Sex and Bacon Sarah Katherine Lewis

This is a must-read--but only for those with appetites, since that's what the book is about. Lewis, a Seattle native, is a former sex worker with a literal lust for life, so whether it's describing a blind date in Capital Hill or answering the question of how much bacon will satisfy her bacon craving, she evokes the sensuality of the experience with a carnal immediacy. She disdains diets and artificial foods as not satisfying natural hunger, and so only prolong the body's need; better to just trust your desires and enjoy them rather than starve yourself in whatever way. I'm a hedonist myself, so that's a life philosophy I can relate to.

But be warned: she also has a wicked scatological streak that rivals that other Sarah. In the first chapter she bemoans the fact that all her recent boyfriends seem to think she's turned on by oral-anal attention. And she has a chapter about one of her former clientele, a guy nicknamed "Baby Ruth Man" who may have been permanently warped by viewing CADDYSHACK at a young age. Now, whereas Cynthia Heimel or Laurie Notaro would recoil from this sort of stuff in Judeo- and/or Christian revulsion, Lewis understands that there are some awkward moments in life that can only really be shared if you're willing to hear about the grim details. But she avoids the common pitfall of graphic detail for its own sake, the shock-humor of the last decade or so. What she's telling you needs to be said to draw the picture, whether it's the anatomical detail of the mussel she's about to cook, or her own personal hygiene at the moment she meets an ex-boyfriend, there are things ordinarily left unsaid that can lend an immediacy and humanity that is often missing in most narratives, no matter how otherwise evocative.

A chick who tells it like it is, and makes no apologies. But if the devil is in the details, then God is too: I defy you to read her chapter on cooking mussels and not want to try it (I more or less hate shellfish, and yet somewhere for me a switch has been flipped...). And her essay on the personal quality of pasta sauce had me re-evaluating my thoughts on culinary identity, about what beyond ingredients and preparation account for a distinct style. Sure, I have my own way of doing pasta--I call it fettucine al bachelor--but I hadn't thought of it as an existential expression. The book is a pure delight: I feasted on it.

P.S. -- In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that I met the author over the weekend--and she is as striking in the flesh as she is on the page. She showed me her tattoos, and schooled me in Latin--both at the same time. How cool is that?

How Not To See JUNO

This is an email I sent around a few weeks before the Oscars this year. JUNO is out on DVD--catch it.

Finally caught it last night. It's been getting a lot of play-up as being the sleeper hit of the year, as well as a lot of backlash criticism of being overrated and glib, including one handjob I know who dismissed the movie as "a pro-life soapbox", which, whatever else it is, it ain't: teen pregnancy here being little more than a plot contrivance, an occasion for a lot of (pretty good) one-liners and off-hand biological observations. The movie seems more interested in its musical sensibilities than in the emotional and moral realities of getting knocked up at sixteen, which is treated with all the seriousness of a nine-month head cold. Which is not to say that it'd be a better movie it had more of a conscience about teen pregnancy, or if its main character came to any profound realizations about life as a result. Writer Diablo Cody said she wanted to create a credible, smart and funny teen girl protagonist, and that's what she's done; the pregnancy is only a set-up for the movie, and it should be seen in that regard. And you will be missing something special if you don't catch it; I enjoyed it thoroughly, the worst thing I can say about it is that it's light and breezy, and occasionally sardonic. Is the dialogue just too cute and quirky? Sure. How long's it been since you saw BREAKFAST CLUB? John Hughes, Kevin Smith, Tarantino--they're all too scripted. What's more, the real Henry V didn't speak in iambic pentameter, either. It's more a question of whether you like hearing the characters talk, whether you want to spend time with them. On that count, JUNO is a pure delight. If anything, my biggest problem with the movie is that it didn't make the most of its greatest strength: the relationship between Juno and her erstwhile inseminator, Bleeker (played pitch-perfectly by Michael Cera--and where's his Oscar nomination?). The movie should have focused more on them together; instead, they only have maybe half a dozen scenes together, which are the heart and soul of the movie. And that's maybe the most formulaic thing about this otherwise bright and original comedy, that the two principals have to be kept apart til the end, at which point they'll live happily ever after. Which doesn't ring true: you're trying to tell me that after they have sex once, they don't date or even talk much for the next 12 weeks? I GUARANTEE: you invite a 16-year-old guy over to watch BLAIR WITCH PROJECT on Starz! and instead opt to fuck him on the recliner (alleviating both your virginities), and he WILL come calling again. What's more, she described sex with him as "magnificent", and said "he's great in chair", but loses all interest in her new discovery? (That's only slightly less credible than the fact that she mentions nothing about the incident to her best friend until she fails--or is it passes?--the pregnancy test.) Then once he finds out, he still has virtually no contact with her other than a few conversations in the school hallway? I feel like there's a movie here that didn't get made. Diablo Cody said that too often, the supporting role of girlfriend to a teen male character gets relegated to either a comforter or a problem; it's too bad she carried that mistake over to this story.

For all of that, however much I'd like to see a sequel (JUNO AND BLEEKER GO TO COLLEGE, or something), what's there is solid, long as you don't expect it to be on par with SAY ANYTHING or HEATHERS. It's a worthy Oscar contender, and I wouldn't be upset to see Ellen Page win over Julie Christie, and as the odd sentimental nominee for Best Picture, there's a hell of a lot more to recommend it than the usual dark horse they put up every year (did you *see* LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE? Did you have to pay?). I'm definitely pulling for Cody to win Best Original Screenplay, and if THERE WILL BE BLOOD splits the Academy vote for Picture with NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN (my choice), I hope JUNO takes it.

Want to see a more involved movie about teen pregnancy? Check out Molly Ringwald's forgotten little gem FOR KEEPS. However lightly it deals with issues like post-partum depression, family disagreements, and the fact that teen pregnancy can compromise an otherwise promising college career, at least these are addressed, whereas they're conspicuously missing from JUNO's universe.

A great little film about how a pregnancy disrupts life not only in a family but a whole township is THE SNAPPER, another overlooked movie that's by turns hilarious and poignant.

RICH IN LOVE has a great supporting cast of likable characters, headed by Kathryn Erbe as a smart teenager trying to hold her family together. Genial and very observant.

The one movie that JUNO reminded me of more than any other is THUMBSUCKER, which treats ADHD about as realistically as JUNO does pregnancy. But it's got likable characters, realistic parents, and a lot of laughs.

But no teen girl story will ever beat DARIA, the first season of which I got from Scarecrow, and have been watching all week. Which is perhaps what occasioned so much thought on the subject.

The Fourth K Mario Puzo

You have to understand, I liked THE GODFATHER. Sure, it was a pulp novel, but it moved at a good pace and had a good feel for its characters. It was also fairly evocative of its time and place--though that is probably shaded by the fact that I saw the movie at least twenty times before reading the book, so there's going to be some crossover sentiment. I guess you could say that there was enough of the movie in the original book that I was impressed, and wanted to read some more of his work.

Well, FOURTH K isn't nearly as impressive. Maybe the reason they haven't made it into a movie is that it would be hard to pull off without looking a bit silly. This speculation on the presidency of a nephew of the three Kennedy brothers seems a bit fanciful, though I guess not all that far-fetched. Francis Xavier Kennedy still bears the childhood trauma of his uncles' assassinations, but tries to carry on the Kennedy spirit. Remember the "good" kind of liberal? Well, that upsets some Arab radicals enough to assassinate the Pope, as a distraction from the real Easter Day caper, the hijacking of the plane the First Daughter was travelling on (commercially, though first class, surrounded by Secret Service). When she gets killed execution-style, FXK decides to get radical and threaten to nuke the terrorists' host country. The emirate capitulates and surrenders the terrorists to US custody, but then a small nuke goes off in Times Square, and it becomes a question of Kennedyesque force of personality vs. "modern" terrorist realities.

The treatment is too facile, too workmanlike. Tom Clancy and THE WEST WING have brought an element of verite (or at least a strong sense of detail) to this kind of material, and Puzo can't match it. All of this may have been provocative back in 1990, but doesn't have much resonance now, given recent events. Absent that, it becomes a simple tale of Kennedy mystique and liberal politics, without contributing much to either. Not a bad book, but a fairly forgettable one, unfortunately.

The Tommyknockers Stephen King

Fast. That's how I remember Stephen King described in a movie once (THE WATERDANCE, Eric Stolz as a young writer paralyzed in a bike accident). I don't know why that's the first thing that comes to mind when I try to describe King's style and/or appeal, but it fits, as the best way to characterize his writing: fast. And yet, so very detailed and comprehensive. THE STAND is one of the best modern novels I've read, and I mean that all things considered. I've read almost all of his early work, right up to CUJO, and a good portion of what came after. I'd like to say that he doesn't disappoint, but the truth is, he often does, especially in his later stuff. I picked up TOMMYKNOCKERS at one of the used bookstores I frequent. It comes from the era just before he became a cliche bordering on self-parody. When did that happen, anyway? DOLORES CLAIBOURNE made for a good movie, at least. GREEN MILE and HEARTS IN ATLANTIS didn't really do it for me, but weren't bad.

And TOMMYKNOCKERS isn't bad either, though it doesn't stand as one of his best. Never slow, though. Bobbi Anderson makes a startling discovery while clearing the land around her farmhouse in rural Maine: a bit of metal sticking up out of the ground, which gives off a curious vibe--literally. After touching it, a combination of curiosity and compulsion makes her try to dig it out, but it's much larger than it first seems. Turns out to be the edge of an alien space ship that's been buried for millions of years. And while the ship isn't alive per se, it is channeling some kind of energy and intelligence, and the effect becomes more pronounced the more of it is unearthed. There's something in the air, and it spreads to absorb the local town. Soon everyone is behaving very strangely indeed, compulsively and possessed of a superhuman intelligence. All but Bobbi's friend, a suicidal alcoholic of a poet who drops by just as things start to get weird.

It's good to read Stephen King again, truly refreshing after some of the stuff I've waded through recently. His characters are distinct but familiar, since he so clearly communicates how they think. This can make even his most insipid plot developments bearable, such as the quasi-silly ending. Still, a good read, and I look forward to the next King book I pick up.

The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern Lilian Jackson Braun

How could I not? A series of books about a mystery-solving cat? It's a wonder that I've waited so long to actually pick up one of these. The owner of Twice Sold in Capitol Hill said she thought this was the first in the series; unfortunately, it's second, to THE CAT WHO COULD READ BACKWARDS, but this served as a reasonable introduction. It's an enjoyable enough read: Jim Qwilleran is a reporter for a newspaper in an unnamed Midwest city, whose new assignment is to start up a Saturday supplement on interior decorating. Things go wrong with the first publication: the day after the first edition hits the stands, the house profiled as the feature article gets burglarized, with half a million dollars worth of jade stolen. Something about it doesn't seem right to Qwilleran, who was a crime reporter once upon a time. He's fairly milktoast, with a cat named Koko that seems to either be psychic or just coincidentally leads him to clues that further the case.

All in all, not great mystery, not a very interesting crime. Makes for a Gregory MacDonald-type tour of interior design, without the wonderful dialogue. But the interplay between cat and owner is nice. Did I mention I like cats?

The Plague Albert Camus

I heard from someone that THE PLAGUE is actually not very good Camus. For his sake, I hope so, since this book was long, dull, and near as I can tell, pointless. I'm an existentialist, but this story has me running back to Sartre, who at least is entertaining (I mean his fiction, not that BEING AND NOTHINGNESS tome: I managed two chapters or so before giving up, but if I ever want an exhaustive and confusing treatment of ontology, I'll snap it right up).

The coastal town of Oran in Algeria is beset by an outbreak of bubonic plague, and before long the government has the place under general quarantine indefinitely. The residents can't leave, and are faced daily with the possibility that they may get the plague and die. So it's the old existential chestnut: you can die at any time, so what difference does it make what you do? Never have I seen it rendered so dull and uninteresting. The characters are forgettable, the prose is detached and flat, and the story is just about non-existent. And as epidemiology goes, this is mediocre at best. Defoe did better in JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR. I'll try THE STRANGER, maybe, but I have no enthusiasm.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Ken Kesey

I'd heard a lot about Ken Kesey's book: that it's a counterculture classic, that Kesey had based the book on his experiences working as an orderly in an Oregon mental hospital in the early '60s, that the money he made from the book funded the Merry Pranksters. And I'd seen the movie, though I didn't particularly like it. I don't know why, since I've always loved the whole the-one-everyone-calls-crazy-is-actually-the-most-reasonable bit. CATCH-22 is my favorite book, after all. But as movies go, I thought COOL HAND LUKE was the same story, and more engaging. I'll have to read that book some time.

Anyway, the book CUCKOO'S NEST is an interesting read, since it's told from the perspective of Chief Bromden, a paranoid delusional: he describes the machinery that he thinks runs the mental ward, with the staff as robots. And that sometimes they use a fog machine to cloud up the place, so that all the patients stay lost in a haze. But while that makes for some wonderfully detailed observations, it makes for too much distance from the two main characters, Randle Patrick McMurphy and Big Nurse Ratched, so that they only function as elements of the plot, free spirit vs rigorous authority. No insights into why rebels are rebellious, or why authority has to be so rigorous. I guess that's not this story; as it is, it's rightfully a classic depiction of taking on The System, with a set of memorable