How to Write Book Reviews for Your Blog

August 16, 2008 8 Comments


Book reviews are everywhere now. And more people are writing reviews and posting them online. Journal and magazine editors worry that literary book reviews will become obsolete and that paid reviewers will be out of a job. I hope this doesn’t happen, because so much of the reviewing done online is of a different quality and serves a different purpose. At the same time, I think the proliferation of book reviewing by bloggers is a positive development. Read more of this post

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If You Don’t Feel Like Writing, You Can Always Read About It

August 15, 2008 3 Comments


You want to write but you can get going? Do the next best thing—read about writing. But make sure what you’re reading is written well. This is my list of recommendations for reading that leads to improved writing. This is kind of an annotated bibliography. I include a favorite quote from each item. Read more of this post

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Good Reading—Part 1

August 13, 2008 Leave a comment


We discover good reads in lots of different ways. I’ve benefited from reading books about reading and about books worth reading. I have several of these in my library. And one I purchased 18 years ago is still a source of fresh ideas for me. The Prentice Hall Good Reading Guide, by Kenneth McLeish, doesn’t need to be updated. Read more of this post

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Beyond the Sounds of Poetry

August 11, 2008 Leave a comment


In a separate post, I’ve recommended Robert Pinsky’s little book The Sounds of Poetry. So maybe you’ve jumped in and grabbed your own copy of the book to get yourself educated in the values of poetry. What comes after Pinsky’s guide? Here are a few suggestions that vaguely parallel my own path toward greater understanding and appreciation of the riches of poetry. Read more of this post

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My Idle Banjo

July 31, 2008 4 Comments


We’ve had family visits from out-of-state this summer, and we’ve celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. This has called for hauling out ancient video for the “entertainment” of one and all. During one of these forays into the past, my daughters were remarking about some video of me with a Christmas gift some years ago. It was a banjo—something I had long wanted to try. I can be very distinctly heard saying, “Now I’ll have to learn to play the banjo.”

I did make an attempt for several months, maybe even a year. And I enjoyed it. I made encouraging progress, up to a point, at which time I found I was simply “too busy” to keep at it. I continue to be proud of my banjo, carefully selected for me by my wife and children, if not my playing. But every time I glance at it now, or see another banjo (which isn’t often), or hear bluegrass music (which isn’t much more often), I get that guilty sensation and I half-heartedly remind myself to get back to playing (which would mean starting from the beginning).

As a result of this blog, I’ve made a number of friends in recent months. Today I learned that one of them, Carol Woodside, has a shared interest in bluegrass. I replied to a comment she left at one of my posts, then learned of her blog, Woodside Roots and Branches, where her home page makes it pretty obvious that she’s a fan of Earl Scruggs and company. (You should check out the blog and the related website.)

I can listen to Earl Scruggs, if I don’t get him in out-sized doses. I’m more of a Bela Fleck listener. But I don’t enjoy guilt, and it always mixes with the joy of listening. So I don’t listen much. All because of my idle banjo.

***

Update

The Washington Pugilist, having read this post, recommended a book and a CD to get me back into the banjo groove. The book is Old and In the Way Banjo Songbook. That pretty much says it all, doesn’t it? It includes tablature for Jerry Garcia riffs. The CD is called Old and In the Way. At Amazon as of right now, this CD has 34 customer reviews, with an average of 5 stars. I’ve just added the book to my Amazon shopping cart. Thanks, my friend at The Washington Pugilist.

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Quotations: On Reading

July 30, 2008 2 Comments


“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” —C. S. Lewis to his godchild, Lucy Barfield, to whom he dedicated The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

“Don’t . . . be stingy with your underlining, because if you don’t save the book’s vibrant material now, it’ll be dead to you once you shut the cover. I’m being realistic. There’s too much to read, learn, and do in this life, and unless a volume stands out as particularly worthy, you’ll probably only thumb through it again to consult your highlights. The rest of the text might as well not be there.” —Mark Levy, Accidental Genius

“Rereading is often a shock, an encounter with an earlier self that has been revised . . . .” —David Denby, Great Books

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Why Book Covers Matter

July 26, 2008 4 Comments


As a reader, I care about what books in my library look like. As an author, I care about what my books look like. Cover art has its own aesthetic. It should appeal. It should say something about what is between the covers, but without saying too much. And, if you’re a marketing director at a publishing firm, it should have what they call “pop”—it should get a prospective buyer (notice, I didn’t say reader) to turn the book over, to read the blurbs, to inspect the pages. With that sort of investment, there’s a better chance the book will sell (whether or not it’s read).

There’s more to the aesthetic of a book than its cover design. What does it feel like in the hand? How are the pages trimmed? Are they ragged, or clean? What about the paper itself? What is its quality? The font, the margins, the kerning. These all matter.

The cover is special. It’s the most noticed feature of the aesthetic of any book. And yet, for me at least, it isn’t always noticed. Countless times I have perused a book without noticing, much less examining, its cover. Not everyone is flawed in this way. I’m sure that what I don’t attend to directly still leaves an impression via its subliminal power. But when I do notice, this noticing is often the source of two different feelings, which may or may not concur. I’m either bewildered by the art or pleased by it, or both.

What I mean by bewildered is quite simple. I don’t get it. I can’t make heads or tails of it. I don’t understand it. And this is what is arresting about it. The design of the cover confuses me or strikes me as impertinent. I assume that the cover is designed. That is, there’s an explanation why this cover is attached to this book. But the explanation escapes me. This intrigues me, especially if the art is at the same time pleasing.

When I say I’m pleased by the cover art of a book, I mean that it gives me pleasure. This is more difficult to explain. And the pleasure induced by a particular cover may be diminished or it may be intensified by the effort to explain its special appeal. Explaining the appeal of a book cover must begin with a description of the experience induced. And this is remarkably variable.

At any rate, this experience of pleasure may be a selling point for me. I may wish to own a copy of the book as much for its cover design as for any other reason. I may feel this way even if I realize that the book holds this “limited” attraction for me. I may even buy the book. This could explain, at least in some cases, why I have purchased a book at a brick and mortar establishment, even if I could have saved a few dollars by ordering it online. It isn’t necessarily an indication of impatience. It may have to do with an attachment to this particular copy of the book I hold in my hands. It is this one that has provided the pleasure. I will zigzag through the columns of books, each shelved book beckoning hopelessly for my attention. I will stand in line, beholding the book with persistent wonder. I will step up to the cashier and hand over my credit card with satisfaction.

The physicality of this unified experience cannot be matched by a paypal order. I will leave the store “holding the bag,” feeling responsible for my purchase. I may pull the book out and place it on the passenger seat of my car, giving it occasional sidelong glances as I return home, and thus extending the experience of pleasure. The prolongation of the experience adds texture to the experience.

At home, I will leave the book out for awhile, so that the initial pleasure returns for brief instants as I tend to other business. I will wait to “process” the book, to assign its place in my collection. For now, its place is distinctive. It is not just one more book among many. It has a distinctive power over my attention.

To be sure, and thankfully, there won’t be many books like this. Man does not live, aesthetically or otherwise, by books alone. But the quality of life may be improved by the cover of a book.

***

A Book about Book Covers

Links about Book Covers

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First Lines: What Does Sunday Sound Like?

July 26, 2008 2 Comments


Sometimes you read the first line of a novel and you just have to take the next step. If you’re lucky, the next sentence is equally galvanizing, and before you know it, you’re deep into another read.

The experience is rare. But it happened for me again the other day. The sentence that did it comes from John Wyndham’s book The Day of the Triffids: “When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere.”

First Edition Cover of John Wyndham's Novel, The Day of the Triffids (1951)

First Edition Cover of John Wyndham's Novel, The Day of the Triffids (1951)

The Day of the Triffids is favorably reviewed by its numerous readers. For example, it averages four-and-a-half stars at Amazon for sixty-nine customer reviews. But it’s still not known very well outside the sci-fi community. Paul Thompson, of Devon, England, has dedicated a website to this book. It’s called “The Reader’s Guide to John Wyndham’s The Day of the Triffids.”

Here is an artist’s rendition of a triffid:

Sketch of a Triffid

Sketch of a Triffid

Best discussions of The Day of the Triffids:

If you’re familiar with Wyndham’s novel, please post your thoughts.

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Doug’s Publications

July 19, 2008 Leave a comment


Books

Book Chapters

Articles in Reference Works

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Ferriss, Frauenfelder and Trapani: Three Books for the Productivity Minded

July 8, 2008 3 Comments


Three books crossed my desk about the same time, Tim Ferriss’s The 4-Hour Workweek, Mark Frauenfelder’s Rule the Web, and Gina Trapani’s Upgrade Your Life. They have certain aims and features in common, so I’ll describe them in one long Reading Jag post.

***

Ferriss counsels his readers to expand their horizons and pursue their dreams, even at considerable risk. He asks a straightforward question: Why put off what you’ve been working for all your life? There are people who work 60+ hours per week, and don’t do much else. Chances are they aren’t happy campers, even if they think they are. Some have been logging dozens of weekly hours for decades. They surely do need to stop the carousel and ask themselves why they got on in the first place. They should also stick around an honest answer.

As it happens, Timothy Ferriss is a pretty young guy. To all appearances, he is constitutionally incapable of working a forty-hour week. There’s just too much fun to be had, and much of it requires happy-go-lucky world-travel. Since having fun is his primary aim in life, and work fits uneasily in that scenario, he’s devised a strategy for limiting his work commitments to four hours a week. And he’s managed to make a fortune doing so. This book explains how. It’s also an advertisement for his consulting services for those who wish to follow the plan and achieve the same dream.

Ferriss offers a lot of practical advice about how to manage time, conduct business more efficiently, and join ranks with “the new rich.” And plenty of it is good advice. But layered throughout his enthusiastic campaign to streamline is a work ethic that deserves closer examination than many readers will give. He makes certain assumptions and claims about the point of human existence and the value of work that will be absorbed without awareness by the narcissistic rabble that makes up so much of the American population today.

Living a morally exemplary life has more to do with being than doing. For any significant action or form of life it is appropriate to ask, What sort of person would make that choice? In this case, what sort of person would wish to tidy things up on the scale and in the manner commended by Ferriss? What would it mean for society if everyone behaved in the way that is celebrated here? What kinds of relationships and commitments would be possible living this way? And what would replace the machinery of work as an incentive to personal discipline?

I don’t mean to break the spokes on Ferriss’s wheel. The irony is that “leisure is the basis of culture,” as Joseph Pieper argued. If the community of the new rich use their greater leisure for at least a modicum of contemplation and pursuit of the highest ideals, it will be a good thing for them and others. I like the way Ferriss writes and I share his sense of adventure. I welcome many of his specific suggestions for improving productivity and making room for other important activities beyond work. I recommend the book, but with caution. And I have to say, his website is way cool.

***

The other two books are more about the pragmatics of productivity, and both focus heavily on the use of technology in ordering our lives. Gina Trapani has a name for the person who assimilates efficiency habits in the use of technology—computer technology, mostly. The name is “lifehacker.” The subtitle for Upgrade Your Life is The Lifehacker Guide to Working Smarter, Faster, Better. I don’t know what there is about “better” that isn’t covered by “smarter” and “faster,” or why “better” doesn’t cover the bases all by itself. Titles like these abound, and they’re much more effective from a marketing standpoint when they aren’t subjected to much analysis. But hey, who’s analyzing?

The book, in the edition I have, includes no less than 115 “hacks,” laid out in eleven chapters and 450 pages, if you count the index. It’s definitely “user-friendly,” as any book with its objectives would have to be. Here’s a chapter-by-chapter rundown.

Chapter 1 suggests ten hacks for controlling email. Hack 1, like all the hacks in the book, is stated as a directive and uses a verb in the active voice—”Empty Your Inbox (and Keep It Empty).” If you aren’t already convinced of the value of this advice, Trapani makes a compelling case. And the suggestions for making this work are useful. Hacks 2, 3, and 4 didn’t do much for me. Number 5 is interesting: “Use Disposable Email Addresses.” This can certainly come in handy when you don’t want to risk a barrage of junk mail after divulging your email address online as a condition for some promised benefit. Trapani tells you how to circumvent that dread possibility.

Hack 6 is useful, number 7 not so much (speaking personally, of course). I especially liked learning about hacks 8 and 9, for consolidating email addresses and scripting repetitive email responses, respectively.

The main problem I have with Hack 8 is that I can’t use gmail in tandem with my business email account in the way that’s required. That’s a limitation of FirstClass mail, one of many that have caused me a degree of frustration. I can forward mail from FirstClass to gmail, of course. But if I reply from gmail, recipients get my messages marked with my gmail address rather than my FirstClass address. That’s generally not desirable.

It’s remarkable how often I receive unsolicited questions about some presumed area of expertise, and how often the same questions recur. A solution, helpful to both parties, is to script replies to the commonest inquiries. Scripting repetitive messages and replies doesn’t take much specialized knowledge. But a book of this kind, that is virtually (no pun intended) encyclopedic, has to include a few pages on the wherefore and the how-to.

Hack 10 is OK, but not brilliant in my work environment. (Trapani understands that some hacks will work better for some people than for others.)

Hacks 11 to 21, collected in Chapter 2, are about organizing your data—all that stuff that comes your way and has to be archived in some fashion, ready for future reference. There are hacks for

  • structuring your documents folder (the main thing is to come up with some way to keep unrelated stuff off your desktop and in places where it can be found fairly easily),
  • using searches and various tools to retrieve files,
  • keeping track of the bulging tribe of passwords needed for web logins and such,
  • tagging bookmarks (using del.icio.us, for example; see Brett O’Connor’s book del.icio.us Mashups),
  • organizing digital photos (Trapani likes Picasa; but Leo Laporte, The Tech Guy,on AM radio, recommends an online service called carbonite.com),
  • designing a personal planner, and
  • maintaining paper files.

Chapter 3 is kind of a breakdown in greater detail of the final hack in chapter 2. That hack, number 21, is about designing your own planner. Chapter 3 is titled “Trick Yourself Into Getting Done.” This is a series of eight hacks (22-29) for managing your projects, calendar, and time. The advice is sound. While not entirely original, it’s convenient to have it packaged here with other lifehacking suggestions.

Chapter 4 continues in the same vein, but with greater focus on specific types of activities and responsibilities, using the computer for it all. Here are six hacks for doing more things with your photo library (using Flickr), taking notes, and organizing tasks. Hack 31 explains how to build your own personal wikipedia. It sounds cool. But the cool factor is erased for me because it only works on the Windows platform. I know, I can run Windows on my Mac. But I don’t want to run Windows, which is one reason why I have a Mac.

The last hack of the chapter, number 35, very sensibly suggests using plain-text files for tracking projects and tasks. This suggestion is every bit as useful to GTDers—the cult followers of David Allen’s somewhat baroque strategy for Getting Things Done. I actually like David Allen’s general approach, have recommended his book to my students, and have gifted the book to my research assistants. I imagine GTD appeals most to those of us with obsessive-compulsive personality disorders (sorry, David). But a disorder is a disorder, and you’ve got to work with it. The thing is, a GTD addict may be completely nonplussed about managing life with something as prosaic as plain text, when there are so many exotic software programs specifically designed to play well with GTD guidelines.

(I know something about this, having spent time in that sandbox myself. And I’ve finally settled on a software program that does it all and without an inordinate number of bells and whistles. It’s called Things. I reckon it has all the virtues trumpeted by Gina Trapani on behalf of plain text, but with greater visual appeal and a minimum of setup. Granted, Things doesn’t work with Windows, at least not yet. Which is yet another reason to go with the Mac platform!)

Hacks 36-44 are set forth in Chapter 5. The chapter title, “Firewall Your Attention,” is not especially self-explanatory. But the point is to have strategies for staying focused on what matters, to avoid web and email distractions, and to set up a work environment conducive to productivity.

Chapter 6 is all about streamlining. There are thirteen hacks here, outlining tricks for speeding up web searches and web page displays, using keyboard shortcuts, text-messaging, and managing money using your cell phone (!). I can’t see myself ever using my camera phone to scan text to PDF (hack 57). But I do use Google Calendar and the instructions about this in hack 56 are very helpful.

One of the main advantages of technological excess should be greater potential for automation, especially for repetitive tasks. That’s the focus of the ten hacks in Chapter 7. Trapani explains, step by step, ways to automate file backups, disc cleanups, application launches, Google searches, and media downloads. Backups are a necessity, and the simpler the procedure the better. (Did I mention carbonite.com?) I guess auto-launches have their place, but I haven’t felt much need for them myself. As for automating searches and downloads, this could be a potential nightmare. You can set your computer to download more stuff than you can possibly wade through during your more leisurely moments. And even if you are willing to burrow into so many archives, you’ll still have to remember to do it periodically and muster the inner strength to resist the temptation to loiter needlessly among all the stimulating stuff that’s been collected while you were sleeping. (That inflated sentence actually illustrates the problem I’m getting at.)

Chapter 8 is all about how to go portable with your tech-saturated life. Twelve unique hacks will have you on your way in no time. First you need a web-based office suite. (Not for me, thank you.) Then you want some device or devices for portable storage, like MojoPac or flash drives. (This makes sense.) You may want to use text messaging to run web apps. Since you always have your cell phone with you, all you need to know is how. Hack 73 explains how to create a virtual private network (VPN). I didn’t know what this was until I came to that portion of the book, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want one. Generally, I prefer a network that is so private no one else but me can get in. I have a home network that links me to the women in my life, and, so far, that’s been enough for me.

Speaking of home computer operation, there are nifty hacks for running a home web server (hack 74), implementing remote controls (hack 75), and assigning a web addresses to your home computer (huh?) (hack 76). Hack 77 is a potpourri of simple ways to get the most out of your computer battery, keyboard, screen, and so forth. Gmail can be used as an internet hard drive (hack 80), your cell phone can multi-task as a modem (hack 79), and your iPod can replace your hard drive (hack 78)—well, not replace it, exactly.

Greater web mastery is only sixteen hacks away—Chapter 9. Google like a pro. Use RSS. Multiply search engines. Exploit the URL bar (I knew there was a name for that thing). Get Firefox working for you. Find out what “reusable media are,” then use them and re-use them. Plot data in interesting ways on various maps. Get used to tabbed browsing. Here’s a good one: “Access unavailable web sites via Goggle” (hack 91). You would think that if a website is unavailable, you wouldn’t be able to access it. What does “unavailable” mean, after all? But you have yet to learn the miraculous powers of Google. And the method is all condensed on one page.

Maintain your elaborately constructed browser habitat from one computer to another (hack 92). It takes two pages to learn this one. Lift the hood on a website you’re not sure you can trust (hack 93). Don’t let Google ruin your reputation; expunge their invasion of your privacy (hack 94). Use Google Notebook for web research (hack 95). (This seems to me to be rather like the Firefox extension called Zotero. But I haven’t done a close comparison.) Cover your tracks after browsing the web (hack 96).

Has your computer ever let you down? Get the upper hand using resources on your computer. Chapter 10 takes you through the steps with twelve specialty hacks. These deal with viruses and infections, data-space hogs, firewalls, and lost files. I couldn’t help noticing that many of these hacks are designed for PCs only. Hmm, wonder what that means?

Chapter 11 concludes the book with eight hacks needed to get multiple computers to synchonize and play nice with each other, sharing data and peripherals (like the same printer, for example)

I wouldn’t have had the patience to write a book like Trapani’s. I’d have to mess with Windows in order to offer the best advice to Windows users, and I’d have to write out in excruciating detail various hacks that are mostly a matter of common sense. And I’m beginning to wonder if Upgrade Your Life is the proper title for a book in this genre. Gina Trapani’s motto says it better, “Don’t live to geek; geek to live!”

The book includes an index. Another nice feature is the set of references that comes at the end of each chapter. Most of these references are web addresses for further material on topics covered in the relevant chapter. Trapani has done her homework. And she keeps up with this dynamic field of tech-savviness at her engaging website (to which I have subscribed using RSS).

***

I suggested earlier that Trapani and Frauenfelder have similar goals. Given the encyclopedic nature of Trapani’s book, what can we expect from Frauenfelder that we don’t find in Trapani? Answer: more focus—as indicated by the full title of his book, Rule the Web: How to Do Anything and Everything on the Internet—Better, Faster, Easier. You see, Frauenfelder limits himself to tricks of the internet trade.

But he doesn’t shortchange the reader, since his book comes to 402 pages, including the index. The sheer heft of this reference work (available in inexpensive paperback) convinces us that pretty much anything and everything you can do on the internet is covered in its pages. Testing the claim that you’ll be able to do it all “better, faster, easier” is another matter. I’m in no position to challenge. But I wouldn’t want to; the tactics I find most useful enhance my performance adequately.

Coincidentally, Rule the Web also has eleven chapters. (Or is there some numerological significance in the realm of techno-cultural enhancements?)

  1. Creating and Sharing
  2. Searching and Browsing
  3. Shopping and Selling
  4. Health, Exercise, and Sports
  5. Media and Entertainment
  6. Travel and Sightseeing
  7. Work, Organization, and Productivity
  8. Communication
  9. Toolbox
  10. Protecting and Maintaining
  11. Tips from My Favorite Bloggers

Rule the Web follows a familiar structure. But instead of labeling each hack-like suggestion as a kind of directive, Frauenfelder opts for the interrogative. He formulates a question you might have and then he answers.

Things start off pretty simply:

  • How do I set up my own web site?
  • Is it “website,” one word, or “web site,” two words? (Oops, sorry. That’s not one of the questions.)
  • What’s a domain name?
  • How many people visit my web site?

Notice the conversational tone. Very user-friendly.

  • What are blogs and why should I read them?
  • What is RSS and how do I use it? (This overlaps with Trapani.)
  • How can I blog using my mobile phone? (Finally we come to a question I’ve been aching to ask. Just kidding.)

There is some seriously good advice here for sprucing up your blog to make it more popular. The whole section on podcasting is a good introduction to the subject. Chapter 1 includes advice about using Wikipedia effectively, stowing photos, and sharing files.

Chapter 2 begins with a nice tutorial on the use of Google’s search tools. Page 108 lists some helpful keyboard shortcuts for the Firefox browser. The rest of the chapter offers pretty elementary instruction on browser technique.

Chapter 3 is a hodgepodge of suggestions for buying and selling goods using the internet. The pages about navigating eBay could save users some agony . . . and maybe even a little money. Comparison shopping is treated here, and there’s advice for buying certain kinds of products on the web (like planes, trains, and automobiles—well, automobiles, anyway). I’ve used the web to find user manuals for all sorts of aged products around our house. I thought it was a sign of Frauenfelder’s sensitivity to the things the web can do for people that he included a paragraph about this.

Chapter 4 sounds like it would be one of the longer chapters. It comes to only eight pages. But this is by no means a measure of the wealth of health and exercise information available online. My questions in this category are almost completely different than the ones raised and answered in this book.

Chapter 5 offers a much more extensive survey of internet resources in the media and entertainment category—63 pages, in fact. This is probably a reflection of the proportional use that is made of the web by our generation. (Of course, no other generation has ever used the web.)

Chapter 6 explains the relatively simple procedures for planning vacations, booking airline seats, reserving hotel rooms, and finding restaurants online. These are common uses of the internet, and the treatment could stand a little more in the way of detail for those who already have some elementary sense about web browsing.

Chapter 7 has two categories: personal productivity, and money and financial management. Again, the treatment is sparing, but internet novices are at least alerted to a sample of the range of things they can do online.

Mark Frauenfelder

Chapter 8 is slightly bulkier than chapter 5. And well it should be, since it deals with so many communication options and issues: wi-fi, cell phones, integrating cell phone use with the internet, Skype, email, and protection from spam. Since I travel a lot, I was interested in the brief section about finding free wi-fi service in public places. This led me to buy the Canary Wireless Hotspotter. I don’t use it often, but it does come in handy. I can test a neighborhood for wi-fi signals and see whether they’re free or not, without booting up my laptop. Thank you, Mark, for that tip!

Chapter 9 recommends ways to keep your computer humming efficiently. It also has a section on music downloads and applications that you might expect to find in chapter 5. One page tells you how to eliminate scratches from the display window on your iPod. Several questions deal with iTunes issues, but not the one that’s had me befuddled for several months, namely, Why can’t I download the tunes I’ve paid for at the iTunes Music Store! The best entry in this chapter explains how to use iTunes as an alarm clock. I’ve genuinely appreciated and enthusiastically followed the simple guidelines. Again, thanks, Mark! Next I’ll be trying his technique for capturing a still image from a DVD movie that’s playing on my laptop.

Chapter 10 is about maintenance issues, like keeping your cookies down while navigating all those twists and turns in your browsing (not exactly the way Frauenfelder puts it). Encryption, spyware, phishing, pharming, evil twins, and spam are given space here.

Chapter 11 is potpourri time. Twenty-two different bloggers contribute their ideas for superior web techniques. A couple of these appealed to me: Jeff Diehl’s tip on transcribing podcasts and Hana Levin’s practice using random Google searches to come up with blogging links. I’ll experiment with Cyrus Farivar’s ideas for using Greasemonkey scripts. Other than that, the tips section is pretty short on tips and long on plugging favorite websites.

The index makes it a little easier to find your way around this book. The Table of Contents, with its single-level subheaders, is crucial for quick navigation. Otherwise, thumbing through the pages and browsing is your best bet for finding something that will meet your needs or aspirations. I like the book’s concept. The price tag is covered by even the few things that were most useful to me. But the bulk of it is less than what I needed. And that really counts when it comes to space on my bookshelf. I estimate that there are maybe two or three dozen pages that really helped me out. And that’s how it is with books of this kind. They aim at such a broad audience that, for each particular reader who has some facility with the internet, there will probably only be a few entries that are truly educational. So the ideal audience for this book is the shrinking population of web users for whom the internet remains a total mystery.

Mark Frauenfelder blogs at boingboing.

***

The internet is truly an amazing phenomenon. My brother-in-law and his family are vacationing in the East right now. His wife phoned my wife to ask for a restaurant recommendation in the vicinity of Times Square (like we go there all the time). Fact is, Dianne did recall a restaurant we all enjoyed when we were there as a family in 2001. She just couldn’t remember the name. Our daughters knew exactly what she was referring to, but couldn’t bring up the name, either. Me? I didn’t even remember being there! But after listening to their nostalgic recollections for a few minutes, I knew exactly what to do. I went to the family computer and Googled the following string of terms: “space theme burgers restaurant new york city.” And there it was—Mars 2112, Restaurant and Bar. It will take more effort than that to call the in-laws back with the information.

Mars 2112, Restaurant and Bar

Filed under Blogging Tips, GTD, If You Can't Hack It, Reading Jags, Technology Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The New Food Lover’s Companion, by Sharon Tyler Herbst

July 7, 2008 Leave a comment


I don’t cook, but I do eat. And while I may not be a gourmand in the strict sense, I appreciate fine food.

Ten years ago, on a bit of a lark, I picked up the second edition of The New Food Lover’s Companion, by Sharon Tyler Herbst. Anyone under the illusion that this is a book about eating in good company had better check the contents before making the investment. This is a reference work that works for me. The second edition boasts “comprehensive definitions of over 4000 food, wine and culinary terms.” Entries are arranged alphabetically and many include cross-references. Most important, there are guides to pronunciation for terms that are less familiar. Don’t know how to pronounce “coquilles St. Jacques”? Turn to page 147.

My copy is bound in 715 pages that open easily to the term I’m looking for. I refer to the book on those rare occasions when I’m trying to understand some exotic recipe. More often, I turn to it when I’m simply curious about what I’m eating or have eaten. Sometimes I skim for something that sounds delectable or adventurous. Just about every time I consult it for a specific term, I find myself checking out other entries. If were writing a novel, it might come in handy as a source for foods to mention or describe. A mystery novel, for example, might reveal that the victim of a crime had been poisoned from eating an unripe May apple. (Before her culinary debut with a book called Breads, Sharon Tyler Herbst wrote mystery fiction.)

This isn’t a book to read cover-to-cover. But that doesn’t disqualify it from inclusion in my Reading Jag posts. Here are some samples of its uses.

What are “floating islands,” also known as oeufs a la neige (not to be confused with ile flottante)? That burning question is answered on page 221.

Huckleberries proliferate in the Great Northwest. But how do you tell a huckleberry from a blueberry? Easy. Count the seeds! The huckleberry has ten small, hard seeds in the center of the berry. There are many more seeds in a blueberry, though they are hardly noticeable. See page 287.

Eating utensils and cooking tools are described. There’s a paragraph on the ice-cream scoop, for example.

There’s information here about cooking techniques, like induction cooking or making a soufflé.

What are those cookies you enjoyed so much at your friend’s big fat Greek wedding? Could they have been kourabiedes?

How are you when it comes to beer terms? Do you know the difference between a stout and a pilsner? What about ale versus lager? Can’t keep track of the different wines or sort out the various cheeses? You’ll find two pages for the entry on “wine,” including a lengthy list of terms defined elsewhere in the book. The general entry on wine also includes basic information about wine storage and serving temperatures. The entry that follows next is about “wine bottles,” addressing the various sizes: split, half bottle, magnum, double magnum, Jeroboam, Rehoboam, Methuselah, Imperial, Balthazar, and Nebuchadnezzar. (I’m not making this up.) The “cheese” entry spans two pages, and nearly a half page of terms for cross-reference.

At a loss when picking out an artichoke at the grocer? Consult The Food Lover’s Companion, page 21.

I didn’t know that “apples come 2 to 4 per pound, depending on size.” Did you? Which apples are best used for cooking? For “out-of-hand” eating? What’s the difference between a Golden Delicious and a Red Delicious, besides color? (For one thing, the Reds have five knobs on the bottom.) I’ve eaten Granny Smiths, Gravensteins, and Mcintosh apples. But there are others I wouldn’t know by name: Criterion, Jonathan, lady, Macoun, May, Newton Pippin, Rhode Island Greening, and Stayman apples. The May apple sounds most intriguing, and the Jonathan sounds especially tasty.

Fish presents special problems for the novice. At a favorite seafood restaurant in Laguna last week, my brother-in-law asked me about the taste of swordfish, one of my favorites when it isn’t baked dry. What could I tell him? Herbst is concise and on the money—swordfish is mild-flavored, with moderately fat, firm, dense and meatlike flesh. Of course, that’s more or less what I said.

The end pages of the book include a copy and explanation of the “Food Guide Pyramid,” produced and distributed by the USDA, guidelines for “Understanding Food Labels,” a “Profile of Fatty Acids in Commonly Used Oil,” “Approximate Smoke Points of the Most Commonly Used Cooking Oils,” an “Additives Directory,” an “Ingredient Buying Guide” showing equivalents in various metrics, a list of “Emergency Substitutions” for the cook who discovers he or she needs an ingredient that isn’t available, a list of “Common Measurements and Equivalents,” “Approximate Metric Equivalents,” charts for converting to and from metric, temperature equivalents and terminology, conversion times for microwave ovens based on wattage, adjustment guide for high-altitude baking, a chart displaying “Approximate Boiling Temperature of Water at Various Altitudes,” a list of “Comparative Baking Pan Sizes,” a chart showing “Candymaking Temperatures and Cold-Water Tests,” a 14-page “Herb and Spice Chart,” detailed diagrams for specific cuts of lamb, pork, veal, and beef. There’s a list of “Consumer Information Sources” about specific foods and wines and a bibliography that comes to thirteen pages. Whew!

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Medusa, by Michael Dibdin

July 7, 2008 Leave a comment


A few months ago, my editor at Oxford University Press and I were talking about favorite authors of mystery fiction. I recommended John Dunning, whose novel The Sign of the Book I wrote about a few days ago. I mentioned to her that I especially like to read novels that are set in places I’ve visited or will be visiting. Knowing that I’d been to Sweden on a lecture tour, she recommended Swedish author Henning Mankell (b. 1948). She also suggested Michael Dibdin (1947-2007), creator of the Aurelio Zen series set in Italy.

I paid a visit to my local Barnes and Noble and selected one book by each author, Mankel’s Before the Frost and Dibdin’s Medusa. Before the Frost is a Kurt and Linda Wallander novel, set in Sweden. I dove into it right away and liked it well enough. My records indicate that I started it November 19, 2007 and ended December 11. Maybe I’ll write about it later.

For the Fourth of July weekend just ended, I read Medusa—mostly during odd moments when the women in my life (my wife and two daughters) were shopping or doing other things when my absence goes unnoticed. Medusa isn’t the first in the Aurelio Zen series, but that didn’t matter. The jacket cover, together with some travel experience, convinced me it was the place to start.

Two summers ago I traveled by train from Florence to Venice, then from Venice through Verona and north to the Brenner pass in the Italian alps. I spent one night in Bolzano, Italy on my way to Salzburg. The hotel, situated opposite the rail station, was a family-run outfit with a storied history. I learned from the manager’s daughter that her grandfather had moved there from Austria before World War 2. A smaller version of the hotel had been his livelihood. During the war, the main floor of the building was commandeered by Italian military forces while the family was permitted to live upstairs. The building was restored to hotel status and expanded during the years following the war.

At the end of the war, the international boundary in the extreme north of modern-day Italy was disputed. This dispute was settled at the Yalta Conference, the result of bargaining by Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt. The region differs dramatically, both geographically and socially, from the rest of Italy. It’s called the Südalpen, German for “the southern alps.” Italian is learned, but Austrian German is preferred and more commonly spoken by the people living in the area. I didn’t know most of this until my visit, and I was glad that I had casually decided to layover in Bolzano (Bozen, in German). (For a pleasing description of the peculiar culture of Bolzano, see the Washington Post article “Bolzano: German or Italian? Yes,” by Robert V. Comuto.)

The back cover of Medusa states that the story takes place in the Italian Alps. That, together with the author’s reputation with my friend, led me to buy the book. Aurelio Zen investigates a cold-case crime and, as it happens, follows the same route by train that I had taken in 2006. The conditions were nearly perfect for a satisfying read. They would have been only slightly better if I had discovered the book about the time I was entering Austria from the south on my earlier journey.

The story begins with the discovery of a comparatively well-preserved corpse by mountain climbers high in the Alps bordering Switzerland. Three different government agencies take an interest in the mystery surrounding its discovery and the cause of death. Aurelio Zen is a police investigator with the Ministry of the Interior. His assignment is to solve the original crime while also discovering the nature of the interest taken by the Ministry of Defense. Zen goes to Bolzano to observe the body and interview the coroner who had conducted the autopsy. But the body had already been taken into custody, as it were, by military officials. The reader knows there’s a cover-up even before Zen begins to suspect it.

The plot is narrated with suitable complexity. Each section of the novel is narrated in the third person, with an omniscient perspective used for some main character in that section. Different things are going on in different places, all at the same time. So there is movement from one scenario to another to keep the reader up to speed throughout the complex progression of the whole novel. Dibdin manages the tangle adroitly.

Medusa succeeds on the level of sophisticated mystery fiction. It also reveals disparate attitudes about Italian life, or what is frequently referred to as the mysteri d’Italia. Some stereotypes are reinforced. For example, government stability in Italy is oxymoronic, and beneath the Italian facade of joyful contentment is a latent malaise that troubles the general population. There is corruption and intrigue, and hence distrust, at every turn. This is, from Zen’s point of view, “‘Italia Lite’: the new culture of empty slogans, insincere smiles and hollow promises overlaying the authentic adversarial asperity of public life” (50).

Italian words and phrases are sprinkled throughout, sharpening the reader’s sense of being in Italy. Telecomando (for remote control), belissimo, carabiniere (something like classic keystone cops, I gather, but with a military bearing), capo (a respectful form of addressing one’s superior without being too formal?); servizio, disfatta storica, magistratura, Dottore (which is what it sounds like, but used with potentially mischievous connotations), and Pronto! (a typical form of answering the phone, which apparently can be said in a tone suggesting a declaration of war—see page 73).

Some American readers may stumble over Dibdin’s use of British diction. For example, there are no flashlights in the story, but there are plenty of “torches.” “Petrol pumps” (51) are not shoes worn by women working oil derricks. I’ve never heard an American use the word “tetchy” (66). One potentially useful word is now at my disposal, though: “pollard” as a noun and “pollard” as a verb (see page 68).

There are occasional references to historical events, some of them grand, like the Versailles conference, others relatively obscure, for instance, “the bomb of 2 August 1980” (65).

Those with culinary aspirations learn that, to be worth eating, minestrone must be accompanied by fresh vegetables and high-quality olive oil and Parmesan; otherwise, a person of cultivated taste should order lentil soup with chunks of smoked bacon (45). (I would have opted for the lentil soup, in any case.)

Descriptions of place and strings of dialog are often artfully crafted. I enjoyed coming across such constructions as:

  • “. . . the only sound was the whine of the unpredictable squally breeze with fistfuls of sleet in its folds” (42);
  • “The wormholes pervading the body politic remained, but the worms had never been identified, still less charged or convicted” (65);
  • “. . . he recalled his childish fascination with this physical oxymoron: water flowing over water” (76);
  • “Whatever the outcome, it could not be worse than living in a state of perpetual uncertainty and inchoate terror” (78; maybe hell is quite literally like that?).

And how could I not appreciate Zen’s exasperation when he declares to his chief,

  • “We can’t disprove it, because they haven’t given us anything to disprove” (85)?

I’ve yet to hear a more apt description that noxious deviation that nevertheless has to be called “architecture”:

  • “the abusivo building boom of the sixties and seventies.”

Here is a clever paragraph contrasting scientific theory and religious belief:

  • “He [Gabriele Passarini] remembered having read somewhere that the difference between a theory and a belief rested not on proof but on the possibility of disproof. No matter how many observations appeared to corroborate the theory of relativity, for example, it could never conclusively be proved to be true. Its scientific respectability rested on the fact that it could instantly be proven false should contradictory evidence come to light. The same did not apply to the idea that God had created the world in six days and then faked the fossil record to suggest otherwise, which is why this amounted to nothing more than a belief. As did his fears about his own safety, he now realized.” (69-70)

and what must have been an irresistible sentence about the medieval church:

  • “The church would have banned [Halloween], . . . or at least fulminated against it.” (72)

There are other ruminations of interest. Gabriele speculates that the world used to be “hard but benign,” but now it was “soft and malevolent” (71). Zen waxes philosophical about children today, in comparison with children of a bygone era (82).

I believe I have rarely come across the word “fireworks” while reading a novel. It wouldn’t be strange if I did, unless it happened, quite unexpectedly, on the 4th of July—as it did the other day when I came to page 75. This is just one of those little inconsequential coincidences of life that seem to happen in my experience with uncanny frequency.

In addition to a larger vocabulary of Italian words, and the addition of one English word, I’ve acquired from Aurelio Zen a new trick for assisting a long-winded speaker to get to the point. Just say, politely, of course, “Yes, yes. And the upshot?” That alone is worth the price of the book.

I also learned that Giovanni Agnelli was “the creator of Fiat”—perhaps you see why the four words in italics struck me as oxymoronic when I came across them on page 92. (Finding out who started the Italian motor company is not worth the price of the book, since I don’t expect to be on any of those game shows that test your mastery of trivia.)

This novel was published in 2003, so it can’t have been intentional that the passage at the top of page 93 almost exactly parallels the campaign strategy of a chief contender for the upcoming election of a new President. But then, what politician really is “a new kind of politician”?

I recommend the book, and I’m game to try another Dibdin. Next time maybe Dark Specter, not one of Dibdin’s Aurelio Zen installments. The publisher’s description says that “a dogged Seattle detective and a horribly bereaved survivor are about to come face-to-face with their perpetrator—a man named Los, a self-styled prophet who has the power to make his followers travel thousands of miles to kill for him.” Seattle is one of my favorite cities, and the Great Northwest is my favorite region among the places I’ve visited or lived.

By now you’re thinking, “Yes, yes. And what’s the upshot?” Just this—if you ever find yourself traveling by train between Venice and Florence and between Venice, Verano, and Bolzano, I suggest taking this novel, Medusa, along with you. You’ll enjoy it, and your trip will be more meaningful than if you studied the pages of a travel guide.

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The Sign of the Book, by John Dunning

July 2, 2008 5 Comments


Years ago I read John Dunning’s detective novel Booked to Die and realized I’d found a new author to stalk during my reading jags. The novel was the first installment in Dunning’s series featuring Cliff Janeway, ex-cop and second-hand bookseller, living, reading, and sleuthing in Denver. I watched for the sequel, The Bookman’s Wake, but somehow missed it (if memory serves). Almost ten years went by before there was a third installment. By then I had stopped monitoring Dunning’s authorial movements.

About seven months ago I stumbled across The Sign of the Book, #4 in the series. I reckoned I could get away with reading it without playing catch-up on #2 and #3. I was right. But I didn’t put this theory to the test until recently. Saturday was my first beach day of the summer. I brought the Dunning novel with me to Corona del Mar and enjoyed my re-introduction to the author and his detective.

To the degree that I can recall, Dunning is true to form in #4. I still like his style and will eventually get to his other series books. Dunning adopts the first person point of view, probably the trickiest POV out there. When reading fiction written in the first person, I have the tendency to ask periodically why the fictional narrator is telling me his or her story. First person point of view doesn’t work for me if there aren’t any clues about the speaker’s motive. The first-person novel is, after all, one long monologue—in this case, 513 pages worth.

Dunning makes it work. Only rarely did I take exception to the way he handled the speaker’s perspective on the mental states of other characters in the story. This novel impresses me as an exemplary specimen of first-person narration. It’s fitting that in the final sentence of the novel, Cliff Janeway remarks, “The mysteries of the human mind are far beyond my comprehension.” (I’m confident that quoting the last sentence is not a spoiler.)

The writing is intelligent, but The Sign of the Book is not literary fiction in the hifalutin sense. Each character speaks in a distinctive fashion that is consistent throughout. The best bit of dialog occurs in a courtroom scene. I was a little confused about the floor plan of an important building at one point in the story. But this was not as much of a handicap for Janeway as it was for me.

This isn’t comic fiction, but Dunning manages to amuse with his choice of words and the dialog at which he excels. Suspense comes in two forms. First there’s the plot and the mystery about who dunnit. But frequently along the way there are stretches of suspenseful action . . . or inaction . . . as well. And that’s critical to the success of a detective novel (in contrast, for example, to the sort of mystery fiction so masterfully crafted by P. D. James).

One more thing. Janeway taught me a new way to survive the monotony of waiting for countless hours with nothing to do. This could come in handy if I’m ever on a stakeout without my Kindle.

***

John Dunning is a distinguished author. Booked to Die won him the Nero Wolfe Award, and The Bookman’s Wake appeared on the New York Times list of Notable Books. Other detective novels of his have been nominated for the Edgar Award. In addition to awards, Dunning has readers. Drew Goodman, book sales manager at the University of Utah campus store, has gone so far as to include two of Dunning’s Janeway novels on his “Sacred Shelf of 10,” as of October 25, 2007.

Classic Mystery Reads:

The Films:

For the preview and Unbox rental for The Maltese Falcon, go here.

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The Stuff Growing on the Bark

June 28, 2008 Leave a comment


Nick Hornby, a.k.a. Nick Jagger, was induced to read this volume of short stories by a friend, Johanna. Agreeing to do so, with the usual reluctance he reserves for books recommended by friends, Hornby found himself buying up first editions for his other friends. “It’s that sort of book,” he says, in The Polysyllabic Spree.

The book is How to Breathe Underwater, by Julie Orringer. One year after reading Hornby’s endorsement—today, in fact—I sampled two of the stories. First I read “Stations of the Cross,” the last in the book, and not mentioned by Hornby. It reminded me of a film I saw recently, where the son of an Irish Catholic fireman sets out to convert the ailing son of the local rabbi. I could see immediately that Orringer can write. But she hadn’t convinced me yet that her writing was for me.

So I turned to the first story in the book, called “Pilgrims.” It was this story that had single-handedly compelled Hornby to grab up copies. This story, he promised, “makes you feel panicky and breathless.” That sounded like a rewarding experience, so I dipped into it. I didn’t feel panicky and breathless. Still, I could see why I might if I hadn’t been led to expect it.

For me, there are a couple of crucial tests of a good short story. These are utterly subjective. First, I have to be tempted, if not driven, to find more by the same author. Second, I have to believe that the story is one I would return to periodically. “Pilgrims” passes these tests. But I can’t say I “liked” the story. Like “Stations of the Cross,” “Pilgrims” has that artsy unfinished feel to it. This authorial penchant is fine with me, if it’s handled properly. I want to have some idea how my train of thought can proceed—not to say, should proceed—without the author’s assistance, when the sentences have run out. My limitation, I suppose.

Hornby generalizes in this way about Orringer’s ouvre: “while her themes are as solid and recognizable as oak trees, the stuff growing on the bark you’ve never seen before.” Now I’ve read two of her stories, I think maybe I know what he means. Maybe.

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Truly Cultured

June 27, 2008 Leave a comment


What does it mean to be “truly cultured”? Here’s what Zaid said, or wrote, in his book So Many Books: “. . . the truly cultured are capable of owning thousands of unread books without losing their composure or their desire for more.” (That’s Gabriel Zaid, by the way.)

Heartened by this keen observation, and taking the point further, Nick Hornby writes that “with each passing year, and with each whimsical purchase, our libraries become more and more able to articulate who we are, whether we read the books or not.”

So if you need to streamline your holdings because you’ve long since run out of room for new volumes, one rule may be to ask of a given book, “What does your presence in my library say about me? Is that who I am? And whether it is or not, is that how I want to be known?”

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