left and right, Lang tries to unravel the mess he's managed to get in, which involves the British military, rogue CIA agents, defense contract profiteers, and pretty much everything except a cameo appearance by Jack Ryan or the Russians. (Hell, maybe the Russians did show up and I managed to miss it.) As the plot gets more confusing, Laurie piles as many possible problems as he can on poor Lang, who takes it like a man with a joke writer on standby.

Perhaps this sticky wicket was just the thing to get Lang energized, you see, and just as he's getting set up to be the fallguy in a terrorist plot that involves going to Minnesota and pretending to be an American, then shuffling off to Casablanca for a bit of CNN screen time, our hero (well, the best person we can find, anyway) pulls together an even more desperate scheme to keep the profiteers from profiting.

Oh, and keep himself alive, of course. He's not out to save the world, after all, just his own skin.

Deftly handled by Laurie and featuring a plot more exciting than other action books I've skimmed, this book was a fast and enjoyable read. Lang reminds me very much of Marlowe, having read a Chandler book after this one. He's out skirting the law and using people as need be, all the while trying to get the girl. The quips and jabs are also very Marlowesque.

Where Laurie differs, however, is that the entire book is written that way, not just the dialog. Here's an example from the first chapter:

"His name was Rayner. First name unkonwn. By me, at any rate, and therefore, presumably, by you, too.
"I suppose someone, somewhere, must have known his first name--must have baptized him with it, called him down to breakfast with it, taught him how to spell it--and someone else must have shouted it across a bar with an offer of a drink, or murmured it during sex, or written it in a box on an life insurance application form. I just they must have done all these things. Just hard to picture, that's all."

If there's a chance to be Pythonly-pedantic about something, Laurie takes it. A British comedian from the days of Black Adder (and I'm sure, other things), Laurie has that ability to make the mundane funny simply by placing it front and center.

If you generally enjoy spy books and are looking for a clever spoof that doesn't insult your intelligence with its obviousness (ala "The DaVinci Cod" or similar direct ripoff books) this is definitely for you.