Friday, August 5, 2022

Reading Resolution Completed

Back in March, in this space, I wrote an accountability post about my resolution to read down the stack of books under my nightstand before bringing any more books into the house.  Today, I can happily report that the stack is gone.


As always, I read a mixed bag of good and bad books, quit one and would recommend several.

The Teammates; A Portrait of a Friendship, David Halberstam, 2003

On paper, a baseball book - a Red Sox book at that - written by David Halberstam and given to me by my dad should was a good bet.  It was really, really OK; kinda niche.  For Red Sox fans who want to know about the stars of my dad's young fandom - Ted Wiliams, Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio, and Bobby Doerr, it could be great.

Comedy, Henri Bergson and George Meredith, 1900

Recommended by, of all geniuses, Keegan Michael Key, this book turned out to be an awful, dry, philosophical slog - about the furthest thing that I can imagine from actual comedy.  Long on Moliêre references; short on laughs.

Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle, 1902

I listened to this book on my highly effective sleep-aid podcast, Phoebe Reads a Mystery.  I heard and followed at least 80% of it.  Not my favorite Sherlock Holmes story. 

Benjamin Franklin, Edmund Morgan, 2002

A better gift from my dad.  Having begun this book with low expectations, I found myself drawn in and entertained.  Franklin played a part in so many parts of early American life, it boggles the mind.  Although our country may not exist without his leadership role in public affairs, there's a whole sliding doors version of Franklin in which he devoted more time to science and discovered even more than he did about electricity, ship technology, and understanding the gulf stream.  A surprisingly good founding father biography.

If the River was Whiskey, TC Boyle, 1989

Another Little, Free Library find from an author I've enjoyed before.  This collection of stories - from another time entirely, plotwise - struck me as having an A side and a B side (like an old LP).  I really enjoyed the first several stories, only to be quite disappointed in the second half of the book.

Live from New York; the Complete, Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live as told by its Stars, Writers, and Guests, James Andrew Miller and Tom Shales, 2014

I considered it a Little, Free Library miracle when I found a book that had been on my to-read list in one in my neighborhood.  This exhaustive (700-page-plus) history did not disappoint.  It's not hyperbole to call it a masterwork.  Although I certainly would have finished my resolution sooner without such a big book being in the stack, I still call it worth it to read about the show's founding, the many times it's been pronounced "Saturday Night Dead" and the many times it's come back to, um, Live.  At this point, the cyclical nature of cast stars and chemistry has become part of the formula. 

Punch Me Up to the Gods, Brian Broome, 2021

A devastating memoir about growing up Black, gay, and poor in the rust belt.  Broome survived Warren, Ohio and made it to Pittsburgh, a second place he needed to survive.  Reading this difficult but beautifully-told story just made me want to give the author a hug. 

After reading Broome's book, I abandoned Annie Proulx's Bird Cloud, a "memoir of place" about a famous author of good books (like The Shipping News) building a home in a gorgeous spot in Wyoming (or something).  By the time I got to her third review of a contractor at around page 100, I had to tap out.  There was nothing here to care about.

The Beautiful Struggle, Ta-Nehisi Coates, 2008

A different story of growing up Black, this time in West Baltimore with enlightened parents focused on African heritage.  Coates tells the story of his upbringing, pulling no punches about his own tendency to screw up opportunities.  He acknowledges how lucky he was to be pulled along by parents and other adults who, despite their own imperfections, worked to see him get a chance to succeed.

It's a great feeling to see the floor under my nightstand again.  Now, please pardon me while I hit up the fiction stacks at the library.

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