Unfamiliar Fishes

Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


As always, Sarah Vowell's enthusiasm for her subject succeeded in getting me excited about history- this time about the history of Hawaii. I listened to the book read by the author to get the full effect of Vowell's deadpan humor. I came away from the book intrigued by whale oil and sugar, and, for the first time in my life, excited about reading Moby Dick. Some Cherokee blood runs in Vowell's veins, and she makes a very personal connection to the fate of the native Hawaiians who lost their land and lives to the unfamiliar fishes that washed up on their shores. If anything, her genuine feeling for the loss of the Hawaiian way of life saps a little of her normal humor, takes just a little of the edge off her funny, sarcastic voice.



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The Potter's Field

The Potter's Field nestles into the category of comfortable detective story that titillates just enough to keep the reader interested, but throughout reaffirms warm, safe, hearth and home values.  Although this was the first Brother Cadfael novel I've ever read, it is actually book 18 of 21 in a series that definitively ended with the death of the author, Edith Pargeter (Ellis Peters is a pseudonym).  

Pargeter was an accomplished historian and linguist.  Any hopes I had of language playing a role in the mystery were disappointed.  However, the detective plot is inseparable from its historical setting, and that inseparability is a hallmark of how successfully Pargeter blended mystery and historical fiction.

Certainly this Brother Cadfael novel pales next to it's monastic medieval mystery cousin, The Name of the Rose.  But taken for what it is, The Potter's Field is a pleasant, logically satisfying, and harmless read.

The Potter's Field is currently unavailable on amazon.com in either print or Kindle format.  The audio book is available at audible.com. 

The Silver Pigs

I didn't need Wikipedia to verify that Lindsey Davis, author of the The Silver Pigs, was born in England. Davis writes with distinctly British class-conscious humor. Like Terry Pratchett and China Miéville, Davis builds deliciously complex worlds teeming with distinctive characters and defined by social stratification. And, of course, his protagonist of choice comes does not come from the upper echelons of society.

The main difference between Davis and his spec fiction counterparts is that Davis isn't writing about a fantasy world, but is writing about Ancient Rome. In The Silver Pigs, protagonist Falco is the ancient version of a private eye. Falco has a lot in common with the Maltese Falcon-era private eye. His landlord is hounding him for the rent, a damsel in distress is seriously complicating his life, and his devotion to the case is going to force him into slave labor and freezing-cold deprivation in an ancient British mine. Oh, wait...I guess that last part is just Falco.

I am not an expert in the history of Ancient Rome. But having recently read Empires of Trust-- How Rome Built-- and America is Building-- a New World (Thomas F. Madden) I can verify that Davis got certain details about life in Ancient Rome correct. The attitude of Ancient Romans toward Ancient Greeks, for instance, was depicted by Davis just as Madden described it- somewhat the way Americans traditionally view the French as very intellectual and a little snobby. So, as with all truly fun mystery stories, the reader not only enjoys a good who-dunnit, but learns a little about an interesting topic at the same time- in this case, about life in the ancient world.

The Silver Pigs the first in a series of 19 (to date) Marcus Didius Falco mysteries. The Silver Pigs ranks #34,931 in Books on Amazon. There is no Kindle version available. However, Davis's most recent book in the series, Alexandria, is available on the Kindle. Alexandria ranks #2,674 in the Kindle store, and #4,876 in Books.

The Meaning of Everything

I was really excited to read Simon Winchester's account of the making of the Oxford English Dictionary. As a linguistics buff, I was hoping Winchester would delve more deeply into the process of unearthing etymologies through the use of specific, juicy examples. Although some lists of words and their geographical origins were included, they were far from meaty or detailed, and I did not feel as though I got to experience the thrill of ferreting out any especially interesting etymologies. There were a few small inaccuracies when wandering outside the author's expertise in the English language (such as the influence of the Florentine Academy of the Italian Language- which, quite unlike the Academie Française, does nothing whatsoever to defend the Italian language from the encroachment of English language words, and does little more than give exams for Italian language learners). Further, Winchester made a lot of remarks about the fact that English is the dominant world language now (agreed) and will continue to be forever...a fortune telling whose likelihood would be fun to discuss, but is certainly not 100% guaranteed.

The most joy I got from reading the book was its trivia. Did you know that J.R.R. Tolkien labored on much of the W section of the dictionary- and loved every minute of it? That editor Murray paid his eleven children pocket money for sorting quotation slips- rates based, not on productivity, but on age? That the famous Scriptorium in which much of the work was done was a prefab garden shed erected in Murray's yard? That the dictionary was originally released in fascicles (small, periodical releases of a larger work) that generally did not even encompass an entire letter? That the standard English-language dictionary before the OED was the American Webster's Dictionary?

More interesting still was learning about the scores of volunteers who made the project possible. Although I would hardly compare the OED to Wikipedia, there is no doubt the OED was a precursor to popular volunteerism aimed at collecting, preserving, and distributing knowledge. The OED project began with a call to readers to collect words, and quotations which accurately illustrated their meaning, from a set reading list. Thousands of volunteer readers from around the world responded, flooding the editors with millions and millions of quotation slips. Among these volunteer quotation-gatherers, certain volunteers were chosen to help with editing and proofing tasks- and these volunteers were far from English professors. One of the most prolific volunteer contributors lived in an asylum for the criminally insane, and only stopped his long and diligent work on the OED after cutting off his own manhood in a fit of madness. Even John Murray, editor through the bulk of the hard-working years of the dictionary, was not a traditional scholar. Murray left school at the age of fourteen, went to work at a bank, and only received honorary college degrees well into his work on the dictionary. The OED was a labor of love for the people by the people, a truly great achievement.

I have the two-volume Compact Edition of the OED, complete with magnifying glass (this edition was supposedly very popular in America). It's out in the garage, now. My Kindle has an OED search function (I used it yesterday to look up the word "purlieu"). I wonder what John Murray would have thought if he could see his Scriptorium full of quotations living in a small device I can hold in the palm of my hand.

Social networks and charity

Flipping through the pages of a local history book, I noticed that American communities in the early twentieth century relied heavily on service clubs (such as the Lyons Club, Rotary International, and the Shriners), to accomplish charitable works and large-scale community projects. When I was growing up, these kinds of clubs barely caught my notice. I remember parades where funny guys in fez hats rode around on little cars (Shriners), I was vaguely aware that Rotary funded exchange students, and I knew of a few lady's clubs that gave out scholarships. This is in no way to diminish the great work these clubs have accomplished, but simply to note that their membership and prominence in the community has definitely declined since the second half of the twentieth century.

As I was chewing on all this information, I was struck by an idea. Service clubs are about two things: service to the community, and social gathering. People enjoyed hanging out together, and they used their friendly, social time to plan and act for the greater good of the community. Given the symbiosis of social gathering and charity that founded these service clubs, why don't service clubs today use the online social network model to keep their clubs alive and well?

No sooner had I formed this thought, then I began noticing social networks geared toward charitable causes. Change.org is a prime example of charity and social networks interacting- as members can join, affiliate with causes and specific non-profits, or simply read or talk about the causes that interest them. I am certainly not the first person to notice that online social networks and charity have an affinity similar to peanut butter and jelly.

Still, when I visited the home pages for the Shriners, the Lyons Club, and Rotary International, I didn't see any evidence that they were using online social networking. Their pages were oriented toward accepting donations, making their good work known to the public, and helping potential members find local chapters.

I don't think it's such a big leap from walking downtown to the lodge, to logging into a social networking site, where members from all over the world can meet for fun and to make the world a better place. I predict that the service clubs who are willing to incorporate social networking technology into their club culture will still be making the history books, and maybe still be making a difference, many generations from now. I fear those clubs who insist on local, exclusively face-to-face member interaction may be lost to dust and yellowed pages.

The Wordy Shipmates

Sarah Vowell's endearing obsession with American history brings us another fun read. The Wordy Shipmates delves into the story of the "other Puritans-" the ones no one cares about because they didn't come over on the Mayflower or land at Plymouth Rock.

As always, by the end of the book, Vowell's infectious enthusiasm for her subject has not only spread to her reader, but she has made relevant and sometimes startling connections between events of the past and what is happening today. By delving into the history of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, Vowell shares her personal thrills and chills at John Winthrop's metaphor of the "city upon a hill," and examines the heights and depths to which this sparkling ideal has led her nation.

The Devil in the White City

When I was growing up in Iowa, Chicago was "The City," a place of wonder, with museums, exotic animals, musicals, and skyscrapers. All the best field trips and family vacations took me to Chicago. I saw Phantom of the Opera at the Auditorium Theater, went up to the top of the Sears Tower, saw my very first dinosaur skeletons at the Field Museum and marveled at the creatures of the deep at the Field Aquarium. I saw Picasso for the very first time at the Art Institute of Chicago, and went to an exhibition that introduced me to Monet. It might sound funny, but my first sight of water that stretched to the horizon was Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago. The boats and the infinity of the water made a huge impression on me. And, did I forget to mention the zoo?

So maybe that's why I enjoyed Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City so much. Sure, there were people burned alive in kilns, some graphic dissections, and a taste of the body snatching trade to appeal to my spec fiction sensibilities, but what really kept me reading Larson's book was the architecture. The book recounts the events that led up to the Chicago World's Fair of 1893, and along the way, the history of the architects who designed and built the fair's famous White City. Some readers may thrill at the mention of the first Ferris Wheel, but I got goosebumps hearing about how the Auditorium Theater was built, and how landscape architect, Frederick Olmstead (who also designed Central Park in New York), chose Andrew Jackson Park as the site for the World's Fair, because it looked over Lake Michigan, the best view in Chicago.

The Devil in the White City showed the Chicago of the 1890's for what it was- a filthy urban center based on the meat packing industry. How could a city of butchers that built its suburbs upwind of the stockyards and whose garbage-strewn streets bred cholera transform itself into the host of the spectacular World's Colombian Exhibition? Larson takes us step by step through the transformation of the fairgrounds and the city. He contrasts this move toward the modern, the civilized, the striving toward establishing culture in the Midwest, with the brutal acts of a serial killer who dwelt and killed in Chicago as the White City rose up, then burned down.

The 1893 Chicago World's fair is coming up in a lot of my reading lately- Sarah Vowell's books, as well as Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon. It was a lot of fun to delve more deeply into this historic event.

The Partly Cloudy Patriot

When it comes to books by Sarah Vowell I agree with Mae West: too much of a good thing can be wonderful. Add to that the fact I can listen to Vowell chatter through her own narrative (with occasional help from voice actors like Seth Green and Stephen Colbert) while making coffee and peeling potatoes, and her audio books make a pretty addictive combination.

The Partly Cloudy Patriot covers Vowell's thoughts from the Bush-Gore campaign through the aftermath of September 11th. She renders this very un-funny period of American history in a series of humorous essays that explore her family, friends, and personal history.

In an essay called "The Nerd Voice" Vowell theorizes that Al Gore would have had a better shot at getting elected if he'd hired Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator, Joss Whedon, to write his campaign speeches. Vowell defines herself as a "post modern nerd-" that is, a nerd who has learned to be endearing to non-nerds through the art of self-deprecation. She cites Whedon's character, Willow, as the ideal post modern nerd, and asks if a dose of self-deprecation to squash the media's know-it-all perception of Gore might have given him enough of a landslide to take the presidency.

In another essay Vowell talks about going to Bush's inauguration. She cried. She also insisted on singing the national anthem as loudly as she could- even when the protesters all around her refused to sing. That is, in essence, The Partly Cloudy Patriot. It is Sarah Vowell expressing her genuine care for her country by both loving and criticizing it.

Assassination Vacation

Warning: reading this book could cause sudden and intense interest in President Garfield's commitment to civil service reform, and in weighing brains scooped out of skulls.

I first encountered Sarah Vowell watching the documentary of one of my husband's favorite bands: They Might be Giants. As she mentions in Assassination Vacation, Vowell used to work as a music critic. What I remember about Vowell from the documentary, was her precise voice, self-effacing and side-splitting dry humor, and the fact that she had an awful lot of busts of Lincoln in her house.

So I started the audio book edition of Assassination Vacation because Sarah Vowell had not only written it, she was reading it, too (guest voice actors also include Jon Stewart, Conan O'Brien, and Stephen King, who plays Lincoln). I had so little interest in the period of American history between the Civil War and Roosevelt that I was relieved to hear Vowell begin her book with an enumeration of the things that make her uncomfortable when staying at a Bed and Breakfast.

Assassination Vacation is the story of Vowell's almost autistic devotion to visiting historical landmarks related to presidents Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley, and the men who killed them.

Vowell puts forth the interesting thesis that the articles kept on display at museums and historical sites are the American answer to relics. She is fascinated by the way history has handed down the personal items and sometimes pickled body parts of both the martyred presidents and their assassins.

Like me, Vowell is a New Yorker who never feels the handicap of having no driver's license until she leaves the city. Having expected all her visits to take place in D.C., Maryland, and Springfield, Illinois, I was tickled by the number of relevant landmarks she visited right here in NYC. When she does venture away from the subway, Vowell is obliged to bring friends and family to chauffeur, and their presence provides a repeating cast of amusing characters. And the author's true love of historical plaques and tour guides is endearing.

But, most important, Vowell has has a special talent for making things that happened a long time ago seem comprehensible and relevant to modern audiences. The parallels she draws between current and historical events really do make history come alive.