2 comments about Hemingway.

1. Insightful analysis of Hemingway's work for anyone who wants to get past the literal meanings to reach the symbolic. Reading Baker's book makes reading Hemingway an even more rewarding experience.



2. well done. i don't usually care to read books by academics, but this is the exception to the rule. you get the full picture here about ernie, warts and all. you may not like some of the things you'll find out about the great novelist...but then, that's life. i say you'll still want to read ernie's books--because he was that good. ernie lives on!

3 comments about Ernest Hemingway Selected Letters 1917-1961.

1. This collection of letters serves as the closest thing to a Hemingway autobiography we have. It is certainly must reading for the student or researcher, and I would highly recommend it for even the casual Hemingway fan.

   Hemingway often wrote letters to either warm up for a day of writing or cool off afterward, and in these letters you see him at his unguarded, intellectual, humorous best. The style of his letter writing is often much freer than the tightly crafted prose style of his fiction...it's almost like watching a classical musician break into some improvisational jazz.

   A great book to just dip into wherever you want, and this new edition is long overdue.




2. I miss old fashioned letters, now that we live in the age of email. Frotunately, I still have 'real' letters saved that have now collected dust from my parent's generation, and from a time gone by.
   
   Occasionally I stumble over published letters of famous writers in antique bookstores: Last time, it was a 800 page volume of some of Ernest Hemingway's personal letters; the first edition of this Amazon edition. They were published posthumeously, and not intended by EH for publication.
   We get a peek behind the curtain, and learn among other things that Ernest Hemingway was addicted to letters, wrote lots and lots, starting in his teens; and that he was really depressed when he didn't receive replies; or when there were days when the postman brought no letters. Waiting for transatlantic mail added to his sense of loneliness. Letters were a lifelong passion of his, continuing up to the day when he took his own life. These private letters weren't meant to be published, and they are raw, but very honest.
   When you read them, you are in no doubt that the writer is a true artist, and an original!
   They stretch over the span of his productive life, and they are varied: addressed to family (his parents, his children), his ex, to friends, including famous contemporaries, such as Marlene Dietrich (just one of them), his agent(s), his publishers, and many more.
   
   I have a hunch EH must have been hard to keep up with, but his letters are fun to read; even though, in my view, his novels are mixed: Some great, and some I don't care for.
   
   Guess, EH's life was bizare too. The private letters are consistent with that. And yet, they exude a special warmth; both gentelness and passion.
   Reviewed by Palle Jorgensen. December 2004.



3. Two authors of the 20th century whose letters go beyond fascination are James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway. This volume is an excellent example of just how committed Hemingway was not only to writing, but to getting as close to the action of his writing. Once the reader emerses themselves into his letters, one sees the true Hemingway, not the mythological one created by critics (mostly those who were not fans of the writer).
   
   It is almost unimaginable that someone in his time or any other could be so well connected and intimate with other artist: Joyce, Pound, McLeish, Fitzgerald, Picaso, and so on. If you're a writer this collection is wonderful. It shows the day to day dealings with drafting, editing, publishing, and the intimate relationships between writer and publisher, though this relationship is almost non-existent today.
   
   I found Hemingway through his letters to be someone who is passionate about life and equally compassionate about friends. He tells it the way it is, not the way politically correct messengers do. It is an education in itself to read this collection.

No comments about The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.

5 comments about Advertisements for Myself.

1. This book is filled with fiction, essays, and, literally, advertisements for Mailer. The ad he took out for "The Deer Park" is the classic of classics. There is a great work in here called "The Time of Her Time." Sergius O'Shaugnessey is the hero, and I got the idea he would appear again and again in Mailer's future fiction, but it never happened to my knowledge. This is a great book!



2. Advertisements for Mysel



3. All during the 1960s, when authors still appeared on The Tonight Show, The Dick Cavett Show, etc, the two authors who had the most exposure and most proclaimed their "genius" were Norman Mailer and Truman Capote. Both fizzled miserably. Their dwindling fame will be filed under "Celebrity" rather than "Literature." Mailer is the better of the two, but he has not worn well.



4. Originally appearing in 1959, "Advertisements for Myself" remains one of the most unusual books ever published by a novelist. Containing stories, essays, reviews, interviews, novel excerpts and poems, all with detailed, italicized annotations courtesy of the author, this book displays a massive, raging talent assessing itself and the world around it. It is sometimes poignant, sometimes maddening, but never less than compelling. I love this book.

   Today, Mailer's reputation is rather up in the air. To me, his career is an example of an artist constantly pushing himself, writing with breathtaking ambition even if it exceeded his skill. There has never been another writer like Norman Mailer, and it is touching to read here of his desire to write a novel on the level of Dostoyevsky, Mann and Tolstoy, and to read his pithy, sometimes hilarious assessments of his contemporaries. His commentary on the ups and downs of his career and his disgust and sadness about the decline of American literature are illuminating, but his self-aggrandizement and egocentricity are often difficult to stomach. However, one has to stand in awe at the monument of his talent and his passion.

   Reading this book today, one has to ask, "Did he fulfill his expectations?" I think so. "Harlot's Ghost," "Ancient Evenings," "The Executioner's Song" and numerous other works, both fiction and nonfiction, will endure, in my opinion. But I, for one, would like to know whatever happened to the self-promoted masterpiece of a novel he excerpts here. The small sections make for very stimulating reading.

   All in all, "Advertisements for Myself" is a required text for everyone who loves great literature or aspires to write it for themselves.




5. This was one of the strangest and most engaging fictional works I have ever read. An autobiographical narrative consisting of novel excerpts, social commentary, reviews and short stories. Brutally honest and at times hilarious, I find myself regularly rereading many parts of the book and I'm always stunned by ,above all else, Mailer's humor and the vivid and unforgettable stories and characterers that he creates.

   One reviewer remarked that Mailer's reputation in somewhat up in the air. Certainly Over the years Mailer has suffered much harsh criticism, from charges that he is misogynist to claims that he never fulfilled his own potential.

   Nonetheless, Ancient Evenings and this book are his best works and I'm sure they will survive the test of time.

2 comments about Katharine Graham's Washington.

1. I am not completely finished with this book, but wanted to post a review urging all who are interested in the history of our country to read this.

   Mrs. Graham has gathered articles from many people associated with the govenment and also some who were natives of Washington and in the social scene. Some were White House employees. She has written an introduction to each article which is helpful.

   There are many interesting stories never seen before. I especially liked the articles of behind the scenes preparations for the visit of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth in 1939 by White House employees. Eleanor Roosevelt's article is different than the one she has in her book as it does not include the stop at Hyde Park.

   Mamie is presented as a difficult taskmaster by the White House seamstress. All good reading.

   I don't know if young folks will enjoy this book as much as I did, but they should give it a try.

   Only objection. There were not enough pictures!




2. After reading Graham's personal history I was dissapointed that there was nothing else written by her. This book fufills that dissapointment. She provides all sorts of views about Washington even though she doesn't agree with them all. There are articles written by Nancy Reagan, Henry Kissinger, Alice Roosevelt, and many, many more. A great read for anyone interested in Graham or Washington.

3 comments about I Alone Have Escaped to Tell You: My Life And Pastimes.

1. A delightful autobiography -- one can only wish it were longer. The author's life has been full of adventures that most of us can experience only second-hand. Of particular interest may be the chapter on Vatican II and its aftermath, or the chapter delineating the problems of modernist philosophers and the Scholastic antidote. For many readers, especially those of the author's multitudinous mysteries, the chapter titled "Author" will be the best. It refers to several of McInerny's early novels, which though sadly out of print are well worth the trouble of tracking down in libraries.
   
   One would think that Notre Dame could employ a scholarship student to do the proofreading. Apparently only a spell-checker is used, as words occasionally appear under the guise of other words' spellings, but misspellings that coincide with no other word do not. This book deserved better. The upshot is that a few sentences have to be read several times over in order to be degarbled. But there are many more sentences worth rereading for their intrinsic interest -- I think you'll be glad to have read this book.



2. Ralph McInerny has only gained skill as a craftsman as he ages. This account is tightly written and carries the reader along through a remarkable life, but manages to be self-depracating in the process.
   
   As a wordsmith, McInerny is unparelleled and having a dictionary in this journey might be wise. However, his style and grace makes the occasional unfamiliar term non-threatening.
   
   I would recommend this to anyone who loves the academic life or the life of the spirit.
   
   Stephanie Swee



3. Ralph McInerny is best known for his Father Dowling series of mysteries. In his memoir, I Alone Have Escaped to Tell You he goes beyond a mere story about his life. He talks about his life, yet offers advice to aspiring authors on getting started, persevering in the face of rejection and handling success. He explains how to write a mystery story.
   His discussions on life and philosophy, a subject he teaches at Notre Dame, gives the readers reason to pause and think. And in some cases, a desire to look at some of the other books he mentions.
   Despite being a relatively short book, and a quick read, the information presented makes you go back and reread some sections looking for a different perspective.
   Well worth the time to read. I highly recommend it for writers, philosophers and people looking for a good story about an amazing life.

5 comments about Black Sun: The Brief Transit and Violent Eclipse of Harry Crosby (New York Review Books Classics).

1. Curiously, given Harry's infatuation with Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray throughout much of his life, it was a dictum of Wilde's that Uber-Critic Harold Bloom says he would have engraved above the entrances to the English Departments of every institution of higher learning if he had his way, to wit: "All bad poetry is sincere." that kept coming to my mind throughout the reading of this book. But, note, this dictum does NOT imply its converse: "All sincere poetry is bad." - An important distinction, this. - For Crosby's poetry is nothing if not sincere and, taken out of the context of his life, is bound to seem tawdry, fantastical or sloppy. In other words, it does indeed seem quite bad. But taken in the context of this life, it assumes another hue entirely. As Wolff puts it, his poems were more "testaments" than poems qua poems. All his writings on suicide, the worship of the Sun, et al seem pallid and lifeless until one realizes through the reading of this book that he lived these words. He didn't merely write them. Upon this realization, (dare I say it) they suddenly BLAZE to life.
   
   The best aspect of the biography for me is that there is no attempt at some sort of psychobabble analysis in the study of a character that surely invites it: Not one "Id," "Ego," "Oedipus Complex," "Jungian Archetype," et blah, blah, blah. Wolff deftly narrates the life-story of this fantastic, wealthy, sybarite with his literary ambition as he lived it through his short, kaleidoscopically decadent and unbalanced life.

   But, given all this, there is a prodigal consistency to his life worthy of symbolic logic, right up to the end. Thus, to me, reading this book was brisk and refreshing (pace to the Puritans). Near the end of the book, Wolff quotes Mrs. Powell as saying that all Harry's extravagant talk was "just literary." To her, it surely must have been. But as Wolff points out, "For Harry, of course, the locution `just literary' would have been oxymoronic."

   In contrast to all the "Lost Generation" writers and artists and jabberers for whom the whole scene was "just literary," to Harry, every word (Indeed, every letter) was wriggling with the blaze of life and........death.

   HE MEANT IT.




2. Vignettes about Harry Crosby may be found in Malcom Cowley's, "Exiles Return"; "Absinthe: History in a Bottle", by Barnaby Conrad; "Published in Paris," by Hugh Ford; and a couple poems in "The Penguin Book of Surrealist Poetry". You may come across Harry Crosby in biographies of D.H. Lawerence, Hart Crane, or James Joyce, and definitely in his wife, Caresse Crosby's "The Passionate Years". All in all, Geoffrey Wolff's biography is a welcome find. I came across an old and forgotten copy of "Black Sun" for $1 amidst thousands of used books at a San Francisco library sale in the "pre-Amazon.com" days when I was blindly searching for more information about Crosby who fascinated me. It was pure luck; or destiny! I had recently read his diary, "Shadows of the Sun" (Black Sparrow Press, 1977) which is the work he is most known for, and is one of the most fascinating & captivating diaries I've ever read. Some reviewers have commented on the "mediocre quality" of Crosby's poems, but read within the context of "Shadows of the Sun" and/or "Black Sun" they melt into perfect harmony with his life. "Black Sun" is the ideal supplement to "Shadows of the Sun", adding unbiased biographical details about Harry, the 1920's, and the wonderful influence Harry and Caresse had upon those they befriended. Wolff did an excellent job researching old letters from various archives, as well as utilizing his orignal diaries as source material - Harry kept assiduous details of his life for posterity's sake.

   I'm glad to see that "Black Sun" has been reprinted in this new 2003 paperback, and it contains an afterword by Wolff discussing how and why he chose to write about Crosby. He states that he wouldn't have written about Crosby had he not committed suicide. This is interesting, but not shocking, as that is what pulls everyone into Crosby's story in the first place - he seemed to be on top of the world right up until his tragic end. Yet, none of it was surprising to anyone who knew him. He and his recent mistress, Josephine shot themselves in a suicide pact. The mystery is in the details of how it all exactly transpired, and my personal opinion is that they were drunk, he talked about suicide, she took him seriously, stomped on his wedding ring, took his gun and shot herself first, beating him to the punch, and so leaving him with no escape (he had originally intended to die with Caresse at a predetermined date in the 1940's). The standard theory is that "he shot her" first (she, probably willingly, but unknown), and then, a couple hours later, himself. Indeed, he had discussed death frequently, and it was his own gun that he brought into the New York hotel room that final night in December, 1929. Whatever the actuality of the two suicides, the most fascinating thing about Harry to me (and perhaps to Wolff) is that his death and life were intertwined into a sparkling surrealist poem idealized, and carried out. Harry Crosby was and is a very rare figure in American literature, and gladly, due in great part to Geoffrey Wolff, will continue to remain so. One may take what they will from his brief life, but more than simply some lost peripheral figure from the "bohemian 1920's", Harry was religously devoted to love, truth, poesy, and art. He committed himself to living out his aethetic ideals to the fullest extent possible, making his and Caresse's life together an inspiring firestorm of intense passion.

   Carpe Diem.




3. Anyone who thinks Crosby led a "minor" life doesn't get it. Harry Crosby, the founder of Black Sun press, led an astonishing existence and was a premiere member of the avant-guarde "suicide club" founded by Baudelaire and carried through Lautrec, Jarry and Charles Cros.
   
   I knew I was going to love this book when I read in the first chapter about the cable Harry and his wife Caresse sent to Harry's rich Boston family: "Please send $10,000 immediately -- have decided to live a wild and extravagant life." Very few people are able to create their own realities and inhabit them as fully as Crosby -- his determination recalls not only Jarry but even earlier figures like William Blake.
   
   Wolff's writing is superb: his sense of narrative and description are pitch-perfect without sacrificing detachment or sinking into the realm of hagiography. It is a fascinating portrait of a man who lived his life to the fullest through his love of Art.



4. Are there no more editors? This book is repetitive, much too long, and the organization is confusing. I am never convinced Harry Crosby is worth the time to read his story. As I read, I kept thinking, "Why bother?" Harry's life might be interesting as an example of supreme self-indulgence and self-absorption, but his writing (as quoted) is atrocious! Tighten it up, tell me more about Black Sun Press and some good writers, and less about Harry's decadence-unless you can make it more interesting than this!



5. No one thus far seems to recognize the obvious fact that Harry Crosby is a classic example of post-traumatic stress syndrome. He volunteered as an ambulance driver in World War I, and that harrowing experience smashed his mind, as similar experiences have mentally crushed so many other brave people who volunteered for war duty instead of staying complacently at home.
   
   Harry's life after the war is thus not a merely decadent and self-indulgent romp, but an ongoing struggle to regain some kind of mental equilibrium after seeing hundreds of men turned into slabs of bleeding meat in a gigantic and futile butchery. At one point a shell struck his ambulance and blew it apart. It's almost imporrible to survive that kind of experience without serious mental damage.
   
   The attitude of the author is judgemental in a naive, Midwestern way to the point of unintentional hilarity. The endless gasps of shock from the naive and outraged author are better than Saturday Night Live. Gasp! Harry actually dares to wear a black flower to his father's dinner party! Great heavens, what would Aunt Gertrude think? Shocked! I'm so terribly shocked! I do believe that I'm going to faint!
   
   On and on it goes, and I'm amazed that the naive author, or should say the faux-naive author, survives the hypocrisy of his endless denunciations of the roaring 1920's and those who roared while the roaring was good.
   
   So the author wouldn't have written about Harry Crosby unless he had the suicide at the end? Suppose that Harry had survived into a pleasant and prosperous old age? That no doubt would have been intolerable to our censorious author, who is determined to rewrite the Portrait of Dorian Gray, but unhappily without Oscar Wilde's genius.
   
   It's a real shame that this seems to be the only extensive biography of Harry Crosby. It's a guilty pleasure to read this endless pseudo-moralistic trashing of Harry's interesting life. If the smugly righteous author had suffered through the same kinds of wartime horrors that Harry endured, the silly bloke would have been institutionalized for the rest of his life, and we wouldn't be victimized by this hymn of hate toward a man whom the author so transparently envies. A tame lap dog is writing the biography of a lone wolf, and it just doesn't click.

5 comments about Secrets of a Tabloid Reporter...My Twenty Years on the National Enquirer's Hollywood Beat.

1. I just finished reading "Secrets of a Tabloid Reporter" and I loved it. It made me laugh out loud! Especially the Richard Burton escapade! I have never laughed so much with a book. I should live such a fun life. Thanks Ms. Sternig for a fun time. Patricia Pearson- Chicago, Il.



2. SECRETS OF A TABLOID REPORTER is a reader's first look at the secret world of the National Enquirer and the famous people
   it exposes. Author Barbara Sternig was a Senior Reporter for 20 years covering Hollywood for this tabloid. Before that, she was writer/producer/assistant to Gossip Columnist Rona Barrett and had Hollywood welcoming her most of the time.
   In this fast-moving nonfiction book, Sternig tells how she got her startling stories with their intimate details. No matter what obstacles she faced, Barbara always seemed to come up with the story (although at times the crazy antics in pursuit of stories almost got her into thick trouble.
   She shows her ability to capture our attention, awaken our curiosity, and keep us interested, but she refused to give us the name of the man she loved and lost, showing us something is sacred to her.
   But there didn't seem to be much held back when she described her adventures writing about Frank Sinatra and his gang, Angie Dickinson, Richard Burton, Tammy Wynette, Burt Reynolds or Pat Sajak's wedding with Vanna White as guest. This book keeps you turning pages. It would make a great gift for a friend who reads the National Enquirer.
   Maryanne Raphael, Writers World



3. Sternig spends much time gushing over herself and her exciting life. She's disingenuous, dishing dirt on celebs, then claiming she admires them. And she pulls punches. She worked for the Enquirer from 1975-95, yet concentrates on 1970s celebs now safely dead: Frank Sinatra, Richard Burton, Tammy Wynette. Blurbs from B-list celebs and players further indicate that she pulls punches.
   
   But she does provide useful info on tabloid undercover reporting techniques. And it's a breezy, entertaining, easy read, as one would expect from someone with longtime tabloid writing experience.
   
   However, the best and most comprehensive tabloid HISTORY remains I WATCHED A WILD HOG EAT MY BABY, by Bill Sloan, which was released in 2001.
   
   Also, reviewers are wrong when they say that Sternig's is the first inside report from a former tabloid reporter. In 1996, a darker inside look from two former tabloid reporters was provided in POISON PEN, by Lysa Moskowitz-Mateu & David LaFontaine.



4. When I started reading this book I expected tons of juicy gossip. I got some, but not enough and too much about this reporter and her relationship with her boss and gripes about working for this rag. I have to say there is SOME gossip of interest, but over all, just not enough. The book should be far bigger, considering her 20 years working for the paper.



5. I recently met Barbara Sternig on a cruise and in the course of our conversation she mentioned her previous occupation and that she had written a book about it. Naturally my curiosity was aroused so I purchased the book.
   
   I found it to be very humourous, informative and it let me have an 'inside' peek at what tabloid writers really have to contend with to 'get their story'. It was written in a very easy style and kept your interest from page to page.
   The people she talks about in the book are easily recognizable and this makes the book even more exciting to read.
   
   Anyone who has ever seen or read these tabloid papers will find this book very interesting and I recommend it to anyone who has an 'inquiring mind and wants to know'......

5 comments about The Coldest Winter: A Stringer in Liberated Europe.

1. Those who did not like this book must not have read any of Paula Fox's other books. Her sparse, unsentimental style may not appeal to anyone, but to those who know and love her writing, of which there are many, this book is representative of her work and highly recommended. Many of the vignettes are profoundly moving.



2. I am addicted to memoires of all types and this is one of the most touching in its honest, sparse style. I also enjoyed Fox's memoire "Borrowed Finery."
   
   I didn't like her novels -- Poor George, Desperate Characters, and The West Coast -- all that much. They, too, are sparse, but somehow in a novel I find the lack of detail and concrete information more troubling.



3. The book dealt more with her social/personal life than with her as a journalist in the aftermath of the war. The book is well written and very readable, I had just expected more of a post-war history.
   
   I'm sufficiently intrigued by her story that I've already bought her other biographical book, "Borrowed Finery," and look forward to reading it.
   
   Coleen from Kent, Wa



4. The Coldest Winter is one of Paula Fox's earliest books, and I had meant to read it years ago. It is a memoir of a year spent traveling through Europe when she was twenty-two. The year was 1946. World War II had ended just a year earlier, and much of Europe still showed the ravages of war--heaps of rubble, food rationing and other shortages, a somber and depressed citizenry wherever she went, a gray sky and freezing cold weather to match the mood of the people. She visited London, Paris, Warsaw, Barcelona, Madrid and many smaller villages in the surrounding countryside.
   
   When I first read about this memoir, I knew I wanted to read it. I, too, had wanted to travel through Europe as a young girl, so I was eager to read what happened to her as she ventured forth into unpredictable, precarious situations without itinerary or plans, living each day as it comes, willing to be a stranger in a strange country with few, if any, acquaintances and little knowledge of its laws, traditions and customs.
   
   I was born in Germany. Though I came to the States at a young age, I often wondered how my life might have been had my family been able to remain in Europe. I often dreamed of returning, to make a trip as Fox had done, to see if perhaps I might feel more at home there than in my adopted country, and might even prefer to live there. I identified with the author and read her stories, her many impressions and observations as though they were my own.
   
   Fox had little money for her trip. I also would have had limited funds. She stayed with friends of her parents or distant relatives, took what jobs she could find such as reading scripts for small sums or writing a few articles for a small British news service. I turned every page, wondering what would happen next to this wandering young woman.
   
   In her inimitable writing style, Fox relates a somewhat harrowing experience in London one afternoon when she was in her small room reading a manuscript.
   
   There was a sharp knock on the front door. I looked through the mail slot, and saw dark cloth. I opened the door with my gut clenched. A bobby towered over me, or maybe it was only his helmet that made it seem so. He touched it with two fingers, addressed me as miss, and asked me if I held a work permit. I shook my head no. He said I'd need to come to the police station with him.
   
   Once there, I filled out a form that required me to swear not to take employment that a British citizen could do and, further, to work only at part-time jobs. I had heard that one needed a work permit but had not taken the requirement seriously. Perhaps it was myself I did not take seriously. For a moment I grasped at the shadowy nature of reality; of how one moves through it like a mist, forever thinking of what comes next and how impalpable the present is.
   
   I made my way back to my apartment chastened.
   
   I held the work permit in my hand, consoled by its meaning: The government protected its citizens and took my presence in England seriously.
   
   This bittersweet little story seemed rather typical of how I think about the British people: somewhat severe but with a civility we don't always find in this country. And again, Fox's description of a bleak Paris is as vivid as a picture postcard:
   
   A year and a half after the end of the war and the German occupation, Paris was muted and looked bruised and forlorn. Everywhere I went, I sensed the tracks of the wolf that had tried to devour the city. But Paris proved inedible, as it had been ever since its tribal beginnings on an island in the Seine, the Île de la Cité.
   
   I stood on the Champs-Élysées, down which the black-booted Nazis had marched, some with reverence and cultural piety, I had heard, some triumphant, some astonished that they should be in command of the City of Light. But there was little brightness in 1946, except a sunset on a fair day when the last of the sun's rays struck the roof of Sacré-Caeur and the flying buttresses of Notre-Dame and the spindle top of the Eiffel Tower; except in the bright scarves of the Frenchwomen who walk swiftly and inscouciantly as they went about their daily tasks and errands to the baker, the grocer, the butcher, and the open markets that had begun that year to display their wares. Perhaps the women were hoping to find their former lives among the stalls. But though there was no bomb damage, as there had been in London, the old life of Paris was gone.
   
   In another chapter one colorful sentence told me the bitter cold she experienced in Warsaw: "Cigarette smoke, strong drink, and conversation in a dozen languages sent you off to your narrow room with an illusion of warmth that lasted until you slid between sheets that were like frozen lead."
   
   Almost every page of this memoir conveys a kind of sternness in people everywhere, with sour expressions on the faces of waitresses, chambermaids, and the people she met on trains and in shops. The author seemed to be describing a general attitude of pessimism, a kind of bureaucratic rigidity and indifference suspended like a heavy cloud over the lives of war-torn Europe. Nevertheless, when her journey ends, Fox is not happy to be going home. A part of her would like to hold on to her European year. Returning to New York brings up questions of "What now?" She has no clear idea of how to start her new life, how to find a new direction.
   
   Once home, she works with difficult adolescent boys who have experienced the worst forms of abuse. One day, she takes them to view the stars and constellations through a special telescope belonging to Columbia University. She hopes by viewing something larger than themselves, their perspective might shift, and that they might view their own tragic lives with greater objectivity, less anger, as her experience amidst the devastation of Europe had "...shown me something beyond my own life, freeing me from chains I hadn't known were holding me, showing me something other than myself."
   
   Reading The Coldest Winter shifted my own perspective as well. It helped me to realize that I am a true American, a grateful American who believes that Europe is a great place to visit. But home for me will always be the good ole USA.
   
   by Duffie Bart
   for Story Circle Book Reviews
   reviewing books by, for, and about women



5. This book is cobbled from pieces in a wide variety of magazines, reviews & little journals--with some chapters written for the book--so the point of view does vary.
   
   Fox's story follows her biography _Borrowed Finery_, which was amplified by the novel _The Western Coast_. _The Coldest Winter_ fills out the story of her beginnings as a writer & explores how she gained a foothold in the world. She explores the oppression of both the communist bloc & Franco's Spain, by talking about the people who crossed her wandering path.
   
   There are astonishing vignettes, such as seeing Winston Churchill in the street, drunk, being steered along by a group of men, while he is weeping & mascara runs down his face. (She later found that Churchill's lashes & brows were so pale that he always wore mascara in public.) There are many such stunning moments. It's a fast read, but worthwhile.

5 comments about An Open Book: Coming of Age in the Heartland.

1. It's a bit intimidating to write a review of a book by a book reviewer, but I have to try, as I loved this book so much! I have a long list of books to read in the future, and once one of them comes to the top, I sometimes have forgotten what it's going to be about, so this one came as a real treat. It tells of the author's childhood in Lorain, Ohio in the late 40s to the 60s, including his years at Oberlin. As an avid reader with many memories of the joy of childhood reading (although I was not as sophisticated in my tastes are Dirda!) it's always a treat to be brought back to the that wonderful feeling of having a pile of new books to read, from the library or thrift stores or the school book club! I enjoyed the list of books he had read through age 16 in an appendix. I felt better about my own youthful reading knowing we had both at least read a few of the same books, even the quite light Cheaper by the Dozen!

   An added treat for me is that although I didn't know this would be the case when I started the book, I got much insight into the land of my own early childhood---I was born in Elyria, next to Lorain, although we moved when I was 6, and my parents both went to Oberlin, a bit earlier than Dirda. Earlier in the day I started this book, my mother for some reason told me of a time my father bought me shoes at Januzzi's, a shoe store I'd never heard of before---reading later that day of the author's own trip to Januzzi's was one of my most amazing reading moments of my lifetime! Any author who can create a scene of place like Dirda did with the Lorain of his childhood is truly gifted.

   I am eager now to get my hands of Dirda's other book, Readings! Keep writing, Michael Dirda!!




2. As I am a near contemporary of the author in age, I found an uncanny mirroring of my life in his...similar touchstones of products, events, TV shows, etc. many of which I had long forgotten. But what was the key pleasure of reading about this otherwise common life (and I throw myself in that descriptor as well)was the impact that various books had on him...something I could also identify with as another lifelong avid reader.
   
   Dirda mentions book titles to show how they affected his imagination, his decisions, his way of looking at the world. For those who argue there is no concrete utility in reading and are satisfied that future generations are losing this habit, this book is the best argument to the contrary I know. Not that there is any solemnity to his story or any self-importance. His is a wry, affectionate tale of growing up in the straight-laced Midwest in the 50's. But it is his love of literature that irradiates his story. Recommended for those who want to remember why they love to read and how they got that way.



3. Everything Michael wrote in his book brought back so many boyhood memories for for my friend. It wasn't just the big things, it was the little things Dirda wrote about that brought smiles and tugged at the heart.



4. This is an extraordinary story of an ordinary life. From comic books, to the Hardy Boys to Faust to the French classics, we go on a ride through books with Mike Dirda. I also grew up in the Midwest at about the same time and I can identify with just about every page of the book. Extraordinary.



5. I read this book a year or two ago, but remembered it again recently while reading Wendy Werris's new memoir, An Alphabetical Life, because both reflect such a love of books. To people like Dirda and Werris - and me - books are nearly as important as eating, loving, breathing. And that affinity is so astutely reflected here in Michael Dirda's story of his childhood in Lorraine, Ohio. It's a midwest boyhood to the nth degree, albeit one of a kind of nerdy, bookish unathletic kid. I was a kid like Mike. I could relate. If you grew up in the fifties and sixties and loved books, then don't miss this one. It will take you back - to those dusty, second-hand bookstores you found with such joy, and to your folks yelling at you to "getcher nose outa that book and go outside for a while! It's a beautiful day, dammit!" Like that. Thanks for sharing your kidhood, Mike. - Tim Bazzett, author of Reed City Boy