Book Review: The End of Everything by Megan Abbott

The End of Everything

By Megan Abbott

(Blogger Note: This review was published in the November, 2011 edition of LAMLight, the physician newsletter of the Lynchburg Academy of Medicine.)

This is a “missing girl” novel that packs a punch.  There are countless excellent books with this theme, so what makes this one special?  Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones was told from the point of view of the deceased victim.  Jodie Picoult’s House Rules had a main character who was autistic.  Stewart O’Nan’s Songs for the Missing focused on the tsunami effect that a child’s disappearance has on the victim’s family and community.  So what sets The End of Everything apart from a crowded field of books with basically the same premise?

The End of Everything is set in the mid-1980s in an unnamed but stereotypical Midwest town.  The missing girl in Megan Abbott’s novel is Evie Verver, a typically energetic thirteen year old who is just beginning to exit the awkwardness of middle school and enter into the vague mysteries of high school.  The story is told by Lizzie Hood, Evie’s best friend and next door neighbor.  They are avid field hockey players who are in awe of Evie’s older sister Dusty, the star of the high school team who has boys following her around like puppy dogs and also is the apple of her Dad’s eyes.  Mr. Verver is a dapper middle aged man who wallows in “what could have beens.”  He sits in his basement with the girls drinking beer and playing old vinyl phonograph records from his youth.  Mrs. Verver is largely absent, prone to bouts of melancholy and staying mostly in her bedroom. 

One afternoon after practice Lizzie’s Mom picks her up from school to shop at the mall for an eighth grade graduation dress.  This leaves Evie alone at the field to walk home by herself.  She does not come home and the Ververs contact the police.  There are no clues regarding Evie’s disappearance and the family and community enter a state of panic.  Mr. Verver in particular turns into a chain-smoking ball of nerves.  Lizzie becomes the focus of the police investigation as she slowly recalls details of the day of Evie’s disappearance and then fragments of odd conversations over the previous weeks.  The key piece of evidence is Lizzie’s report of a black car circling the school the day of Evie’s disappearance.  She identifies the car from photographs and the investigation then shifts to a local insurance agent whose office is on the route the girls usually take when they walk to school.  This man is the same age as Mr. Verver, is married and has a son who attends the same high school as Dusty (and owns the black car identified by Lizzie.)  There is evidence (again supplied by Lizzie) that Mr. Shaw, the insurance agent, was stalking Evie (or was it Dusty?) before he snatched her.  Lizzie gains celebrity status amongst her peers as everyone begs her for more details.  An odd codependent relationship develops between Lizzie and Evie’s father.

Questions mount up faster than answers.  Where are Mr. Shaw and his black sedan?  Is Evie alive or dead?   What’s up with Mr. Verver?  Is he just a cool Dad or is he as guilty as Mr. Shaw?  Underlying this whole story is a sexual tension that is undeniable and understated.  Nothing is ever explicitly revealed, but the implications are that there was a lot of weirdness behind the Verver’s closed doors.   Was Evie an innocent victim or did she conveniently use Mr. Shaw as an escape from something worse?  Does Lizzie know more than she is telling, letting some information conveniently slip out but hiding the most damaging?

The resolution of this story is incomplete.  The author leaves a lot of unanswered questions.  There is a tidy climax to the story, however, which actually opens even more questions. 

This is an extremely well-written book.  It takes a worn out theme and spins new life into it.  The characters are superbly developed, mainly by the striking descriptions of their actions:

               

            “There’s a throb in my chest when I see him.   Mr. Verver is back and he is pulling the nozzle trigger on the garden hose, spraying the dry thatch of flowers, the frail brown shrubs.  There’s a beer bottle by his feet, foamed to the top, and two more empty ones, shuddering slightly on the windowsill next to a small speaker gushing restless tales of lost love and the loneliness of the road.”

                

              The novel evokes Middle America in a time when there was still innocence on the surface, when lurid details weren’t exploited for headlines and certain things were held closely secret by families.  This book has a certain “creepiness” to it that rivals the best of horror writers such as Stephen King.  In the style of an Alfred Hitchcock movie, what isn’t shown or told is much more disturbing than what is. 

This is an outstanding novel which stands as an equal to the aforementioned novels.  It is fast paced and very entertaining.  It is hard to put down.  I recommend it highly.  The End of Everything is available in hardcover from Little Brown and Company and in e-book formats. 

Book Review: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

A Thousand Splendid Suns

By Khaled Hosseini

Reviewed by Tom Carrico

(Blogger Note:  This review was published several years ago in "LamLight" the monthly newsletter of the Lynchburg Academy of Medicine.)

        It’s amazing that this author has the #1 fiction paperback (The Kite Runner) and the #1 fiction hardback (A Thousand Splendid Suns) on “The New York Times” bestseller list.  The Kite Runner has sold over four millions copies since its release in 2003.  It is a hauntingly written novel set in war-torn Afghanistan.  It is exceptionally well plotted and opens the window on a part of the world that very few of us are familiar with.  The two boys in The Kite Runner are from different socio-economic circumstance but forge a friendship which transcends politics, war and economics.  Even though this story is set in Afghanistan, it is a story of childhood betrayal and its consequences and could really have been set anywhere.  It is a great story wonderfully told, however, and the fact that it takes place in a land few of us understand makes it educational as well as entertaining.

       To use a baseball metaphor, if The Kite Runner was a home run, A Thousand Splendid Suns, the author’s second effort, is a game winning walk-off grand slam.  The author has managed to tell the modern history of Afghanistan: from the end of the monarchy to the invasion of the Soviets to the chaos of rule by the war lords to the tight fisted maniacal rule of the Taliban to the post-9/11 return to some semblance of relative normalcy.  The author again uses the device of telling the stories of two main characters of differing backgrounds, this time women.  The first, Mariam, is the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy businessman in Herat.  The book opens with the story of Mariam’s childhood.  She is sequestered on the outskirts of the city in a clay hut with her mother.  Her father visits once weekly and servants from his house bring basic supplies.  Mariam’s mother is understandably bitter and the tension between mother and daughter is palpable.  Eventually Mariam is given in marriage to Rasheed, an older shoe-maker from Kabul, mainly to remove the embarrassment of her very existence from her father’s world.  This man is domineering and abusive and Mariam’s inability to conceive causes her to quickly fall out of favor.

       The second main character is Laila, a beautiful young girl who grows up as a neighbor of Rasheed and Mariam in Kabul.  She has a childhood friend, Tariq, a young man who lost a leg to a Soviet land mine.  As these children mature, they fall in love. Tariq’s family decides to run from the warlords who by now bombarding the city.  During the hysteria of their pending separation, the two young lovers conceive a child.  Once Laila realizes she is pregnant and has no idea how to contact Tariq, she also marries Rasheed and convinces him that the child is his.  Needless to say, the relationship between Laila and the forlorn Mariam starts out poorly and gets worse.  Eventually they are brought together by their shared victim status and their mutual disgust and hatred for Rasheed.  The resolution of the conflict between these two women is riveting and, well, painful.  You get the impression that there aren’t too many happy endings in Afghanistan.

       While the author tells these two women’s stories, he also gives the reader a fantastic and comprehensive history lesson.  The modern history of Afghanistan is complicated and the author uses some of the secondary characters to deliver this lesson.  Laila’s father is a school teacher and is very interested in politics and a lot of his dialogue is opinion about the current state of affairs.  Laila’s two older brothers fight for one of the warlords against the Communists and are both killed.  Rasheed is a businessman who tries to manipulate whatever political system is in charge at the moment, which also gives insight into the political and social climate through all of these regime changes.

       This is not an easy book to read.  Over and over again, it is heart breaking.  The cruelty to women is incomprehensible.  The status of medical care during the rule of the Taliban is clinically detailed by the author (who is a physician) and graphically described when Laila presents to the only hospital in Kabul which is allowed to treat women and has to undergo a Caesarean section without anesthesia because the Taliban won’t fund the women’s hospital. 

       Khaled Hosseini has a writing style reminiscent of Ernest Hemingway.  He writes in short, brutal sentences which conjure images that the mind can’t even comprehend.  He always uses the perfect word or phrase.  He alludes to Hemingway in one section when Laila’s father is reading The Old Man and the Sea.  A Thousand Splendid Suns is also a fight against impossible odds, a story of hope when the situation is hopeless, and the resilience of the human spirit.

       I think that this book is destined to be a classic.  It is critically important for every American who has an opinion about war, freedom and human rights to read this book.  It’s easy to forget the citizens of a country as it is repeatedly trampled over the decades.  This book puts very real faces on people caught in the crossfire of a conflict they did not initiate.  It describes conditions and situations which those of us living in the comfort of 21^st century America cannot comprehend.  This book is at once entertaining and horrifying, edifying and humbling, compulsively readable and appallingly shocking.  It is terrific.

       

Jimmy Buffett and The Coral Reefer Band, MGM Garden Theater, Las Vegas, Nevada, October 15, 2011

Jimmy Buffett and The Coral Reefer Band

MGM Garden Theater, Las Vegas, Nevada

October 15, 2011

This was no ordinary concert.  It wasn’t even an event or a “happening”.  It was a total multi-sensory, “you’ve got to see it to believe it” experience!  The evening started early.   We decided to stop by Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville restaurant for dinner before the concert.  Apparently about 20,000 other people had the same idea.  In celebration of the opening of the new “Margaritaville Casino,” the adjacent street was closed and there was a giant block party.  People had been partying there for quite some time.  There was a band, concession stands, bars and an amazing array of Parrot Heads in every imaginable costume.  I felt pretty underdressed in a mere tropical print shirt and shorts, but we tried our best to “blend.”  The centerpiece of this celebration of all things Buffet was “Lucky Rita” an enormous margarita, mixed over the preceding several days.  The purpose (successful) of concocting “Lucky Rita” was to set the Guinness Book of World Records record for the world’s largest margarita.

http://www.margaritaville.com/videos.html?ma_id=5&mc_id=517 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNG_rSfA9KM  

This “frozen concoction of which I speak” started with 2125 gallons of Margaritaville Gold Tequila and 708 gallons of Triple Sec.  They were selling margaritas for $38 per souvenir blender full.  We opted for a couple of Land Shark beers. 

             We realized that we would never get into the restaurant with enough time to get to the show, so we began our walk up the Strip, stopping in the Paris Hotel and Casino for dinner.  They had a wonderful “Recession Special” with an all-inclusive dinner (including a glass of wine) for $25.95 each.  It was a very good meal and by far the best deal we found in Las Vegas.

            Then it was on the MGM Grand Garden Theater.  We joined a procession of very intoxicated people as we meandered through the casino, most of the crowd regaled in Parrot Head or Cheeseburger hats, flowered leis, shark costumes and tropical attire.  This was a sight to behold.  This procession drew curious looks from the casino patrons, who were, at least momentarily, distracted from pulling levers on slot machines, tossing dice and drawing cards. 

            The crowd was happily drunk.  We didn’t really find anyone obnoxious, belligerent or unruly (well, at least not until the concert was over.)  The crowd was almost as much fun to watch as Jimmy Buffet.  There were all ages present, most in some sort of costume.  By the end of the show, a lot these folks were having a hard time navigating the stairs. 

            It was the second time we had seen Jimmy Buffett, the first time since 1981.  Jimmy looks more like Joe Biden now than the curly-haired troubadour of the 1970s and 80s, but he can still put on a terrific show.  He is the consummate entertainer, peppering the time between songs with banter and quips.  The set list included many of the same songs as the 1981 show and the crowd very happily sang along with all of the lyrics.  Highlights were “Brown Eyed Girl”, “Margaritaville” and “A Pirate Looks at Forty.”  Two recent songs which were recorded as collaborations with country artists also brought the fans to their feet: “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” (recorded with Alan Jackson) and “Knee Deep” (recorded with The Zac Brown Band.)  The show finale began with the theme from “Jaws” and the whole crowd started the “Fins to the Left, Fins to the Right” dance.  The encore began with a rousing rendition of “Viva Las Vegas”, continued with a very good version of Stephen Stills’ “Southern Cross” and an acoustic solo performance by Jimmy of “Tin Cup Chalice.”  A very satisfied crowd shuffled and stumbled out to the strip or, in our case, to the monorail train having been part of something special.

    SET LIST

The Wino And I Know

Brown Eyed Girl

It’s Midnight And I’m Not Famous Yet

Pencil Thin Mustache

Off To See The Lizard

It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere

Life Is Just A Tire Swing

Son Of A Son Of A Sailor

Come Monday

Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw

Volcano

Cheeseburger in Paradise

One Particular Harbour

Use Me

Bama Breeze

Jolly Mon Song

Knee Deep

Margaritaville

School Boy Heart

A Pirate Looks At Forty

The City

Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes

Fins

            ENCORE

Viva Las Vegas

Southern Cross

Tin Cup Chalice

"The Beatles Love" by Cirque du Soleil at The Mirage, Las Vegas, Nevada

“The Beatles Love” by Cirque du Soleil

The Mirage Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, Nevada

My wife Ellen and I attended the late show on Friday, October 14, 2011.  “The Beatles Love” is celebrating its fifth anniversary and apparently continues to draw huge audiences.  I had many reasons for NOT wanting to see it.  The Beatles were a big part of growing up for me.  “Beatlemania” and the British Invasion of the early Sixties occurred while I was in middle school.  The “Abbey Road” album was released during my senior year in high school.  I had an English teacher in eleventh grade that for about a week played “Revolution #9” from the “White Album” (the whole album side of seemingly random noise) during class and we were to write about what we heard.  You get the picture: The Beatles were a big deal for me then.  As I’ve grown older and learned to play a bit of music myself, I have gained a whole new respect for the inventive, creative and unique band that The Beatles were.  I had seen Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr (along with Yoko Ono and Olivia Harrison) on Larry King Live when the show first opened and to a certain extent bought their explanations as to why they licensed their music for this production.  I heard Paul say that he and Ringo heard the music as if it was brand new – this newly remastered and re-ordered music.  I purchased the soundtrack CD and only listened to it once or twice.  I thought it was weird hearing the songs kind of mish-mashed together and figured this show was just another big payday for what had become The Beatles franchise.  Was I ever wrong!

Hearing this music through the sound system at                         The Mirage is worth the (staggering) price of admission alone.  There is volume without ear-splitting pain.  There is subtlety and tonal qualities I had never appreciated before.  And those harmonies!!!  Way before Graham Nash, Stephen Stills and David Crosby or The Eagles ever considered their first collaboration The Beatles were blending their voices in searing, soothing, exciting and unique harmony.  In the recent HBO movie about George Harrison, George Martin, the original producer for the group, described his dilemma when he first heard The Beatles.  “Who is the lead singer?”  He thought to himself.  He finally decided they didn’t have a lead singer (as had been the custom in pop music up until that time) they were a group and the group dynamic was the “lead singer.”

The re-mix or “mash-up” of the music itself is a wonder.  George Martin and his son Giles used original multi-track recordings, unreleased demos and concert audio to cobble together the soundtrack to “The Beatles Love.”  A segment of music may contain vocals from one song as well as a back beat, orchestral arrangement and instrumental bits from others.  The listener appreciates a certain thrill when he can identify the origins of the particular sounds: “That’s the guitar lick from ‘Revolution!’, ‘That’s the harmony from ‘Strawberry Fields!’.”

The theatrical interpretation by the 60 member Cirque du Soleil cast was nothing short of amazing.  The combination of classical and modern dance, acrobatics, speed skating, clowning and acting brought the music even more alive.  The visual effects were stunning as well.  There were video clips, streamers, a giant cloud like billowing tent which covered much of the audience, confetti, strobe lights and costumes of all description.  These interpretations of the music also highlighted the political nature of The Beatles later music, an aspect often neglected or glossed over in other retrospectives of the band. 

The absolute highlight of the show for me was the ballet performance of a single female dancer in a white dress during “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”  She reads a letter throughout the dance.  Is the letter from a soldier?  Has her fiancé or husband been killed in war?  Who knows, but the combination of the wailing guitar and the sorrowful dance was awe inspiring.

  The audience ranged in age from twenty-somethings to folks even older than us.  It’s hard to imagine, but he majority of this music is close to fifty years old.  This show seems to be bringing some of the magic that was The Beatles to another generation and recruiting another legion of folks who appreciate the music.   All in all, “The Beatles Love” was fascinating and thrilling entertainment which I am glad we made the decision to experience while in Las Vegas.
 

Air Travel 2011: Hoegaarden Beers, WSJ Wrath and a New Peril: The Walking Texter

     Our trip to Las Vegas began as usual, at the Lynchburg airport.  Besides the fact that it was pouring down rain, the departure was fairly routine.  There was an interesting exchange when the young fellow in front of us in the security line pulled out two bottles of Hoegaarden beer.  He gave them to the lady checking bags and said "This is for you, it's really good beer and you can drink them when you get off."  Somewhat unimpressed with his largesse, she deposited them in a bin with various shampoos, lotions and oils and said "NEXT!"

     During our layover in Charlotte we chose two seats near our departure gate for Vegas.  There was a fairly normal appearing middle aged man reading a Wall STreet Journal sitting across from us.  I dove back into Abraham Verghese's Cutting for Stone but soon noticed the guy with the WSJ was talking to himself.  At first, I thought he was using some microscopic blue tooth device, but NO!  He was arguing with his newspaper!  After listening to a number of exclamations, including "Aw, come on!" and "How can that be?" I slipped on my noise cancelling head phones.

    Finally, I have identified a new threat to the health and safety of air travelers:  the "walking texter."  These folks seem equally divided by gender, are stratified through all age groups and come in all sizes.  They walk briskly through concourses, usually while dragging a large rolling suitcase in one hand and texting on a mobile communication device with the other.  They run into fellow travelers with reckless abandon and never mutter any type of apology.  They ususally growl.

    The good news:  the luggage carts in Charlotte behaved themselves this time, did not run into our aircraft or impede our progress towards our destination.

Book Review: Devil's Dream by Madison Smartt Bell

(Blogger Note: This review was published in the October, 2011 issue of LAMLight, the newsletter of the Lynchburg Academy of Medicine)

  This is a fascinating historical novel depicting the life of Nathan Bedford Forrest.  As a Virginian all of my life, the American Civil War has always been an interest.  I guess it can be forgiven if as a child growing up during the Civil War Centennial I thought the majority of the war was fought in Virginia, with the occasional foray into Maryland and Pennsylvania.  Spending eighteen years in Richmond reinforced that notion.  Driving past the statues of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jeb Stuart every morning on Monument Avenue makes one think that all of the major personalities fought or died in Virginia.  It has been almost astonishing to me to learn that the “War of Northern Aggression” was fought fiercely all over the South and that there were major players elsewhere that deserve historical mention alongside Lee, Stuart, Longstreet and Jackson. 

   Madison Smartt Bell is a native of Tennessee (I wonder if he thinks the whole war was fought in his state?) and received his M.A. from Hollins College.  He now lives in Baltimore and teaches at Goucher College.  He is known for meticulously researched historical fiction and his eighth novel,   All Soul’s Rising, was a finalist for the National Book Award in the 1990s. 

   Nathan Bedford Forrest is an intriguing figure.  He came from modest means and made a fortune before the war with land investment and as a slave trader.  He enlisted in the Confederate army as a private and rose to the rank of Lieutenant General by war’s end. He had no military training but devised aggressive cavalry techniques and maneuvers.  He often argued with his better trained superiors over tactics.  The most famous disagreement was with General John Bell Hood preceding the Battle of Franklin, Tennessee, ground covered very well in The Widow of the South by Robert Hicks.

  The author does an outstanding job of capturing the contradictions in Forrest’s life.  He shows him courting his high society wife and treating her with great respect while abusing his female slaves.  Forrest showed great admiration for many blacks, including several as his closest advisers during the war and yet could sell and beat these same fellow humans seemingly without remorse.  He is alleged to have allowed a massacre of black Union soldiers at the Battle of Fort Pillow rather than take them prisoner, although this novel makes it seem as if the massacre was beyond Forrest’s control. 

   The author uses a second main character, a free black named Henri who encounters Forrest at the beginning of the war, to tell much of the story.  Henri is a Haitian who came to New Orleans with the intention of igniting a slave revolt.  Henri serves Forrest as a scout and soldier until he is killed at the Battle of Chickamauga.  Through Henri’s eyes we see Forrest go berserk in the heat of battle:  charging into enemy lines with a double edged sword in one hand and a six shooter in the other.  He often had multiple horses (often as many as three or four) shot out from under him during these reckless charges.  We see Forrest shot, stabbed, beaten and starved.  In one memorable scene, Forrest is confronted by another general who Forrest has accused of cowardice.  The second general pulls a gun and shoots Forrest at point blank range.  Henri sees Forrest fall, assumes he’s dead and then watches in amazement as Forrest jumps up and runs after his would-be assassin yelling “Nobody kills Nathan Forrest and deserves to live!”

   The secondary characters are important and abundant in this novel as well.  Nathan’s wife Mary Ann is attracted to her husband’s audacity and brashness but is equally embarrassed by his occupation as a slave trader and by his not so subtle indiscretions with his slave mistresses.  Mary Ann’s mother lives with the couple for some time and acts as an over-bearing and outspoken conscience.  She repeatedly stirs up ill feelings within the extended Forrest family.  Forrest’s many brothers play significant roles, both at home in Memphis and as battlefield advisors.

    I have only two criticisms of this book.  The first criticism is the chronology (or lack thereof) with which it is written.  It’s like the author wrote the story in proper sequence but then cut and pasted the individual chapters in a random order.  A chapter describing intense fighting in Franklin, Tennessee is likely to be followed by a chapter describing Forrest first meeting Mary Anne and her mother while rescuing them from a wagon trapped in a creek bed.  I tried to decipher the reason the author did this, but I couldn’t figure it out.  It becomes very confusing when the battle sequences are presented out of date order.  The second criticism is that the author does not include or even mention Forrest’s post-war life.  The fact that he survived is unbelievable.  How Forrest rallied against carpetbaggers  became the first Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan would certainly (in my opinion) have added a lot to this character’s life story.  But, this is not a biography and the author had to stop somewhere, so maybe this isn’t a valid criticism. 

  Devil’s Dream is a superbly written historical novel with a fascinating and enigmatic main character.  History and Civil War buffs should really enjoy this book.

  

   

BOOK REVIEW: Clapton's Guitar - by Allen St. John

CLAPTON’S GUITAR

By Allen St. John

Reviewed by Tom Carrico

This paperback caught my eye as it sat in the middle of the non-fiction new release table at the Short Pump Barnes and Noble for one reason and one reason only.  There is a spectacular looking acoustic guitar on the cover.  Although at first glance it appears to be a vintage Martin, the headstock does not have the usual squared off end.  Additionally, the name across the headstock was not Martin, but Henderson.  What’s a Henderson guitar, you ask?  Well, read Clapton’s Guitar to find out.

            Wayne Henderson is a retired rural postman in Rugby, Virginia.  Rugby is in Grayson County, south of Marion and has a population of 7.  Wayne has been building guitars out of any and all available materials since childhood.  His guitars are built one at a time and on no particular timetable.  Wayne is an artist.  He is very eccentric, but he is an artist.

            The story of the book is that Eric Clapton, who has defined rock guitar wizardry since the 1960s (The Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, etc…), played a Henderson guitar in a collectible guitar shop in New York City and fell in love with its tone and playability.  He had to have one.  He placed an order with Wayne and, about 10 years later, Wayne got around to building him one.  He actually built two almost identical guitars, one for Clapton and one to be auctioned for charity.  Enter Allen St. John, a columnist for the Wall Street Journal’s Weekend section and guitar freak.  He is a friend of the shop owner who introduced Eric Clapton to Henderson guitars and promised to deliver the instruments once Wayne had actually made them.  The author then travels to Rugby and observes the master luthier at work and records his observations.

            The resulting book is not about Eric Clapton.  Nor is it just about Wayne Henderson, although the reader gets to know Wayne and his neighbors, fellow musicians and friends very well.  The book is really not just about guitars, either, although there is a wealth of guitar history included here, and many details regarding the proper construction of an acoustic guitar.  No, Clapton’s Guitar is really about craftsmanship, attention to detail, pride in doing things the right way and not taking short cuts.

            Humor abounds in Clapton’s Guitar.  Wayne Henderson has a disarming sense of humor and a humbling simplicity to his life.  When Eric Clapton suggested that it might be difficult for him to come to Rugby to pick up his guitar because of the crowds which he would attract, Wayne replied: “Aw heck.  I didn’t even know who you were till last year.  And there’s only six other people in Rugby and none of ‘em even like your kind of music.  I suppose that we could walk down Main Street buck naked and I reckon nobody’d care.”  Wayne's guitar shop is frequented by what he refers to as “General Loafers”.  If they do something which particularly annoys him, they are busted to “Colonel Loafers”.  Wayne tells the author that he doesn’t put much stock in religion and refers to himself as a “Buzzard Baptist”.  He only goes to church when someone dies.  There are practical jokes throughout as well, including Wayne's pride and joy: a remote control flatulence machine which he hides around the shop to surprise visitors.  Wayne is over ten years behind on orders for his guitars and people will do anything, it seems, to move up on the list.  Wayne is susceptible to bribery and homemade pies seem to get your guitar built quicker than just about anything else.  After reading this book it would appear that many more dogs live in Rugby than people.  There’s always someone’s dog in the shop or running around the yard.  Even though Wayne is an expert guitarist, has performed all over the world (including Carnegie Hall), and sponsors his own guitar festival and competition each June, the author notes that he is “only truly at home in the guitar shop, where the cast of characters is familiar and most problems can be solved with a band saw, a penknife, and the right piece of wood.”  The author includes some fascinating anecdotes surrounding vintage guitars which themselves become characters in this book.  One pre-war Martin made its way through several famous (or infamous, depending on how you look at it) guitarists in the 60s and 70s being pawned, sold, given as a gift and finally residing with a collector.

            The author defines a little recognized new disease.  He defines it as G.A.S., or “Guitar Acquisition Syndrome”, a disorder which I readily recognize in myself.  A victim of G.A.S. “sees a guitar, and immediately becomes fixated on it the way a two-year-old obsesses about Naughty Diesel from Thomas the Tank Engine.  Somehow, possessing that guitar will bring joy to his world (victims are almost always male), cure him of his ills, and make him whole”.  Admitting that he is also a victim of this malady, Mr. St. John states: “We seek a better guitar in the vain hope that it will make us better players.”

            The real reason to read the book, however, is to gain an appreciation for a man who takes genuine pride in his artistry.  Wayne Henderson takes no short cuts.  He bends his own guitar sides, inlays his own abalone into his own fabricated fret boards and hand carves each strut which supports each specially selected and hand cut top.  He tests each piece for resonance.  The end product is much better than the sum of many very excellent parts.  That is the magic of a Wayne Henderson guitar.  Mr. St. John goes further than this, however, noting that the quality of the musical instrument reflects the quality of the individual who built it.

            This book has something for everyone.  It is part Appalachian home-spun humor, part guitar building 101 and part paean to a time when musical instruments were constructed by master artisans who took genuine pride in their creations.  This book was a hoot to read.  I learned a lot, I was entertained, and would I ever love to be on the list of people waiting for their own Henderson guitar.

           

Clapton’s Guitar by Allen St. John is available in trade paperback from Free Press.  There are several excellent web-sites which make the book even more enjoyable including the author’s own (www.allenstjohn.com) which contains links to Wayne Henderson recordings.  (Note:  This book is best read while listening to “Unplugged” by Eric Clapton or the soundtrack to “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou”.)