Showing posts with label Memoir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memoir. Show all posts

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Book Review: Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance



Hillbilly Elegy

Author: J. D. Vance
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Date of Publication: June 28, 2016
Pages: 272


     
                                           "They learned readin', rightin', route 23
                                            To the jobs that lay waiting in those cities' factories
                                            They didn't know that old highway
                                            Could lead them to a world of misery"
                                                  - Dwight Yoakam (from "Readin', Rightin', Route 23")


     It seems a little premature for a 30-something to write his memoir.  It is surprising to me that a publisher bought it and even more surprising that Hillbilly Elegy has become the primer for understanding poor white America and the feelings of helplessness and anger which propelled Donald Trump to the presidency.  After reading the book, however, I understand the importance of this book and its unique perspective on the current state of "the American Dream."  

     I found this book easy to read.  Even though it seems like a sociology text in spots, the author keeps the statistics and academic analysis to a minimum.  Vance is able to tell his story and his family's story in such a way that the reader can truly understand the multiple variables which affected him (both positively and negatively) and shaped his adult life.  These same variables defeated many in his family.  The author was fortunate to find the right mentor and guidance at just the right time to point him in his upwardly mobile trajectory.

     This is a story of a grandson of Kentucky "hillbillies" who migrated from Eastern Kentucky to Ohio following World War II.  These folks were looking for jobs and their slice of the American Dream.  As noted in the Dwight Yoakam song quoted above, the escape via Route 23 didn't always have a fairy tale ending.  For the Vances, life brought broken marriages, lost opportunities and addiction: in short, a world of misery.

    J. D. was saved by the two most exceptional characters in the book, his grandparents:  Mamaw and Papaw Vance.  Their home was a safe refuge for J. D. when chaos consumed his home.  J. D. enlisted in the Marines after high school and did a tour in Iraq.  He returned home and attended Ohio State University and Yale Law School.  He very frankly describes his difficulties each step of the way.  Even as he climbed the ladder of success he had to fight the feelings that he didn't belong. 

     In the Preface the author states that "I do hope that readers of this book will be able to take from it an appreciation of how class and family affect the poor without filtering their views through a racial prism.  To many analysts, terms like 'welfare queen' conjure unfair images of the lazy black mom living on the dole.  Readers of this book will realize quickly that there is little relationship between that specter and my argument: I have known many welfare queens; some were my neighbors, and all were white."  Vance points out that "there is  cultural movement in the white working class to blame problems on society or the government and that movement gains adherents by the day."  He notes that "There is no group of Americans more pessimistic than working-class whites."  He then goes on to explain how politicians, especially modern conservatives, fail to meet the real challenges of their biggest constituents.  "Instead of encouraging engagement, conservatives increasingly foment the kind of detachment that has sapped the ambition of so many of my peers...  The message of the right is increasingly: It's not your fault that you're a loser; it's the government's fault."

   So, I guess it was time for this thirty-something to write his memoir.  There is much to mull in this short but powerful book.  It is an American success story for the author, but one that is paved with misery and suffering on a grand scale for his family and friends.  The characters are powerful and the author tells this in a very engaging and entertaining way.  It is just as funny in some sections as it is pitiful in others.  Read this book.  It is indeed an important one.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Book Review: Lab Girl by Hope Jahren




Lab Girl

Author: Hope Jahren
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Date of Publication: April 5, 2016
Pages: 304

      Lab Girl is part memoir, part discussion of earth sciences and paleobiology and part discourse on women in male dominated (specifically scientific) fieldsThe book is informative, entertaining and humorous, often all at once.  It is extremely well written and thought provoking.

     The author relates her early life growing up with a physicist father and often accompanying him to his laboratory.  She naturally becomes interested in studying the sciences which was relatively unusual for young women in the 1970s.   While in college she worked as a pharmacy technician and became enamored with working in a hospital.  She had this to say about that experience:

"Working in the hospital teaches you that there are only two kinds of people in the world: the sick and the not-sick.  If you are not sick, shut up and help.  Twenty-five years later, I still cannot reject this as an inaccurate worldview."

     Dr. Jahren graduated cum laude from the University of Minnesota and instead of pursuing medicine, obtained a PhD. from the University of California, Berkeley.  Her field of interest is soil science.  She has developed innovative methods of studying fossil forests during a distinguished academic career at Georgia Tech, Johns Hopkins and now at the University of Hawaii.

    In  Lab Girl the author spends alternating chapters illuminating areas of her scientific expertise with how these studies have shaped her life story.  It is intriguing the way that she counterposes chapters describing some area of her plant study with incidents from her personal history which follow the same path.  For example she expounds upon plant habitats:

"A cactus doesn't live in the desert because it likes the desert;  it lives there because the desert hasn't killed it yet.  Any plant that you find growing in the desert will grow a lot better if you take it out of the desert.  The desert is like a lot of lousy neighborhoods:  nobody living there can afford to move."

She also describes living in downtown Baltimore in a reclaimed neighborhood in much the same fashion.  The author finishes her description of desert plant life by describing resurrection plants - small plants which wither and turn brown during drought conditions but rapidly re-hydrate during rain.  She follow up this discussion with a chapter describing her own experience with mania, comparing the human sensations of heightened energy and sensitivity to the to the biologic over activity of the desert resurrection plant during a storm.

     In Lab Girl Dr. Jahren makes her points about women in traditionally male roles without turning the book into a feminist screed.  At one point she notes: "In my own small experience, sexism  has been something very simple: the cumulative weight of constantly being told that you can't possibly be what you are."

     Lab Girl is memoir at its finest.  It was the winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award for Autobiography, a "New York Times" 2016 Notable Book and an Amazon Top 20 book of 2016.  The author is boldly honest as revealed in these quotes:

"My early career had all the makings of a long, slow academic train wreck."   

"I am a female scientist, nobody knows what the hell I am, and it has given me the delicious freedom to make it up as I go along."

"Our world is falling apart quietly.  Human civilization has reduced the plant, a four-hundred-million-year-old life form, into three things: food, medicine, and wood.   In our relentless and ever-intensifying obsession with obtaining a higher volume, potency, and variety of these three things, we have devastated plant ecology to an extend that millions of years of natural disaster could not."

Read Lab Girl.  You will be glad that you did.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Book Review: Old Records Never Die by Eric Spitznagel



Old Records Never Die: One Man's Quest for His Vinyl and His Past

Author: Eric Spitznagel
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Date of Publication: April 12, 2016
Pages: 288


     I have five packing boxes of LPs from the 1960s and 70s in my basement.  These are always on the top of my wife's list of items to dispose of, but I just can't bring myself to do it.  Keep in mind that I haven't had a turntable hooked to my sound system since about 1992.  Why keep them?  This book helps to answer that question.  Old Records Never Die is beyond a nostalgia-fest, over and above a memoir and more than entertaining.  This book is for those of us who grew up flipping through the record racks at our local record shops.  This book is for those of us for whom music played a formative role in our adolescence and young adult lives.  This book is for those of us hooked on the "Classic Vinyl" channel on Sirius radio.  It is fitting that the book cover features "Let It Bleed" by the Rolling Stones.  That record along with The Beatles' "Abbey Road" and The Who's "Tommy" formed the soundtrack of my senior year in high school (1969).

       In Old Records Never Die Eric Spitznagel relates his quest to find his lost record collection.  He doesn't want to just replace the records of his youth, he wants to find his actual records!  He wants his Bon Jovi record which has an old girlfriend's phone number scrawled on the album cover.   He wants his copy of Kiss' "Alive II" which he listened to repeatedly with his younger brother.  He wants his records because he remembers where the skips and pops are on every one.  A pristine new version or, even worse, a digital version just wouldn't be the same.  The author takes the reader on a tour of used record stores, flea markets and discount stores in the Chicago area.  We share his disappointments when he finds albums that might have been his but turn out to have been somebody elses.  The reader also shares the author's excitement when he discovers a former used record store owner who has his old inventory in storage.  

     Eric Spitznagel is an executive writer for Men's Health magazine and has written essays in many other popular magazines.  He has also written six books and is a contributing editor for "The Believer" magazine.  He is a very humorous writer and combines irony with funny anecdotes, both from his past as well as from his current quest to find his records.  Author David Eggers writes on the book jacket: "When he searches for the records he lost and sold, Spitznagel is trying to return to a tangible past, and he details that process with great sensitivity and impact."

     So why go to all of this trouble?  This music is now available through the magic of the internet with just a few clicks on the computer and a credit card.   Charles Fernyhough writes in his book Pieces of Light that certain sensory stimuli can evoke very strong memories (or "involuntary memories").  Spitznagel tells how each of these records he is searching for brings back memories of certain formative experiences for him.

    So, I went down to my basement and opened one of my boxes of  records.  I randomly pulled out a copy of "Crosby, Stills and Nash" and immediately recalled their epic show (with Neil Young) at the old Capital Centre in August of 1974.  This was three days after Richard Nixon resigned (and about two days before I started medical school).  I found a forgotten copy of "Welcome to Fat City" by Bill Danhoff and Taffy Nivert, two Georgetown students who co-wrote "Take Me Home, Country Roads" with John Denver after a show at the old Cellar Door at 34th and M Streets in Georgetown.  They went on to form the Starland Vocal Band (one hit wonders with "Afternoon Delight"), an album which must be in another box.  The "Fat City" album has a picture of the two singers sitting in front of a mirror in a bar called Tamminy Hall on Pennsylvania Avenue in D.C.  I hadn't thought of the Cellar Door or other D.C. nightspots in a very long time.  So , Eric Spitznagel and Charles Fernyhough are right!  These old record albums do evoke some pretty strong memories.  Lucky for me all I need to do is go down to my basement (until they finally go to the dumpster or Goodwill).

Photo from "Welcome to Fat City" Album Cover
 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Book Review: Blood, Bones & Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton








Blood, Bones and Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef
Gabrielle Hamilton

      This memoir was the February selection of “The Huffington Post” book club.  I anticipated that this would be a similar book to Heat, Bill Buford’s hilarious account of his year of apprenticeship in a New York restaurant kitchen.  Gabrielle Hamilton’s book is much more, however.  It is a coming of age story, a search-for-life’s meaning memoir and a primer in food preparation all rolled into one delectable package. 
     
      Blood, Bones and Butter is divided into three more or less distinct sections.  In the first part, the author describes a counter-cultural upbringing.  Her mother is French and loves to cook.  She has an almost magical power of being able to create a meal out of any available ingredients.  Her father is an artist of sorts, working as a set designer for theaters in northern New Jersey.  Gabrielle is exposed to a Bohemian lifestyle of backyard parties featuring roasted lamb, fancy pasta and vegetable salads prepared by her mother as well as large volumes of wine and marijuana.  Gabrielle and her siblings are abandoned by their parents when she is about 12.  A divorce sends her mother into an emotional shell.  Mom eventually retreats to a new home in Vermont leaving the “care” of the children to her irresponsible ex-husband.  Gabrielle attends alternative education schools popular in the 70s and finishes secondary school at age 16.  She supports herself with a series of jobs in local restaurants, starting out busing tables and mopping floors.  She also begins a drug habit and supplements her meager income by shoplifting.  After graduation Gabrielle moves in with her older sister in Manhattan.  She works in bars and learns how to skim money from the customers by destroying some charge tickets and pocketing the money.  She also learns to recreationally enjoy cocaine and realizes that she is a lesbian.  She is eventually caught stealing by her boss  and reaches a plea bargain since she was underage for working as a barmaid.  Gabrielle straightens herself out to some degree, at least enough to complete an undergraduate degree, all the while working in more restaurants and learning how to cook on the fly.   Following college she travels the globe for the better part of two years, experiencing many new and different things, particularly unique food and food preparation.  When she returns to New York, she incorporates much of what she learned on these travels into her cooking career.   She works as a contract chef for large catering companies in New York, a job which consumes eighteen to twenty hours per day and leaves her creatively and professionally unfulfilled.
      
      Gabrielle describes her life at this point as “a piece of performance art.”  She feels no sense of purpose and decides that what she really wants to be is a writer.  She has a glorified view of what the life of a poet/artist/writer would be like (undoubtedly influenced by her upbringing) and applies to multiple MFA programs.  She is accepted to and decides to attend the program at the University of Michigan, even though she had never been to the Midwest.  She develops a resentment towards the other students in her program, finding them to be effete pseudo-intellectuals.  Gabrielle takes another chef job to help ends meet and finds herself catering huge tailgate parties.  Her culinary creations are limited to barbecue, big slabs of beef and sandwiches.  She finishes the MFA program but quickly decides she misses “The City” and moves back to New York.  She finds herself absorbed back into the hectic contract chef business when an opportunity to open her own restaurant presents itself.  She works night and day to figure out how to run a small business and opens her now famous restaurant “Prune” in the East Village.  The story digresses here a bit as Gabrielle writes of the difficulties of being  female in a business dominated by males.   This concludes the second section of Blood, Bones and Butter.
     
      It is in the third section of the book where the author’s creative writing talent really shines.  She describes the endless, grueling work running Prune but her sense of accomplishment rings through here as well.  One of her regular customers, a male Italian research physician begins to court her and, to everyone’s surprise they marry.  They maintain separate residences and careers but manage to conceive two sons.  Gabrielle and her husband take off every July and travel to Italy to spend time with his family.  Over the years Gabrielle learns the simple pleasures of country Italian living and especially cooking.  She describes one shopping trip in the small town:

     “Then I go to the market.  On this, the first day back in Leuca, I am happy to see some my old favorites again: the puntarelle, the Leccese green beans, the small dense zucchini, and the eggplant.  I buy big bundles of all of them and lots of peaches and a watermelon.  Alda eats fruit after each meal and I think my kids will eat the watermelon.  The meat is dismal as usual but there is a fish stall with some good-looking stuff.  I get an octopus.  A ranzino.  A few pounds of head-on shrimp.”
    
      Despite a language barrier she forms a very strong bond with her mother-in-law Alda. It is in this extended family of eccentrics and very uncomplicated but contented folks that the author finds peace with herself, her own family and her career. 
     
       This book was a total joy to read.  The images that the author creates of Italy are outstanding.  She draws very detailed character sketches using a paucity of words and descriptions.  I would recommend this book highly to anyone who enjoys food, cooking, travel and in particular, fine writing

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Book Review: Heat by Bill Buford







Heat by Bill Buford
Reviewed by Tom Carrico

     Bill Buford is a former editor of the “The New Yorker” magazine, founding editor of “Granta” magazine and publisher of Granta Books.  His hobby is cooking.  He cooked for friends and business associates and on one occasion for the renowned chef Mario Batali.  That occasion prompted Mr. Buford to quit his job at “The New Yorker” and sign on as an unpaid intern at Batali’s three star Italian restaurant Babbo in New York City.  This book is part memoir of that experience, part travelogue, part history of Italian cooking and part observatory character studies of the eccentric personalities the author encountered.  Add to this mixture a large aliquot of humor and you have the recipe for a thoroughly enjoyable book.

     The memoir portion of the book details his rise from “kitchen slave” to line cook (which included a stint at the grill station) and finally to pasta maker.  The author’s misadventures, including dicing the carrots too small, multiple injuries (including splatter burns and minor lacerations) and wasting food are all humorously documented.  The amazing aspect of all of this to me was how much this experience (although only lasting about a year) was reminiscent of my surgical residency.  The graded responsibility, the general fault-finding and learning from mistakes all seemed remarkably similar to that experience.  Initially, his superiors criticize every move and use every mistake as a “teaching opportunity” (usually involving screaming).  As he moves up the responsibility ladder, Mr. Buford relates his frustration when the kitchen manager (who in my mind represented the Surgical Chief Resident) demanding that certain orders be replated immediately for no apparent reason. 

     The even more fascinating portions of the book come about when Chef Batali talks to the author (“talking” here includes earsplitting fits of anger) and informs him that the only way to truly understand the art of cooking Italian food was to go to Italy and learn it first hand.  This is, in fact, the way Batali learned.  The author does indeed make many trips to Italy.  First he learns the fine art of pasta making from women who run a small restaurant and were taught their skills by their mother and their aunts, who in turn were taught by their mothers and aunts.  The reader learns the difference between pastasciutta and pasta fresca, when the egg was first introduced into the ingredients (it turns out nobody, including the curators of the Pasta Museum in Italy, are exactly sure, although sometime in the 13th century is a good guess), and why machine made pasta is unacceptable.  On a return trip to Panzano (near Tuscany), Mr. Buford learns the art of the butcher from Dario Cecchini, who comes from a long line of master butchers.  Dario has the interesting habit of intermittently screaming long excerpts from The Divine Comedy alternating with singing excerpts from Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” while he works.  These “performances” are fueled by generous amounts of alcohol.  The meticulous care of knives, the various cuts of meat from pigs and cows and the appreciation for the preparation of meats as an art form are detailed. 
The cast of characters which Mr. Buford met while working at Babbo (including the maestro Batali) and traveling and living in Italy is colorful and very amusingly described by the author and is one of the strengths of Heat.  This cast includes the characters already described above as well as the other restaurant workers who jealously guard their secrets of success, the Italians who courageously defend their ancient cooking arts in a modern world as well as the menagerie which makes up the restaurant world in New York City (including patrons, competing chefs and newspaper food critics). 

     I don’t know if this was the best book to read while trying to adopt a “heart-healthy” diet and mode of living, but I know that even under those circumstances this was a thoroughly enjoyable, entertaining, humorous and even informative book.  I would recommend  Heat by Bill Buford very highly to anyone who enjoys a well written and humorous memoir.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Book Review: Thirty Rooms to Hide In - Insanity, Addiction and Rock 'n' Roll in the Shadow of the Mayo Clinic by Luke Longstreet Sullivan


Thirty Rooms to Hide In – Insanity, Addiction, and Rock ‘n’ Roll in the Shadow of the Mayo Clinic

Luke Longstreet Sullivan

This remarkable book is a comic/tragic memoir written by a young man who grew up with an alcoholic father.  This is certainly a field that’s been plowed many times before, but this story is different in several respects.  First of all, the alcoholic in question was a renowned orthopedic surgeon at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.  Secondly, the story evolves in a time not so long ago when addiction was poorly understood, alcoholism was seen as a character flaw (“lack of self-control”) and the devastating effects of one person’s addiction on others in the household were grossly underestimated.  Luke Sullivan cobbled together this amazing narrative using contemporary diaries written by several of his brothers as well as his mother and by bound correspondence between his mother Myra and her retired father .

This is really the story of Myra Longstreet and her husband Charles Roger Sullivan.  They met while undergraduates at a small Ohio college in the late 1940s.  Their courtship was interrupted by Myra’s contracting tuberculosis and their marriage was interrupted early on by Roger’s commitment to the United States Navy.  Roger became an orthopedic surgeon and, after completing training at the Mayo Clinic, had the honor of being offered a position on the Clinic faculty.

The marriage produced six children – all boys, Luke being the fifth in line.  A good bit of the book deals with the hilarious antics of a household with six precocious and seemingly uncontrollable boys.  What one didn’t think of the others did.  There were frequent knock-down, drag-out fights, pranks which backfired and stunts which defy belief.  The “thirty rooms to hide in” refers to The Millstone, a spacious home on a large tract of land which the Sullivan’s purchased after Roger Sullivan began working on the faculty at Mayo.  The structure was built in the1930s and has a very unique architecture, including a turret where Myra kept a large library.  There were also spooky places, including an attic with peculiar crevices and a dark and dank basement which was converted by the Sullivans into a bomb shelter during the early 1960s.  The boys all had delusions of super powers and frequently used them to climb the high gabled tile roof of The Millstone or to climb down the sides of the structure like Spider Man. 

Underlying all of this seemingly charming veneer, Luke Sullivan tells the story of the deterioration of his father.  Roger developed the propensity to “rage” when he came home from the Clinic, consuming more and more liquor as time goes on.  He directed his rage mainly towards Myra, hurling verbal abuse that is incomprehensible.  He railed on for hours at a time about her deficiencies as a mother and wife and resented her close relationship with her father who lived in Florida and with whom she exchanged weekly letters.  Roger had a difficult relationship with his own parents.  His father was a Methodist minister and his mother (who the Sullivan children refer to as “The Rock” because of her stone-cold demeanor) was a domineering, fault-finding shrew.  Roger also verbally and physically abused his sons, once beating the head of one of the younger boys against the refrigerator because he couldn’t remember the days of the week for a quiz at school.  The resulting dents in the refrigerator remained a silent but constant reminder of how bad Roger’s temper was and how dire the consequences of his rages were.  In the vein of self preservation, the boys developed a talent for disappearing in the house or surrounding countryside, leaving their mother to bear the brunt of most of the terror.

The older two boys, Kip and Jeff, learned to play the guitar and formed a rock and roll band called The Pagans.  They became local celebrities, posing in advertisements for a Rochester clothing store and even recording their own 45 RPM record.   (OK, I’m showing my age:  I know what this is and still own a large collection of “45s”, including many by Elvis Presley, Bill Haley and the Comets, and The Beatles.)  Luke Longstreet uses this aspect of their family life to define the profound influence that rock and roll music, in particular the “new music” by The Beatles, helped shape many of us who grew up in that period.  He also uses The Pagans to illustrate Roger’s unpredictable behavior fueled by alcohol.  One day he was hiring The Pagans to play a Mayo party he was hosting at his house, the next day he was cursing and saying how loud, obnoxious and worthless The Pagans were.   

Roger’s addiction and resulting erratic behavior inevitably impacted his performance at the Mayo Clinic.  His supervisors, including the Chair of the Orthopedic Department all tried to help.  Roger and Myra each sought psychiatric consultation with little benefit.  Roger blamed all of his problems on his wife, which in the 1950s and 60s was a readily believed excuse.  The environment in The Millstone deteriorated to the point that Myra packed up the boys and left for a few months in 1964.  There is a riveting chapter where Roger is beating on the door of Myra’s library with an axe while she and the children cower in fear.  Finally, one of the boys lowers himself from the balcony “Spider Man style” and runs to the neighbor s for help.

Friends of the family also tried to intercede.  A local dentist, also a close family friend, tried to talk sense into Roger.  He was rewarded for his efforts by being accused very vociferously by Roger at a public gathering of having an affair with his wife.  Roger is finally let go from the Mayo Clinic.  He travels the country searching for another job, often showing up for interviews hung over or drunk.  One night, after calling home in another alcoholic rage, he dies from a combination of booze, sedatives and insanity.  This is not a “spoiler”, since the book opens with Roger’s funeral.

Luke goes on to describe his mother’s “life after Roger” which included academic success as a reading tutor and instructor at a local college.  Myra continues to this day (she is in her eighties) to assume a lot of blame for what happened to Roger and also for the shamble of a life they provided for their sons.  The author does not describe what happened to the six boys, although all are still alive.  Data shows a high incidence of addiction issues in offspring of alcoholics, so it would be interesting to know how these boys matured.  One would hope that they defied the odds and have lived a full, rich and happy life.

This book resonated with me on several levels.  First, the Sullivan boys grew up in the same era that I did.  I fully understood their fascination with rock and roll, their excitement about the presidential election of 1960 and their despair upon hearing of the Kennedy assassination.  Secondly,  I, too, am the son of an alcoholic father.  Fortunately for me, my father got help before I was born and remained sober the entire rest of his life.  Thank the good Lord, I never witnessed or suffered anything remotely similar to what befell the Sullivans.  I never even knew until I was in late high school that there had ever been a problem.  I just thought my parents were tea-totalers.  I enjoy alcoholic beverages as much as anyone but am very cognizant of their power and potential for disaster. 

This is an excellent book.  It makes several important points.  First, doctors and their families are human beings and can fall prey to the same demons as everyone else in the general population.  Fortunately, there are much better methods to deal with the impaired physician now then there were in 1960.  The Medical Society of Virginia has an excellent program (initiated by Lynchburg’s own Dr. William Barney) which has helped many.  Secondly, it is hard to comprehend that the understanding of addiction issues and alcoholism in particular was so primitive just one generation ago.  We should all be grateful to the researchers and workers in this field who have advanced the art of treating these problems.  Finally, Thirty Rooms to Hide In underscores the value of humor in coping with life’s many trials and travails.  I am grateful for Luke Sullivan’s courage to write this book and am very glad that I read it. 
Thirty Rooms to Hide In is a self-published paperback book which is available from the usual on-line vendors.  There are electronic editions as well.   It is also available for direct purchase (at a much reduced price) at the author’s web-site.  The web-site also contains many family photos and 8 mm videos.  There are scans of Myra’s letters and the children’s diaries.  There are even mp3 format recordings of The Pagans!  

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Book Review: The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson

                                          


                                         The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid
                                                                By Bill Bryson

(Blogger Note: This review was previously published in "The LamLight", the physician newsletter of the Lynchburg Academy of Medicine in Lynchburg, Virginia.)

     I am not usually one to enjoy a memoir.  There always seems to be a certain smugness that someone must possess to have the audacity to think that their story is better than, well, mine.  This memoir, however, is different.  Bill Bryson’s childhood ruminations could belong to anybody who grew up in the 1950s.  Change Des Moines, Iowa to Arlington, Virginia and this story could even be mine.  If you are under 40 you probably won’t enjoy this book as much as those of us who actually endured this particular decade.  This book reads like a “Saturday Night Live” send-up of David Halberstam’s The Fifties.  Like Halberstam, Bryson touches on the many social and cultural events and changes of the 1950s including the space race, the development of the nuclear bomb, the evolution of the suburbs coupled with the decline of the inner cities and the emergence of television.  This author, however, takes great pride in pointing out the absurdities and ironic inconsistencies of that era.  He describes his refusal to participate in the required civil defense drills, pointing out to his elementary school teacher the absolute irrationality of thinking that crawling under a desk could protect a child from a nuclear explosion.  I remember thinking these same thoughts as I toted bottled water and canned goods to St. Ann’s School in Arlington which happened to be three miles from the Pentagon.  Unlike Bill Bryson, I did get under the desk when told to.  I feared for my life, not from an A-bomb, but from the wrath of Sister Mary Angelus. 

     The author was able to jog my feeble memory about certain items which are long gone.  In one hilarious segment he describes the cumbersome winter boots we all had.  Bill Bryson claims that the clasps, which required an incredible dexterity to fasten, were actually made from razor blades.  He is equally as funny when describing how kids passed their time during the fifties.  He explains that parents would kick the kids outdoors in the early morning and not expect to see them again until dinner time.  The ridiculous toys of the era are recalled in great detail.  The authors favorites were Lincoln Logs (where the box shows all of these great forts and structures and the contents are only enough to construct a small hut with one window), erector sets and electric football.  It is hard to imagine in this day of Xbox and Playstation that electric football ever existed.  I actually had two of these sets, one a hand-me-down from my cousin Mike.  The author wryly and accurately describes setting up the players on the metal “field” and turning on the electricity which caused the field to vibrate and all of the plastic players to fall over or migrate towards the wrong goal line.  There is also an awesome description of the complete disaster which was constructing plastic model airplane kits.

     The name of the book comes from the author’s fascination with comic book heroes.  He constructed his own alter-ego and named him Thunderbolt Kid.  He imagined his super powers and practiced making teachers and principals disappear.

     The greatest segments of Thunderbolt are when Bill Bryson recalls the early days of television.  He muses over the physical differences between the comic book Superman and the flabby television version.  He fondly recalls the Sky King show (and how Sky would fly around endlessly in his airplane for no particular reason) and his crush on Sky’s niece Penny.  Tell the truth: didn’t we all have a crush on Penny?  He also points out that television cowboys in the 50s never really shot anybody.  They shot AT people, for sure, but usually just shot guns out of the bad guys’ hands or shot their hats off.  Yes, it was a different era. 

     The television anecdote that evoked the most vivid memory for me was his description of how Walt Disney used his television show to make every kid in America dream of going to Disneyland in Anaheim.  For you youngsters, this was when Orlando was still a backwater town and Disney World didn’t exist.  Bill Bryson’s family finally went and, by golly, so did mine.  My sister and her husband moved to California in the sixties and I remember going to visit them and getting to go to Disneyland.  I was about twelve or thirteen, I guess, and I remember standing on Main Street and looking at Cinderella’s Castle in absolute awe.  They gave you a book of coupons on admission in those days when you paid to get in.  The coupons had different values and colors and the E coupons were the good ones (for the Matterhorn ride and Space Mountain).  I remember not wanting to use the last E coupon because then it would be time to leave.

     There are some serious moments here as well.  Mr. Bryson notes that with the passage of time the family farm has basically disappeared from the American landscape.  He also regrets the loss of the supreme optimism and sense of innocence which pervaded America in the 1950s. 

     This is a must read for anyone born before 1955.  For you youngsters, this book may help you understand why we boomers are as odd as we are.  One warning, though:  there are segments that are so funny you want to stop and tell everyone around you about them.