Bissinger’s Best Work

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A Prayer for the City, Buzz Bissinger, Friday Night Lights, Joan Didion, Three Nights in August

About a decade ago, I read my first Buzz Bissinger book. I was working for the Mayor of Cincinnati and we were fresh off of a race riot and some difficult political challenges. Reality was enough of an education, but I wanted to learn more about the experiences of other urban leaders. I found “A Prayer for the City.” Since then, I’ve read many books about cities, but none of them come even close to “Prayer” in capturing what it is like to work for a big city Mayor or government. The book became a touchstone for me—I’ve read it two other times and have taught it in a class at Xavier. Ask my my favorite book and this will be one of my answers. Want to understand why your City Hall is so screwed up?  Want to know why it is so difficult to get something done in urban America? Want to learn what motivates an elected official with an outsized ego? You simply should read this book.

And then you should read Buzz’s other books. “Three Nights in August” is a play in three acts. Tony LaRussa is the main character, but more than that, the melodrama of a late-season three-game series is the heart of the book. Bissinger writes sports as well as he writes politics. “Friday Night Lights,” a book I came to much too late, made Bissinger famous. It was troubling and comforting at the same time—American values at their best and their worst in just about 300 pages. It launched a movie (didn’t see it) and a TV show that may have even been more entertaining “The West Wing” or, dare I say it, “The Wire.”

I’ll admit to having skipped the book on LeBron. If it were about any other basketball player, maybe I would give it a whirl. Maybe his fans in Miami will enjoy it. LeBron is not worth my time.

I don’t know that I’ve ever come across an author that can so perfectly size up a person or a relationship or situation. I would be terrified if Bissinger showed up and said he wanted to write about me or my family. It would be like years of therapy, laid out plain between two covers. Terrifying.

So Bissinger is observant and thoughtful about what he sees. But that’s not all. He can just flat out write. He has written and tweeted about the agony of writing. That’s the hallmark of true talent. Someone who spews out words and publishes 12 books a year? That’s a job. Writing one every few years—one that enlightens and exposes? That’s a gift.

I’ve now established—through simple insistence—that Bissinger can analyze a person or situation and then can translate that observation into words. For his latest book, he’s turned inward to examine his son, his family and himself.

“Father’s Day” is a story about a cross-country trip between Buzz and his son Zach. The son is a twin—his older brother was born three minutes earlier, and though premature, Zach’s brother has no lasting effects from the early birth. The three minutes were crucial for Zach. Zach was deprived of oxygen at birth and suffered trace brain damage. He’s a savant—he can remember dates and days like a computer, but he has trouble making the mental connections that come so easy to everyone else, especially his father.

Their trip is a forced trip. Bissinger wants to connect in a new way with his son—to understand him better and maybe to find some sort of catharsis in a painful journey across country. Zach isn’t enthusiastic about the trip, but in a perfect irony, seems to understand what the trip means to his father. The subtitle is “A Journey into the Mind and Heart of My Extraordinary Son.” It is that. It is also a journey into the mind of a parent.

I could go on and recap but it is easier to tell you plainly that this is a touching and tender book. It’s written first person with brutal honesty.

Two scenes will not leave my memory easily—both are embraces. In the first, Bissinger describes an embrace in the shower with the mother of Zach and his twin Gerry. They are holding one another and then her arms loosen—just a bit. It is a moment when he realizes that the marriage will not last. It is a crushing moment, because of what it says about a marriage confronted with that kind of challenge. The next embrace is between Buzz and his son Zach. They are, for lack of a better description, bungee jumping on an amusement park ride. Buzz is holding on to his son in a tight beautiful squeeze. It is the high point of the trip for Buzz and is a healing embrace and a memory he will keep forever. I am doing his descriptions no justice. Read this book.

I want to make two more points. First, I don’t have any children. We talk about it a lot, and those are personal conversations that don’t belong on this blog. But I can confess here that this book, in a strange way, made me feel more confident that I could be a father. I’ve always been frightened of what might happen if I had a child with a similar condition. Could I be a good father? Would I be disappointed? Would I love the child differently? Those are horrible questions to consider but Bissinger does, with experience, sparing no emotion. He lays it all bare in the book. His confessions are hard to read but in a way, helpful. There is real courage present in this memoir.

My second observation: I read “A Year of Magical Thinking” earlier this year. I liked it, but there were things about it that felt awkward. Maybe it was Didion’s insistence on describing the New York elite world she inhabited. Or maybe it was that writing about the death of her husband and lover seemed to be so obvious to her. Of course she would write about his death. That’s what she does.

Bissinger cops to this too. He knew he would one day write about his son. I think he knew he would write about Zach but he also knew it would require him to confront demons and fears and truths that would scare the absolute living shit out of most anyone else. At one point in the book he describes the moment when you click up the first hill of a roller coaster. My guess is that the thought of writing this book was like that slow journey up the hill. His son was about 24 when they drove across the U.S. This wasn’t a two-week trip—it was a quarter of a century. And that’s why this book is so much more powerful than Didion’s.

Maybe I’m being too nice here. If he read this, Bissinger would surely call me a “douchejuice” (see his Twitter feed) for my ridiculous fawning. Fuck it. We are all allowed to have favorite authors and Bissinger is one of mine.

One more lump of praise, and for my readers who are writers, you’ll get this. At one point in the book, Bissinger admits to his own “negative narcissism” about “Friday Night Lights.” He says it was the story he was “destined to write.” But he also lamented that he “knew when it was published [he] would never top it no matter how hard [he] tried.” Believing that seems to haunt him. I read both books this week. And without question, he topped it.

Thanks for reading.

Rage Against the Machine

Tags

Barack Obama, Drew Westen, Jimmy Carter, John Kerry, Peggy Noonan, Ronald Reagan

This book was recommended to me by a friend, a “political brain,” who possesses a keen knack for politics. He explained to me the book’s theory: that voters make decisions using their emotional brain, rather than their rational brain. Or, they vote for the candidate that connects to them emotionally, and not the one that rattles off political positions or policies that the voter agrees with most.

And Drew Westen spends most of the first part of his book, “The Political Brain: The Role of Emotion in Deciding the Fate of the Nation,” proving his thesis. I think he’s got his finger on something very important—that you can influence and persuade more effectively when you look for ways to connect to someone’s emotional triggers. There are obvious implications for politics, which is where Westen spends most of his time. But as interesting to me is the significance to other human dynamics—friendships, business decisions, and even marriages. John Adams once said “facts are stubborn things,” but maybe he didn’t realize the obstinance of emotions.

So, Westen, a clinical scientist who studied the brain, is the perfect guy to teach us a new way to reach voters, colleagues, bosses, loved ones, and even the guy you are trying to convince to give you a deal on a car. It is unfortunate, then, that he allows his hatred for George Bush and the modern Republican party to corrupt nearly everything he says. This book went from an interesting book about the political brain to a 400+ page tirade that is more suited for The Daily Kos.

Throughout the book, Westen uses his academic background to push us around. His theory (again, I think he’s on to something with his theory) is used as a cloak to create ridiculous liberal wet dreams that are grounded in Aaron Sorkin fan-fiction rather than political reality. I am not some brilliant political communicator, but I don’t think this guy wouldn’t have made it past the Capitol Visitors’ Center if it weren’t for the fact he has a doctorate and some moneyed political connections.

What do I mean?  Throughout the book, he rewrites history as he believes it should have been written, and in a way that he says touches the political (emotional) brain, and not the rational brain. Let me give you a few examples.

In 1980, Ronald Reagan did a press conference in Mississippi. He used veiled language to send some dog whistles to southern conservatives. Jimmy  Carter reacted as he often did—with a cool, disconnected response. Westen helpfully suggests that instead, Carter should have accused Ronald Reagan of wearing a white hood. Yes. He suggests that Carter literally should have accused Governor Ronald Reagan of being a Klansman.

Is that ridiculous enough? No you say?  Want more?

When Saxby Chambliss ran a controversial ad in his Senate race vs. incumbent Senator Max Cleland, many cried foul and said that the ad was inappropriate because it tied images of Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein to Cleland. Westen, full of rage, suggests that Cleland would have changed the conversation if he had just threatened to “kick [Chambliss’s] ass with the one arm [he] had left.”  Oh-kaaaay.

Westen’s hatred for Bush knows no rational—or emotional—limits. He writes what he suggests John Kerry should have said in 2004 to help steer the populace away from the frame of the “war on terror.”  Westen’s suggestion for John Kerry (Try to picture Senator Kerry saying this and be careful if you are drinking water at the same time for it will surely squirt out of your nose.): “We are not fighting a war on terror. Terror is a feeling, not an enemy. If the president wants to fight a war on feelings, I suggest he see a therapist.”  As a dear friend of mine would have said during that campaign, “Woof.”  The notion that in 2004 a Democratic nominee for president would deny that a “war on terror” existed is simply preposterous. I would not have wanted to be his press secretary in Ohio had he uttered that nonsense in Stark County.

Oh, there are plenty of these “feel-good” statements from Westen. They remind me of Meg Ryan’s character in “You’ve Got Mail”— she can never think of the right comeback when she’s in the moment. Turns out, that when she does utter the awful things she dreams of saying, she just sounds like a nasty old hag. Westen’s flaw is that he seems to have spent his life in an isolated and protected environment and never on a ballot. He has no idea what it means to campaign. He mentions several times that he sent memos to candidates over the years about how they should be saying something. Having received a few of those memos, I can tell you that we usually had a few good laughs at how the local neuroscientist felt we should be writing our press releases. Sure, he focuses on two campaigns—2002 and 2004—when Democrats did poorly (an understatement), but even when he expands the field, his historical view is mostly limited to the last 12 years. It’s as if he kept refreshing Atrios and Firedoglake while procrastinating over writing this book.

The book is told solely from the perspective of a liberal who nearly always feels that Democrats aren’t liberal enough. It’s the age-old condition that he ought to be able to diagnose himself: “Democrat Self-Hate.” He advises that candidates “never avoid anything.” Right. And he says, with presumably a straight face, that “Democrats should be talking about abortion virtually everywhere.” Ok, you go run in the Tennessee 2nd, Drew. Tell me how that district-wide forum on abortion goes for you. I’m sure you’ll get some good coverage.

The problem with this book is that it takes the theory to the extreme—it completely ignores the rational approach that our elected officials SHOULD take when it comes to politics. Several times during the book, he insinuates that Democrats should act more like the Republicans that he despises. He’s the guy who wants Democrats to run their own “Willie Horton” style ads. I want to win, but I don’t want to stoop to that level. Take the long view in history, and you will surely find moments when both parties had trouble connecting with the populace. Instead, the book is current as of 2006 and given the events of the past six years, doesn’t feel right. Obama didn’t say anything that approaches the level of “rage” that Westen suggests in 2008. He developed an emotional narrative that appealed to Americans’ passions. He proved Westen’s theory, without acting like a raging fool, as Westen would have suggested he do.

In fact, Westen’s afterword is highly critical of President Obama, as if he is a Kerry-esque figure. I knew John Kerry, I worked for John Kerry…oh nevermind. Last year, Westen wrote a ridiculously long op-ed in (where else?) the New York Times, and just trashed Obama. For not being liberal enough. I’ve got a number of perfectly reasonable Republican friends who would disagree a little, I’m sure. I mean come on. It’s easy to levy these kind of criticisms from a well-funded tenure track position at the local neuroscience institute. But forgive us politicos if we don’t heed your every word.

Now I’m ranting. Peggy Noonan has gotten on my nerves of late, but I think her book “Patriotic Grace” was a thoughtful attempt to help Americans look for a new way to approach politics. Grace is a magnificent word that triggers many emotions. And she’s right to stamp her feet and demand that we look for grace in our politics once again. Westen’s book is not the guide to grace. It is a guide to rage and anger and contempt for one another. It envisions two political parties that win by provoking our worst emotions instead of our best. We’re close enough to that already. And I’m afraid more of that is what Westen recommends.

You can’t fix the deficit or health care or the war on terror with emotion alone. You also need ideas and a rational discussion of those ideas. I don’t discount the central theory of this book—that emotion can persuade, often more effectively than reason. But I do completely disagree with the type of emotion that Westen favors. Rage and anger will get us nowhere. But grace just might.

Thanks for reading.

Things Are Not OK

Tags

Charles Murray, David Brooks, Paul Krugman

It’s been a month and a half since I read Charles Murray’s “Coming Apart: The State of White America 1960-2010” and this is a good reminder that I need to blog more quickly after finishing a book. My passions about “Coming Apart” have cooled considerably since and now I’m struggling a bit to capture how I felt after I initially read this book.

I should say now, as Murray does in his introduction, that the subtitle is indeed, “curious.” Murray notes that “for decades now, trends in American life have been presented in terms of race and ethnicity” and says most research about poverty, education, and so on, compares whites to non-whites. The author says that he uses white American demographics to help remind readers that we aren’t “looking at stresses that can be remedied by attacking the legacy of racism or restricting immigration.” His bottom line—this book isn’t describing a condition that faces white America—it faces all of us.

So what’s the condition he describes? That we are growing apart in ways that are troubling for our society. In fact, I recall being so troubled by some of the statistics that I was left mouth agape at several points. Borrowing heavily from Robert Putnam and David Brooks, Murray describes the new upper class and the narrow elite and the world they inhabit. It is entirely different from the world that “everyone else” lives in and Murray presents the differences in stark terms, using statistics about health, religion, employment, education, family structure, and of course, income.

This new narrow elite is segregating itself from the rest of America. Members of the narrow elite are more likely to live near one another, marry one another, go to the same schools and frequent the same cultural institutions. Murray decries the fact that they are increasingly removed from the rest of society. In the prelude to Chapter 4, Murray muses that a “new upper class that makes decisions affecting the lives of everyone else but increasingly doesn’t know much about how everybody else lives is vulnerable to making mistakes.” Again, it’s a troubling predicament that Murray presents. (Chapter 4 contains a quiz that will help you determine if you are “connected” to the lives of “ordinary Americans.”)

The device Murray uses to frighten all of us is to hypothesize about two towns—Belmont and Fishtown. He describes Belmont as the place where “everyone has a bachelor’s or graduate degree and works in the high prestige professions or management, or is married to such a person.” Fishtown is the opposite—“nobody has more than a high school diploma” and everyone is in a blue collar or service job. It’s close enough to describe it as the top 20% vs. the lower 30%. Then he shows how in measurements of his four identified Founding Virtues—industriousness, honesty, marriage, and religiosity—Fishtown has fallen incredibly behind since 1960. Fishtown works less, commits more crimes, no longer values marriage and family, and is less religious.

Murray lost me a bit with his identified “Founding Virtues”—I don’t quibble with the importance of industriousness and so on, but I’m not crazy about how he makes some judgments on how different individuals should value religion or family structure. I could only get so far with that criticism though—the data Murray presents in his description of Fishtown and Belmont is haunting. Let me give an example—there are many in the book: Divorce in Belmont rose from nearly 0% in 1960 to just about 7% in 2010. It’s held flat since the 80s. But in Fishtown? It rose from 4% in 1960 to nearly 35% in 2010. It’s still trending up. When he describes the vast differences in family structure, Murray says that the issues in Fishtown are so troubling that “it calls into question the viability of white working-class communities as a place for socializing the next generation.”

After presenting all this data that shows how far apart Belmont and Fishtown are on the Founding Virtues, Murray ends with a statement that, I think, reflects his overall worry that we are “Coming Apart.” As he is talking about the new lower class, he encourages readers to think of a member of “your own extended family” that may not have their act together. They are “the despair of parents and siblings, even though they seem perfectly pleasant when you meet them. That’s mostly what the new lower class involves. Individually, they are not much of a problem. Collectively, they can destroy the kind of civil society that America requires.”

It should be noted that Murray’s description of the new upper class / elite is just as grotesque as his picture of the “lower class.” However, at times it feels like he is sitting on high, saying “look how bad the lower class is doing.”

Murray drifts in Part III of his book, as he begins to offer solutions that resemble a political philosophy that many won’t agree with. He seems to over-rely on a theory that the “counterculture” of the sixties created many of these problems. He laments “transfer payments” which presumably would include things like government-provided health care and food stamps and seems to enjoy prancing all over something he calls “The European Model.” He’s perfectly concise in explaining the data that should give us cause for concern; he is less than clear as he tries to explain what needs to happen to reverse these troubling trends. (Though his section in Part III on Unseemliness is excellent.)

So I’ve mostly recapped here and not offered much of an opinion. The book generated hot viewpoints, including a back-and-forth between Paul Krugman and David Brooks in the New York Times that is worth reading. Brooks concludes that we need a national service program that would force some of the top 20% to spend time with the bottom 30%. He’s not wrong. Krugman rebuts Murray hard, saying this isn’t a debate over morals, it’s a debate over money. He makes a good point too.

So my short take: Lots of liberals tried to discredit this book, and I think that’s a mistake. It’s also a mistake for conservatives to use this book to advance their current agenda. As I’ve stated over and over, the data in this book is astonishing. It must be considered. If only it could be considered in a thoughtful manner. But instead—and here’s where I think our biggest problem lies—our government isn’t capable of thoughtfully considering anything. We return to our corners and play to win elections and not improve our country. Data like this becomes a tool to advance a partisan agenda, instead of becoming a moment that makes us all stop and say, what can we do together to improve the current state of our society? Murray is making the case that our civil society is broken. He may be right. What’s more? Many of the institutions that we rely on to mend society are just as broken.

And that’s why this book is so frightening.

Thanks for reading.

April Book Club Edition, Part I

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He-La, Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot, The Help

Two book clubs this week. Two bestsellers. Two great discussions. But only one good book.

The two books were “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” by Rebecca Skloot and “State of Wonder,” by Ann Patchett. The only connection between the two books, other than my book clubs, was that they both involved some discussion of medical testing against the will of the patient. In “State of Wonder,” this was one of 200 or so themes in the book, and in “Henrietta Lacks” it was the central theme. You can probably deduce at this point which book I liked. This post will be about “Henrietta Lacks” and later today, I’ll post another about “State of Wonder.” Five posts in a week. Take that, April slump.

Skloot’s narrative non-fiction story of Henrietta Lacks and her immortal cancer cells is the best book I’ve read in months. Maybe years. I’ve wanted to read it for a while—and gave it as a gift to my mother-in-law last year—so I was thrilled when it was chosen this month. Skloot was ambitious with this book, and it could easily have backfired. She wove together the story of Henrietta, Henrietta’s children and family, her doctors, and her cells. And Skloot then attempts the triple axel—she includes her own story. She nailed it.

The quick background on Henrietta Lacks: In 1951, at age 31, she was a poor African American woman who was diagnosed with cervical cancer. She visits nearby Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, where doctors attempt to treat her. A doctor takes a sliver of her tumor and discovers that Henrietta’s cancer cells are “immortal.” Lacks dies soon after, and unbeknownst to her or her family, her cells—called “He-La”—are now grown in labs all over the world and have been used in experiments that have cured diseases like polio and undoubtedly improved the health of millions. Henrietta’s family discovers this about her cells many decades later and suffers great pain coming to terms with the fact that Henrietta’s cells are ubiquitous, but Henrietta is still gone.

Though no easy effort, Skloot tells us this story. She explains the science, lays out the ethical debate over tissue sampling, and tells of the scientific victories that came from the He-La cells. That alone would have been a strong book. But the story of Henrietta and her descendents is just as powerful. We meet Deborah, Henrietta’s youngest daughter, and Skloot’s writing about her is honest and stark and passionate. Deborah is poor, struggles with mental and physical health problems, and is tortured by a lack of understanding of the connection between Henrietta and the He-La cells. Skloot and Deborah bond in an uneasy but beautiful friendship and so we get to know Skloot also. Anytime an author inserts him or herself into a story like this, readers should be skeptical. It worked in this instance—how she earns the trust of Deborah and Henrietta’s other descendents is its own marvelous story. (By the way, Skloot’s personality shines through in the “Acknowledgments”—very charming comments about her friends and family and the gratitude she expresses to those who helped her with this story.)

The medical ethics debate is the obvious jumping off point for discussion. Did the doctors have the right to take her cells and use them without her permission? Did she consent by giving the OK to be treated? Should patients have the right to tissue that they “abandon” at a medical facility? Did the family deserve some financial benefit from all the work done with their mother’s cells? I could go on, and it’s why this book is perfect for a book club. I didn’t have a difficult time with the ethics—tissue samples aren’t body parts and I don’t know that we maintain some rights to them once they leave our bodies. I shudder to think that people would find a way to capitalize their tissue if they felt it would be valuable. And that would have disastrous consequences for science. The tragedy here was that Henrietta’s family suffered so much in life (for reasons having nothing to do with the cells) and then when they found out about the cells, they were angry and confused and hurt. It does seem wrong that they lived in poverty without health insurance, and their mother’s cells made drug and science companies millions of dollars. But then, I think it is wrong that ANYONE lives in poverty and without health insurance.

What struck me most about this book were the parallels to “The Help.” In both books, a white lady tells the story of poor and uneducated African Americans who suffered greatly but had significant influence on the lives of others. “The Help” was criticized by some for being “too easy” and smoothing over some things that would make some—well, let’s face it, white people—uncomfortable. The movie adaptation was worse in that regard, by the way. But “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks” pulls no punches. It does not end neatly and happily. We meet flawed individuals and though we see glimmers of hope, we are reminded over and over again that life isn’t a fairy tale. The Lackses lived difficult and complicated lives and Skloot lays it all out there. Thank god. The similarities are strong, though, and I believe that when you hold the two books next to one another, “The Help” pales in comparison. Of course, one is fiction and one is non-fiction, but without question, the story that will stay with me is the story of Henrietta, and not the story of Aibileen.

Finally, I’ll say that the word immortal is used in a couple of ways in the book. Immortal can refer to the cells and their ability to grow in culture. It can also refer to something spiritual. As such, it is the word that perfectly emphasizes the disconnect between the doctors and scientists and the Lackses. Many of the scientists and doctors in the book, save for the courageous Christophe Lengauer, see only the scientific definition of the word. But the family struggles and desires to understand the spiritual side—that they believed their mother, a real person, was granted some sort of immortality. When her cousin sings and prays with Deborah, we witness a spiritual connection to Henrietta up close. We end the book knowing it is not just the cells that were immortal. It’s a beautiful moment.

You will want to read this book. And probably whatever Rebecca Skloot decides to write next.

Thanks for reading.

April Book Club Edition, Part II

Tags

Ann Patchett, Law & Order, Michael Crichton

(This is part two of a two-part entry. Click here for Part I.)

From the best of books to the worst of books. We move from “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks” to “State of Wonder.” For the life of me, I can’t understand why so many reviewers liked this book. According to most reviewers, it’s a cover of “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad and the book is sort of about Marina, an Indian-American doctor who is sent to the Amazon to find out about some medical research and discover how her colleague died there. As I alluded to in Part I, there were too many themes and characters. Whatever amazing move Ann Patchett attempted with this book, she didn’t pull it off. At all.

I think “State of Wonder” is the story of Marina, a flat and uninteresting Indian-American researcher from Eden Prairie, Minnesota. It also could be the story of her former mentor, Annick Swenson, a doctor who lives in the Amazon trying to find a drug that will make women fertile past an age when they should be. Or maybe it is about western domination of third-world cultures, or maybe medical ethics, or love, or…oh hell, I have no idea what it was about.

At first, the book was interesting—it seemed like we were getting a Michael Crichton style science mystery. But that never really developed—it was quickly and unexcitingly explained. And as I said earlier, neither did Marina. I think I have said here before that my sister once advised me  the main character of a novel should change from the beginning of the novel to the end. Marina didn’t really change, and if she did, we never find out how. She obviously has moving experiences in the Amazon, what with delivering the baby in a treehouse and cutting the snake off the kid, and chewing on the bark of a mystical tree, but we aren’t privy to what this does to her. We never find out how she comes to terms with her father abandoning her. And we don’t get any insight into how her love affair with the CEO plays out when she returns from her romp in the magical forest.

The supporting cast was straight out of Law & Order. By that I mean they were entirely forgettable. If you are a devotee of L&O (as us addicts call it), you know that there have been several occasions where actors have appeared in multiple episodes as different characters. One season she’s the murder victim and the next season she’s the judge. That’s only possible because the characters blend into the background and leave no meaningful trace of their story behind. I felt that way about the doctors in the jungle, the Bovenders, Mr. Fox, and all of the natives from the Amazon.

Our book group had a really fun discussion about this book though. Many in the group liked it and found all sorts of symbolism and hidden meanings and it made for an interesting conversation last night. I’m left with just one thought—if I had traveled more extensively, I think this book would have meant more to me. (Inside joke, sorry.)

My wife’s comments about this book and the themes of fertility and wanting children made me think for a long while about what Patchett was preaching with this novel. I won’t try to cover her comments here (she can get her own blog) but suffice it to say, her personal feelings about this book were even stronger than mine.

It feels liberating to dislike a book. Regular readers of this blog know I end up liking most of what I read, but once in a while, it’s nice to read something and have strong objections. There are few critical reviews of this book online, so I’m in the minority with my feelings about “State of Wonder.” In some cases, I will say, “Don’t read this book.” Not here. Many of you will like this book and think I’m deficient in my capabilities as a reviewer. So read it yourself and tell me what you think in the comments.

Thanks for reading.

The 2012 Campaign, Part II

Late last year, I reviewed the Mike Allen and Evan Thomas e-book about the 2012 Presidential Campaign. You can read that review here.

Part two was released a few weeks ago, and it follows the first part nicely. The authors do a good job hitting the high points and most important events of the GOP nomination battle. They include some juicy comments from aides and insiders who have axes to grind or reputations to enhance. I won’t bother with a full review, but one paragraph in this book stood out. It’s an astute commentary by two of the best in the business. And it’s downright terrifying.

“It is sometimes unclear whether political campaigns are run for the benefit of the voters and office seekers or for the professional consultants who earn their livings from politics. Media consultants and pollsters are often paid a percentage of the “ad buy,” rewarded for their services with a slice of the dollars spent on political ads praising (or, these days, more likely attacking) a candidate. The more candidates, the longer and more hotly contested the race, the bigger the war chests, and the more money consultants can make. Consultants always say they believe in their candidates, and often they do; but the hired guns, who see themselves as soldiers and swear as often, can be cynical and patronizing toward their clients, as well as manipulative and self-interested. They are generally protected by the political reporters to whom they leak. The motives of consultants are mixed, but profit is usually one of them.”

Gross. Need I say more?

Two points of personal privilege:

First, this summer and fall, I’m hosting a book discussion group at The Mercantile Library in downtown Cincinnati. It’s one of my favorite places in the City; if you’ve never been, you’re missing out. The discussion group is called “Rushing the Bridge of State,” and centers on books about Presidential Campaigns. We’ll read “The Making of the President 1960,” “Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail: 1972,” “A Magnificent Catastrophe,” “Game Change,” and “What it Takes,” which of course, has been referenced here several times. Click this link to learn more about the group. I’d love to see you there.

Second, I entered into this GoodReads book blogger contest, in hopes I could scam a free trip to New York if I won. If you happen to have a GoodReads account (or don’t mind getting one), I’d ask politely and humbly for you to click over there and vote for this blog. I don’t do this blog for recognition—this has always been a mostly personal endeavor—but I’d be down with a trip to the big city.

Thanks for reading.

The Legacy of Sandy Koufax

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Jane Leavy, Robert Pinsky, Sandy Koufax, Vin Scully

I’ve been neglecting this blog because life has been in overdrive. I traveled throughout the month of March, which allowed me to read but kept me too unfocused to write. Sometime in the past four weeks, we decided to put a contract on a house, put our house up for sale, and all of the chores and stresses associated with that have been a bear. Not all of my neglect is from work, of course. Those of you who know me heard that I was in Detroit last week to see Springsteen. More specifically, I was in the front row of the Palace at Auburn Hills last week, where I strummed Bruce’s guitar on “Born to Run.” Yes, I boast. Point being, I’ve been busy. But I’m back. Expect a rapid succession of posts this week.

One event I missed this year because of work travel was Opening Day. It’s practically a Municipal Holiday here in Cincinnati, and it was difficult to break away from the festivities. If you’ve read this blog before around this time of year, you know I like to post a baseball book review to celebrate the beginning of the season. A few years ago, I started this blog with my post about Willie Mays. Last year, I read about Joe DiMaggio. This year? Sandy Koufax.

Jane Leavy’s “Sandy Koufax: A Lefty’s Legacy” was a treat. My dad grew up a Dodger fan and he used to love Koufax. Other than knowing he was great, I knew little about the man who could throw a ball “with such velocity and spin that when the ball met the wind, the air cried.” Leavy has pieced together a terrific biography with little participation from Koufax, who is known for avoiding the spotlight, a constant theme in this book.

The structure of the book is its greatest feature. Leavy begins with a short story about Robert Pinsky, a Poet Laureate who wrote affectionately about Koufax, and about how she convinced Koufax to allow her to write this book. Then she introduces us to Koufax at a baseball clinic in the nineties, with young pitchers still fascinated by legend. After that, we go back in time to 1965, to Sandy’s perfect game. And then the book toggles back and forth between an inning of that perfect game and the more conventional biography. The build-up to the ninth inning is slow and dramatic, just like it would have been that day. The architectural design of this book is stunning.

Like any biographer would want to do, Leavy tries to figure out what makes Koufax tick. Here’s a guy—perhaps the greatest pitcher of all time—who gives the game everything he has, (he nearly renders his arm unusable in the process), and then at the end of his career, he seeks out almost no notoriety, no fame, and no fortune. I don’t know that Leavy ever quite figures him out—there’s next to nothing in the book about how he felt about this pitch or that game or another person. Her title is her confession. If this had been a straight biography, it would have simply been titled “Sandy Koufax.” But no, this isn’t that, this is about the legacy he left, and so her subtitle, “A Lefty’s Legacy” is really a more apt name.

I think by avoiding the spotlight, Koufax has given us a gift. People can remember him how they choose. On more than one occasion, Leavy quotes a player talking about a Koufax inning, only to go search in vain to find a record of any such inning. She tells us of fans who obsess over an autograph, a signature on a check, or a chance encounter sometime in the last 50 years. It’s a remarkable phenomenon that is repeated throughout the book.

Like any baseball book, it can be judged by the quality of the “old-timer-tales.” This one has plenty. What I mean are the hijinks and quips and tall tales that are the stuff of legend. A player commenting that when he was young “Sandy couldn’t hit a cow in the ass with a bag of rice at five feet.” The stories from Vero Beach—Dodgertown—are memorable. Here’s one: When the Mayor of Vero Beach expressed some discomfort with the Dodgers’ racial makeup and what that might do to the town during Spring Training, the GM of the Dodgers stayed up stamping “Brooklyn Dodgers” on twenty thousand two-dollar bills. He gave the money to players and told them to go spend it in the town. The Mayor didn’t complain any more.

And I loved a story about Koufax pitching for the University of Cincinnati in college. He played my alma mater, Xavier University, in baseball’s version of the “Crosstown Shootout.” Turns out Koufax lost. Not much pride in my Musketeers’ victory though—the Xavier players were said to have shouted anti-Semitic epithets at Koufax throughout the game.

Koufax’s religion was covered at length in the book, and Leavy was right to focus on how he was the pride of the Jewish community and how his decision to sit out of a World Series game on Yom Kippur left as an important of a legacy to some as did his pitching.

One complaint—the book was a little light on the baseball games he played. Please don’t think this is because the book was written by Jane Leavy and not by someone named Richard Leavy—her writing about baseball is as eloquent and precise as any author I’ve read. But whole seasons are covered in just a few pages. I hoped for a little more.

Yet that minor offense is forgiven with the description of the perfect game, especially the final inning. Taken alone, the description of the game could have been its own “New Yorker” article. Couple her book with the audio of Vin Scully calling the final three outs of that game, and you are transported to  9:46 p.m. on September, 9^th 1965. Listen:

So there’s my annual baseball biography. I’ll take recommendations in the comments for next April. Before I go, I’ll just say that today, despite all of the work travel, the house stuff, and the normal stresses of life, I spent two hours reclined on my bed, with the windows open, a book on my lap, and the Reds game on. I was completely content. That’s what baseball does in the Spring.

Thanks for reading. And Go Reds!

An Indiespensable Choice

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Barbara Kingsolver, Naomi Benaron, Powell's Bookstore, Rwanda

I promise you that I never would have picked up Naomi Benaron’s book “Running the Rift” if I had seen it in a bookstore. I’m certain it wouldn’t be in my “Recommended For You” section on Amazon. And I doubt many of my friends would have recommended it to me. So, I’m grateful to Powell’s “Indiespensable,” a fantastic program that sends subscribers a new, independently published book about every six weeks. The books are usually signed and come in a package full of other surprises and goodies. One of the reasons we read is because a book can take us on incredible journeys. At times beautifully and at times painfully, “Running the Rift” takes us on a journey to Rwanda, before, during and after the awful genocide in the nineties.

The main character is a young man named Nkuba Jean Patrick. We meet him in his adolescence, in the late eighties, as the country veers toward its tragedy. Jean Patrick is from a small fishing village—Cyangugu—and he’s naïve about the world he inhabits. He’s also fast and quickly becomes the nation’s top prospect for the Olympics in Atlanta in 1996. Jean Patrick is a Tutsi in a country dominated by Hutus, and as he grows older, his world gets more dangerous.

What impressed me most about Benaron’s story is that it is a fiction story that manages to enlighten readers about a true event. The education is subtle—most of the novel is about Jean Patrick and the relationships he forms with his brother, his coach, his uncle, his girlfriend, his teacher, and his country. But you could read this book knowing next to nothing about what happened in Rwanda and come away with a much better understanding.

Jean Patrick is a blank slate at the beginning of the novel. All he knew was his fishing world. But over time, through the influence of those noted above, he gains a deeper, more fluent understanding of Rwanda. He is forced to stand up and make difficult decisions as an adult but Benaron doesn’t shove this transformation in your face. In contrast to his speed on the track, Jean Patrick’s maturation is slow and complex.

In an interview, Benaron cited her fondness for Jean Patrick’s love interest as a character. Bea is unique—she has an independent streak, but Benaron wisely resists the temptation to overplay it. She’s the last piece of the puzzle for Jean Patrick. It is through her that he ultimately gains his perspective.

The title of the book is elegant. As it was explained to me recently, the Rift is a valley in Central Africa. You can Google it for more information. Benaron’s title is an obvious metaphor—an allusion to the Rift Valley, but also a nod to the rift that divided Rwanda (to say nothing of the various rifts in Jean Patrick and his family’s life). Benaron goes deeper with the climate and landscape of Rwanda—she eloquently describes the country. I was struck by how different it is from the stereotypical desert we think of. And by making Jean Patrick a geology student, she ultimately gives him an understanding that though the world changes slowly over centuries, the rocks that we rest upon are lasting, no matter what happens above. Again, the author is subtle with this parallel, and like with classical music, it’s the subtleties that show true talent.

Mostly this novel made me embarrassed of my ignorance of global affairs. That something so horrible could happen to so many hundreds of thousands of individuals—with such limited global outcry—is frightening to me. I bear responsibility for this, and so does society as a whole. We can say the world is flat all we want, but the truth is we end up outraged by the latest stupid political offense or celebrity arrest and not by the tragedies that happen a world away. In a strange parallel for this reader,the Kony video appeared while I read this book. Like “Running the Rift,” the Kony video educated a broader audience about something important.

This novel started slow for me—I wasn’t sure what I was getting into and I wasn’t sure I liked it. It rallies, though, as I better understood what happened in Rwanda in the 90s and how it influenced each of these characters. Ultimately, Benaron delivers a powerful novel that educates and, in a bittersweet way, entertains at the same time. Wonderful characters and a warm story set during a murderous genocide. Not an easy task.

We’ve got an obligation to the rest of the world to pay attention, and that’s what Benaron is telling us in “Running the Rift.” She won the Bellwether Prize for Socially Engaged Fiction with this book—it is an award sponsored by Barbara Kingsolver. Through literature, we can make others more socially engaged, and this is a textbook example of how to do it.

Thanks for reading.

A One-Night Stand

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Charles Duhigg, Paco Underhill

Business books are like one-night stands.

Some of you are thinking, “This blogger has had some pretty terrible one-night stands, if any at all.” Whatever. Bear with me.

Most business books start out with a great premise (flirting at a bar) and then by the end, things are a bit stale (think 3 a.m.).

Most business books are read pretty quickly. A night, give or take. See where I’m going here?

Over time, most business books are completely forgettable. Ask someone who has had a lot of one-night stands, and they are bound to have forgotten a few.

And most business books are useful only while you are reading them. Afterwards, it’s hard to keep returning to the specifics of each business book.  Are you catching my drift or do I have to spell this out?

This entry may get me in some trouble. But to be honest, most of what I got out of the business book I just finished was applicable to my work, and well, I don’t discuss that on these pages. So I’m left with this trite metaphor for business books. And come on, many of you are agreeing with me. A lot of people will reminisce fondly over “Who Moved My Cheese?” but almost no one would pick it as their favorite book or the one they would choose to read over and over again.

Enough of this. On the whole, I enjoyed Charles Duhigg’s book, “The Power of Habit.” I mean, I wouldn’t put it on my top ten, but it made for a fun evening. Sorry. I’ll stop.

Duhigg’s premise is that our habits drive us to do much of what we do in life and in business. Habits drive our purchases, our exercise routines, our bad behaviors, and our social interactions. He makes his case effectively, using clever case studies about gamblers, smokers, exercisers, marketers, revolutionaries, and athletes. Several of these anecdotes are perfect to go along with your next PowerPoint presentation.

I don’t believe Duhigg is a neuroscientist, but he offers a credible and accessible explanation of why our brains create habits. He uses cutesy graphics to illustrate his point throughout the book—the graphics show, in almost all versions, three components: a cue, a routine, and a reward. (The graphics are really overused by the end of the book.) According to Duhigg, these three items compose the “Habit Loop,” and learning to influence that loop is what can drive someone to sell a billion dollars worth of Febreze or spark the civil rights movement.

There are some useful examples about how companies and individuals learn to manipulate these habit loops for their benefit (and for customers’ benefit). The Febreze example is one. There’s another vignette about Target that will be candy for those who enjoy Paco Underhill and Martin Lindstrom books. (This was featured in the New York Times Magazine excerpt. Seriously, read it, it’s terrific.) It’s fascinating to see the intersection between marketing and science.

The section about Tony Dungy’s coaching style and his drive to get players to focus on the right cues was great, and the Paul O’Neil story about improving safety at ALCOA is one every businessperson should be familiar with. The best section was about how a radio station can help a new song become a hit by padding it between songs that are sticky or familiar to listeners. It helps explain why crappy bands like “Train” still get so much airtime.

I disliked how some rebuttals from companies didn’t get the same amount of play in the book as did the charges. One company’s comments were in a small-print footnote; another less fortunate company wound up in the notes at the back of the book. Including them in the main text wouldn’t have diminished the author’s points, but putting them on the back shelf made me skeptical overall of some of the reporting. And generally speaking, I thought that the wide diversity of stories diminished the overall strength of the theory. In one book we went from smoking to Rosa Parks. Tightening this could have made it stronger.

It strikes me that business books could be accused of manipulating the habit loop. The cue is the opportunity to learn something new. The routine is buying and reading the book. And the reward is having a new anecdote or perspective that can improve your life. Duhigg, wisely, has employed the habit loop to sell a few books. Bravo.

Look, I don’t know that this book changed my life or is one that will warrant a reread. It’s doubtful. I’m on the prowl for my next true love, and along the way, I’m sure there will be a few more one-night stands. No harm, no foul.

Thanks for reading.

Glory Days

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Bruce Springsteen, Clarence Clemons, John Kerry, No Surrender

In the beginning, he went over my head.

Let me explain. I had heard a song on some morning radio comedy program. The song was called “Woody Hayes.” I liked the tune. Thought it was great. I specifically remember asking a librarian to help me find that song. I went above and beyond to find it and failed. Of course, there was no such song. It was, I learned some time later (for the sake of my own ego, pretend it wasn’t that much later), a parody of “Glory Days.” It’s distressing to admit, but my adoration for Bruce Springsteen has, at its core, a story that sums up my awkward adolescence.

I was reintroduced to The Boss at other moments while growing up, and fortunately got better, more thoughtful exposure, at the hands of Jim and Laura, my parents’ closest friends, who followed his tours all over the U.S.

In 2002 I saw my first concert. It was “The Rising” tour. The album was released post 9-11, and several of the songs were actually healing. We needed it. The concert was amazing, but Springsteen acknowledged a Cincinnati boycott that was hurting the city I love. He played an incredible song—American Skin—as an acknowledgment of the boycott. I was angry at the time, probably too angry, but I was. I was too close to the situation, and it stung. But the music was still great and by the end, I was yelling “Bruuuuuce” with everyone else.

Then, campaigns. During the 2004 presidential election, I worked for John Kerry. At every rally, and I mean EVERY rally, the song “No Surrender” played as soon as the candidate finished speaking. My dear friend Crystal will attest to this day it is impossible to hear the drum riff at the beginning of the song without thinking that it is time to move the press to the bus. Pavlov aside, that song was our anthem. At the end of the campaign, it had become a war cry.

Another moment in 2004 showed me something special. Chilly night in Zanesville, post-convention. I was with my friend and mentor as “Land of Hope and Dreams” played. For her, it was an emotional moment, much more than it was for me. But it was still powerful, etched into my memory. Later, that same friend played “Trapped” for me for the first time. More than anyone, she taught me how to appreciate Bruce. He played the lawn at Ohio State at the end of the campaign, and I stood 10 yards from Springsteen. I was hooked.

I can go on about specific songs and associations. If I’m in the car with my wife and “Born to Run” comes on, I’m absolutely going to sing to her, loudly, certain lyrics (I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul). We danced at our wedding to “If I Should Fall Behind.” A concert in Pittsburgh with my old buddy Chris—front row, touching Nils’ guitar. A concert with my friend Paul in Nashville—the boss playing “Ring of Fire” and the entire “Born to Run” album. That was released before I was born. But 35 years later, I finally could understand just how damn important “Born to Run” was. Somewhere along the way, I learned to spit fire and pump your fist when singing “Badlands” and I learned that the lyrics of “Thunder Road” could actually be considered poetry. Don’t get me started on Clarence or Steve or Patti.

Is there a book on this book blog, you ask?  Sure. “Racing in the Street—The Springsteen Reader” is a collection of previous published essays about Springsteen’s influence. There are some solid essays here—album reviews, concert recaps, psychology, history, religion, analysis. Good stuff for a true devotee.

Hard-core fans will find some interesting tidbits and famous quotes, like this one from Jon Landau, writing about his first Springsteen concert:

“When his two-hour set ended I could only think, can anyone really be this good; can anyone say this much to me; can rock ‘n’ roll still speak with this kind of power and glory? And then I felt the sores on my thighs where I had been pounding my hands for the entire concert and knew that the answer was yes.”

That was 1974. It’s still true.

There’s plenty here about Springsteen’s literary influences (John Steinbeck, Flannery O’Connor, Jack Kerouac), and his music influences (Elvis, Dylan, Sam Cooke). There’s some great critical analysis of his lyrics and characters within. There is much attention to Springsteen as a writer—he is notable for being much more than just an ordinary songwriter—he’s a poet and a storyteller, and that’s always been his thing.

But, look, don’t bother with this book. Instead, go download the new album (it’s incredible), as well as some old ones, and consider buying a ticket to one of the shows on the upcoming tour. The concerts are often described as astonishing, and that’s an understatement. They’ve been compared to revivals or religious experiences. I’ve never been to a revival, and rock and religion are dubious partners. Yet magic does happen at a Springsteen show, and if you’ve never been, you will regret it one day. You’ve already missed seeing Clarence, God rest his soul; don’t miss Bruuuuuce.

Springsteen often talks of a conversation he’s having with the fans. He repeatedly says he wants to continue that conversation—through recorded and live music. It’s more than a conversation. The editor of this collection gets it right: “In a very real sense, Springsteen’s body of work can also be viewed that way, as an ongoing exploration, via popular song, of the very heart of the American psyche.”

You don’t need a collection of essays to figure out why Springsteen is so relevant and important to American music and, indeed, American culture. What you need is a ticket to one of his shows.

Thanks for reading.

That's me. Front row. Hope to be back there this April in Cleveland and Detroit.