Subway Reading Series: "The Underground Man" by Ross MacDonald

I don’t know who or what recommended Ross MacDonald to me, but for some reason this book was heralded as the be-all and end-all of the MacDonald oeuvre, so it was the one I selected when confronted with the overwhelming array of MacDonald books at my local library. MacDonald writes in the tradition of Raymond Chandler and Caroline Keene, with prose that is both fluid and spare. His hardboiled private investigator is middle-aged Lew Archer, who, one suspects, was a badass in his younger days but now has the wisdom of an older man to accurately gauge when he should dispense said badassery. The plot is ostensibly about Archer hunting down a possibly kidnapped boy whose mother is Archer’s comely new neighbor. Yet the plot quickly turns into a gloriously labyrinthine affair where every conceivable crime committed in the last twenty years is tied into this initial transgression (I should confess that while I am not a fan of “Cold Case,” I am a huge fan of the “solving the crime that was committed thirty years earlier” genre). The book is set in the late sixties/early seventies, and that era’s fascination with psychotropic drugs and treatments for mental illness are fully explored. I greatly enjoyed this book, and while it is a cliche to say a mystery "kept me guessing till the very end," it's a cliche that fits here

TV's Cold Case Files Makes a Better TV Show Than a Novel: The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey Reviewed

The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey

rating: 2 of 5 stars

The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey is a fun, quick read – the first novel by the co-creator of tv’s Cold Case Files, a show I know exists but otherwise couldn’t care any less about. Perhaps this knowledge prejudiced me against this slender neo-noir, because when I finished, I felt like I had just read a (slightly) extended Cold Case Files episode. In fact, CSI and Cold Case Files were both explicitly mentioned in this book, furthering my suspicion that I was reading a rejected Cold Case Files script that had been hyper-stylized, then novelized.

I guess in the end it was a perfectly fine, fun book – a candidate I would certainly submit to Brendan for consideration in his Subway Reading Series. But there’s just not much THERE. Everything moves so fast and so many indistinguishable characters fly by so fast that reading this book felt the same as skimming. Yet the plot was somehow surprisingly bereft of actual action. The endless fascination with, and discussion of, rape also wore very thin after a very short period of time, regardless of how hard-boiled and brutally honest the book was supposed to be.

Harvey’s writing style is also somewhat oppressive – I like Raymond Chandler too, but this book apes Chandler without having any of the same artistry. Chandler’s prose is hard and pristine as a diamond; Harvey’s style seemed like a parody half the time, rather than homage. I think of someone like Elmore Leonard as a genuine successor to Chandler – someone with a unique, distinct take on the unsentimental, tough-talkin’ crime genre. Someone informed and influenced by the past but able to forge a style all his own. Harvey’s kind of a long way from being anything more than a jokey-neo-noir-ripoff artist for my money. I enjoyed the detailed geography and descriptions of Chicago’s real-life locations, but again – it felt gimmicky rather than genuine half the time. Every location in the book was an excuse to describe some Chicago landmark, from the best greasy spoons to the cultural make-ups of the various neighborhoods.

I was tempted to write this review in the style of the book, but then decided that it would be just as muddled a copy-of-a-copy-of-a-copy as the book itself. Reading back over this review it sure sounds like I hated this poor book; I didn’t. It was totally a fine, quick read. It just probably would have made a better television episode for a show I don’t watch.

Mini Reviews: Lisa Hannigan - Sea Sew, Neko Case - Middle Cyclone, & M. Ward - Hold Time; OR: March Has Been a Good Month for Music (So Far)!

Lisa Hannigan – Sea Sew
I fell in love with Lisa Hannigan as Damien Rice’s angel-voiced counterpart on his two albums O and 9. On this album, Lisa’s solo debut, her angel voice is still very much intact. I like hushed, sad, chamber music more than anyone I know…but by the end of the record, I did find myself wishing that some gravelly, crazy, cathartic Damien-Rice-style energy had popped up just a tiny bit. The “single” off the album – featured at one of those songs you can get from Starbucks at iTunes for free – is “I Don’t Know”, which is insanely catchy and a welcome change-of-tempo. I hope that next time out, Lisa throws in a couple more of the same – some slightly up-tempo toe-tappers. The rest of the album starts to feel “same-y” – in contrast to the cover artwork on the album (a patchwork quilt), these songs mostly feel very much cut from the same cloth. At the same time, I like the cloth. Only a couple songs truly stand out, but the album has a nice, intimate feel. Hannigan has a beautiful, sexy voice and can write some catchy tunes. I enjoy Sea Sew and look forward to what she does next, but hope she pulls a bit more from some of that folk-rock tradition (emphasis on the “rock”) that she practiced with Rice, and mixes up her songs and styles a wee bit.

Neko Case - Middle Cyclone
I tend to like Neko Case in small doses. I take that back, I tend to love Neko Case in small doses. The trouble with Neko Case is that – in large doses – she can get drone-y. All her solo-album vocals are drenched in reverb, and her songs tend to err on the side of plodding rather than soaring (by this I only mean that it would be damn near impossible end up humming a Neko Case song, or find yourself whistling one of her tunes while walking down the street on a sunny day). I tend to prefer her work with the New Pornographers (one of the world’s best, most hummable, whistleable bands crippled with sadly one of the world’s worst, stupidest band names) where her huge, awesome voice is undistorted, unproduced, and exposed for all its rich brassiness. Why she likes recording herself as if her recording sessions were at the bottom of a well, I will never understand. I also don’t agree with all the folks who lump her in with the vague but evocative “alt-country” label. Maybe she used to be more along those lines, but no more. Middle Cyclone isn’t country, alt-country, or anything in between (relax, country-haters) – it’s pretty much sui generis. It’s also her best solo album so far. The songs have a stronger melodic aspect (more hummable), and the productions seems crisper – like some of it was recorded at the bottom of a shallow well. The spooky weirdness is still fully present; there’s something always strange and off-center about Neko Case’s songs. I can’t say as I really know what any of them are about, though environmental topics seem to dominate this record. It’s a more captivating group of songs than Blacklisted or Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. It is, also, a really excellent album from beginning to end, one that I find myself still enjoying even in large doses.

M. Ward - Hold Time
Speaking of reverb, holy moses: M. Ward always sounds to me like he is singing duets with himself from the bottom of an alien well. The reverb he layers over his own voice is omnipresent and takes some getting used to. Like Neko Case, I wonder why this is? Lack of confidence in his own pipes? A peculiar, specific sonic preference? At least with Neko we can enjoy her incredible voice unfiltered when she records with The New Pornographers. I would like to hear Matt Ward (the real Matt Ward)’s voice. But that is neither here nor there. In contrast to Neko Case, M. Ward writes simple songs that are 11s on the 1-10 Catchy Scale (tm). What I mean is that the guy is incapable of writing a song that isn’t insanely catchy. I love the production and style of all his songs – especially in his album with Zooey Deschanel under the moniker She & Him, Volume One, and on this most recent solo release, Hold Time. Zooey shows up for a couple unobtrusive cameos, but Lucinda Williams really steals the show, with her duet vocal on the classic country song “Oh Lonesome Me” – it’s a KILLER. Really, this whole album is near perfect. The songs are wonderful and unique, while also feeling of a unit with each other. It’s that trick that Lisa Hannigan and Neko Case haven’t quite figured out – making their songs different enough to be different, yet same enough to be cohesive. It’s a real trick, don’t get me wrong. But Hold Time walks that tightrope with aplomb. Ward picks some perfect covers, from hilariously perfect ("Rave On"), to heart-crushingly perfect (the aforementioned “Oh Lonesome Me”). And the originals mesh right in. This record is like a bus from every pop music genre of the last 40 years got to a 15-way intersection and all plowed head-on into each other. This would be the album that crystallized from that metaphysical wreckage. It’s excellent. (I'm already thinking about the mix tape I could make with "Oh Lonesome Me" alongside a track from Beck's great album Sea Change...) If, like me, you really enjoyed She & Him's Volume One, you will also really like hearing the lesser-known half of that duo come up to the front for a while. M. took the lessons from those expansive She & Him sessions and applied them to his own work – taking his solo work from very good (Post-War) to uniformly excellent. Hold Time reverberates but it also totally rocks.

Oenophiles 2: Winter Whites!

Is anyone escaping the winter cold through heavy drinking? If you aren't, then you probably don't live in Chicago. As we wait for the madness to end, now in mid-March, I thought it would be good to throw three awesome white wines into the mix that share elements of winter (crisp, white, chilled) with hopes of summer (flowers, light, hope). Grab a bottle and hunker down. We only have a few months to go.

Wine: Muga Blanco 2007
Where to buy: Red & White
Cost: $19

Hooray for this wine! Why I bought it I have no idea, but it was from Spain (me likes) and it was in the chiller at my local shop, so, why not. It's more expensive than I usually go for, I wasn't disappointed. For me, this wine has the fruits I like in a white without being like a scratch and sniff sticker. Imagine fresh cut grass and some oranges on your tongue. Now that you've imagined that, think about what it would taste like in wine form. Muga.


Wine: Toasted Head Chardonnay
Where to buy: Jewel or other grocery stores
Cost: $11 - $14

This story is great. Some scientist took white wine and would put food coloring in it then give it to some wine afficionados... and... you guessed it. They would comment on it's "dark fruit" and "tastes of berry and plums" blah blah blah. He would also put cheap wine in nice bottles and get people raving about how good it was. Not that all wine experts are cranks, but he discovered that our perceptions actually change how we experience things sensually. This said, a friend of mine took this wine to a blind tasting party where the winner took home one bottle of every wine at the party. And, he won. You may scoff, but I liked this Toasted Head chard, even if my frontal lobe is toast.

Wine: Zardetto Prosecco
Where to buy: Trader Joe's
Cost: $14

I used to have my suspicions about prosecco, thinking that it was somehow cheap Italian champagne that was trying to sneak into the country under a sexy name. I hate the old me for thinking that. This is my favorite inexpensive prosecco. It is light, bubbly, crisp, and half the price of decent champagne. If you are still boycotting French fries, this is your wine. Freedom Fizz!

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle: To Be Read Only In The Event You Have Finished The Book Or Never Care to Read It, Seriously

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle: A Novel by David Wroblewski

rating: 4 of 5 stars

I don’t like reading reviews of books before I read them. Usually, I will pick up on the “buzz” surrounding a book (positive or negative) and that will tend to inform whether or not I’m interested in reading it (if I’m on the fence in the first place). This isn’t a hard-and-fast rule: I’ve read lots of books after having my interest piqued by reading a review. On the whole, though, I feel that reviews tend to give away too much information – plot or other – that is best discovered between the pages. Once I FINISH a book, I tend to go back and devour all the reviews I can find. Maybe I’m worried about not fitting in with the prevailing critical stance (doubtful), but more likely I just tend to want to know what others think. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle is just such a book: as soon as I was done, I needed to know what other people thought – partly to clarify my own thinking, partly out of abject curiosity. This is a strange book, for certain, and it’s all the more strange (to me) that Oprah picked it for her book club and that it has such high-profile cheerleaders (Steven King and Richard Russo et al). This is also a perfect example of a book that, had I read any reviews, I would have absolutely felt cheated out of lots of surprises. What I’m saying is, don’t read this “review” until you are 1) finished with this book, 2) don’t ever care to read this book, or 3) simply don’t care to experience the thrill of discovery in a book you read (who am I to judge?).

There’s just no good way to discuss this book without spoiling lots and lots of plot/character elements. That said, here goes.

Part of the reason I wanted to read reviews and opinions of Edgar Sawtelle was that I was not – am not – completely sure how much I liked it. In this sense, I was reassured by reading some similar thoughts to mine: I felt like the first 2/3s or so of the book FLEW by, and I was utterly engrossed. The last 1/3...there’s where it gets tricky. (This is your last chance to bail out, if you don’t want spoilers...for real...)

About 2/3rds of the way through the story, Edgar and three of his dogs run away from home and wander through the wilds of Wisconsin for an extended period of time – about 100 pages. And while I understand why this took place in the context of the plot and what Edgar accomplished during the sojourn, it was overlong and eventually became dull. It reminded me (sorry, everyone) of the extended section of the last Harry Potter book, when our three intrepid young heroes camp out, doing essentially nothing, for what seems like an eternity (again, probably just about 100 pgs). This section of Sawtelle had the same feeling: it moved the action away from everything that was captivating and slammed the brakes on a thrilling experience. Away from his family and circumstances, Edgar the character gains some measure of clarity, but for the reader it’s a pyrrhic victory. Away from his family and circumstances, Edgar the protagonist isn’t as interesting. It was just an unsatisfying section that allowed some of my precious attention to bleed away. Edgar’s homecoming, having had such a long buildup, doesn’t then pack enough of an emotional wallop. The ending felt overwrought and manic after such a deliberately paced 500-or-so pages. The ending just felt like it was working too hard, honestly. Now, the whole thing was written in a lovely style, with a realistic yet subtly mystical feeling to it; the entire book was extremely readable. But it lost part of me towards the end; I wanted desperately to stay engaged, while my fascination slowly dissipated. Yet the first 400 pages were thrilling, incredible – I couldn’t put it down! It makes the frustration I felt at the end all the more…well, frustrating.

A second problem, one which ties in with the problem above, is that the book is purely a reimagining of Hamlet (by William Shakespeare? Heard of it?). Again, this is another thing you wouldn’t want to know before starting the book (I warned you), but after Edgar’s father dies mysteriously, Edgar’s truant uncle (CLAUDE) starts spending a lot of time around Edgar’s mom (TRUDY), and Edgar’s dad re-appears to Edgar as a GHOST…well, it becomes pretty clear. Now there is nothing inherently wrong with retelling Hamlet on a dog farm in Wisconsin in the early 1970s. I’m cool with that in theory. But once you realize that superstructure, it’s tough not to read the remainder AS Hamlet – focusing on the parallels, waiting for the next plotpoint. Part of the reason the section described above – Edgar’s journey into the wilderness – is sort of interminable is that the Hamlet analogue – Hamlet’s abortive escape from Denmark to England – is unseen in the play while being lengthily portrayed in the novel. I wanted Edgar to be similarly thwarted by pirates, or whatever the 1970s Wisconsin forest equivalent would be, and to get back to Denmark---I mean the Sawtelle barn---so he could get on with it. The book’s plot hews so closely to the plot of Hamlet – most preposterously in the “re-enactment” of the murder of Edgar’s father (aka the king of denmark) to provoke Claude (Claudius) – that the novel starts to creak and strain in places under the burden.

Yet the most interesting parts of the book find no analogue (as far as I know) in the play. All the remarkable material about the training of dogs; the careful, intuitive breeding of dogs – with an entrancing whiff of mysticism; the history of the Sawtelle dogs; the evolution of the “next dog;” the Sawtelle family history; the aged seer who operates the town grocery; Edgar’s largely self-invented sign language…all kinds of good stuff. The characters themselves are fascinating, too, and I would have loved to know them better instead of running away from them for a healthy chunk of time towards the end of the book. I wish we would have delved further into the dog breeding and training and evolution, while not feeling so chained to the plot of the most famous play in the world. This isn’t a criticism necessarily (“If I had written this book it would just be about the dogs and everybody would LIVE in the end!!!”), just a personal preference. (Less Glen Papineau = Laertes, more about the supercool, mysterious breeding of the humanistic Sawtelle Dogs!)
At the same time, though, I actually felt like this book gave me a ton of insight into Hamlet in a strange way. Surely this was not Dave Wroblewski’s intention in basing his novel on that play, but seeing a weird, American kid as The Melancholy Dane strangely made the characters and motivations in the original play somewhat more understandable. Just seeing those somewhat inscrutable, complex characters and situations in a different, somewhat contemporary light was illuminating. (This is neither here nor there, but it was interesting to me to realize. Anyway. FYI.)

At any rate, this is a book that the “half-star” rating was INVENTED for. I really enjoyed the vast majority of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. While I have my quibbles, it was still an engrossing, enjoyable work of fiction. At its best, it transported you to a quiet, mystical world not unlike our own, and at worst it was totally readable, so I will give it 4 stars, technically. If the ending hadn’t felt quite so strained and convoluted, and Edgar’s harrowing journey in the wild had cohered better with the rest of the book, it would have been unstoppable. This is a 3½-star book – perfectly situated between “good” and “very good.”

Desire Under the Elms leaves much to be desired

I went to see the Goodman Theatre's star-studded, Desire Under the Elms, with my fiancee last week, and it was all we could do to not run screaming from the theatre. Granted, the early departure of Carla Gugino from the production (see: Watchmen is drawing nigh) perhaps had something to do with this, but I honestly couldn't get into any aspect of this Robert Falls directed venture. Maybe I just don't like Eugene O'Neill, but I have read several of his plays and not wanted to punch the nearest theater patron in sight. This might have changed my mind. I will reserve judgement on Brian Dennehy, who I thought was interesting as the scornful, iron-fisted patriarch, but this feeling was quickly eclipsed by the perplexing performance by Pablo Schreiber as the wet-behind-the-ears son. Though if you like the emotions of yelling and sulking, then you will get lots of it with young Pablo. Perhaps most disappointing to me was the staging and set. Although impressive (a two story house is suspended from ropes and lowers and raises as needed, representing the the limbo of the coveted farm, while all the elms were replaced with bolders) the dramatic effect for me was that the already heavy handed writing of O'Neill was made even heavier with all the metaphor in the set. We get it. No need to beat us about the head with the imagery from the text.

I saw King Lear directed by Falls a few years ago and loved it. Lots of people hated it. It had all the trappings of this show, overblown set, star power (Stacy Keach), but I felt that a larger than life character like Lear can be backed up by some bold choices. For Elms, well, much is left to be desired.