Well. According to one of our booksellers, you can now buy a book bound in human skin if you have a spare nine grand and a penchant for macabre things.
Not sure what else I can say about this, besides….GAAAAAAHHHH!!! *shudder shudder willies heebie-jeebies*
And remember, human skin is not the only unusual bookbinding out there.
A friend recently told me that she and her husband read aloud to each other on long car trips, for “our own little version of books on tape.” Perhaps not coincidentally, this friend is a very happily married person—emphatically not one of those semi-happys we’ve been hearing so much about lately. In fact, I think one could argue that the read-aloud factor is not only a strong indication that things are going well for this couple, but one of the reasons why things are going well.
It’s possible! We have proof (in the form of scientific studies) that reading aloud is good for children, E.S.L. students, and (in a way) dogs. So why not grownups? It’s true that these days reading aloud isn’t a large part of our communal experience (aside from official author readings and other formal gatherings), but perhaps it should be reinstated. A few examples illustrate the variety of ways we’ve used it in the past: medieval monks ate most of their meals while listening to scripture readings; Victorians read novels aloud to each other in the drawing room as a mid-afternoon or end-of-the-evening treat; and since the nineteenth century cigar-factory workers in Cuba have had daily doses of news and literature read aloud to them by a designated reader (the benefits in this last case are more than social or spiritual: the experience of being read to actually increases efficiency).
Lovers, too, have long read aloud to each other, and this seems to be one practice that hasn’t entirely faded. In addition to the happy car-tripping couple I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I spoke to a couple who gets through illness or a sleepless night by reading aloud; another who shares alarming news stories (thus simultaneously keeping abreast of current events and lightening the burdens of weltschmerz); and a pair who saves the best sentences from their recent reading for each other, to read aloud again together when they have a chance—it’s a bit like bringing home flowers for your sweetheart, but it lasts a lot longer.
I don’t think reading aloud needs to remain a couples-only activity. It’s true that we have to contend these days with a variety of other storytelling media, much of which can be enjoyed socially (perhaps when your friends come over, it’s to watch a movie or a game, which tells a story of sorts), but reading aloud is a softer, more meditative, and ultimately more participatory experience that is worth rediscovering. So why not give it a try? If monasticism and factory life are unappealing and your apartment is too small to throw a dinner party, you can practice for the future by starting small, like a friend of mine, who reads aloud to herself “just to make it more interesting.” Pick up a book, clear your throat, and see what happens.
(Albert Moore, “Reading Aloud,” 1886.)
Fathers. They are good for many things: love, support, taking you fishing, having a catch in the yard, telling you what’s in the newspaper and why so-and-so’s an idiot, slaving over a hot stove to put dinner on the table. Some fathers are good for that last one, anyway, including the food writer, Times columnist, and cookbook author Mark Bittman. Bittman, it turns out, might not have reached culinary greatness had he not become a father. In an essay in the recently released collection “Man with a Pan,” Bittman writes about how he started cooking in a serious way at the age of twenty-seven:
I had been a terrible student, and in fact I didn’t appear to be good at much of anything. I had been a cab driver, a trucker, an electrician’s gofer, a substitute teacher, and a traveling salesman. I was now married, with a newborn child. My lifelong sense that I would “become” a writer wasn’t working out.
So I became a cook.
When Kate arrived, everything changed. My wife was typically busy and tired, and she soon began medical school. It was clearly incumbent upon me, not to mention easier and more sensible, to lighten household burdens rather than try to nurse the newborn…. There was urgency and necessity—there was no way around it. My need to develop a career and to get dinner on the table combined to bring me from a mostly undisciplined posthippie pot-smoking politico to what used to be called a responsible member of society better than anything else could have.
Who is this Kate who effected this miraculous transformation? She is the first-born of Bittman’s two daughters (her younger sister is Emma), and she is the public-relations manager of The New Yorker, as well as a contributor to the Book Bench. Awhile ago, I asked Kate if she and her dad ever cooked together. “Not very often,” she said. “But,” I said, “don’t you think kids ought to cook with their dads, especially on Father’s Day?” Indeed, she did. Soon, she’d roped her dad into agreeing to cook with her (on camera) a simple, kid-and-dad-friendly dish perfect for a summer Sunday in June. It’s called Shrimp, My Way, and it’s adapted from Bittman’s recipe in “How to Cook Everything.” If you’re lucky enough to be spending this Father’s Day with your dad, why not give it a try?
Shrimp, My Way
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 or 4 big cloves garlic, cut into slivers
1 1/2 to 2 pounds shrimp, in the 20 to 30 per pound range, peeled, rinsed, and dried
salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh spicy paprika
Minced fresh parsley leaves for garnish
Warm the olive oil over low heat in a large, broad skillet. There should be enough olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan; don’t skimp. Put the garlic in the oil and cook for a few minutes, still over low heat, until it turns golden.
Raise the heat to medium-high and add the shrimp, salt, pepper, cumin, and paprika, in one layer. When the undersides of the shrimp are pink (two to three minutes) turn them over; cook another two minutes. Garnish and serve immediately.
Attention bivalvitarians: You can substitute scallops for shrimp in this dish.
A few weekends ago, a large kerfluffle erupted over an article posted to the Wall Street Journal website regarding Young Adult books and their often dark, disturbing content and themes. Hundreds (if not thousands) of people have responded via blogs, Twitter (check #yasaves), and other news sources. Two of my favorite replies so far have been provided by NPR and Sherman Alexie. I would also like to add my own thoughts as the YA buyer for the store.
Adults and teens read for many reasons. Some books are pure entertainment, some are for edification, some are just read because everyone else is reading them. The ability for books to be an escape is just as strong for a YA reader. To be able to jump into someone else’s life (regardless of whether the reader’s life is easy or difficult) provides an opportunity for empathy and a certain amount of “This could be me.” The mental exercise of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes and realizing the mistakes we all make and the crappy decisions we all have to face is a skill that fosters understanding and compassion.
Reading can also be the starting point for discussions among friends and between caregiver and child. We’ve all had “that friend” who was too reckless, too depressed, too thin. And sometimes we don’t know what to say. Whether we are the parent, or the friend, or the person that everyone else is worried about, these books provide language to start these conversations, to say to someone, “I’m worried about you.” If you are the parent of a teenager, I recommend reading the books that your kids are reading so that if they do have questions, or need answers, or want to share their feelings and concerns about someone, you have some of that language at your disposal.
As the YA book buyer, there are two other points that I think got really lost in the original article. First, how fabulous that we are discussing the “problem” of kids reading! I have seen plenty of parents and uncles and grandmothers come into the store, hoping to find a book that will hook their young reader. If kids are reading, that is cause for celebration, not for hand-wringing. Secondly, if I was that customer originally cited in the WSJ article, I would ASK THE BOOKSELLER FOR SUGGESTIONS. We are here to help you. We know books. Books are our job. We have a secret delight in matching just the right book for just the right person. If you see me on the bus, I am reading. If I’m not reading, I’m listening to podcasts about books. I follow book blogs. I read these books so that if you need a YA suggestion, I’m going to have some ideas for you. Not every book is right for every reader, but, with our help, hopefully we can find a great match.
–Sarah
Who says thank-you notes are obsolete? Though we debate how (text? e-mail? snail mail?) and when (the day after? within two weeks?) to send them, it seems many of us still do in some form. It’s better to err on the safe side when it comes to retaining friends, securing a new job, or acknowledging a gift, because the thank-you note is a cornerstone of good etiquette. Two new thank-you books, however, indicate that the modern thank-you is less a demonstration of grace and more an act of self-expression.
Leah Dieterich’s “thxthxthx: Thank Goodness for Everything” is like a series of lessons in gratitude to the universe. The idea for the book originated with her blog, where each day she posts a stylized, handwritten thank-you on a background that looks like a Post-it Note. She wrote them as a means to focus on what she appreciated in her own life, often with a funny twist. “Dear People that Come Over to My House,” she writes, “Thank you for your visits. Without them, I would never clean my bathroom. Cheers, Leah.”
Some contain beautiful images, like praise for a truck that scrapes trees, spreading flower petals on her car, or the hour at dusk when she can see inside cozy homes. Two notes address people who do, and those who don’t “get it.” And some are just plain gross: “Dear Morning Bathroom Visit, Thank you for making room for breakfast. All best, Leah.”
Her notes sometimes seem less like thanks and more like attempts to spin a positive view on an irritation or frustration, like a paean to uncomfortable cars and traffic jams in Los Angeles, which make riding a bike a treat. This desire to remain upbeat ultimately produces some of the more treacly thank yous, such as “Dear Everything, Thank you for happening for a reason. Cheers, Leah.”
Dieterich is a creative director and writer, so it’s no surprise that her book is gorgeous. The notes have been transferred from the blog’s yellow squares to an image of a folded card, and the pages are heavy, matte paper in cream or jewel tones. There’s even a note card and envelope included in the front, encouraging you to try your hand at gratitude.
Jimmy Fallon’s “Thank You Notes,” penned with the writers of “Late Night,” don’t pretend to be anything but sarcastic, or as he told Meredith Vieira on “The Today Show,” a litany of “what’s bothering us, or what went wrong.” His thank-yous are a regular feature every Friday on his show, and he mimes writing a card while delivering the joke over piano Muzak.
Fallon is funny, though his notes lose some punch without his comic timing and delivery. His thanks can be right on the mark: “Thank you … Ben Bernanke, for saying that the recession is ‘most likely over.’ Nothing puts me at ease and restores my confidence like a nice, firm ‘most likely.’”
They are also goofy (thanking millipedes for being ten times more awesome than centipedes), disgusting (turkey gizzards are compared to old people), or self-deprecating (he frequently thanks the gym he never goes to). Appreciation for socks with sandals gets its own spread with multiple shout outs. Many of Fallon’s (or rather his writers’) entries will make you nod your head in recognition: “Best Buy receipts ARE too long,” I found myself thinking, or “Tuna casserole IS the sweatpants of food.”
You won’t hone your manners with either of these books (and you probably didn’t expect to), but they will make you smile. Here, Jimmy, let me give it a try: “Thank you … small books, for being the perfect gift to give graduates, grandmas, and people I don’t know very well. See ya on the coffee table.”
