Some Books You May or May Not Like

Recently, Nick Hornby was asked to pick 40 books for a writer’s table at Waterstone’s book store, and he wrote an amusing article about the endeavor in the Times, noting the presumptuousness of anyone saying, “I think you might like this.” I totally agree. Of course, there are friends and family I can say this too quite confidently (my mom is the easiest because she likes literally every book), but to “recommend” something to an audience of strangers is inherently absurd. Still, directly and indirectly we do it every day in the blogosphere, and who knows—perhaps you’ve learned enough about my tastes through these posts to know you either like most things that I do or hate them.

At any rate, I’ve been looking to do a better job of keeping track of the books I read, and so I thought I’d throw them up here. Indulge me, innanet.

Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, by Nick Flynn (228 pp., W.W. Norton). It’s nice to read a book once in a while with no expectations about the text or knowledge of the author (spot the hypocrisy!). Too often I pick up books I’ve heard about or I think I “should” read, but some of my favorites have been ones where I just found a back-cover blurb that sounded exciting and went for it. Such was the case with Nick Flynn’s memoir, which I found at the awesome Spotted Dog Books & Ale in Hudson. The story is utterly depressing: Nick’s father is a con-man, alcoholic, and ex-prisoner whose talent never lived up to his creativity (which may be because it’s more of a psychosis than a positive form of creativity). Nick works in a homeless shelter in Boston, and he loses touch with his father until who should check into the shelter one day but deadbeat dad. Nick is forced to confront his past and deal with the torment of wanting to both separate himself from his father and also make sure he survives the streets. Ultimately, his ability to triumph where his father failed (by writing a novel) is the “redemption” that saves this from being the downer of the century.

Flynn is a poet by craft, and his writing is poignant, powerful, and quick, always switching up narrative styles without becoming confusing. Chapters are short and the story flies by because of this variation (poems, flashbacks, mini-plays, streams-of-consciousness, etc.). In addition to the consistently inventive writing, there’s a lot of interesting stuff about the realities of being homeless and the ways homeless people interact with a city.

The Uncommon Reader, by Alan Bennett (pp. 128, Picador). The British wordsmith behind The History Boys and the BBC Radio Talking Heads monologues delivers a masterclass in an under-appreciated form: the novella. Chasing her corgis around Buckingham Palace, Queen Elizabeth II stumbles into the mobile library that parks on the grounds and becomes an unlikely bookworm. Not much happens, but Bennett lets us become part of her literary journey while showing us all the subversive doors it opens for a woman of her upbringing. The language and conceit are decadent, but I loved it. Really, it’s what inspired me to finally make progress on my own novel (yes, I am one of those people who is “working on a novel”…what of it?!).

Billy Bunter books, by Frank Richards. These English schoolboy classics from the early 1900s are hard to come by, but my mom managed to dig up a few for Christmas. They have nostalgic value because I used to love Billy Bunter, Jennings, and Just William growing up. The anachronisms are hilarious and the books offer a glimpse into the unabashedly British world of boarding school, characterized by sweets, “head boys,” pranks, and people yelling “Crikey!” all the time. Doesn’t get much more British. One of the reasons I never got into Harry Potter was that I liked all the boarding school stuff more than the magic, and I knew that it had been done so much better in the past.

Brilliant Orange: The Neuortic Genius of Dutch Football, by David Winner (288 pp., Overlook). Unless it’s about Larry Bird or some professional athlete who is bizarrely weird or depressed (e.g., Stephen Jackson), I don’t really get into myth-making sports writing. But seeing as my Uncle is a Dutchman and I have always loved watching Holland in major tournament, I figured I’d give it a go. In the vein of Franklin Foer’s How Soccer Explains the World: An Unlikely Theory of Globalization (disclaimer: never read it), Winner chronicles the rise of “Total Football” and draws upon all aspects of Dutch culture, society, art, and architecture to show where this innovation came from. A lot of the time I felt like I was reading something interesting about the Dutch as a people, then something interesting about football, so if the link seemed a bit far-fetched it didn’t ruin the exercise. Admittedly, the descriptions of matches can get a bit tiresome, especially if you’ve never seen them (which is likely). Still, there’s plenty of legendary stuff about the Cruyff years in there, and many interviews from players, artists, and coaches  demonstrate clearly that the Dutch play a cerebral type of football that is truly “more than just a game.”

The Urban Cookbook, by King Adz (256 pp., Thames & Hudson). Got this as a gift and it lasted me at least 8 trips to the toilet. King Adz (some dude who did advertising?) cobbles together a piecemeal portrait of the “urban scene” in five international cities, providing street artist interviews profiles, street photography, and, yes, “street food” recipes along the way. I often found myself wondering things like, “Why do I need to read a Skinnyman interview (and not a very good one) in the same place I get my chicken wing recipe?”, but on the whole it’s a nicely laid out, visually appealing book that’s worth a flip through. Whether I will actually try to recipes is yet to be seen.

Next on the reading list: Firmin: Adventures of a Metropolitan Lowlife