March Reading Log

Buckle up; I did a lot of reading in March...take a look!

3 Articles I Like This Month

"Holding the Note" by David Remnick, The New Yorker. 30 minutes.

An excellent profile of the last of the blues legends, Buddy Guy.

"Trump TV" by Jane Mayer, The New Yorker. 45 minutes.

A fascinating, in-depth look at the relationship between the president and Fox News, written by America's best investigative reporter. 

"On the temple, on her last first day" by Levi Weaver, The Athletic. 5 minutes.

An ode to The Ballpark in Arlington (as I'll always call it) on its last Opening Day. Poetic, romantic stuff in the finest tradition of baseball writing.

CRAZY LOVE: OVERWHELMED BY A RELENTLESS GOD by Francis Chan

I liked this book fine. I just liked it more the first time and it was called The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

I kid...kind of. Francis Chan does good work for a mainstream audience with Crazy Love, which he wrote in 2008 out of a conviction that evangelical Christianity had become watered down, so focused on winning converts that it had lost its message of discipleship. In Crazy Love, he seeks to return to the full truth of the gospel, of the promise of a new life in Christ, a life that begins with your acceptance of God's grace through Christ and doesn't have to wait until you die. In short, Chan is trying to revive Jesus's message about the kingdom of God, a message sometimes overshadowed by the church's emphasis on justification, sacrificial atonement, etc.

Chan is a gifted, sincere preacher whom I admire, and this book (along with Radical by David Platt) has proven to be influential in the evangelical community, sparking a renewed interest in social justice and worldwide humanitarianism. That being said, I thought the book was just ok, retreading ground that already been covered with more depth and better writing by Bonhoeffer and others. It's easy to read, but (like a lot of popular Christian bestsellers) relies too heavily on anecdotes and proof texts for my liking, and would probably work better as a sermon series than a book. The message of Crazy Love is one I totally endorse, the book itself I have mixed feelings about. Nothing objectionable, but nothing particularly memorable either in my opinion.

GOD IS NOT GREAT: HOW RELIGION POISONS EVERYTHING by Christopher Hitchens

In the mid-2000s, atheism was having a moment. Spurred on by books by intellectuals Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, and Christopher Hitchens as well as a movie by comedian Bill Maher, Religulous, unbelief was suddenly in vogue in popular culture, and the church found itself having to reckon with apologetics in a new way. This "New Atheism" (basically a more militant and evangelistic style of atheism) eventually faded, but its impact is still felt today in a culture where belief in God is no longer a given.

Of the different books that came out during the New Atheism's heyday, God Is Not Great was generally considered the best, and the late Hitchens was considered to be the best standard-bearer for the movement. Indeed, while I (obviously) agreed with little of what he had to say in God Is Not Great, I did find him to be an engaging, brilliant writer and a relatively fair if polemical thinker.

Hitchens' argument is basically found in the book's subtitle: he does not see religion as something good for the world or even neutral, but a net negative on society, a backwards mentality best left behind post-Enlightenment. He prays at the altar of reason and evidence, choosing to exalt philosophy and science over faith. While acknowledging some of religion's positive impacts on the world (charitable giving, advances in medicine, etc.), he believes these positives are outweighed by religion's harms (holy wars, valuing faith over reason, etc.)

For a person of faith, what you get out of God Is Not Great is going to depend largely on how easily you are offended. Hitchens was a polemicist, not an honest broker in the theism vs. atheism debate, so he delighted in provocation. But he also makes some points that believers (especially Christians) are often too quick to ignore or dismiss out of hand. We do need an answer for questions about some of the Bible's more undesirable passages. We do need to repent of the sins of the church. We do need to reckon with what role faith has to play in a postmodern world. Shouting down atheists or refusing to engage with them gets people of faith nowhere, but reading books like this one and grappling with its arguments can sharpen the faith of a mature believer and start some important dialogues, both within the church and with the world. 

THE GLORY OF THEIR TIMES: THE STORY OF THE EARLY DAY OF BASEBALL TOLD BY THE MEN WHO PLAYED IT by Lawrence S. Ritter

In 1961, Ty Cobb died. Lawrence Ritter, reading about Cobb's death in the newspaper, came to a sudden realization: the first generation of major leaguers wasn't going to be around much longer. So, tape recorder in hand, he traveled across the country interviewing ballplayers from Rube Marquad to Hank Greenberg, traveling more than 75,000 miles total in pursuit of their recollections. Upon completion of the project, those stories were put in print, with very little editing, and the result was The Glory of Their Times, a classic among baseball books.

I've always found the pre-Babe Ruth era of baseball to be sort of a tedious subject, since in so many ways it barely resembles the modern game. This book thoroughly convinced me I'd been wrong to think that way—while the game was obviously different, it was no less fascinating. Reading the stories about Honus Wagner, Cy Young, and Ty Cobb, to say nothing of lesser known figures like Fred Snodgrass and Chief Meyers, I was captivated by the personalities and passions of the early ballplayers. An era that I thought of strictly in terms of black-and-white still photographs came alive through the stories of the men who were there.

The Glory of Their Times wound up being hugely influential, with several of its interviewees crediting the book for their subsequent elections to the Hall of Fame. As for me, it gave me a new appreciation for tales from baseball's distant past, a past I'd relegated to obscurity and irrelevance. I highly recommend it for any baseball fan.

POPS: FATHERHOOD IN PIECES by Michael Chabon
BOOKENDS: COLLECTED INTROS AND OUTROS by Michael Chabon

Two books of essays by my favorite author, one about fatherhood and the other about his favorite books. You tell me, doesn't that sound like something I would like?

Bookends take an interesting approach, with Chabon writing a series of forewords for some of his favorite books, and eventually for a few of his own earlier works too. The essays about other people's work are ok, but admittedly suffer if you haven't read those books—no matter how good the writing or how deep the appreciation, it's hard to follow a reflection on a book you've never read. The essay about his own books, on the other hand, were outstanding glimpses into what inspired Chabon to write (and in the case of his never completed second novel Fountain City, fail to write) books I know and love.

Pops, however is the superior of two books, a collection of seven essays which I read in one sitting and will certainly return to again. All of the essays deal in some way with parenting, and all —I laughed, I thought, and I teared up a little. My favorite of the set was "Against Dickitude," a story about the way his preteen son was performatively ignoring an obviously interested girl which turns into a deep, loving, wise reflection on raising boys who respect women. It's an essay that, as the father of a boy, I will read again and again as Andrew gets older.

BOTTOM OF THE 33RD: HOPE, REDEMPTION, AND BASEBALL'S LONGEST GAME by Dan Barry

On April 18, 1981, the AAA Pawtucket Red Sox and Rochester Red Wings did something that had never been done before or since, playing 33 innings in a single game before a victor emerged. It was a feat of endurance, stamina, and out-and-out stubbornness that made national headlines at the time, a game that featured two future Hall of Famers and has had an outsized impact on baseball history.

In Bottom of the 33rd, columnist Dan Barry chronicles the game through the eyes of the players, fans, coaches, umpires, management, and anybody else he could get a hold of, telling not only the story of the game, but the town in which it was played and the people who made it happen. The result is a charming glimpse at minor league life, a love letter to the sport, and a 'triumph of the human spirit' story that you can't help but love.

Admittedly overwritten, Barry traffics in Field of Dreams-style prose that I'm a sucker for but may turn off others. What no one would disagree about is his skill in evoking the lives, motivations, and stories of players like Dave Koza, a lifelong minor leaguer who knocked the game-winning hit. If you've ever read a Dan Barry column in the New York Times, you know what to expect, for good and ill. Bottom of the 33rd was a quick, enjoyable read about an event in baseball history with which I was unfamiliar, a great book to read on a sunny afternoon while a game plays on the radio.

THANOS WINS by Donny Cates and Geoff Shaw

"Ask the most powerful beings in the Marvel Universe how they fear the universe will end, and in their most honest moment, they will answer with two words: "Thanos wins.""

Thus begins this wonderful, zany, self-contained story for any fan of Marvel's Mad Titan. Over six issues, up-and-coming writer Donny Cates writes a love letter to Marvel's cosmic universe in a story that has everything from the Silver Surfer wielding Thor's hammer to...Cosmic Ghost Rider? That's right, in about ten pages Cates tells the story of how (in an alternate timeline) Frank Castle, the Punisher, becomes first the Spirit of Vengeance, then the herald of Galactus, and finally the Black Right Hand of Thanos. It's as wacky—and delightful—as it sounds. 

The overall plot of Thanos Wins centers around the Mad Titan being kidnapped by Cosmic Ghost Rider and dragged into an alternate future where he has completed his lifelong mission and successfully wiped out nearly all life in the universe in his effort to win the affections of his true love, Death. Ostensibly brought there by the future Thanos to help him defeat one final enemy, things are revealed to be slightly more complicated as the story unfurls. In the end, the two Thanoses go head-to-head, and the conclusion of their battle shows a fascinating contradiction for the character: the only way for Thanos to be with Death is to die.

This book manages to be a comedy and a tragedy, an epic and a silly, over-the-top romp. In short, this books is comics in the best way. Most unabashed fun I've had reading in a while.

MISTER MIRACLE by Tom King and Mitch Gerards

Complex, witty, heartfelt, enigmatic, and powerful,Mister Miracle is, simply put, one of the best comic books I've ever read.

Plot-wise, Mister Miracle is the story of Scott Free, the eponymous Mister Miracle, an escape artist and one of DC's New Gods, and his life after a failed suicide attempt. Over the course of twelve issues he goes to war, is crowned king ("highfather") of his homeworld, becomes a father, and confronts the ultimate villain, his adoptive father Darkseid. There is action, comic book mythology, and appearances by some of DC's most beloved Jack Kirby creations.

But, as they say, it's not really about the plot. This is a book whose style is so elevated that it becomes substance, a book that is more than willing to spend nine panels on a gag and that cares as much about small moments as big ones (if not more.) While it deals with an epic cosmic war, the story's heart and soul is what happens in Scott and Barda's Los Angeles condo, where they struggle with marriage, children, love, and loss. It's a superhero story, but it's really a family story.

As you may be noticing, it's a hard book to describe. And honestly, it's not the easiest book to read. I read it in single issues when it was coming out before ever buying the trade and rereading it from beginning to end, and I remember telling my brother after 5 issues, "I'm still not exactly sure what's going on, but it's so good." After rereading it, I have a much better idea of what happened (though I'm still not 100% sure), but like my favorite TV show, Lost, I'm also convinced it doesn't ultimately matter. It's not about the plot or the mysteries or "what it all meant" plot-wise—what matters is the characters and how they grew.

If you want a good, honest reflection on family and don't mind getting it in the form of an often hilarious, always enigmatic superhero story, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. Possibly my book of the year, and comic of the decade.

ESSENTIAL MARVEL HORROR VOL. 2

Well, they can't all be essential.

Essential Marvel Horror Vol. 2 is, as the title indicates, a second look at Marvel's various horror titles from the 1970s, this one focusing on 5 different characters who never quite caught on with the public. For the sake of brevity, let me give you a quick summary for each:

First, the Living Mummy. Born to the Swarili tribe of Northern Africa, N'Kantu and his tribe were slaves in Egypt until the day that they plotted a rebellion against their overlords. This rebellion was put down by the Pharaoh's chief priest, Nephrus, who paralyzes and embalms N'Kantu (y'know, as you do), mummifying him until the day, 3,000 years later, when he is discovered and revived by a team of archaeologists led by one of Nephrus's descendants. This character and his story start off pretty cool, but it becomes apparent almost immediately that Marvel's ideas for the character stopped with his origin story.

Second is Brother Voodoo, who is cringe-worthy in countless ways (including his name) but manages to be a pretty cool character nevertheless, even being revived in the last decade. Jericho Drumm was a sophisticated psychologist who, upon returning to his native Haiti, found trouble when his brother Daniel, the native houngan (i.e. voodoo priest) was killed by a rival sorcerer. Upon his death, Jericho vowed to train with Daniel's mentor, Papa Jambo (yeah, I know), and becomes a voodoo master himself, learning that he is also able to call upon Daniel's spirit in times of need. This is a character with a lot going for him (and beautiful art by Gene Colan), but once again Marvel was out of ideas once the origin story was told.

Gabriel the Devil Hunter only appeared in Marvel's horror magazines, comics intended for adults instead of children. This can be seen in both the black-and-white, sketchy art that was favored by such magazines and the content, which is straight out of The Exorcist. Gabriel is a former priest turned exorcist with a female sidekick, Desadia, who predictably becomes his wife by the end of their arc. Gabriel's stories are relatively interesting, but never progress beyond the typical tropes of the exorcism genre.

The Golem, a hulking figure out of Jewish legend, shows up after being discovered by a team of archaeologists and silently pledging to protect them from harm. Of the five characters, this was the one that seemed to have a chance of sticking around as a long-term character but for one serious flaw: he couldn't think or talk. Hard to build much rapport with fans when you're literally just a walking lump of clay.

Finally, the Scarecrow (not the Batman villain). Another silent character, this one has an interesting initial premise—he emerges from a painting to wreak havoc and protect Earth from a demon horde—but never goes anywhere after his first appearance. Three issues and he was done, and I doubt anyone's missed him since. The same can be said for most of these inessential characters and their stories, I'm afraid.