Spoilers included herewith.
(3) AMERICAN FIRE (Monica Hesse). This is a close-to-perfect book, which makes certain choices in the gushing NYT review surprising. The reviewer opens with her complaints--and they aren't even unassailable complaints--and you may stop right there. Don't. Do go out and pick up this book.
The Eastern Shore of Virginia isn't attached to Virginia; you have to cross water to get to it. Many people do not realize it exists. Once, a Virginia marching band represented the state on a football field; a wealthy donor became irate because no musicians had been drafted to recreate the tiny strip that is the Eastern Shore.
Here, on the tiny Shore, a prosperous life is just a memory. Now, many people are required to work for Big Chicken; they do unappealing, monotonous tasks for chicken factories, and they are paid very little. Because of the decline in wealth, many buildings stand empty. In this setting, a dim-witted man, Charlie, met a spark-plug, Tonya. They began dating; he couldn't get it up, because he felt unworthy; she told him to start setting various buildings on fire, as a form of compensation.
That's the story. The set-piece moments come one on top of another. We see how an actual interrogation works--how feigning sympathy and compassion can get you far. How, at some point, the act sometimes needs to get dropped. There's a fun digression about Bonnie and Clyde and about Leopold and Loeb; Hesse asks why certain people choose crime only when they are paired with a charismatic lover or friend. We learn of children forced to skip meals; couples eating out of trash bins; arguments at Wal-Mart about Steak-umm; weird, erotic Facebook poetry; and a failed clothing boutique called "A Tiny Taste of Toot." This is simply a great, sad story, beautifully and lovingly told.
(2) THE SECRET LIFE OF THE AMERICAN MUSICAL (Jack Viertel). I couldn't put this down. The guy writes brilliantly. He had a friend who would regularly teach a college course that looked closely at four Shakespeare plays; the students would look at each and every line in the play. Why that particular word? Why that choice of image? Viertel thought, Surely the classics of American musical theater can withstand that kind of attention. So he began a course about four chestnuts: "Guys and Dolls," "Gypsy," "South Pacific," and "My Fair Lady."
A little later, Viertel began teaching about "the song plot." This is different from a musical's actual plot. Most successful musicals follow a certain chart--pretty closely. The first song introduces the tone and main concerns of the evening. (For a long while, "Forum" did not have "Comedy Tonight," and so, for a long while, "Forum" did not work. You don't need the full chorus for an opener. "O What a Beautiful Mornin'" is as effective as "Comedy Tonight.")
After the opener, the hero gives us his "I Want" number ("The Wizard and I"), there's a conditional love song ("If I Loved You"), and then there's a tent-pole moment to revive your energy ("To Life," "Put On Your Sunday Clothes"). The middle of the first act is when things get looser: We might encounter a secondary-characters-in-love subplot (Ado Annie and Will), we might hear from the villain ("Deliver Me," from "Sweeney Todd"). The final moments of Act One often reveal a "hill beyond the hill": The stakes are actually higher than we realized. So, in "Dear Evan Hansen," a small lie suddenly becomes a national movement, and in "My Fair Lady," Eliza asks: "Now that you have fixed my speech, what will you make of me? What will I become in the world?"
True musical-theater nerds will enjoy little gems throughout. Viertel makes the compelling argument that much of the poignancy in "Cabaret" comes from the subplot. ("How the world can change; it can change like that; due to one little word, MARRIED.") He observes that Lin-Manuel stole his "Hamilton" ending from Tony Kushner's "Caroline, or Change." And he points out that some of "Gypsy"'s power comes from role-reversal; Louise begins the evening as the least-powerful character, and ends as the one calling the shots. It's nice to see someone dissecting the American musical with intellect and heart--and an enviable prose style.
(1) CHASING HILLARY (Amy Chozick). I'm not convinced that this memoir is a flat-out success. Its arc is unclear to me. Chozick ends by suggesting that Hillary's loss has inspired a reassessment of priorities: "All the success in the world won't buy you a meaningful life." But has Chozick really learned that? To me, she seems to be the same wildly ambitious person at the end that she was at the beginning. (I'm not saying ambition is objectionable.) If Chozick is trying to suggest some kind of transformation-of-the-soul, she hasn't persuaded me.
That said, the individual stories are such a treat. Hillary--who felt Amy was her arch-nemesis--sent Amy a gracious, handwritten note when Amy's grandmother died. Amy--who has few illusions about Bill--has to admit that Bill giving the ability to hear to various African children, via the Clinton Foundation, is something wondrous to behold. Amy, who is brutalized daily by a frankly misogynistic team of Clinton's handlers, takes strength from the wacky and charismatic David Carr ("Night of the Gun"), who calls her "Polar Bear" and says: "No one has your insights. Others may write better. Others may have more powerful sources. But no one else is you."
What I really loved here was the Janet Malcolm-ish interest in the moral ickiness of journalism. Amy Chozick knows that she is a stealthy bully with a pen, and she does not let herself off the hook. When she describes her antagonists, she pauses to note what her antagonists likely think of her own behavior--and she does this without self-pity or even a hint of vanity. It's also stunning to see the thuggish young-male Bernie supporters texting and emailing Amy--"Die, c*nt"--and to realize that Amy contended with this stuff daily and still continued to do her job.
Lastly, it's mesmerizing to read Amy Chozick's account of her courtship and marriage. She chose work so consistently over her partner--and she is so honest in confessing this. You want to shake an admonitory finger at the narrator. Then you wonder: "If Chozick were male, would I even be having half of these thoughts?" It's worth saying, also, that Chozik studied English, not journalism, in college, and she writes like a real and passionate bookworm. I read this book basically in one day, as I waited for my stuff to get hauled to South Orange, New Jersey. Chozick's sentences were a welcome and skillful distraction.
(3) AMERICAN FIRE (Monica Hesse). This is a close-to-perfect book, which makes certain choices in the gushing NYT review surprising. The reviewer opens with her complaints--and they aren't even unassailable complaints--and you may stop right there. Don't. Do go out and pick up this book.
The Eastern Shore of Virginia isn't attached to Virginia; you have to cross water to get to it. Many people do not realize it exists. Once, a Virginia marching band represented the state on a football field; a wealthy donor became irate because no musicians had been drafted to recreate the tiny strip that is the Eastern Shore.
Here, on the tiny Shore, a prosperous life is just a memory. Now, many people are required to work for Big Chicken; they do unappealing, monotonous tasks for chicken factories, and they are paid very little. Because of the decline in wealth, many buildings stand empty. In this setting, a dim-witted man, Charlie, met a spark-plug, Tonya. They began dating; he couldn't get it up, because he felt unworthy; she told him to start setting various buildings on fire, as a form of compensation.
That's the story. The set-piece moments come one on top of another. We see how an actual interrogation works--how feigning sympathy and compassion can get you far. How, at some point, the act sometimes needs to get dropped. There's a fun digression about Bonnie and Clyde and about Leopold and Loeb; Hesse asks why certain people choose crime only when they are paired with a charismatic lover or friend. We learn of children forced to skip meals; couples eating out of trash bins; arguments at Wal-Mart about Steak-umm; weird, erotic Facebook poetry; and a failed clothing boutique called "A Tiny Taste of Toot." This is simply a great, sad story, beautifully and lovingly told.
(2) THE SECRET LIFE OF THE AMERICAN MUSICAL (Jack Viertel). I couldn't put this down. The guy writes brilliantly. He had a friend who would regularly teach a college course that looked closely at four Shakespeare plays; the students would look at each and every line in the play. Why that particular word? Why that choice of image? Viertel thought, Surely the classics of American musical theater can withstand that kind of attention. So he began a course about four chestnuts: "Guys and Dolls," "Gypsy," "South Pacific," and "My Fair Lady."
A little later, Viertel began teaching about "the song plot." This is different from a musical's actual plot. Most successful musicals follow a certain chart--pretty closely. The first song introduces the tone and main concerns of the evening. (For a long while, "Forum" did not have "Comedy Tonight," and so, for a long while, "Forum" did not work. You don't need the full chorus for an opener. "O What a Beautiful Mornin'" is as effective as "Comedy Tonight.")
After the opener, the hero gives us his "I Want" number ("The Wizard and I"), there's a conditional love song ("If I Loved You"), and then there's a tent-pole moment to revive your energy ("To Life," "Put On Your Sunday Clothes"). The middle of the first act is when things get looser: We might encounter a secondary-characters-in-love subplot (Ado Annie and Will), we might hear from the villain ("Deliver Me," from "Sweeney Todd"). The final moments of Act One often reveal a "hill beyond the hill": The stakes are actually higher than we realized. So, in "Dear Evan Hansen," a small lie suddenly becomes a national movement, and in "My Fair Lady," Eliza asks: "Now that you have fixed my speech, what will you make of me? What will I become in the world?"
True musical-theater nerds will enjoy little gems throughout. Viertel makes the compelling argument that much of the poignancy in "Cabaret" comes from the subplot. ("How the world can change; it can change like that; due to one little word, MARRIED.") He observes that Lin-Manuel stole his "Hamilton" ending from Tony Kushner's "Caroline, or Change." And he points out that some of "Gypsy"'s power comes from role-reversal; Louise begins the evening as the least-powerful character, and ends as the one calling the shots. It's nice to see someone dissecting the American musical with intellect and heart--and an enviable prose style.
(1) CHASING HILLARY (Amy Chozick). I'm not convinced that this memoir is a flat-out success. Its arc is unclear to me. Chozick ends by suggesting that Hillary's loss has inspired a reassessment of priorities: "All the success in the world won't buy you a meaningful life." But has Chozick really learned that? To me, she seems to be the same wildly ambitious person at the end that she was at the beginning. (I'm not saying ambition is objectionable.) If Chozick is trying to suggest some kind of transformation-of-the-soul, she hasn't persuaded me.
That said, the individual stories are such a treat. Hillary--who felt Amy was her arch-nemesis--sent Amy a gracious, handwritten note when Amy's grandmother died. Amy--who has few illusions about Bill--has to admit that Bill giving the ability to hear to various African children, via the Clinton Foundation, is something wondrous to behold. Amy, who is brutalized daily by a frankly misogynistic team of Clinton's handlers, takes strength from the wacky and charismatic David Carr ("Night of the Gun"), who calls her "Polar Bear" and says: "No one has your insights. Others may write better. Others may have more powerful sources. But no one else is you."
What I really loved here was the Janet Malcolm-ish interest in the moral ickiness of journalism. Amy Chozick knows that she is a stealthy bully with a pen, and she does not let herself off the hook. When she describes her antagonists, she pauses to note what her antagonists likely think of her own behavior--and she does this without self-pity or even a hint of vanity. It's also stunning to see the thuggish young-male Bernie supporters texting and emailing Amy--"Die, c*nt"--and to realize that Amy contended with this stuff daily and still continued to do her job.
Lastly, it's mesmerizing to read Amy Chozick's account of her courtship and marriage. She chose work so consistently over her partner--and she is so honest in confessing this. You want to shake an admonitory finger at the narrator. Then you wonder: "If Chozick were male, would I even be having half of these thoughts?" It's worth saying, also, that Chozik studied English, not journalism, in college, and she writes like a real and passionate bookworm. I read this book basically in one day, as I waited for my stuff to get hauled to South Orange, New Jersey. Chozick's sentences were a welcome and skillful distraction.
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