Teaser Tuesday (28 September)

 In the heady days before consent forms and drop-of-a-hat lawsuits, patients didn’t realize what they might be in for if they underwent surgery at a teaching hospital, and doctors took advantage of this fact. While a patient was under, a surgeon might invite a student to practice an appendectomy. Never mind that the patient didn’t have appendicitis. 

(p. 30, Stiff: the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. Mary Roach.)

The lover cannot paint his maiden to his fancy poor and solitary. Like a tree in flower, so much soft, budding, informing loveliness is society for itself, and she teaches his eye why Beauty was pictured with Loves and Graces attending her steps. Her existence makes the world rich. 

(p. 104, The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Love”)
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Barefoot Boy with Cheek

Barefoot Boy with Cheek (© 1943)
From Max Shulman’s Large Economy Size © 1948
207 pages

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy, –
I was once a barefoot boy!
– John Greenleaf Whittier
Barefoot Boy with Cheek is an ironic tale of college life, told from the vantage point of Asa Heartrug, an enthusiastic young freshman with an impressionable mind, eager to fill his head with facts and find a sophisticated young lady to wed. After being hit by a car while gazing in thrall at the university campus (“‘Just a flesh wound’, I mumbled to a disinterested passerby“),  Asa passes his physical examinations with flying colors and loads up on all manner of courses designed to turn him into a well-rounded individual  with no prospects but writing. 
Asa plunges into the thick of things after falling through a trap door and into a local fraternity’s clutches, becoming their only pledge that semester as well as their freshmen representative to the Student Government, attending meetings at the Subversive Elements Society (where people have names like Workingstiff and sing songs of Marx and Veblen), and wooing not one but two girls — a sorority débutante named Noblesse Oblige and a fiery young woman intent on a revolution of the proletariat. The book follows Asa through the whole of his freshman year, and possibly the whole of his academic career given that he flunks everything.
Shulman’s customary oddball humor is supplemented with thick irony in Barefoot Boy: he satirizes liberal-arts acadamia primarily, depicting the University of Minnesota’s professors as being horrified at the idea that people were coming to college to make money, and not to become sophisticated, well-rounded ladies and gentlemen who can debate the merits of Shakespeare as well as identify the eighth avatar of Vishnu. College life in general receives a sound mocking, although Shulman’s world now seems a relic. Its anachronistic charm is part of Shulman’s attraction for me, though: it’s one of the reasons I enjoyed Dobie Gillis so much. Barefoot Boy is also more surreal than the works of Shulman’s I’ve read: characters often launch into long, eccentric stories that have little bearing  on the conversation at hand, dismissing Asa’s confusion by leaving. I half-expected the Colonel from Flying Circus to stop a chapter midway by declaring it silly. Chapter heads begin with a quotation in French or Latin, although the only ones I managed to translate tended toward the banal (“My uncle is dead.”)
It is an altogether silly book, one I enjoyed reading thoroughly — and look forward to sharing quotes from on Wednesday.
Related:
  • If you’d like to read some of Shulman, his short story “Love is a Fallacy” is available to read online.
  • The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, Max Shulman.

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Stiff

Stiff: the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers
© 2003 Mary Roach
303 pages

Being dead is absurd. It’s the silliest situation you’ll find yourself in. Your limbs are floppy and uncooperative. Your mouth hangs open. Being dead is unsightly and stinky and embarrassing, and there’s not a damn thing to be done about it.  – p.11

Stiff is a lively book about the dead — odd, thoughtful, informative, and oddly funny. Over the course of a dozen chapters, Mary Roach finds out what becomes of us when we cease to be. Her journey starts in the world of science, where surgeons practice their art, drawing on the lessons of anatomists who were themselves taught by the dead. Vocational opportunities for corpses abound, particularly in testing automobile airbags and armaments.  Forensics specialists and other detectives find them particularly helpful. And then there are the odder uses people find for the recently deceased — recreating the crucifixion of Jesus, or attempting to make severed heads come alive by supplying them with oxygenated blood.

My first thought after settling in to read this was that I should’ve saved it for Halloween:  part of the holiday is making light of death and other mysterious or frightening things. My reaction to death has always been fascination rather than fear, hence my attraction to this book. Even those who find death intimidating will be able to enjoy Mary Roach’s approach: the book is saturated with dry humor, interesting tales, Roach’s occasional tangents. She prefers a hands-on approach to investigation, taking the reader into embalming studios, body farms, Chinese mortuaries rumored to be the source of “human dumplings”, and an abandoned laboratory where the first head transplants were attempted.

While readers can expect to learn quite a bit about the use of entomology in forensics,  the history of anatomy,  and the benefits of being a brain-in-a-jar, discovering how people who interact with decedents on a regular basis relate to their work fascinated me. Some objectify the dead, imagining them as a faceless mass of tissue, while others hold memorial services and give their subject bodies names. How the living relate to the dead is a major theme of the book, and another reason why I would’ve liked to read it around Halloween.

The information, humor, and musings make the book a memorably enjoyable experience, and I’d recommend it provided you aren’t too squeamish. While Roach isn’t gratuitously graphic, it’s a book about dead bodies. Don’t read the chapter on body farms if you’re within three hours of a meal. I’ll be reading more of Roach.,

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Booking through Thursday: Current

Booking through Thursday asks: What are you reading right now? What made you choose it? Are you enjoying it? Would you recommend it? (And, by all means, discuss everything, if you’re reading more than one thing!)



I checked out The Life of Greece by Will Durant two weeks ago, but have made little progress in it. I’d intended to read a little every night, like I did with Our Oriental Heritage, but my  reading ground to a halt in the chapters on Greece’s colonies throughout the Med. I couldn’t get started again until last night. 


I’m also reading from The Collected Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson: there are just under 20 essays inside, and I’ve been reading one a day. My reading is slow because I write so much down: Emerson is provacative. I’ve already recommended the book to several people on “Self Reliance” alone.


I’m also working through African Exodus, which is interesting so far, but I started reading Mary Roach’s Stiff: the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers while stopped at a railroad crossing. I think it may demand my immediate attention. I spotted it while looking for a book on anatomy and physiology to answer a question for my father. For some reason he wants to  know about the connection between skin pores and sweat glands. Stiff is…oddly hilarious. 





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Teaser Tuesday (21 Sept)

Teases on Tuesdays sometimes come in threes. Here, anyway.

Let us begin with fundamentals. The first requisite for a young writer is paper. You will find that the work will go much better if the paper has not been previously written on.  

(Max Shulman’s Large Economy Size)

Let a Stoic open the resources of man, and tell men they are not leaning willows, but can and must detach themselves; that with the exercise of self-trust, new powers shall appear; that a man is the word made flesh, born to shed healing to the nations, that he should be ashamed of our compassion, and that the moment he acts from himself, tossing the laws, the books, idolatries, and customs out the window, we shall pity him no more but thank and revere him, — and that teacher shall restore the life of man to splendor and make his name dear to all History. 

(p. 43, The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Self Reliance”).

I have never been able to trace the source of my passion for fossils. Neither, to their eternal bafflement, could my family. Indeed, it was the basis for some unease that I spent so much of my childhood drawing and painting skulls — scarcely a healthy hobby for a growing boy, after all. 

(p. 1, The African Exodus. Christopher Stirnger and Robin McKie

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The King of Torts

The King of Torts
© 2003 John Grisham
472 pages

“Why won’t they just throw money at me to make me go away?”
“Now you’re thinkin’ like a real mass tort boy!”

Clay Carter is an underpaid and overworked Public Defender, providing legal services to the poor and needy. The job attracts idealists, but Clay isn’t one: he took it out of desperation when his father’s law firm collapsed and he needed a job. It impresses no one, least of all his girlfriend’s nouveau-rich parents who made it big in development and are now firmly entrenched in the world of the rich and vain.  From the shadows, a Mephisto-like character named Max Pace offers Clay an opportunity to enter that world. If he’s willing to do a little clean-up work for Pace’s client — offering millions of dollars to a particular group of company’s victims in exchange for silence — his fees will be $15 million.

$15 million is a lot of money for an ambitious guy like Carter, and it’s just the tip of the iceberg. If all goes well, Pace’s own firm can give Clay the inside dirt on a harmful product of their competitor’s. Clay can sue the rival firm and sack them for millions and give Pace’s firm an edge in their on-going competition. Thus Clay is introduced to the world of mass torts. The formula for winning is simple: pour millions into television advertising to scare those who have taken the product into calling the law firm and being tested, gather a few thousand victims of the product, and sue. The numbers and potential for damages will encourage the sued firm to settle quickly, the combined fees will net Clay millions of dollars for doing almost nothing in the way of litigation. It isn’t law, exactly: more like a shake-down with paperwork. He’s thus catapulted into the world of the jet-set — and the jets are real, as he learns when he attends a mass-tort lawyer convention and enters casual debates about the merits of the new Gulfstream jets. The anonymous public defender once sharing a dismal apartment now frets about boats, jets, houses in the Bahamas, and clothing for his newly-acquired supermodel arm candy.

The King of Torts might be subtitled The Rise and Fall of Clay Carter, for Carter is nothing more than a high-stakes gambler on a winning streak, and sooner or later the bubble is bound to burst. Clay’s path to financial success has left a trail of short-changed clients and ruined lives behind him, and a tenacious lawyer who specializes in attorney malpractice is soon on his trail.

The King of Torts is one of my favorite Grisham works to read, although it’s not as finely-crafted a story as The Last Juror or The Rainmaker. Carter’s rise and fall are dramatic: the money goes to his head, but he’s never completely corrupted by it. As with a few other of Grisham’s works, Torts also has a point as he uses it to air the mass tort community’s dirty laundry. He does this not out of sympathy toward the pharmaceuticals and manufacturing firms which are taken down by these lawyers, but with an eye toward the future: if abuses like Clay’s continue, government reform may muzzle the ability of consumers to take action against irresponsible producers in the future.

On that basis I’d recommend it, but Torts is also light fun. I picked it up for some leisure reading between more serious works and couldn’t quite put it down.

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The Mao Case

The Mao Case: An Inspector Chen Novel
© 2009  Qiu Xiaolong
289 pages

This novel’s title caught my attention, but the setting hooked me. A police mystery set in contemporary China? Eager to explore what is for me terra incognita, I happily settled in to join Chief Inspector Chen Cao, working for Shanghai’s police bureau. Chen is an experienced investigator both honest and capable, although he never intended to be a cop. He prefers poetry, in fact, and his fluency in English has merited him some success in translating Chinese poetry into English verse and vice versa. He prefers poetry, in fact, and his fluency in English allows him to publish translations of poetic verse between that and his native tongue. Although Internal Security doesn’t have Chen’s poetic gifts in mind when “requesting”  his assistance in a politically volatile case, the soul of a poet  dovetails nicely with the demands of a cop in this mystery.

The granddaughter of one of Mao’s former mistresses is believed to be in possession of an item from her grandmother’s years as Mao’s mistress and consort, and item that could be used to embarrass the legacy of Mao and undermine support of his Party. Government security gives Chen two weeks to approach the young woman, earn her trust,  and resolve the situation without any embarrassment to the Party. They have no idea what the item is, but if Chen doesn’t find out within those two weeks, they’ll resort to more traditional means of finding out the information  from the girl — means as imaginative as they are cruel.

Chen is not cruel. Like Steven Saylor’s Gordianus the Finder,  he is an essentially decent man trapped in a world of corruption and meanness. Though Communist in name, modern China’s prosperity is built on ruthless capitalist efficiency. Peasants toil in factories hardly recognizable from those of the Gilded Age, while the government — which supposedly represents the People and protects them from exploitation — prefers the profits these business practices bring to the well-being of its people.  As lax as the laws are in governing business, some — like those operated by the Triads —  do not see fit to operate within its bounds, employing gangsters to enforce cooperation among potential customers.

Any dealing with Mao’s troublesome legacy is bound to be problematic. The Founder of modern China’s legacy was tainted by the violence of the Cultural Revolution, but the corruption and poverty that followed with his successors cause many in China to look with longing to his Golden Age. Chen has no interest in the case, though he has little choice but accept it as his responsibility — for the will of the party is an unavoidable maelstrom.  Dutifully, he begins an investigation partially assisted by his retired mentor. Chen draws his history as an author and interests in poetry to approach people who would have shrunk away from a uniformed cop,  each new name sending him deeper into the past, to Mao’s days a revolutionary hiding from Nationalist troops in the mountains.

Qiu’s setting prompted me to check the book out, and it remained the most vital element of the book. Modern China is a fascinating world of contradictions, of disparate philosophies melting into the other: traditional and modern dogma produce people as obsessed by nostalgia for the days of Imperial China as they are with the legacy of Mao.  Qiu’s setting is immersive: being an immigrant to the US from China himself, he uses Chinese metaphors, symbols, and poetic allusions to draw the reader in. Poetry is particularly pervasive:  Chen and Mao are forever occupied by it, which is not surprising given that Qiu is a published translator of poetry. Mao’s own poems are plot elements, and a reader who pays attention to expressions within them may easily beat Chen to the punch.

As a mystery novel, The Mao Case has weaknesses: Chen is extraordinarily lucky in habitually bumping him into helpful and chatty people, the first example being a retired Red Guard member he literally stumbles into at a bar he just chanced to decided to go into. The mystery broadens throughout the novel and crashes in on itself in the final dozen pages, playing a somewhat discredited trope rather hard. Despite this weakness, I enjoyed the novel for its setting and main character. My library has a few more books in the Inspector Chen series, and I’ll be reading them.

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Casino

Casino: Love and Honor in Las Vegas
© 1995 Nicholas Pileggi
363 pages

The first gangster movie I ever watched was Martin Scorcese’s Goodfellas, based off of Nicholas Pileggi’s Wiseguy. Pileggi’s account of life in the Sicilian mob is considerably more gritty and less romanticized than Mario Puzo’s novels, and he followed it with this work, Casino, which also inspired a movie starring Joe Pesci. (He plays the same character in both films: a short, mouthy bruiser who can go from a dead calm to psychotic rage at the drop of a hat.) I encountered the book while doing a web search a few weeks back and finally remembered to check it out this week.

Although Casino was classified as fiction by my library, the narrative draws heavily from interviews with the main character and those who knew him (including the police), wiretapping transcripts, official police reports, and news articles. It’s the story of Frank “Lefty” Rosenthal,  a talented sports bettor, bookie, and handicapper who oversees the action of four Mob-backed casinos in Las Vegas in the 1970s relying on Tony “the Ant” Spilotro for intimidation purposes. Pileggi begins by establishing the two characters’ backgrounds: while Rosenthal grew up learning to predict odds for sports matches, Spilotro preferred handicapping people to games: his chief talent was intimidation through brutality.  After trouble with the law, they both migrate to Las Vegas and make the town their own — living large and socking away millions before falling prey to themselves and an increasingly effective FBI.

Entertaining for a mob story, but what I enjoyed most was learning about the world of sports gambling and casinos. I don’t understand why gambling is illegal in the United States, but it seems to give unsavory characters a reliable means of income by controlling underground affairs. The book ends with a curious sigh for days gone past, when the Mafia with its personal touches ruled Vegas instead of the garish, impersonal theme park casinos of the corporations.

Related:

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Booking through Thursday: Day and Night

Booking through Thursday asks:  Do you divide your books into day and night reads? How do you decide?



Although I don’t think of books in terms of “day” and “night” readings, I distinguish between books I can read in public, or outside the house, and books I should keep indoors. Day readings — books I take with me to work, to classes, and even to lunch in case I can’t find anyone to dine with — are small, lighter reads that I can easily keep at my side without too much getting in the way. I’m not going to haul Our Oriental Heritage around with me, for instance: instead, I keep meatier books on my coffee table or beside my bed, and when I do my evening reading I go to them. This is why I often read two books at a time.  



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This Week at the Library (8 Sept – 15 Sept)

This week at the library…

  • Innocent Traitor by Alison Weir is the story of Lady Jane Grey, a young girl who was made queen in an effort to 
  • Karl Marx: the Passionate Logician by Joel Carmichael is a brief biography of Marx that delved more into philosophy than I’d anticipated,  but one which helped me understand the Hegelian background of some of his ideas. The most is mostly critical of Marx, portraying him as a frustrated failure who could have been  political leader were it not for his renunciation of Prussian citizenship.
  • I also tried reading ridiculous/hilarious/terrible/cool: a year in an american high school by Elisha Cooper,  which follows a dozen teens through a year of their education. It never hooked me, though.

This past week was poor for reading in general; only one book really caught my attention. Even the two Star Trek novels I tried reading didn’t take. I’m excited about this next week, though.

Next Week’s Potentials:

  • I’ll be reading from The Life of the Greeks by Will Durant.
  • Casino by Nicholas Pileggi is a supposedly true story about the Mafia and Las Vegas which inspired Casino starring Joe Pesci and Robert de Niro. 
  • I’ll be reading from The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson, which I’ve looked forward to for a while.
  • African Exodus will ease some of my hunger pangs for science reading, I hope.
  • …and The Mao Case by Quu Xiaolong is doubly interesting, first because it’s set in China, and again because the protagonist is asked by Government Officials to handle a political scandal involving a mistress of Mao. I saw it while looking for Jules Verne.
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