The Book Shopper - Atlanta

Mini-review: Robert Craig's Lecture at the Decatur Public Library

Where & When: Decatur Public Library Auditorium on May 23, 2012. Sponsored by the Georgia Center for the Book.

 Attendance: ~40 people with so many architects and preservationists present that Robert M. Craig, a professor emeritus of architectural history at the Georgia Institute of Technology, quipped that he was quite intimidated by the distinguished audience (excluding me, of course).

What He Read: Craig didn't read. Instead he presented an extensive slide show based on his new book from the University of Georgia Press, The Architecture of Francis Palmer Smith: Atlanta's Scholar Architect. For a half a century, Francis Palmer Smith (1886-1971) either designed or influenced dozens of commercial buildings, hotels, elegant homes and churches. Smith was the first department head of the Georgia Institute of Technology's architecture program.

Why I Went: I've always had an interest in history, architecture and gorgeously printed books like Architecture. Craig is correct in saying his book is no coffee table book – though it has over 400 color and black and white photos. The book is chocked full of building descriptions and detailed history about the architecture and architects of Atlanta. I especially liked the appendix that has the list of all the houses, buildings, and churches including addresses where you can drive by and see them for yourself. (Shown at the top of the posting is the Druid Hills First Presbyterian Church on Ponce De Leon Avenue built in 1939-40. And don't worry, Craig's photos are much better than mine.)

What Craig Talked About: Everything. The lecture was divided into four parts: 1.) The early influences of the Ecole des Beaux-Art on Smith ( who grew up in Cincinnati and studied architecture at the University of Pennsylvania). 2.) Smith's partnership with another influential Atlanta architect, Robert Pringle. (1922-1934), which included many beautiful homes – many in the Druid Hills area. 3.) Smith's commercial work which began with Pringle and included hotels and Coca-cola bottle plants all over the Southeast. The bottling plant construction supported Smith's work during The Great Depression. 4.) Smith's design of churches including his crowning achievement, The Cathedral of St. Philip, here in Atlanta. Preliminary sketches were began in 1937, but the church wasn't built until 1960-62.

 

The Joys of Losing: My Life as a Baseball Fan

The English won all the battles but the Irish went home with all the songs.-- Wilfred Sheed

Books such as Wilfred Sheed's baseball-laden 1993 memoir, My Life as a Fan eloquently rekindles one of sports' ongoing debates, “Is there happiness rooting for a perpetual loser?” As a Cubs fan, who has allowed his daughter (shown here with her fiance) to go down this mine-filled base path, this is a topic I'm always interested in.

With prose that rivals John Updike's short account of Ted Williams' last game for the Boston Red Sox, Sheed addresses this question. As a nine-year old, Sheed arrived in Philadelphia from England in 1940 in the wake of a possible German invasion and found that baseball was a way to assimilate into his new country. Sheed's first allegiances were with Connie Mack's hapless Philadelphia Athletics. Slowly, Sheed switched leagues to become a Brooklyn Dodgers fan, expecting the glory to begin immediately.” Little did the young Sheed know that there would be a delay in gratification.

Sheed's years of disappointment began when Dodger catcher Mickey Owens dropped a third strike leading to a loss in Game Four of the 1941 World Series. Sheed writes, “Anyone can root for a winner, but it takes a stab of pain to initiate you all the way."(My daughter's initiation was the Bartman game during the Cubs loss to the Marlins in the 2005 NLCS. Young Atlanta Braves fan were baptized last year during their September collapse.)

However the book is much more than a fan's love of baseball, which is a subject that often borders on the cliché. Sheed illuminates the often forgotten baseball played during the World War II. 1941 was a memorable season with Joe DiMaggio's 56 game hit streak, and Ted Williams hitting over .400 for the season. Though Sheed maintains that Williams was willing to put his .400 batting average in jeopardy on the last day of the season, because he was facing the miserable Athletics. In general, the quality of play suffered during the war. Sheed writes, “the shortage of baseball talent was critical, and even more painfully noticeable than the substitution of phony meat in the frankfurters—a a hot dog still looked like a hot dog and you could paint your margarine yellow, but there was no hiding that chunk of Spam you had playing shortstop or a pitching staff made of powdered eggs.”

 

Civil War Bedtime Stories: A Review

Finding the right book to read before bedtime is always a little challenging. Knowing that I will read for only a couple minutes before dozing off, I don't want anything long or complicated. Nor do I want to read a book with much of a narrative because taking one and two page bites from a book doesn't do justice to the storytelling or storyteller. But certain books can work well that way.

Currently this has not been the problem as I read n' snooze through The Untold Civil War: Exploring the Human Side of War by James Robertson (and edited by Neil Kagen). The publisher National Geographic graciously provided me a copy in advance of Robertson's visit to the Carter Library & Museum here in Atlanta last month, but Christmas time is a busy time and I missed the event. Robertson is a well respected Civil War historian most noted for his biography of Stonewall Jackson.

This gorgeously printed book (like a National Geographic magazine) is so big and heavy that it wouldn't fit on my nightstand, but that is my only criticism. In between the almost 500 photographs and images, the book contains 132 brief stories about 800 to a 1000 words in length, covering some of the nuances of the Civil War. Even a self-proclaimed Civil War buff such as myself (type in “Civil War” in the blog's search box) has learned many things about The War Between the States that I previously knew little about such as: the mail service, the not-so pleasant aspects of camp life, and the recruitment by the Confederacy (yes, it is true). Robertson and Kagen include anecdotes about the generals (Robert E. Lee, Ulysses S. Grant, George Pickett), but important noncombatants as well (Frederick Douglass, Louisa May Alcott, and Julia Ward Howe).

 The Untold Civil War is an impressive, mammoth collection of stories, photographs, maps, and quotes. It even includes the musical notation of “Taps” (written during the 1862 Pennisular Campaign) thus making it a worthy addition to any buff's library or nightstand.

Photo credits: Both photos are courtesy of and  copyrighted by the National Geographic.The mail wagon photo is an Army of the Potomac's II Corps mail wagon photographed at Brandy Station, Virginia in 1864. The troops shown at the right are the  men of Company E, Fourth U.S. Colored Infantry Regiment who fought in Petersburg, the Bermuda Hundred and Forts Fisher and Harrison.

Literary Obsession

Currently, I am reading Allison Hoover Bartlett's The Man Who Loved Book Too Much: The True Story of a Thief, a Detective, and a World of Literary Obsession. (A book seller gave me a reviewer's copy a couple years ago as complimentary swag for doing a reading. I greedily accepted.)

The subtitle of the book kind of says it all, but the main plot of the book centers around John Charles Gilkey, a notorious book thief and the antique book seller Ken Sanders who tracks him down. It's an easy reading book and not too demanding, but the most enjoyable part is the peek into the world of book collecting. Not only are Gilkey and Sanders passionate about books (though on opposite sides of the law) but they both began their love of rare books by collecting comic books.

In the book, there is a memorable anecdote about book selling when Sanders was hosting a book signing for cartoonist Robert Crumb and environmental writer and novelist Edward Abbey. Crumb had illustrated the 10th anniversary edition of Abbey's most famous book, The Monkey Wrench Gang and the two were signing books at a promotion. Here's Sanders story:

There were Crumb and Abbey dutifully scribbling their names. One guy walks up to Crumb and says, "Mr Abbey?" And Crumb before he answers, looks at Abbey and they exchange this glance. Crumb looks back at the guy and says "Yes?" And he signs that copy of the book, 'Edward Abbey!' Then he passes it to Abbey, who signed it, 'R.Crumb!' I would kill for that copy...I'm sure to this day, that guy doesn't know of the deception. I keep praying that someday that book will wonder in here. I've been searching for that book for twenty years.

Something to look for when you are attend you next antiquarian book fair (such as the Georgia Antiquarian Booksellers Association Book Fair sale, shown above).

 

 

The Tale of Two Milledgevilles

By Alfred Thigpen

Bless her heart. Ann Napolitano has attempted to fictionalize the great Southern writer, Flannery O’Connor, and embed her facsimile in her novel, A Good Hard Look. The reviews are out, as is the book, and people will take what they wish from Napolitano’s voyeuristic story, including the impression that it might actually bear any resemblance to early 1960’s Milledgeville, much less O’Connor.

Milledgeville (circa1963)

I grew up in O’Connor’s Milledgeville. My parents owned a discount dry goods store so similar to the one in the film version of Wise Blood that Hazel Motes could just as easily have bought his suit from us. From the store front window I would watch as occasional mule carts driven by old black men vied for the right-of-way with a displaced locomotive that ran down the centerline south toward the state mental asylum. Just one block west of the store was O’Connor’s alma mater, Georgia State College for Women, with its elegant Corinthian columns. You could set your clock by the whistle at Bone’s Brick Yard, or the bugle at Georgia Military College located in the old capitol, the country’s first public neo-gothic building.

To Napolitano, Milledgeville was just another southern town. No such thing. With a population of only 7,500 the former state capital was inhabited by other fascinating historic figures such as longtime U.S. Congressional Representative Carl Vinson, father of the Two-Ocean Navy Act, (which led to the build up of the U.S. Navy before Pearl Harbor) along with the legacy of silent film star Oliver Hardy, a young projectionist at the movie theater where he picked up an idea or two and set a precedent for every other truly gifted local with a future, namely to leave town. Napolitano misses the unique multi-racial tapestry when she digitally remasters O’Connor’s Milledgeville into various shades of white. Yet Milledgeville had a significant Cuban population owing to families of doctors fleeing Fidel Castro to practice medicine at the asylum, and unlike the common perception, black and white residents commonly interacted, whether intimately, out of spite, or both.

Around the corner from my parents’ store was the Campus Theater (circa 1930’s), and above it, the offices of a prominent lawyer, Marion Ennis. During the town’s much-anticipated sesquicentennial in 1953, a local loan shark burst into Ennis’ office and shot him dead. From there, the shooter strode to the law office of Pete Bivins, and likewise murdered him. This wild man is clearly reincarnated as Singleton, an asylum inmate in O’Connor’s short story “Partridge Festival.” There was a major difference in O’Connor’s version. Singleton, a sort of Hannibal Lector precursor, lived to be locked away. When our local madman learned the town’s tough Irish cop was in pursuit, he immediately shot himself. It was the same policeman who once explained to my mother why he sometimes shot people by saying: “That’s how I get my ginger.”

DBF 2011 Preview #1: UGA Press

Editor's Note: As the 2011 Labor Day Weekend Decatur Book Festival draws near, I start to become more anxious than usual. Trying to capture the pulse of all the writers, vendors, and activities that make up the festival, along with the my own anxieties of wearing a volunteer's t-shirt emblazoned with such a scary festival mascot (last year's shirt  shown here) sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. Hand me my Lisinopril. Still I am one of those persons, who at least tries to plan a few things ahead, and in a series of postings between now and the Festival. I will try to impart a few things that an energetic version of someone like myself might try to do. For a complete listing, check the DBF link at the left. Happy hunting. There is something at the festival for everyone.

University of Georgia Press

Historically, I've had good experiences with books and authors that have had a UGA Press imprint on them. In the last year three superb books that have made it to the blog: Crossroads of Conflict: A Guide to Civil War Sites in Georgia, The Southern Foodways Alliance Community Cookbook and Seriously Funny: Poems About Love, Death, Religion, Arts, Sex and Everything Else. (The links will take you to the postings). The latter book won the “uncoveted” 2010 Best Local Reading (That I Attended) Award.

This year UGA Press is located at booths #501 and #502 at corner of Ponce de Leon and Clairmont and will be launching Janisse Ray's latest book Drifting into Darien: A Personal and Natural History of Altamaha River,(Disclaimer: UGA provided me a reviewer's copy along with the photos too) which I just finished reading.

The book is divided into two parts. The first half of the book is 127 mile kayak trip Ray took with her husband and six others from the headwaters of the Altamaha River near Lumber City, Georgia to the town on Darien on the Atlantic Ocean. Along the way, Ray mixes personal anecdotes with observations about the birds, fish and trees that inhabit the region. The second half of the book is a series smaller, diverse, chapters. Ray expands on different trips that she has taken on the Altamaha over the years: the people she has met, the importance
of river stewardship, the evils of nuclear power, and additional reflections on her own life. The book includes river photographs by Nancy Marshall and resources for those who wish to be more involved with protecting and improving “Georgia's Little Amazon.” The Altamaha is a unique river because it is free flowing for 137 miles (no dams) and it drains 14,000 square miles of land, almost a quarter of Georgia's land mass.

Ray is doing a reading from her new book on Saturday (9/3) at 5:30 p.m. at Decatur Conference Center Stage. Details here.

 

The Globe Trot: Books as Transportation

by Chantal James

A good book-length narrative can do two important things, often at the same time: it can reflect familiar truths back to us, sometimes in ways we weren’t even able to recognize before they were written; and it can transport us to places we’ve never known, take us into the minds of people completely unlike us, send us far into the past and the imagined future.

When I was a bookish little kid, it was this second quality of fiction that had the most appeal for me. Like many, I was hooked by the ability of books to take me far away from myself. Enjoying novels was like living many lives at once. It was an easy escape from the mundane, from the traumatic. In a good book, even the everyday was intricately fascinating. The written word could even transform the tragic, the sorrowful, into something beautiful—much like a good blues song does.

My reading of the past few weeks—which includes Calcutta-born Amitav Ghosh’s River of Smoke (2011) and the Egyptian Nobel Lauerate Naguib Mahfouz’s Adrift on the Nile (1966)—has offered a welcome return to that early joy. Although both books reference rivers in their titles, the two books couldn’t have seemed less similar, except in their ability to sweep me away with powerful narrative current. But on reflection, more similarities begin to emerge: each book involves a much larger cast of characters than your average novel; and each story has substance use as its center— opium for Ghosh, marijuana for Mahfouz. Most relevant to my particular lens as a reader who’s interested in the inner workings of language—and of languages, plural—both of these were books whose language itself was essential to the reading experience.

River of Smoke

In River of Smoke,which will be published in the United States this fall, (after enjoying critical success in the United Kingdom), we’re allowed passage in the world of an international merchant class. Central characters are botanical painters and opium smugglers of Indian descent living in China. Ghosh's novel is the second volume of his Ibis trilogy, which began with Sea of Poppies. River of Smoke is clearly the fruit of exhaustive historical and linguistic research—though the story is never lost in its elaborate attention to factual detail. Some of the dialogue here is incredible; from the character’s mouths issue pidgins, Creoles, disobedient grammars fused from elements East and West. We are often surprised to realize we actually know what the characters are talking about, so intuitive are the rhythms of their broken speech. This is exactly the kind of meticulously researched, awe-inspiring, brick of a novel they don’t seem to publish too many of these days. I wish I could quote some of it for you, but the book is not officially released until the fall.

 

Tayari Jones: Review & Preview

Even though Tayari Jones' current promotional tour (which included six different appearances in Atlanta!) is focused on her latest book Silver Sparrow, I just finished reading her first novel, Leaving Atlanta, published in 2002.

I have been impressed with Jones essays (see earlier posting), but I will admit I was slow picking up this book. The thought of reading about the 1979 Atlanta child murders, a two year time period where over 20 African-American children were murdered, is not an inviting subject matter, but I now realize that although the deaths and the fears of abduction cast a shadow, the book is as much about the lives and expectations of three particular fifth grade schoolmates: Tasha Baxter, Rodney Green, and Octavia Harrison.

This book does what all good serious fiction does, it takes you into the world of these middle-school kids who, in addition to the tense atmosphere created by the abductions, also struggle with the usual awkwardness of puberty, classroom rivalries, and relationships with mothers and fathers (or absent fathers). Jones presents the different strata of the black working class – where people may be defined by whether they live in the projects or near them, can afford good clothes or not, or have brown skin pr “black, black as night” skin. (One student hangs the nickname “Watusi” on Octavia because she resembles a black African with unruly hair that “stuck out around her face like rays of the sun in a children's drawing.”) The book is divided into three sections following each child, but Jones melds these separate lives with skill. Jones' crafted prose is simple and strong and once a while she poleaxes you with a line that crushes then numbs you. (“You lose your child not like you lose your watch. You lose your child like you lose your sight. Lose your mind,” says one of the mothers.)

 

Cavett (circa 1974): A Review

I first read about the Dick Cavett biography in cultural historian Clive James' Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts (2007). James refers to Cavett as “One of the best books about show business ever published, there is nothing quite like it...” Thus primed, I picked up a used hardback copy of Cavett's 1974 book while at Atlanta Vintage Books a few months back. (The book jacket was tattered but the book itself was in fine shape.)

The Cavett autobiography, written by Dick Cavett and Christopher Porterfield, utilizes an interview format instead of a narrative one. Cavett talks about his boyhood in Nebraska and his college years at Yale, (but you can skip that). If you do read it, pick up the narrative at Chapter 5 (page 127) when Cavett is struggling as an actor and writer in New York. Cavett got his start writing jokes with for Jack Parr and was a writer for Johnny Carson as well before getting his own talk show in 1968. Cavett explains the difference between Parr and Carson, the twin pillars of late-night television for over thirty years.

Instructions for Living: A Review

Laurie Blauner's Instructions for Living, her third novel—or novella (a form better suited to our shortening attention spans) tells the story of Gabrielle, a young woman who manages to keep her life together while the world crumbles around her. Gabrielle stays at home with her dysfunctional mother and her dying father who suffers from MLS. One day, Gabrielle meets the one-armed Miguel, crushed gardenia in his shirt pocket, rifling through her trash looking for objects to make toys for his children. They shake hands, his large chafed hand engulfing hers. After Miguel leaves, Gabrielle remembers: “Later that night I could smell gardenias as I made my parents' dinner, as I swatted at flies. I stopped my housework and smelled. He was still with me.”

Normally, these kind of passionate books are not my favorites (see disclaimer at end). But what makes Blauner such a good writer is that she not only gets in the head of Gabrielle, but Gabrielle has these poetic sensibilities—mainly a heightened sense of observation and skill of using her words evocatively and economically. This comes as no surprise since the Seattle-based Blauner has published six books of poetry.

What also makes this book intriguing is the setting of the story. The narrative goes back and forth from two time periods: 1978 and 1998 (using the chapter titles Blauner gives the reader guidance – but you need to pay attention). The locale is an unknown country that is in the midst of a low-level civil war. There is sporadic violence in the streets, intermittent losses of electrical power, but the television blathers on with mindless entertainment. An evil urban guerrilla named Sharp harasses Gabrielle's father, who engaged in political activities before becoming ill. All in all, these are not times conducive to love, but Gabrielle and Miguel combine to give each other something they need.

That's a lot going on—love, politics, family— all in less than a hundred pages, but Blauner satisfies by ending the novella on a sweet note. It's a simple little book, well done.

To order Instructions for Living, visit the new release section of The Main Street Rag books. (I purchased my copy – which is printed on quality stock paper -- but be careful, the "add to cart buttons" are not aligned with the books well).