Combine comic-book fiction with sentimental hagiography and you get trashy junk. Observe that fiction and hagiography, assisted by history, can be paths to truth, to the limited degree we can know it, but they must be done right. Illustrating how they ought not be done is an awful novel by a silly writer, Francine Mathews, Jack 1939, which was published last year (Riverhead Books, 420 pages, each one in need of re-writing, plus 3-page author’s note that adds nothing to her credibility), notwithstanding silly blurbs that one assumes were written by the author’s mother or publicist (“One of the most deliciously high-concept thrillers imaginable,” words the publisher claims appeared in the New Yorker).
Newton’s Football: The Science Behind America’s Game
by Allen St. John and Ainissa G. Ramirez.
(Ballantine Books, 273 pages, $26)
The football doesn’t fall far from the tree, it seems. Newton’s Football: The Science Behind America’s Game, so named for the apple-pondering scientist, makes good on the description found on its dust jacket flap: “[A] clever and accessible look at the big ideas underlying the science of football.”
Various scientific and mathematical phenomena are on display in football, but most of us do not notice them any more than the millions who flourished before Isaac Newton noticed gravity. In unpretentious fashion, this book discusses (I am quoting the authors’ delightful chapter headings) “The Divinely Random Bounce of the Prolate Spheroid,” “How to Turn A Big Mac into A Linebacker,” and “Why Woodpeckers Don’t Get Concussions,” and even answers the pressing question “How Is a Quarterback Like Your Laptop?”
The Art of Sleeping Alone: Why One French Woman Suddenly Gave Up Sex
By Sophie Fontanel
(Scribner, 160 pages, $22)
When I was handed Sophie Fontanel’s award-winning memoir The Art of Sleeping Alone: Why One French Woman Suddenly Gave Up Sex, I flipped to the first full page of text and looked for a laugh. Here, after all, were portents of sub-Sheryl Sandberg rubbish by the editor of the French Elle, the sort of book that high-powered she-executives read when they are cut off from their email at 10,000 feet. I was expecting equal parts bolt-cutter feminism and cloying sentimentality, tossed with a few sassy self-help tips.
Fontanel may have chosen to spend her middling years sexless, but her memoir is mum on whether everyone else ought to. On page nine she suggests duh-ishly that not having sex if you don’t feel up to it “does a world of good.” Otherwise The Art of Sleeping Alone is pretty standard memoir fare.
Every month I’m going to inquire as to what The American Spectator staff is reading. Here are this month’s selections.
Matthew Walther, Assistant Editor
Nigel Nicolson, Long Life: A wonderfully sane memoir by one of Britain's most distinguished publishers. Partially adapted from old Spectator columns, but none the worse for that.
Alan Booth, The Roads to Sata (re-reading): An occasionally sad, and more than occasionally funny, account of a vertical trip through Japan, from Cape Soya to what is now Minamiōsumi. Easily one of the 10 best travel books of the last century.
For the Next Generation: A Wake-Up Call to Solving Our Nation’s Problems
By Debbie Wasserman Shultz and Julie M. Fenster
(St. Martin’s Press, 308 pages, $25.99)
Leftists wishing a complete treatment of progressive chants, tics, talking points, sacraments, secret handshakes, and calamitous policies can find them in For the Next Generation, a tedious and repetitious 300-page walk through the entire catalogue of leftist delusions. Every failed idea since Rousseau is here lovingly lifted up as part of the path to an American paradise.
This over-long leftist catechism was ghost-written by Julie M. Fenster for Debbie Wasserman Schultz, an aged-in-the barrel leftist who is now a member of the U.S. House representing a South Florida district between Ft. Lauderdale and Miami, which includes South Beach. She’s also chairwomanperson of the Democratic National Committee, so readers can be assured everything she says here is party line.
Kansas City Lightning: The Rise and Times of Charlie Parker
By Stanley Crouch
(HarperCollins, 384 pages, $27.99)
Few reputations in jazz are more secure than Charlie “Bird” Parker’s. Miles Davis is said to have quipped that “You can tell the history of jazz in four words: Louis Armstrong. Charlie Parker.” Hundreds, if not thousands, of Bird discs, from budget-priced compilations to $300 deluxe boxed sets, are in the catalogues of various record companies. Modern students of jazz, trombonists, guitarists, and saxophonists alike, painstakingly transcribe and commit to memory his spontaneous solos, searching through alternate takes and obscure bootleg recordings in the hope of internalizing the idiomatic language of bebop.
Rise of the Warrior Cop: The Militarization of America’s Police Forces
By Radley Balko
(Public Affairs, 400 pages, $27.99)
As a first year law student and aspiring prosecutor, I was in potential-employment heaven at the government jobs fair. Nearly every federal agency was there, along with many state and local agencies, all promising opportunities to throngs of would-be deputies. Several federal agencies, including the Inspector General’s Office in the Social Security Administration, advertised that they let their employees carry a gun. That this gave me no pause at the time demonstrates that Radley Balko, a prominent critic of police militarization and author of Rise of the Warrior Cop, has his work cut out for him.
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