I could probably count the number of books that have literally made me laugh out loud on one hand, if I were to keep track of such things. Jonathan Tropper’s This is Where I Leave You is one of those books. It’s ironic because the storyline doesn’t seem like it should be funny at all. The book opens with Judd Foxman, the narrator, learning that his father just died. His sister tells him that his dad’s last request was for the family to sit shiva, a mourning period in the Jewish religion when people come to the house to pay their respects for seven days. Their mother is famous for writing a book about how to raise children. She’s a psychologist, has breast implants, and dresses like she’s 40 years younger than she is. Being the dysfunctional family that they are, Judd, his two brothers, and sister dread having to spend a week together.

Judd especially dreads going home, because he recently walked in on his wife having sex with his boss. And not just any sex, but porn-star-like sex during which she was making noises he had never heard her make before. It was her birthday. He brought her favorite cake home. His life is falling apart. To top things off, as he’s leaving the basement apartment he now rents because he has been cuckolded, his wife shows up to tell him she’s pregnant.

This sounds like pretty heavy stuff. How could it possibly be laugh-out-loud funny? Tropper sets up scenes that surprise you the way seeing someone unexpectedly fall surprises you. You know you shouldn’t laugh. It’s inappropriate. But you can’t help it. For instance, when Foxman catches his boss on top of his wife, he throws the cake on his boss’s humping posterior, lit candles and all. Unbeknown to Judd, his boss used some cream on his genitals to heighten the sexual experience. The cream was flammable. I’ll let you read the rest. Over the top scenes that make you lose your breath are not the only thing Tropper has going for him. His dialogue is exceptional. The interplay between siblings and their mother is hilarious.

Although the antics pretty much never stop, Tropper creates characters that you really care about, because they are so human. Judd’s wit and — although he pretends to be lost — his insight create the emotional pull of the book. As he tries to process losing his father and marriage, Judd stumbles on thirty-something wisdom with all its contradictions, regrets, and intricacies. He states, “Sometimes, contentment is a matter of will. You have to look at what you have right in front of you, at what it could be, and stop measuring it against what you’ve lost. I know this to be wise and true, just as I know that pretty much no one can do it.” And it’s not just Judd that the reader starts to care about. Each of Judd’s siblings holds a mirror up to us as well: wanting to relive the past, holding on to resentment, refusing to grow up.

It’s a little bit The Big Chill with a Jewish family, and it’s a little predictable in places, but I still loved it. This is simply a fun read. It’s funny. It’s human.

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5° is a poem of thirty-five interlocking parts that combines a seemingly strange set of images and subjects to form a whole.  The poem takes place in a mysterious city in which it is 5°.  The subjects seem totally disconnected- Houdini; John Dee, English mystic and mathematician; Paul Gauguin and Vincent Van Gogh; Nazi occupation; Persephone and the underworld; and Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Each poem could stand on its own, but when read in sequence the images of iron, exploration, nightingales, ice, stars, coins, and angels begin to connect the poems intimately.  There are allegorical and fantastical elements, but I’ll leave that to the individual reader.  Christopher’s writing is very accessible, which is a way of saying that he doesn’t write holier-than-thou-snotty-abstract poems that take a PhD in literature to “understand.”  At the same time, he is an inventive and skilled poet.  5° is an enjoyable read that sparks the imagination.

The book also includes twenty-five lyrical and narrative poems, including one of my favorites, “Terminus.”  These poems range from the reflective coming-of-age poem “The Quiñero Sisters” to a reflection on the Los Angeles riots in 1992 in “May Day, 1992.”   “The Palm Reader” gives the reader a glimpse into the all-too-human life of a – wait for it – palm reader. Her husband, drinking a beer, serves lunch to the kids in the living room on paper plates. Several of these poems also contain mystical elements, which seem to be a favorite of Christopher’s.  “Your Father’s Ghost” contains a taxi driver with one are, one eye, and one ear.  The car only has wheels on one side.  In “Bees,” each of the five stanzas give a short magical quality of bees, ending with Cellini’s statue of Medusa with bees for hair instead of snakes.  The statue emitted a low hum.  These poems are intelligent and well-crafted; every reader can find something valuable that he or she can take away from this collection.

When I finished this book, I wasn’t sure whether I should cry or start stockpiling assault rifles and canned food.  Hedges argues that while Americans were busy being entertained and pleasured, corporations and the industrial-military complex have brought American democracy to its death bed.  Yes, in the past tense, as in we’re almost done and we don’t even know it.  If Hedges is correct, it is already too late to change the system.  I don’t agree with all of Hedges politics, but I think he has definitely reported what will likely be the demise of the U.S.

Hedges divides his argument into five sections.  The first deals with Americans’ obsession with entertainment.  Hedges argues that we have become a polytheistic society worshiping celebrities, athletes, and charismatic politicians and preachers, because they represent what we wish to be. We no longer want to deal with the complexities of reality.  We don’t want to have to think too hard about complex issues.  We want to live in the fantasy world of celebrities, reality TV, and sports. We want to be lied to, because the lie makes us feel so much better about our lives.  We have created a culture of illusion.

Hedges next section deals with the porn industry in America and what he calls “the illusion of love.”  I felt this section was unnecessary and didn’t flow with the rest book.  Basically it is a more extreme example of what is discussed in the first chapter.  The illusion men get from the product is that they can control and use women as commodities.  Interesting stats- porn made $97 billion in 2007, and GM and AT&T rake in 80 percent of the profits from porn made in the U.S. Hedges connects the moral decay and desensitizing nature of porn to Abu Ghraib and war in general.  It destroys compassion and empathy and creates a feeling in the user that he/she is a god.

In the third section Hedges attacks what he calls the “elite” schools of higher education.  Hedges argues that Harvard, Princeton, Yale and the like create the next leaders of corporations and government; however, these schools have failed society by become corporatist themselves.  They no longer teach true critical thinking. Professors who question the system or challenge the status quo are ostracized.  Morality and the common good are not mentioned.  Finding solutions to maintain the current corporate systems and defense projects are the top priorities.

The next section attacks “positive psychology,” which many corporations and institutions, including the United Nations, are adopting.  Essentially, there are psychologists who make a living from teaching/brainwashing people to lie to themselves. It is terrifyingly similar to Huxley’s Brave New World where citizens walk around quoting happy slogans they’ve been taught from birth totally unaware that they live in a totalitarian state.  Scary stuff.

The last section encapsulates everything and deals the death blow.  While we have been watching coverage of Michael Jackson’s death, fantasizing about “gonzo” porn, and repeating the new happy slogan we learned at work; corporations and the industrial-military complex have bankrupted the country and are preparing for a police state.  Almost everything you see, read, and hear is controlled by 5 or 6 corporations.  Hedges states that they are already under-reporting how bad the economic crisis is and will be.  The Obama administration has no power against these forces.  In fact, no one is allowed to run for President in this country without millions of dollars from the corporations.  It sounds like doomsday prophesies, but Hedges’ evidence is very convincing.  He quotes reports from the Senate Armed Services Committee and the U.S. Army War College, among many other credible sources.  What I found most convincing is the reminder that history shows us that after the economic collapse in the 1930s, America experienced the most extremism it has ever seen.  When the Wiemar Republic collapsed economically, Adolf Hitler came to power.  When Czarist Russia failed, Lenin and the Bolsheviks came to power. What kind of demagogue will America produce?  We are not prepared to face that kind of reality. I’m afraid we will embrace any illusion presented to us, no matter how immoral or deadly.

It won the Pulitzer, so no surprise, it’s really good. The format is a collection of interconnected short stories that focus on the inhabitants of a small town in Maine. Olive Kitteridge, who is funny and terrifying at the same time, is in some way large or small connected to each story. She often has great insight and empathy for the characters around her, but doesn’t understand herself. The writing reminds me of Andre Dubus, which means I think it’s top notch. The stories deal with the commonalities of the human condition- relationships, love, loss, loneliness, surviving. The book is poignant, insightful, and all the other key words one uses to talk about quality literature.

I watched Tyson the documentary over the weekend.  Mike narrates the story of his life in several interview formats with archival footage and photos interspersed.  In my opinion, the sequence illustrating his unification of the Championship belts at the age of 20 leaves no doubt that he was the greatest boxer ever in his prime.  His speed, power, and head movement were unparalleled. He was a heavyweight with the speed of a lightweight.  On top of that, he was vicious in the ring.  No one could weather the storm he brought.

And then he fell apart.

Mike is very eloquent and candid in these interviews, and he admits to feeling insane at times in his life.  James Toback’s editing often gives a sense of disorientation and even schizophrenia. Mike admits his weaknesses and mistakes. His ringside interview after his last fight is especially telling- “I don’t have the fighting guts… I’m just trying to pay some bills… I don’t love this anymore.”

I read Unforgivable Blackness a year or two ago, and Tyson’s life is eerily similar to that of Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion. He had the same hubris and need for the public to love him, but at the same time feared what everyone thought of him. Paranoia, certainly justified in Johnson’s case, over racial and social-class prejudice by the media, government, and public fed his insecurities and erratic behavior. And he ends up playing the monster he fears everyone sees him as.

Shamrock Alley is a fictional cop thriller based on the true story of an undercover Secret Service agent who infiltrated an Irish gang in Hell’s Kitchen in the 1980s. The agent was the author’s father.

John Mavio and his partner lose the trail of a counterfeiting case until an informant connects John with Mickey O’ Shay and Jimmy Khan. At first the two appear to be street punks, but as John goes deeper undercover, he realizes the two have managed to gain control of organized crime in Hell’s Kitchen through sheer brutality and terror. John becomes obsessed with sending both Mickey and Jimmy to prison for a very long time, but Jimmy remains elusive and lets Mickey, who is a psychopath, deal with John. John becomes desperate for an arrest and Jimmy begins to question who John is.

This is a decent cop thriller. It starts with an action scene in the basement of a bar, but once John and his partner lose their leads, the book slows down until John starts dealing with Mickey on a regular basis. The characters are well-written and the book is hard to put down once you get past the halfway mark.

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I wrote a post a while back about how I thought punk was full of hypocrisy. I’m not sure why I was angry that day, but I was.

Here’s a link to a post about Slanted and Enchanted: The Evolution of Indie Culture.   Evidently, indie is dead.  Here’s a sample:

“All is changed, changed utterly. Indie doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s dead. Which is OK, because it won. Open source, Twitter. Indie won. Etsy. The irresistible decline of major labels and network TV and corporate publishing. Indie won. We won, but at the cost to many folks personally of suddenly becoming unnecessary.”

The New York Times Book Review says Justine “Demands comparison with the very best novels of our century.” The back of my copy states, “Justine has inspired an almost religious devotion among readers and critics.” If that doesn’t make you want to read it, nothing I write could ever convince you to pick it up.

The novel is narrated by a frustrated schoolmaster in Alexandria, Egypt before World War II begins. He wants to be a writer and he has fallen neurotically in lust with Justine- a beautiful, rich, married Jewess. The problem is almost all of the characters are neurotically obsessed with Justine in one way or another. She has a very sketchy and erotic past. Justine herself is neurotic and uses the others’ obsessions to satiate her own demons, emotionally destroying those involved. The plot thickens as the narrator and Justine worry that her husband, who is also the narrator’s friend, knows about their affair. The city is as mesmerizing and haunting as Justine and becomes its own character in a way.

The book is beautifully written, but it is not an easy read. Passages of intellectual discussion about the nature of love, relationships, guilt, philosophy, etc. dominate. There is a book within the book, which is always a sign that the reading will not be the usual beach-reading fare. And there are frequent poetic descriptions of characters and their mental states that go on for paragraphs and sometimes for pages.

For example:

“Frankly Scobie looks anybody’s age; older than the birth of tragedy, younger than the Athenian death. Spawned in the Ark by a chance meeting and mating of the bear and the ostrich; delivered before term by the sickening grunt of the keel on Ararat. Scobie came forth from the womb in a wheel chair with rubber tyres, dressed in a deer-stalker and a red flannel binder… like a patron saint he has left little pieces of his flesh all over the world…”

Another example: “The noise of her voice is jumbled in the back of his brain like the sound-track of an earthquake run backwards.”

See what I mean? Beautifully written. It’s even funny, but action and pace are not first and foremost in this novel. I like stuff like this, but I think it’s because I was brainwashed as an English major that I’m supposed to like it. It’s difficult, intellectual, and beautiful; therefore it must be good. Is it one of the best novels of the century? No. Will I end up reading the rest of The Alexandria Quartet? Probably.

Here’s a great post about Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury, which would be on my top ten favorite books list if I ever took the time to sit down and populate such a list.  It’s one of those books that most people start, but don’t finish.  I admit the first chapter is very difficult and strange, but I liked it.  I don’t have the time to reflect on why that might be, but Jamelah Earle says it’s her favorite and why here: My Favorite Book: The Sound and The Fury.

This selection of Lorca’s poetry does a good job of  illustrating his career from beginning to end and his growth as a poet. The poems are arranged chronologically. His immaturity as a poet is evident in the early works. He hones his skills and develops his own style noticeably with the selections from his third book of poems. From then on, the poems sing with a folk lyricism and surrealism. This collection contains translations by many notable writers, including Langston Hughes and W.S. Merwin; however, I don’t think the translations in this collection are the best translations of Lorca’s work.