1964, 1990 Naiad edition
Jane Rule
Desert of the Heart
Original price $8.95, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
C+
While I appreciate that this was a ground-breaking novel, with two female lovers who live happily together, if not necessarily "ever after," the novel itself is desert-dry. Not only is it not particularly erotic, but it's overly intellectual. The 1985 movie version, Desert Hearts, is steamier, although I have issues with it because Vivian (Evelyn in the book) is shown as so reluctant, and Cay (the movie's version of Ann) does not have good boundaries about consent. In the novel, Evelyn had an unconsummated but close relationship with a woman while their husbands were off at war, so she already knows that side of herself, although she's never acted on it before Ann. In the movie, Cay has to "awaken" Vivian. Also, Frances, Ann/Cay's sort of stepmother, is far more supportive in the book than in the movie. The book also addresses bisexuality in a more complex manner than the movie.
The book and the movie both do a fine job of conveying what late 1950s Reno was like. (They're set in 1958 and '59 respectively.) However, I find the gambling scenes to be very depressing, as are some of the subplots of the book, such as Virginia's suicide attempt and Janet's baby's death. If I remember correctly, the movie omits those, as part of the inevitable simplifying process of screen adaptation.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
The Pushcart War
1964, undated probably 1970s Grosset & Dunlap edition
Jean Merrill
Illustrated by Ronni Solbert
The Pushcart War
Bought new for 85 cents
Very worn paperback
B
This is Merrill's best known work (according to Wikipedia), and yet it's a half-forgotten little classic (cf. Amazon reviews). It tells the "history" of a war between trucks and pushcarts, or rather the drivers of said vehicles. Later editions kept pushing the date forward, so it was always "the future." My copy has the author looking back a decade after the 1986 war. She Hitchcocks in the chapter with letters to the editor, and claims to have met some of the minor players.
The book is as New-Yorky as A Cricket in Times Square, with many of the characters having a New-Yorkish way of putting sentences together, such as "Should I be the Pushcart King for nothing?" and "So maybe I should die now." The story is more ethnically diverse than some of its contemporaries, although less than the actual New York City. One of the cleverest pushcart peddlers is Spanish-speaking. There aren't very many female characters, and one of them is sort of a Gracie-Allenesque starlet (dumb blonde who stumbles upon wisdom on accident), but General Anna is a brave old lady.
Merrill handles big issues, like war, in a light manner. Her Toothpaste Millionaire (1972) shows a friendship between a white girl and a black boy, although the story isn't about race per se. Here, there is a sense of danger, but mostly the violence is on the level of pea-shooters. I don't know if she came up with the term "Peace Army" but the book does feel a bit prescient about politics in the later '60s.
My copy calls it a "laugh-out-loud saga," but it's more of a book to make you smile than guffaw or even chuckle. This isn't as lovable or memorable a book as The Cricket in TS, and Solbert's illustrations aren't on the level of Williams's of course (though I am fond of the picture of the peddlers huddled around a fire, under a bridge), but it's a good follow-up if you're looking for another New York children's book from the first half of the 1960s.
Jean Merrill
Illustrated by Ronni Solbert
The Pushcart War
Bought new for 85 cents
Very worn paperback
B
This is Merrill's best known work (according to Wikipedia), and yet it's a half-forgotten little classic (cf. Amazon reviews). It tells the "history" of a war between trucks and pushcarts, or rather the drivers of said vehicles. Later editions kept pushing the date forward, so it was always "the future." My copy has the author looking back a decade after the 1986 war. She Hitchcocks in the chapter with letters to the editor, and claims to have met some of the minor players.
The book is as New-Yorky as A Cricket in Times Square, with many of the characters having a New-Yorkish way of putting sentences together, such as "Should I be the Pushcart King for nothing?" and "So maybe I should die now." The story is more ethnically diverse than some of its contemporaries, although less than the actual New York City. One of the cleverest pushcart peddlers is Spanish-speaking. There aren't very many female characters, and one of them is sort of a Gracie-Allenesque starlet (dumb blonde who stumbles upon wisdom on accident), but General Anna is a brave old lady.
Merrill handles big issues, like war, in a light manner. Her Toothpaste Millionaire (1972) shows a friendship between a white girl and a black boy, although the story isn't about race per se. Here, there is a sense of danger, but mostly the violence is on the level of pea-shooters. I don't know if she came up with the term "Peace Army" but the book does feel a bit prescient about politics in the later '60s.
My copy calls it a "laugh-out-loud saga," but it's more of a book to make you smile than guffaw or even chuckle. This isn't as lovable or memorable a book as The Cricket in TS, and Solbert's illustrations aren't on the level of Williams's of course (though I am fond of the picture of the peddlers huddled around a fire, under a bridge), but it's a good follow-up if you're looking for another New York children's book from the first half of the 1960s.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
1964, 1977 Bantam Skylark edition
Roald Dahl
Illustrated by Joseph Schindelman
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Bought new for $1.95
Very worn paperback with stains
B+
I think this is my childhood copy. Oddly enough, I've never owned the other Dahl books, not even the sequel, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, or James and the Giant Peach. Except for this story, I'd check the books out of the library. Even this one I didn't read annually, like an Oz book, although I probably read it more than some of my other books. It's a very good book, but I don't think I'd describe it as a favorite.
The book does capture some basic fantasies of children, and many adults. A chocolate (and other sweets) factory! A closeknit family! Living with your family in the chocolate factory, which is yours for the rest of your life!! Charlie is poor but "good," yet it's the four bad little kids who steal the book (and movies). They all act inappropriately in some ways, although Veruca Salt is probably worst of all. (And that's probably why she got the band named after her.) I'm sure I'm not the only reader who finds Violet's punishment for chewing gum to be harsh. (Mike Teavee does point out the hypocrisy of Wonka manufacturing gum.) And I would've argued then and would still argue now that you can both read books and watch TV. Or movies.
Reading the book again after rewatching the Gene Wilder movie last year for the 40th anniversary, I was surprised to recall that Augustus Gloop is not German. In fact, it's a very Anglo-American world that the book characters live in, although there are a few mentions of the Golden-Ticket-hunters in other lands, including the punningly named Charlotte Russe.
This is possibly Dahl's most pun-filled book, although I didn't get the "square candies that look round" joke as a child, because in the American language, as Mencken would've told Dahl, it would be "look around." One of the delights of the book is the vocabulary-expanding, as in the passages where Dahl reels off synonyms, including several American and British terms for "crazy." ("Dippy" appears on that list, unlike the 1950s American meaning of "wonderful" in Something Foolish, Something Gay.)
Being a '70s child, I grew up with the "white hippie" Oompa-Loompas rather than the "black natives" of Dahl's original text and Schindelman's original illustrations. Paternalism is still going on in Wonka's management style, but I think Dahl's decision to respond to complaints of racism was the correct one. (This is different than other people censoring a writer's work without his/her knowledge and/or consent.)
There are definitely disturbing undercurrents to the book, which is a both a strength and a weakness. It's not a book to warm up to, one to cuddle up with before you go to sleep. On the other hand, it's more complex than the moralistic Victorian children's fiction that it spoofs in a different way than Lemony Snicket would 35 or 40 years later.
The Chocolate Factory movies in their different ways would emphasize both the cruelty and the sentimentality. I prefer the earlier version, but again, that's probably because I was a '70s child. It's interesting that the Wilder version makes Slugworth secretly an agent for Wonka. I prefer the idea of Slugworth, Prodnose, and Fickelworth as unscrupulous rivals, although you'd think that somebody in marketing for at least one of the companies would point out that it might be better to change to some more appetizing name. As for Wonka candies, Nestlé issued a Wonka line starting with the release of the Wonka movie, and that line still exists. Ironically, their chocolates have never been as successful as Bottle Caps, Pixy Stix, and Fun Dip.
Roald Dahl
Illustrated by Joseph Schindelman
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Bought new for $1.95
Very worn paperback with stains
B+
I think this is my childhood copy. Oddly enough, I've never owned the other Dahl books, not even the sequel, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, or James and the Giant Peach. Except for this story, I'd check the books out of the library. Even this one I didn't read annually, like an Oz book, although I probably read it more than some of my other books. It's a very good book, but I don't think I'd describe it as a favorite.
The book does capture some basic fantasies of children, and many adults. A chocolate (and other sweets) factory! A closeknit family! Living with your family in the chocolate factory, which is yours for the rest of your life!! Charlie is poor but "good," yet it's the four bad little kids who steal the book (and movies). They all act inappropriately in some ways, although Veruca Salt is probably worst of all. (And that's probably why she got the band named after her.) I'm sure I'm not the only reader who finds Violet's punishment for chewing gum to be harsh. (Mike Teavee does point out the hypocrisy of Wonka manufacturing gum.) And I would've argued then and would still argue now that you can both read books and watch TV. Or movies.
Reading the book again after rewatching the Gene Wilder movie last year for the 40th anniversary, I was surprised to recall that Augustus Gloop is not German. In fact, it's a very Anglo-American world that the book characters live in, although there are a few mentions of the Golden-Ticket-hunters in other lands, including the punningly named Charlotte Russe.
This is possibly Dahl's most pun-filled book, although I didn't get the "square candies that look round" joke as a child, because in the American language, as Mencken would've told Dahl, it would be "look around." One of the delights of the book is the vocabulary-expanding, as in the passages where Dahl reels off synonyms, including several American and British terms for "crazy." ("Dippy" appears on that list, unlike the 1950s American meaning of "wonderful" in Something Foolish, Something Gay.)
Being a '70s child, I grew up with the "white hippie" Oompa-Loompas rather than the "black natives" of Dahl's original text and Schindelman's original illustrations. Paternalism is still going on in Wonka's management style, but I think Dahl's decision to respond to complaints of racism was the correct one. (This is different than other people censoring a writer's work without his/her knowledge and/or consent.)
There are definitely disturbing undercurrents to the book, which is a both a strength and a weakness. It's not a book to warm up to, one to cuddle up with before you go to sleep. On the other hand, it's more complex than the moralistic Victorian children's fiction that it spoofs in a different way than Lemony Snicket would 35 or 40 years later.
The Chocolate Factory movies in their different ways would emphasize both the cruelty and the sentimentality. I prefer the earlier version, but again, that's probably because I was a '70s child. It's interesting that the Wilder version makes Slugworth secretly an agent for Wonka. I prefer the idea of Slugworth, Prodnose, and Fickelworth as unscrupulous rivals, although you'd think that somebody in marketing for at least one of the companies would point out that it might be better to change to some more appetizing name. As for Wonka candies, Nestlé issued a Wonka line starting with the release of the Wonka movie, and that line still exists. Ironically, their chocolates have never been as successful as Bottle Caps, Pixy Stix, and Fun Dip.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Onion Soup and Other Fables
1964, possibly first edition, from Odyssey Press
R. O. Blechman
Onion Soup and Other Fables
Original price $2.95, bought used for 75 cents
Good condition hardcover with worn dustjacket
C+
This is a very quick read, a series of short modern fables, with small, squiggly cartoon illustrations (like less furry and memorable Edward Koren), usually with punning morals, such as the one for the title tale, "Too many broths spoil the cook." Several of the fables allude to the Cold War, with fear of the Russians, and a scientist who accidentally invents the ultimate weapon. There's also an almost wordless story of a cross-burning that leads to a black child building a snowman with white children. I think the best story is the last, about a dead senator's successful re-election campaign.
R. O. Blechman
Onion Soup and Other Fables
Original price $2.95, bought used for 75 cents
Good condition hardcover with worn dustjacket
C+
This is a very quick read, a series of short modern fables, with small, squiggly cartoon illustrations (like less furry and memorable Edward Koren), usually with punning morals, such as the one for the title tale, "Too many broths spoil the cook." Several of the fables allude to the Cold War, with fear of the Russians, and a scientist who accidentally invents the ultimate weapon. There's also an almost wordless story of a cross-burning that leads to a black child building a snowman with white children. I think the best story is the last, about a dead senator's successful re-election campaign.
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
1963, 1990 Harper & Row edition
P. G. Wodehouse
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
Bought newish for $9.00
Slightly worn paperback
C+
In the real world, it's been 25 years since The Code of the Woosters, but it's only a month or two since that ill-fated visit to Totleigh Towers. There's a reference to "reefers," but it could still be the 1930s, and a movie Bertie mentions, The Lady Vanishes, did come out in 1938. But there's no question that the staleness of Wodehouse's 1950s writing continues. There are some nice turns of phrase here and there, but nothing particularly memorable. There's a heavy sense of de ja vu, relieved only when Gussie elopes with Pauline Stoker's previously unmentioned sister, causing Roderick Spode to propose to Madeline Bassett, to everyone's joy, Bertie's especially. Wodehouse has two particularly clumsy passages in the second half of the book, a phone conversation with Aunt Dahlia that's unnecessary, and a "now let me get this straight" recap with Major Plank.
Still, it's Jeeves & Wooster, and that's almost always a pleasant time-passer. Also, this has my favorite Wodehouse cover, featuring Bertie in his Alpine hat, as Bartholomew the Scottie and Sir Watkyn Bassett glare at him. (A nice touch is that the statuette Bertie is trying to steal looks like a chocolate version of Sir Watkyn, monocle and all.)
Wodehouse published two more of these novels (plus "Jeeves and the Greasy Bird," which I discussed under The World of Jeeves), so he wasn't quite through with these characters. In Much Obliged, Jeeves (1971), Madeline's engagement is temporarily broken, so she tries to hitch up with Bertie, who also risks re-engagement to Florence Craye. Plank returns in Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (1974). Wodehouse died the following February, at age 93.
P. G. Wodehouse
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
Bought newish for $9.00
Slightly worn paperback
C+
In the real world, it's been 25 years since The Code of the Woosters, but it's only a month or two since that ill-fated visit to Totleigh Towers. There's a reference to "reefers," but it could still be the 1930s, and a movie Bertie mentions, The Lady Vanishes, did come out in 1938. But there's no question that the staleness of Wodehouse's 1950s writing continues. There are some nice turns of phrase here and there, but nothing particularly memorable. There's a heavy sense of de ja vu, relieved only when Gussie elopes with Pauline Stoker's previously unmentioned sister, causing Roderick Spode to propose to Madeline Bassett, to everyone's joy, Bertie's especially. Wodehouse has two particularly clumsy passages in the second half of the book, a phone conversation with Aunt Dahlia that's unnecessary, and a "now let me get this straight" recap with Major Plank.
Still, it's Jeeves & Wooster, and that's almost always a pleasant time-passer. Also, this has my favorite Wodehouse cover, featuring Bertie in his Alpine hat, as Bartholomew the Scottie and Sir Watkyn Bassett glare at him. (A nice touch is that the statuette Bertie is trying to steal looks like a chocolate version of Sir Watkyn, monocle and all.)
Wodehouse published two more of these novels (plus "Jeeves and the Greasy Bird," which I discussed under The World of Jeeves), so he wasn't quite through with these characters. In Much Obliged, Jeeves (1971), Madeline's engagement is temporarily broken, so she tries to hitch up with Bertie, who also risks re-engagement to Florence Craye. Plank returns in Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (1974). Wodehouse died the following February, at age 93.
Monday, July 9, 2012
The Graduate
1963, undated but probably 1967 edition, from Signet
Charles Webb
The Graduate
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.35
Very worn paperback
C-
"Brilliant...sardonic, ludicrously funny."
"Now a hilarious Motion Picture."
If you strip away the fantastic Simon & Garfunkel soundtrack and the impressive cast, you're left with the story of a young man who reluctantly has an affair with an older woman* and then "falls in love" with her daughter. Even that sounds more interesting than what you get, a book that is almost pure dialogue, and not very good dialogue at that. Not to mention that Benjamin's stalking of the admittedly (but understandably) ambivalent Elaine is even less excusable when there's no insight into what any of the characters are feeling. The closest we get is we're told that Mr. Robinson is distraught, but we don't see it.
Is the book funny? A little I guess, although the best line, "Plastics," is only in the Buck Henry screenplay. I also think that Benjamin's alienation is conveyed better when we actually see the trappings of upper-middle-class suburbia. (Webb is not big on description.) And yet, as the inspiration for the movie, and a (not very detailed) record of California in the early 1960s, the book is of some note, so I won't give it a lower grade than The Affairs of Gidget.
*Mrs. Robinson would qualify as the original MILF, except she's more of a MISBIMASWF (Mom I'm So Bored I Might As Well F).
Charles Webb
The Graduate
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.35
Very worn paperback
C-
"Brilliant...sardonic, ludicrously funny."
"Now a hilarious Motion Picture."
If you strip away the fantastic Simon & Garfunkel soundtrack and the impressive cast, you're left with the story of a young man who reluctantly has an affair with an older woman* and then "falls in love" with her daughter. Even that sounds more interesting than what you get, a book that is almost pure dialogue, and not very good dialogue at that. Not to mention that Benjamin's stalking of the admittedly (but understandably) ambivalent Elaine is even less excusable when there's no insight into what any of the characters are feeling. The closest we get is we're told that Mr. Robinson is distraught, but we don't see it.
Is the book funny? A little I guess, although the best line, "Plastics," is only in the Buck Henry screenplay. I also think that Benjamin's alienation is conveyed better when we actually see the trappings of upper-middle-class suburbia. (Webb is not big on description.) And yet, as the inspiration for the movie, and a (not very detailed) record of California in the early 1960s, the book is of some note, so I won't give it a lower grade than The Affairs of Gidget.
*Mrs. Robinson would qualify as the original MILF, except she's more of a MISBIMASWF (Mom I'm So Bored I Might As Well F).
The American Way of Death
1963, undated Fawcett Crest edition that seems to be not long after that
Jessica Mitford
The American Way of Death
Original price $1.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback with split spine
B-
Mitford's examination of the American funeral business (with glimpses of the U.K. as well) gave a voice to families who felt exploited by morticians and "the allied industries." It's still a pretty good read, although Mitford's humour is more restrained than in her other works. The book is of course dated in the amounts per funeral-- the average casket now costs $2000-- but Mitford did update her research with her posthumously published The American Way of Death Revisited, which I remember getting from the library years ago. And it's heartening to see that there are some consumer websites advising bereaved families, so it remains (sorry) a significant topic.
Mitford sisters note: in her Acknowledments, she thanks Nancy and Deborah, who "contributed a certain amount of misinformation on the subject."
Jessica Mitford
The American Way of Death
Original price $1.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback with split spine
B-
Mitford's examination of the American funeral business (with glimpses of the U.K. as well) gave a voice to families who felt exploited by morticians and "the allied industries." It's still a pretty good read, although Mitford's humour is more restrained than in her other works. The book is of course dated in the amounts per funeral-- the average casket now costs $2000-- but Mitford did update her research with her posthumously published The American Way of Death Revisited, which I remember getting from the library years ago. And it's heartening to see that there are some consumer websites advising bereaved families, so it remains (sorry) a significant topic.
Mitford sisters note: in her Acknowledments, she thanks Nancy and Deborah, who "contributed a certain amount of misinformation on the subject."
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