Bossypants

            In elementary school, I renamed my teachers mean things behind their backs if I didn’t like them. The librarian went from Mrs. Motival to Mrs. Mont-evil. The lunch monitor transformed from Mrs. Hoshibosh to Mrs. Hossy “Bossy”. Since then, I always pair the word bossy with a whistle and undercooked green beans.

            Tina Fey’s 2011 autobiography, Bossypants* makes no mention of soggy vegetables. Instead, Fey gifts us tales of the unique history that led to her successes today. She does so humbly (but not too humbly) and wittily.

            I’ll cut to the chase. Do you like Tina Fey? If the answer is no, you’ve obviously never seen Mean Girls. Go do that now. If the answer is yes, you will like this book. It will probably not be your favorite book in the world, but you will enjoy your reading adventure.

            Reasons why I’m partial to this book as a Fey-fan:

·      She graduated from UVA. I graduated from UVA. I feel famous by association. We get to read about her embarrassing encounters with collegiate men.

·      She has a great deal of experience in improv, and she drops nuggets of craft-related wisdom in the book.

·      She wrote for SNL when being a white middle-class woman counted as diversity in comedy. She unveils the grueling writing process for the show as well as some of the ensuing chaos. Surprisingly, she tells us quite a lot about Lorne Michaels, whom I envision as Wizard of Oz behind the creative curtain.

·      She created 30 Rock, which is a funny program. She tells us about the show’s development and some bloopery behind-the-scenes mishaps.

·      She holds an uncanny resemblance to an Alaskan Dodo bird, otherwise known as Sarah Palin. Fey returns to SNL as a routine guest during election season because of the likeness. Turns out, it’s not all accidental grandchildren and poor political platforms!

            Bossypants takes a generally lighthearted tone, but it’s not substance-less, because Fey leads an interesting, atypical life. She presents readers something about herself or her world in seriousness and then wraps it up with a clever one-liner. Her book = inspiration + insider information + comedic twist. I never lost myself in a fit of laughter, but I also don’t think that is her intent.

            Overall, Fey slays as a female in the comedy world but her autobiography is not worthy of a full 5-hump rating. I like hearing about her experiences, but—let’s get real—it’s not that difficult to talk about yourself. Bossypants receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Fey, Tina. Bossypants. New York: Little Stranger, Inc., 2011. Print

Who Will Run the Frog Hospital?

            Who Will Run the Frog Hospital?* No seriously. Who the hell is going to run the frog hospital if all the nurses keep kissing the frogs, resulting in warts rather than princes? Should we move to a single-payer lily pad system? None of this is pertinent to the novel but I think these are important questions to ask.

            Lorrie Moore’s second novel—Who Will Run the Frog Hospital—proves that she is a word sorceress. About six months ago, I reviewed her first novel, Anagrams. I noted that she consistently juggles wordplay and storyplay. For example, she plays with words to interject humor and convey some deeper truth. Additionally, she plays with stories, layering plots on top of each other and often showing readers a certain character in various forms. In Frog Hospital, we meet Berie Carr and follow two interwoven tracks: her childhood with her inseparable best girl friend and her adulthood with her strained marriage.

            My complaints and praises of her first novel similarly apply to her second. Sometimes her puns feel a touch contrived. Sometimes the integration of both eras is not as seamless as I’d prefer. Sometimes the main character slips through my fingers because she’s described more in relation to others than in her own right.

            On the other hand, her second novel evinces her growth as a storyteller. Frog Hospital is relatively short (150 pages) and Moore is more deliberate about what she includes. Like Benna in Anagrams, Berie is a tortured soul and we desperately want to know more about her life. Even though I enjoyed reading about Benna, there’s something about seeing Berie’s childhood so vividly that helps me understand why she is the way she is in her adult life. She felt repressed by the idea of “innocence” as a child, so she revolted. As a woman, she mourns her loss of innocence and reflects on how her loud, youthful choices led to her current troubled relationship.

            Moore is incredibly lyrical in her writing—it’s as if she’s writing a poem that actually makes sense. Unlike Murakami, her metaphors serve to clarify and help us make sense of the world in a more profound way. I presume that even the title is a metaphor: a query for how she can salvage the wreckage of her life.

            As aforementioned, I love her voice as a novelist, but I recognize areas of improvement. I will absolutely continue reading her, and I recommend her work on a rainy day. Overall, Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Moore, Lorrie. Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? New York: Warner Books, 1994. Print.

Men Explain Things to Me

            I first cracked open Men Explain Things to Me* on the subway. I traveled one stop and then looked out the window picturesquely, as one does. I saw an Aerie untouched ad posted in the station, and someone had graffitied “pussy rape” right next to this girl’s vagina. When people say that books like these are whiny or that feminists have a stick up their butt, all it takes is a functional pair of eyes and ears to prove them wrong.

            Look, I regularly shave my armpits, and I seamlessly fit every female stereotype about wine, but I call myself a feminist, because I believe that at its core, “Feminism…is the radical notion that women are people” (Solnit, 152). White men have had it made for centuries. That’s not to say that every white male has had it made, but on the whole, their lot is the best of the barrel. Going forward, I think that white men should still totally strive to have it made, but not at the expense of other races or genders. Let’s all have it made.

            White men are not intrinsically better or more capable; history has shaped the availability of resources to certain groups of people, and that has a longstanding effect on our social spheres today. It’s easy to keep your head in the sand with this sort of thing—especially when it doesn’t affect you—but it’s not ethically or practically a great move.

            Women constitute 50% of the population; it’s astounding to me when we’re not treated as such. To be honest, I haven’t experienced much sexism firsthand. I know that so many women have, and I’m incredibly lucky to have men in my life who defy statistics. That being said, I am offended (and potentially, in the future, affected) by certain political maneuvers performed by males who frankly have no idea what they’re talking about. No, I’m not necessarily referring to pro-life agendas (which I believe are much more complicated); I’m talking about Republican politicians who say things like, “‘If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut the whole thing down.’” (Solnit, 13). Of note, members of both parties criticized his language, but the fact that a seemingly intelligent public figure said something this absurd is no less concerning. People genuinely believe that garbage, and that’s a problem.

            Rape is a central topic to Solnit’s assortment of essays. She throws out incisive statistics, horrifying anecdotes, and perceptive solutions to gender issues. It’s not like she thinks all women are God’s gift to the world. She acknowledges, “Of course, women are capable of all sorts of unpleasantness, and there are violent crimes by women, but the so-called war of the sexes is extraordinarily lopsided when it comes to actual violence” (Solnit, 33). This is a fact, backed up by actual numbers. It’s confusing to me when men try and contort such blatant history. Women are routinely victims of domestic violence—how is this ever subject to convolution?

            Men Explain Things to Me is not a novel in which tone-deaf men dully describe certain topics to women. Instead, Solnit’s book combines seven of her essays related to the feminist movement. From a literary perspective, not every one of these essays is pertinent. At the very least, they don’t all get to the point in a way that I believe is structurally necessary with a collection such as this. Some essays prove Solnit’s general skills as a writer more than they service the message as a whole. She has a very valuable viewpoint on the subject, but the edition I own has some distractions that render it less effective. There are asides about writing and the creative process that, while I find interesting, aren’t relevant to the topic at hand.

            Still, in its entirety, Solnit’s work hits readers hard. It’s easy for women like me—who are surrounded by supportive men—to celebrate in our contentedness. But, as Solnit claims, “finding ways to appreciate advances without embracing complacency is a delicate task” (Solnit, 144). Oppressive patriarchy can express itself insidiously and patronizingly, and I agree with Solnit that, “The battle for women to be treated like human beings with rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of involvement in cultural and political arenas continues” (Solnit, 14). Overall, partially due to its hit-or-miss structure and partially due to its warranted incendiary writing, Men Explain Things to Me receives 3 out of 5 camel humps.

*Solnit, Rebecca. Men Explain Things to Me. Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2014. Print.

The Vacationers

            Borrrrrrrriiiiinnnnnggggg.

            Writing a review on Emma Straub’s 2014 novel, The Vacationers, reminds me of the 30 Rock episode where Liz Lemon struggles to compliment Jenna’s performances in questionable productions.

            What can I say? The Vacationers has a pretty, pleasant cover.

            Whatever you do, don’t protest with “but…it’s a perfect *summer read*!” As if reading this book during the month of July will blind you from its total lack of depth and entertainment. Lighthearted, sure. Zero substance, no thanks.

            Straub’s novel follows the Post family on their vacation to Mallorca, Spain, accompanied by the son’s girlfriend and a gay couple who are long-time family friends. All of the relationships are somehow strained: generational differences lead to distance, infidelity causes rifts, and poor decisions run amuck. The crew uses an international trip as a fresh start for all, but they must tend to each other’s wounds before they can heal.

            While my summation might sound refreshing, the book beats the drum of mundanity. There aren’t any twists and the most dramatic scene involves an overdue sucker punch. The description on the back of the book had me thinking that someone gets murdered. False advertising—the only thing killed was my attention span.

            The novel leaves me with a feeling of loss: While Straub isn’t telling a good story, it’s clear that she has serious prose-potential, and she’s comfortable in her writer-skin. She just so happens to excel at executing a predictable, plodding plot.

            IRL, Straub works closely with the Center for Fiction, which is a magical Manhattan library/bookstore/writer space that I loved enough at first sight to actually submit a Yelp review. She’s cool and quirky, and she rocks the super pale + whitish-blonde hair + bold red lipstick look. Again, she slays the book cover, but bitterly disappoints when it comes to the novel itself.

           There are so many wonderful books in the world that fit the cheery, easy-read category without boring you to death. Read those, not this. The Vacationers receives 2 out of 5 camel humps—spared from a doomed one-humper by Straub’s occasional wit.

*Straub, Emma. The Vacationers. New York: Riverhead books, 2014. Print.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

            A Thousand Splendid Suns sounds like a buoyant title that belongs on a “Top Ten Beach Reads” listicle. I pity the middle-aged woman who naively opens this up while lounging by the sea drinking a Starbucks unicorn Frappuccino.

            Never mind. She’s made her bed, let her lie in it.

            This 2007 novel by Khaled Hosseini comes four years after his bestselling debut into the literary world via The Kite Runner. Hosseini is a licensed physician who practiced medicine until he realized his hands could wield a scalpel and write brilliant prose.

            A Thousand Splendid Suns is similar to The Kite Runner, in that both novels are set in Afghanistan during the tumultuous regime changes of the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s. Each addresses how political calamity affected Afghanistan’s youth. The two novels differ in terms of gender, with A Thousand Splendid Suns focusing mainly on the females.

            What I love most about Hosseini’s writing is his ability to deliver nuance when it comes to characters’ relationships with their war-torn homeland. Of course, it’s easy for Americans in the 21^st century to think why don’t they just get the hell out of their terrible situation? Hosseini reminds us that Afghans have physical, emotional, and economic ties to their country, just like Americans have a deep affinity to Chili’s. Maybe that’s just me. 

            On the other hand, his characters aren't very complex. The novel follows two women—Mariam and Laila—separated by a generation. We see their lives as separate individuals until they’re inevitably and pitiably thrust together. I admire the two women’s resilience, and I appreciate that Hosseini intentionally set out to document the female voice; however, all of the characters he covers fall into neat little categories labeled “good” or “bad”. As a result, there is a flatness to the plot and an anticipation of what will occur when a specific character is present in a scene.

            Perhaps because of the limitations of female agency in the country, there aren't many opportunities for women to do evil. For example, when the Taliban takes over, they inflict a series of rules. A large portion of the mandates are written explicitly for women, including but not limited to:

“You will not speak unless spoken to.

You will not make eye contact with men.

You will not laugh in public. If you do, you will be beaten” (Hosseini, 278).

            If you’re forced indoors, required to wear inhibitive garb, and suppressed intellectually, there aren't many uoutlets for acting “bad”. Nonetheless, my observation stands.

            Additionally, as a reader, I constantly expect something terrible to happen. His novel contains a series of inherent spoilers, because every time things start to go well-ish, you know it’s about to all come crumbling down. This isn’t a flaw per say, considering the subject has to be bleak given the setting. If events don't go south, I’d probably complain like a brat that the book is unrealistic. Still, these are all factors to be aware of when considering your next book (or beach-read).

           

            While some Goodreads reviewers warn about the graphicness of the novel, I personally think that Hosseini did an expert balancing act—he depicts enough gore and viciousness to convey the severity of the characters’ plights, but he doesn’t attack us ruthlessly or unnecessarily. Additionally, the bouts of brutality don’t exist to glorify violence—they serve a broader purpose in the novel. As Laila observes, “every Afghan story is marked by death and loss and unimaginable grief. And yet…people find a way to survive, to go on” (Hosseini, 395).

            Overall, I would let Hosseini write to me and operate on me. With this novel, he proves himself once again as an author who can masterfully communicate a horrible truth about historic events via a fictional pathway. A Thousand Splendid Suns receives 4 out of 5 camel humps.

*Hosseini, Khaled. A Thousand Splendid Suns. New York: Riverhead books, 2007. Print.