The Book Shopper

William Hazlitt & Bessie Smith

Currently I’m reading a collection of essays by William Hazlitt (1778-1830).
Considered one of best essayists in the English language, Hazlitt (right) is not known for one particular book, but rather for his thoughts on a range of subjects and as one of the premier theatre critics of his time.  He wrote “…the stage is a test and a school of humanity. We do not much like persons who do not like plays; and for this reason, that we imagine they cannot like themselves or anyone else.”

One reason that Hazlitt’s work resonates so strongly with me now (the right book at the right time) is that Denise and I happened to catch last weekend Kenny Leon’s True Colors Theatre production of Gut Bucket Blues.  I am no Hazlitt, but if you are remotely interested in the blues, the intimacy of the theatre or the robust life of Bessie Smith, you should hustle down to the Balzer Theatre at Herrens to experience this performance which plays through November 7.   (The matinees are relatively inexpensive and if you use the promo code of THANKS while ordering tickets here you should get another $5 off).

I was relieved that lead singer Adrienne Reynolds (right) did not try to sound like Bessie Smith (triggering a flashback I might have of David Sedaris singing “Away in the Manger” as a Macy’s Christmas elf ), and I liked the mix between narrative and music. And though it is story about one of the greatest blues singers, most of the musical numbers are more uplifting than melancholy. The production follows Bessie Smith’s (and her mentor, Ma Rainey’s) secret to onstage success: “Never have more than one of those blues bitches on stage at a time because it is too much misery for anyone.” If you’re not standing and clapping at the end of the performance you’re probably running on stage begging for an encore of “Hoochie-Coochie Woman.”

I would understand if Hazlitt would think little of my reviewing capabilities, but no one ever accused me of not liking the theatre, especially a show like Gut Bucket Blues.

 

Nick Hornby at the Highland Inn

  

Novelist, essayist and now song lyricist Nick Hornby was in Atlanta promoting the paperback release of his latest novel Juliet, Naked and his current work with singer/musician Ben Folds on the release of Lonely Avenue, a collaborative album of short stories. Hornby’s reading on Monday, October 18 was the kickoff event for the A Cappella Books’ Ballroom Bash. 

Hornby read three excerpts from Juliet, Naked for about 40 minutes, before taking questions from the packed house for another half hour.  The crowd wasn’t shy about asking questions, and Hornby used his storytelling ability to answer them.

Here are my notes—not everything is verbatim, but it was a dark room (I don’t how Hornby read so flawlessly from his book) and so my notes --like my photography aren’t crystal clear. Here’s the gist of what Hornby talked about:

On Juliet, Naked

“This book (which centers on the legacy of an aging reclusive singer-songwriter – not necessarily Bob Dylan, but a composite figure of songwriters of that era) represents the split within me as a music fan, an author and an artist."

 On Collaborating with Ben Folds

 Hornby told the story of how he met Ben Folds after he wrote an essay about the Ben Folds Five song, “Smoke” in his 2002 book of essays Songbook, which is a great book about the many ways we relate to music. (Both Rube Ambler from ATLalist and I brought our original copies, which Hornby graciously signed.) Apparently this was the beginning of his current working friendship with Folds, which has included along the way, trying to write songs for—get this—the actor William Shatner. (For more on Ben Folds and the William Shatner Gonzo Ballet, I must refer you to other sources.)

 On When to Quit Writing

 “One of the most profound questions about the arts is when to decide to quit. You’re convinced you’re a genius, but that doesn’t really help either. I’ve come to the conclusion that artists are childish. Once you grow up, you realize that you are not that special. But all the famous ones didn’t grow up.”

 

James Thigpen’s Trapped in the Body of Jesus: A Review

Prologue

The only reason I know anything about James Alfred Thigpen’s collection of short stories Trapped in the Body of Jesus is that about twenty years ago Alfred and I became good friends. Our wives were faculty members at Hope College (MI) and we shared a bond of being spouse ne’er-do-wells. We socialized regularly and even joined a writing group together.  The day we were introduced, Alfred told me he was from Milledgeville, Georgia and I said, “I’ve heard of Milledgeville—home of Flannery O’Connor.” A sense of relief came over his face and he said in his manner, which was both serious yet light spirited: “When most people hear where I am from, they start making jokes about the state asylum.”  (In the photo, Thigpen reads at O’Connor’s gravesite in October, 1999. Little did we know…)

The Review

No doubt that growing up in town known for being the home of O’Connor and the location of the state’s largest mental hospital would taint any writer, just as my personal recollections of Alfred taint this review. You are forewarned.

In Trapped in the Body of Jesus, James Alfred Thigpen has written three distinct stories that examine the foibles of religion—not as mockery of religion, but revealing the feet of clay of those who inhabit that institution.

The first story, set in the late 50s is “Soapwoman,” which follows the unbaptized 13 year-old Spec Jordan who attends the First Baptist Church and who must wrestle with his family’s pressure for him to be immersed in the watery grave. Moreover, there are the gallons of testosterone that are continually coursing through his body. One Sunday, the dam bursts. Spec’s lust, Mary Lil Soseby, the cute daughter of a lapsed Catholic is scheduled to be baptized.  As he sits in his pew, Spec senses the Soapwoman, an apparition who later appears to Spec as a large black woman wearing a flour sack around her head and a ring of chicken bones around her neck. She turns white boys into bars of lye soap for thinking impure thoughts. “Mister Spec, you been weighed in the balance and found a wantin.’ Daniel 5:27.” says the Soapwoman.  But the Soapwoman in no ordinary specter, as Thigpen writes, “Unlike the devil, limited by God to merely quoting scripture, Soapwoman possessed the capacity for interpretation.” When Spec climbs the rope that controls church bell, which had become knotted  (and must be rung to celebrate Mary Lil’s baptism) Spec is confronted by the Soapwoman directly. Calamity ensues making it a memorable Sunday for the church and Spec.

MARTA Book Club #9: Budget Crunch

Thanks to the recent cuts in public transportation, members of the MARTA Book Club—the loose  
confederation of people who read while riding the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority’s public transportation—have more time to read while waiting for trains and buses (unless their bus line has been cut entirely).

What We Are Reading: Perhaps we will start to see thinner offerings as many MARTA book club members (the only requirement to be a member of MARTA Book Club is to read a book while riding public transportation) must hold and read their book with one hand while standing on the crowded rush hour trains. Purchasing a Kindle is not exactly an option. Here’s a list of books and authors observed since our last MARTA Book Club posting:

Hide by Lisa Gardner

No Fluff Guide To Copywriting: Spend More Time Writing Copy That Gets Results, Less Time Learning How To by Derek Franklin

The Royal Marriages: What Really Goes on in the Private World of the Queen and Her Family by Lady Colin Campbell

Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

Ham on Rye: A Novel by Charles Bukowski,

Disciple of the Dog by Scott Bakker