July Reading Log

 

I spent a lot of time away from home this month, first for youth camp at Mt. Lebanon in Cedar Hill, then for a couple of days at Port Aransas, then for a longer family trip to Washington D.C., Philadelphia, and Baltimore. It certainly affected what and how much I read this month—I enjoyed hundreds of pages in the cabin at Mt. Lebanon and by the pool at Port A, but was too tired and too busy to read much of anything during our trip Northeast.

In other words, July was a weird one, reading-wise. Here's what I read:

THE WRITER'S LIBRARY by Nancy Pearl and Jeff Schwager

Every writer worth his or her salt is also a reader, and countless interviews with authors across the literary spectrum have testified to this, with many (most?) professional writers including dedicated reading time as part of their work day. But what specific books are writers reading?

That's the question that Nancy Pearl, a librarian, and Jeff Schwager, a playwright, sought to answer with The Writer's Library, a collection of interviews with various leading lights of modern literature. Each conversation covers essentially the same ground: what made you a reader, what authors and books shaped you, what are you reading right now, etc. As a result, this is a book best read one chapter at a time, rather than over a few long sittings, where it would undoubtedly get repetitive.

The value of each chapter, not surprisingly, has a lot to do with how much you value that particular writer. For example, I'm not sure the interview with husband and wife Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman was any better than the others in the book, but since Chabon is arguably my favorite author, I was in rapt attention to every answer he gave. Other chapters, where I had little to no familiarity with the interview subject, were skimmed more than read, especially when the answers referred to books I knew nothing about.

Ultimately, this is the kind of book that literature lovers will love. For those on board with books about books—and that's a genre I love, personally—this is well worth your time.

FENCES by August Wilson

This little play, made famous outside the theater community by the 2016 Denzel Washington-Viola Davis film adaptation, is the sixth part of playwright August Wilson's "Century Cycle," ten plays set in Pittsburgh that tell the story of Black America. And, for good reason, it's probably the best known, with apologies to Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, which Chadwick Boseman and Viola Davis adapted to film in 2020.

It tells the story of Troy Maxson, a blue-collar trash collector whose glory days as a Negro Leagues baseball player have passed him by and whose charisma masks equal parts pain and desperation. Troy is an immensely complicated character, whose burdens—children by multiple women, a commitment to keep a roof over the head of his saintly wife and frustrated son—are muddied by his weaknesses. Wife Rose, son Cory, and best friend Bono represent both the audience—cheering Troy on even as they recoil at his sins—and the victims of his iniquity.

As the play progresses, what stands out is the razor thin margin that the family lives on. With Troy as head of household, the Maxson family has little hope of advancing beyond their present state, and Rose and Cory are in no position to change things unless Troy gets his act together.

The play has plenty to say about manhood, responsibility, and the African-American experience in its 102 pages. Give it a read if you can, or at least watch the excellent movie.

ORIGIN by Dan Brown

Since 2000's Angels & Demons, Dan Brown has been entertaining readers with stories of Harvard symbologist (note: not a real job) Robert Langdon and the various puzzles he's solved. Brown and his fictional protagonist became lightning rods for fame and controversy with 2003's The Da Vinci Code, and two lesser follow-ups, The Lost Symbol and Inferno, kept the gravy train rolling, as did Tom Hanks-helmed film adaptations of three of those stories. While I've read all four of these novels, I'm mindful of their flaws—Brown is a gifted storyteller but a poor prose writer, and the Langdon books are the kind of grocery store thrillers that 10 seconds of critical thinking render ridiculous.

But hey, a beach read is a beach read. Nobody's trying to read the Great American Novel while their kids are building sand castles. So let's finish the Langdon series!

In Origin, Brown's higher purpose is to find a middle path between atheism and faith, a task his writing is ill-suited for. But when it comes to the actual story he's telling, this is arguably his best written tale yet. Langdon, having been invited to a hyped presentation by his Steve Jobs-meets-Elon Musk former student at a Spanish museum, unwittingly witnesses said friend's assassination (after all, every Langdon book seemingly must start with a murder in a museum). From there, it's up to Langdon to both solve his friend's murder and reveal his presentation to the world, all with the aid of the future queen of Spain and a Siri-like artificial intelligence named Winston.

The novel is fast-paced and action-packed, but more straightforward than previous Langdon stories, to its benefit. And while Brown's attempts to say Big Things about faith, secularism, and artificial intelligence are ill-advised (cringe, as the kids would say), the story's pretty fun on its own merits. If this winds up being the last Langdon novel (it's been 7 years since its publication, with no announcement about anything forthcoming), Brown could do far worse. A worthy beach read!

SEX, DRUGS, AND COCOA PUFFS by Chuck Klosterman

In a footnote in one of this book's essays, writer Chuck Klosterman gives a better description for his work than any I could come up with: "philosophy for shallow people." Witty, engaging, and unambitious to the point of being occasionally frustrating, Klosterman's writing is intellectual junk food—I loved consuming it, but felt a little regretful afterwards.

Tackling pop culture from all angles, Klosterman speaks as the voice of Generation X, a cohort which by his own admission is way more concerned with what's cool and uncool than with what's important. Klosterman's Big Idea is to see what different elements of mainstream pop culture, from the music we like to the actors we obsess over to the cereal we eat, say about us as people. His observations are clever and insightful, and they hold up surprisingly well given that this book was published in 2003. Furthermore, he's an excellent writer, stringing you along fun tangents like a world-class comedian only to tie it all together with a well-executed punchline.

His talent is perhaps the problem though—the better the essay is, the more you feel like he's wasted his time, and by extension yours, by spending ten pages on the merits and demerits of The Real World. At the risk of sounding like a self-serious snob, what are we doing here? Shouldn't someone at Klosterman's level be punching in a higher weight class?

I had fun reading Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs; it was the perfect book for a pair of plane rides when I needed to be able to put it down at a moment's notice to hold a baby. But I was always left with the feeling that, with a little more ambition and effort, it could have been more meaningful than it was.

ETERNALS by Neil Gaiman and John Romita, Jr.

After reading the Jack Kirby original series and finding it intriguing but impenetrable, then watching the MCU movie (twice!) and finding it intriguing but dull, I was ready to give the Eternals another try, this time with the 2006 miniseries by comics legend and author Neil Gaiman and top-tier artist John Romita, Jr. The result: intriguing (see a pattern?) but ultimately disappointing, falling into the classic miniseries trap of setting up a great story and then failing to deliver a satisfying ending.

Gaiman is trying to juggle a lot of balls at once from the get-go, having to 1) explain why we hadn't heard from the Eternals in ages, 2) tie the miniseries into the Civil War mega-event consuming Marvel at that time, and 3) you know, tell the story he wanted to tell. He accomplishes the first and third priorities by establishing that the various Eternals have forgotten their identities and been living as normal humans (the reason why is explained as the story progresses). As the miniseries goes on, the key Eternals each wake from their slumber, preparing to take on the rival Deviants and prepare for the return of the almighty Celestials.

I would say I loved the first three issues, as Gaiman artfully introduced the cast of characters, established the central conflicts, and laid groundwork for questions that needed to be answered. But in the second half of the series, things got muddy and I started to lose the plot. In attempting to reconcile Kirby's vision with modern Marvel (all while incorporating all the Eternals' appearances in between those eras), Gaiman had a high bar to clear, and in my view, he still had a few inches to go.

Those who saw the Eternals movie will recognize some of the themes, characters, and story beats the movie borrowed from this series, particularly anything involving the character Sprite. But while ultimately unsuccessful in its own right, the film recognized that Gaiman's series shouldn't be faithfully adapted—there were too many kinks to work out. I remain intrigued by the Eternals, arguably Kirby's last gasp of creativity in the twilight of his career—but I still haven't seen a project that brings them to their full potential.

CIVIL WAR by Mark Millar and Steve McNiven

Eternals' nods to the 2006-2007 Civil War mega-event got me hankering to read that series for the first time since its publication, when I was buying the individual issues at my local comic shop. The much-hyped event, later adapted in the MCU, was arguably the last and most successful big crossover by either DC or Marvel, and legitimately did change the face of the Marvel Universe for years to come.

But was it good? Well, as I remembered, it was something of a mixed bag.

First the positive. The premise is outstanding, so simple that it's hard to believe it took 40+ years for someone to think of it. Following a tragedy, the U.S. government passes a law requiring all superheroes to register with the Feds or face imprisonment. Iron Man leads the pro-registration side, Captain America leads the rebels, and boom, we have ourselves a Civil War. Beyond the premise, Steve McNiven's widescreen art is appropriately dramatic and eye-catching, as is Mark Millar's scripting.

So where does Civil War fall short? Like many events, it relies too heavily on crossover issues with titles outside the main book. For example, one of the pro-registration side's chief sins is building a prison in the Negative Zone, a crime which is mentioned offhand in this series after clearly having been introduced elsewhere. Beyond that nitpick, all significant character work outside of Iron Man, Captain America, and Spider-Man is left to other titles—this book is all plot. Finally, this book read much better in real time—over the seven months it was published—than it does in collected format, where it feels rushed and somewhat disconnected.

As an event, Civil War was a massive success, one both Marvel and DC have been trying to replicate ever since. As a standalone series, it has definite weak points that distract from its more obvious strengths. Worth a read for any Marvel fan, but don't expect the virtually flawless fun of the movie adaptation.