Frivolity: Fave Reads '97

From the "Who asked You?" Department, it's

Larry's Top 10 Fave Reads for 1997

First Hubby. Roy Blount, Jr.
I'm still not exactly sure what this book was. Maybe it was political satire. Maybe it was a romantic comedy. Maybe it was stirring family drama. I'm sure it made me laugh my ass off.
The Fate of the Elephant. Douglas Chadwick.
This book taught me a lot of things. I learned about some of the disgusting things that can happen to your feet when you walk in the African jungle. I found out that a male elephant's penis is close in size and jointedness to my leg. I learned that those little Japanese "hanko" signature stamps created a surge of demand for ivory. This book gave me conversation fuel for the next couple of weeks.
Stuck Rubber Baby. Howard Cruse
This is a comic book about a man mixed up in the civil rights movement and discovering that he is gay. It's the most politically correct thing I read all year. Mighty good, though. Then again, I'm a sucker for cartoons with lots of stipple or hatching for their textures.
Whip It! ... the Trek to Houston. Godfrey Daniels.
Godfrey Daniels is a funny, creative person. He's not the first person to make an art car. He's not the first person to drive an art car through some interesting places. But he does manage to do some interesting things along the way. And his web pages are pleasantly suffused with pictures of a bust of Wagner.
Bird by Bird. Anne Lamott.
This book is about writing; as such, it is largely about persistence. I read this book while looking for a good, affordable apartment in San Francisco. I needed to read about persistence and buckling down and doing what needs to be done. In my head, I just replaced all that stuff about creativity with instructions for checking the want ads. If Anne Lamott weren't such a great writer, her work wouldn't be so adaptable.
Coming into the Country. John McPhee.
John McPhee went to Alaska. He convinced me that I'm glad that I didn't go to Alaska. He convinced me that I'm glad that he went to Alaska and let me read about it. I think we're all better off as a result. Don't you go off into the hinterlands of Alaska unless you're willing to do a lot of preparation first; just read this book instead.
Up in the Old Hotel. Joseph Mitchell.
This is a book of old articles, articles that talk about times that were old when they were written. It talks about some Bowery characters, back when the Bowery was an interesting place. It talks about the Fulton Fish Market and the New York commercial fishing scene. In spite of all this, it was a lot of fun.
Three Plays. J.P. Sartre.
I read a few Sartre plays this year. They were full of gut-wrenching suspense and gut-busting laughs. Consult your physician before reading these things. I forget exactly which of his plays were in the collection called Three Plays. I remember liking one called "The Victors" a lot. It's about this cell of resistance fighters who have been captured and wacky hijinx ensue.
Eminent Victorians. Lytton Strachey.
On long car rides and waits in line, sometimes I'll play a game with friends, a game called Botticelli. The rules are kind of complicated, but it's a game where it's useful to know a capsule biography of a semi-famous person. This book managed to give me lots of Botticelli fuel, containing four biographical sketches of, you guessed it, eminent Victorians. The author's amused contempt for his subjects keeps things interesting.
To the Lighthouse. Virginia Woolf.
This book was written by someone who thinks the way that I think. This book left me a twitching, nervous wreck. Months later, when my high school chums were having a tough time organizing a bike ride to a local lighthouse, I got twitchy all over again. This is a sad book. Read it at your own risk.

Honorable Mentions:

'96 fave reads[>>]>]">

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