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"content": "\u003cp>This past Sunday \u003ca href=\"http://www.nytimes.com\">The New York Times\u003c/a> ran a piece in the Fashion & Style section on author Jay McInerney. It was a human interest story that chronicled the writer’s personal life rather than a book review (his latest novel, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0375411402%20\">\u003cb>The Good Life\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, was released on January 31, 2006). One of the main focuses of the article was how McInerney’s life mirrored that of his characters, a persona first created in his first novel, the infamous \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0394726413\">\u003cb>Bright Lights, Big City\u003c/b>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book reveals the exploits of a young man, an unnamed protagonist, buzzing through life on one long alcohol and cocaine fueled bender. He works as a researcher in the Department of Factual Verification at a major magazine (resembling \u003cb>The New Yorker\u003c/b>), although the term “works” should be used loosely in this context as the protagonist rarely makes it to work on time sans hangover, and attends party after party, usually accompanied by his co-conspirator Tad Allagash and sometimes with a beautiful woman on his arm, which is just fine as his model wife has mysteriously left him. He knows his life is unraveling before his very eyes — his boss has it out for him, his family is worried about his habits, his personal life is in shambles, the memory of his mother’s death still haunts him — but he just can’t seem to get it together.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Bright Lights, Big City\u003c/b> encapsulates the zeitgeist of New York City in the 80s. It inhabits the world of young, beautiful and privileged urbanites. A world, like a piece of meta-fiction come to life, that the author found himself very much a part of after the novel’s publication and enormous success. It was as if McInerney wrote himself into the world he created. Or did the world just assume that it was himself he was writing about?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The author’s use of second person contributes to this sense of memoir rather than fiction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>An except from the first paragraph: \u003cbr>You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are, and you cannot say that the terrain is entirely unfamiliar, although the details are fuzzy. You are at a nightclub talking to a girl with a shaved head. The club is either Heartbreak or the Lizard Lounge. All might come clear if you could just slip into the bathroom and do a little more Bolivian Marching Powder. Then again, it might not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Is he writing about himself or a fictionalized character; the boundaries are blurry. At the time he wrote \u003cb>Bright Lights, Big City\u003c/b>, the author was a graduate student at Syracuse University but soon after, much like the unnamed protagonist, he was living it up in NYC. Life was beginning to imitate art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>McInerney is one of a string of writers who embody the personas they create in their novels. His good friend, Bret Easton Ellis, for example is famous for chronicling the exploits of his peers. In the \u003cb>The Rules of Attraction\u003c/b> Easton was writing about students at his college while in \u003cb>Less than Zero\u003c/b> he was writing about his friends in L.A. Granted the people are probably somewhat fictionalized but the author is still much very a part of the scenario.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Look at writers like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway or even Hunter S. Thompson. At what point did their personal life end and the fictionalized worlds they created begin? Did they become that which they wrote about or did they write about that which they were? This question reminds me of the ridiculous yet brilliant premise created in the film \u003cb>Adaptation\u003c/b>, whose protagonist writes himself into a screenplay only to find himself a part of the world he had created.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fictionalization of memoir has even become a selling point. Take the work of J.T. LeRoy, for example. Or, in contrast, the controversy of James Frey and his “memoir” \u003cb>A Million Little Pieces\u003c/b>. LeRoy used his/her life as a marketing tool for his/her work; pity the writer, buy his work. James Frey simply wrote about his own life and…embellished a few points to make it more exciting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What happened to creativity? What happened to imagination? What happened to actually making things up? 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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Is he writing about himself or a fictionalized character; the boundaries are blurry. At the time he wrote \u003cb>Bright Lights, Big City\u003c/b>, the author was a graduate student at Syracuse University but soon after, much like the unnamed protagonist, he was living it up in NYC. Life was beginning to imitate art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>McInerney is one of a string of writers who embody the personas they create in their novels. His good friend, Bret Easton Ellis, for example is famous for chronicling the exploits of his peers. In the \u003cb>The Rules of Attraction\u003c/b> Easton was writing about students at his college while in \u003cb>Less than Zero\u003c/b> he was writing about his friends in L.A. Granted the people are probably somewhat fictionalized but the author is still much very a part of the scenario.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Look at writers like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway or even Hunter S. Thompson. At what point did their personal life end and the fictionalized worlds they created begin? Did they become that which they wrote about or did they write about that which they were? This question reminds me of the ridiculous yet brilliant premise created in the film \u003cb>Adaptation\u003c/b>, whose protagonist writes himself into a screenplay only to find himself a part of the world he had created.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The fictionalization of memoir has even become a selling point. Take the work of J.T. LeRoy, for example. Or, in contrast, the controversy of James Frey and his “memoir” \u003cb>A Million Little Pieces\u003c/b>. LeRoy used his/her life as a marketing tool for his/her work; pity the writer, buy his work. James Frey simply wrote about his own life and…embellished a few points to make it more exciting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What happened to creativity? What happened to imagination? What happened to actually making things up? Does writing about you and your friends really measure up as “fiction” in the most literal sense? Ultimately, as a reader you have to ask yourself: does the author’s persona and personal life really matter in a work of fiction? Is that why you’re reading the book? Does his real life make the work more interesting or better crafted? Shouldn’t novels be judged on their own merit? I think so.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0394726413\">\u003cb>Bright Lights, Big City\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Jay McInerney \u003cbr>Paperback, 208 pages\u003cstrong>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>I must admit, right off the bat, that I read most of this book while lying on the beach or by the pool in Hawaii. Before you gag on that, let me assure you that this was between sessions of swimming with the kid, which definitely took up the bulk of our days. Those stolen moments to read were sheer bliss, and I finished \u003cb>Oh the Glory of It All\u003c/b> the night before we left, struggling to ward off the narcotic effect of one too many mai tais at dinner.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sean Wilsey, for all his wealth and privilege, got a bum deal. He fell through the cracks of a nasty public divorce between his father, San Francisco businessman, playboy and social climber Al Wilsey, and his mother, the flaky, gorgeous, slightly unhinged Pat Montandon. Luckily, he emerged from this ridiculous childhood and adolescence with the presence of mind and memory to share his insane memoir with the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To write a memoir at the tender age of 35 means that some crazy shit must have gone down in a short amount of time. Wilsey’s parents’ divorce was prime fodder for the San Francisco society pages at the time, and every aspect of their split, especially the absurdly extravagant financial details, were in the papers every single day. Al Wilsey left Pat Montandon for her best friend, the sexy, conniving, gold-digging Dede Wilsey. Dede left her husband at the time, John Traina, who later went on to marry Danielle Steel. Now, in the present day, Dede Wilsey has all but been nominated for sainthood in this town for her tireless fundraising to get the new De Young museum built. But according to Sean, she was a wicked stepmother on par with any badass Disney bitch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At first, Sean was merely brushed aside by his father and his new family (Dede brought two sons to the marriage, the bright and shiny rich boys Todd and Trevor Traina), and was psychologically terrorized by his mother’s flair for drama and threatened suicides. As time went on, the sense of being shut out and inferior to his father’s new family became more and more pronounced. The heartbreaking earnestness with which he tried to be “cool” like his stepbrothers was constantly met with some kind of cutting remark from Dede, or a reproach from his distant, hypercritical dad. Meanwhile, his mother had turned her attention and affections to her new cause of promoting peace around the world through the voices of children (Children as Teachers of Peace), which meant little more than a chance for her to prance around in front of the Kremlin in a foxy fur hat and get her picture taken.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Sean reaches his adolescent years, the book takes a turn for the better, for although it’s always interesting to read about rich society people and their problems, it’s much more interesting to read about a crazy, dope-smoking punk skater boy getting into major trouble. That’s ultimately what makes this memoir completely captivating. As soon as Sean starts acting out, his dad proceeds to ship him back east to a series of boarding schools, starting with the upscale, preppy St. Mark’s. There is something in Sean that constantly seeks approval, inclusion, and the elusive “cool,” to the point of not being able to focus on anything else. In the book he blames his parents’ self-absorption and neglect, but honestly, there’s a glitch in his personality that just seems drawn to trouble and drama. He’s his mama’s boy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wilsey is able to remember and recount such detailed and embarrassing moments of his adolescence and teen years, it is truly a gift. As you can probably guess, St. Mark’s doesn’t quite work out and he’s sent to a more “alternative” boarding school called Woodhall, which is basically just a haven for a bunch of serial stoners. On Sean’s trips home, he manages to steal cars, break things, and rile up his family to the point of exasperation. He is a bad apple with a safety net, and there’s nothing more irritating or uncontrollable than a rich kid on a rampage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because my Hawaii trip was with my own dad and step mom, the whole experience of reading Wilsey’s memoir brought back some prickly memories of my own rebellious adolescence, trying to deal with my dad’s second wife, a manipulative Dede type if there ever was one. I too was a miserable punk teen with a bad attitude and a trust fund, but luckily my parents were always there for me. I am thankful that, unlike Al Wilsey, my dad wised up and married one final time to a wonderful woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Suffice it to say that for the train wreck of a kid that is Sean Wilsey, it gets pretty damn dark before the dawn, when he is finally broken down and rebuilt at a kooky New Age reform school-slash-sanatorium in Italy. \u003cb>Oh the Glory of It All\u003c/b> is a rollicking combination of \u003cb>Catcher in the Rye\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Mommie Dearest\u003c/b> and \u003cb>The Basketball Diaries\u003c/b>. Wilsey’s prose gets a little wobbly at times, and his years of therapy have definitely simplified some pretty complex problems, but it’s truly a fun read and a must for any connoisseur of dirt-dredging gossip, SF style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1594200513\">\u003cb>Oh the Glory of It All\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Sean Wilsey \u003cbr>Hard Cover, 496 pages\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>I must admit, right off the bat, that I read most of this book while lying on the beach or by the pool in Hawaii. Before you gag on that, let me assure you that this was between sessions of swimming with the kid, which definitely took up the bulk of our days. Those stolen moments to read were sheer bliss, and I finished \u003cb>Oh the Glory of It All\u003c/b> the night before we left, struggling to ward off the narcotic effect of one too many mai tais at dinner.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sean Wilsey, for all his wealth and privilege, got a bum deal. He fell through the cracks of a nasty public divorce between his father, San Francisco businessman, playboy and social climber Al Wilsey, and his mother, the flaky, gorgeous, slightly unhinged Pat Montandon. Luckily, he emerged from this ridiculous childhood and adolescence with the presence of mind and memory to share his insane memoir with the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To write a memoir at the tender age of 35 means that some crazy shit must have gone down in a short amount of time. Wilsey’s parents’ divorce was prime fodder for the San Francisco society pages at the time, and every aspect of their split, especially the absurdly extravagant financial details, were in the papers every single day. Al Wilsey left Pat Montandon for her best friend, the sexy, conniving, gold-digging Dede Wilsey. Dede left her husband at the time, John Traina, who later went on to marry Danielle Steel. Now, in the present day, Dede Wilsey has all but been nominated for sainthood in this town for her tireless fundraising to get the new De Young museum built. But according to Sean, she was a wicked stepmother on par with any badass Disney bitch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At first, Sean was merely brushed aside by his father and his new family (Dede brought two sons to the marriage, the bright and shiny rich boys Todd and Trevor Traina), and was psychologically terrorized by his mother’s flair for drama and threatened suicides. As time went on, the sense of being shut out and inferior to his father’s new family became more and more pronounced. The heartbreaking earnestness with which he tried to be “cool” like his stepbrothers was constantly met with some kind of cutting remark from Dede, or a reproach from his distant, hypercritical dad. Meanwhile, his mother had turned her attention and affections to her new cause of promoting peace around the world through the voices of children (Children as Teachers of Peace), which meant little more than a chance for her to prance around in front of the Kremlin in a foxy fur hat and get her picture taken.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Sean reaches his adolescent years, the book takes a turn for the better, for although it’s always interesting to read about rich society people and their problems, it’s much more interesting to read about a crazy, dope-smoking punk skater boy getting into major trouble. That’s ultimately what makes this memoir completely captivating. As soon as Sean starts acting out, his dad proceeds to ship him back east to a series of boarding schools, starting with the upscale, preppy St. Mark’s. There is something in Sean that constantly seeks approval, inclusion, and the elusive “cool,” to the point of not being able to focus on anything else. In the book he blames his parents’ self-absorption and neglect, but honestly, there’s a glitch in his personality that just seems drawn to trouble and drama. He’s his mama’s boy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wilsey is able to remember and recount such detailed and embarrassing moments of his adolescence and teen years, it is truly a gift. As you can probably guess, St. Mark’s doesn’t quite work out and he’s sent to a more “alternative” boarding school called Woodhall, which is basically just a haven for a bunch of serial stoners. On Sean’s trips home, he manages to steal cars, break things, and rile up his family to the point of exasperation. He is a bad apple with a safety net, and there’s nothing more irritating or uncontrollable than a rich kid on a rampage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because my Hawaii trip was with my own dad and step mom, the whole experience of reading Wilsey’s memoir brought back some prickly memories of my own rebellious adolescence, trying to deal with my dad’s second wife, a manipulative Dede type if there ever was one. I too was a miserable punk teen with a bad attitude and a trust fund, but luckily my parents were always there for me. I am thankful that, unlike Al Wilsey, my dad wised up and married one final time to a wonderful woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Suffice it to say that for the train wreck of a kid that is Sean Wilsey, it gets pretty damn dark before the dawn, when he is finally broken down and rebuilt at a kooky New Age reform school-slash-sanatorium in Italy. \u003cb>Oh the Glory of It All\u003c/b> is a rollicking combination of \u003cb>Catcher in the Rye\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Mommie Dearest\u003c/b> and \u003cb>The Basketball Diaries\u003c/b>. Wilsey’s prose gets a little wobbly at times, and his years of therapy have definitely simplified some pretty complex problems, but it’s truly a fun read and a must for any connoisseur of dirt-dredging gossip, SF style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1594200513\">\u003cb>Oh the Glory of It All\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Sean Wilsey \u003cbr>Hard Cover, 496 pages\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>If this book won’t turn you into a vegetarian (or at the very least make you seriously question your beef consumption) then I don’t know what will. Ruth Ozeki’s \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0140280464\">\u003cb>My Year of Meats\u003c/b>\u003c/a> can best be described as the fictional equivalent of \u003cb>Fast Food Nation\u003c/b>; after reading it, your diet may never be the same again.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I myself am a vegetarian so my beliefs were simply buttressed by the novel’s assertions regarding this country’s various meat industries. The insidious practices of which the protagonist, Jane Takagi-Little, slowly discovers. Brash, off-kilter and fiercely independent, Jane is a struggling documentary filmmaker who gets a well-oiled gig as a producer on a show for Japanese television geared towards housewives sponsored by a lobbying and promotional group for the American beef industry, referred to ominously as “Beef Ex”, in order to hype the consumption of beef and other meat products. Each episode of “My American Wife!” features a homemaker from the American heartland who shares her recipe for a, preferably beef, meat-centric dish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While traveling around the country doing research and meeting different families, Jane begins to learn more and more about the industry for which she is essentially working. She uncovers the wide-spread use of steroids, hormones, and chemicals in the production of meat products and their devastating affect on both producers and consumers. She comes across men who have developed breasts, little girls who have the bodies of twenty-year olds and people who are befallen with cancer. Needless to say, her outlook on the meat industry as well as the country’s carnivorous habits changes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just as the readers’ very well may. Some might think the novel is too heavy-handed and “preachy” but I would disagree. Yes, Ozeki is making some very strong points but she does so in the context of the characters. Some may just want to read a book where the characters go through the drama of life and stray far away from the traditional taboo dinner table topics of politics and religion. But I don’t mind a little politics with my fiction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Filmmakers make political movies all the time, why not novelists as well? If you can go to the theater and watch \u003cb>Syriana\u003c/b> about the oil industry or \u003cb>The Constant Gardener\u003c/b> about the pharmaceutical industry or even see biopics like \u003cb>Good Night, and Good Luck\u003c/b> about Edward R. Murrow and his struggle for freedom of speech, why is it so wrong for an author to write about the meat industry in a fictional context as well?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It should be noted that Ozeki herself comes from a background as a documentary filmmaker and it wouldn’t be a far-fetching assumption to say that she was heavily influenced by this medium. The most striking, literal example of this influence can be found at the back of the book where she supplies readers with a bibliography of all her sources. This addition is both helpful, in that you can do some independent follow-up research if so inclined, and frightening because all those facts about the additives in meat that you wished were a part of the fictional element of the novel are all true.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I realize that I may think this way this because I agree with the points that Ozeki makes, but you can’t dispute the facts that she brings up. She’s not just whining or making wild accusations. The issues she raises are valid and whether you agree with them or not they are backed-up through thorough citation in the bibliography.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All this politics doesn’t take away from the pure fictional enjoyment of \u003cb>My Year of Meats\u003c/b>; it’s an easy read rather than a dry, academic tome. It’s funny and crass and you just might learn something new. And to me, that’s a great balance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0140280464\">\u003cb>My Year of Meats\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Ruth Ozeki \u003cbr>Paperback, 400 pages\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>If this book won’t turn you into a vegetarian (or at the very least make you seriously question your beef consumption) then I don’t know what will. Ruth Ozeki’s \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0140280464\">\u003cb>My Year of Meats\u003c/b>\u003c/a> can best be described as the fictional equivalent of \u003cb>Fast Food Nation\u003c/b>; after reading it, your diet may never be the same again.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I myself am a vegetarian so my beliefs were simply buttressed by the novel’s assertions regarding this country’s various meat industries. The insidious practices of which the protagonist, Jane Takagi-Little, slowly discovers. Brash, off-kilter and fiercely independent, Jane is a struggling documentary filmmaker who gets a well-oiled gig as a producer on a show for Japanese television geared towards housewives sponsored by a lobbying and promotional group for the American beef industry, referred to ominously as “Beef Ex”, in order to hype the consumption of beef and other meat products. Each episode of “My American Wife!” features a homemaker from the American heartland who shares her recipe for a, preferably beef, meat-centric dish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While traveling around the country doing research and meeting different families, Jane begins to learn more and more about the industry for which she is essentially working. She uncovers the wide-spread use of steroids, hormones, and chemicals in the production of meat products and their devastating affect on both producers and consumers. She comes across men who have developed breasts, little girls who have the bodies of twenty-year olds and people who are befallen with cancer. Needless to say, her outlook on the meat industry as well as the country’s carnivorous habits changes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just as the readers’ very well may. Some might think the novel is too heavy-handed and “preachy” but I would disagree. Yes, Ozeki is making some very strong points but she does so in the context of the characters. Some may just want to read a book where the characters go through the drama of life and stray far away from the traditional taboo dinner table topics of politics and religion. But I don’t mind a little politics with my fiction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Filmmakers make political movies all the time, why not novelists as well? If you can go to the theater and watch \u003cb>Syriana\u003c/b> about the oil industry or \u003cb>The Constant Gardener\u003c/b> about the pharmaceutical industry or even see biopics like \u003cb>Good Night, and Good Luck\u003c/b> about Edward R. Murrow and his struggle for freedom of speech, why is it so wrong for an author to write about the meat industry in a fictional context as well?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It should be noted that Ozeki herself comes from a background as a documentary filmmaker and it wouldn’t be a far-fetching assumption to say that she was heavily influenced by this medium. The most striking, literal example of this influence can be found at the back of the book where she supplies readers with a bibliography of all her sources. This addition is both helpful, in that you can do some independent follow-up research if so inclined, and frightening because all those facts about the additives in meat that you wished were a part of the fictional element of the novel are all true.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I realize that I may think this way this because I agree with the points that Ozeki makes, but you can’t dispute the facts that she brings up. She’s not just whining or making wild accusations. The issues she raises are valid and whether you agree with them or not they are backed-up through thorough citation in the bibliography.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All this politics doesn’t take away from the pure fictional enjoyment of \u003cb>My Year of Meats\u003c/b>; it’s an easy read rather than a dry, academic tome. It’s funny and crass and you just might learn something new. And to me, that’s a great balance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0140280464\">\u003cb>My Year of Meats\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Ruth Ozeki \u003cbr>Paperback, 400 pages\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The first thing that caught my attention about the novel \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1932416218\">\u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>\u003c/a> was its title. I was intrigued. Who were these paper people, I asked myself, and where did they come from? Perhaps, it was a metaphor for fragility and mortality. I went to the library to get the book and find out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I quickly discovered that it was both literal and a metaphor. In the novel there is an actual woman made of paper, called Merced de Papel, and a host of characters whose emotional fragility leads them into a myriad of schemes, adventures and campaigns. Author Salvador Plascencia creates a fantastical world in which the out-of-the-ordinary is taken as common place. This includes, among other things, mechanical turtles that roam the streets, plagues of mythical proportions that ascend upon the earth and a serial bed-wetter who engages in a war against fate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The few people I had met, previous to reading \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>, who had actually read the novel had a difficult time summarizing its premise, which, I thought at the time, could be either a good sign or a very bad one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I now know where they were coming from. It \u003ci>is\u003c/i> hard to explain, in so many words, what the book is essentially about, in part because it encompasses so much. There are dozens of characters introduced (Little Merced, Margarita aka Rita Hayworth, Federico de la Fe, Froggy, Cameroon) and even more fantastical creatures (mechanical turtles, Baby Nostradamus, a seemingly mentally-retarded baby who holds the history of the universe in his eyes, Saturn, the ringed planet as a character against whom a war is raged). It’s hard to keep track of it all. But, somehow, Plascencia manages.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel strongly reminds me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez; it has the same poetic quality and the same taste for the absurd. It is magical. However, at times it is so over the top that the emotional core of the story is sidelined. The characters experience genuine sadness and loss, but instead of facing these matters head on Plascencia cloaks them in absurd imagery and tucks them behind preposterous tasks. I feel like he didn’t quite get at the meat of it like he could have and took the easier road by using metaphors and crazy ideas rather than actually dealing with what his characters were going through. Nonetheless, \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b> is a mastery of magical realism regardless of its lack of analysis.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The ingenious layout of the book itself (it’s divided into three parts and shifts point of view between characters every few paragraphs and, in some cases, a few pages) is worth the trip to the bookstore or the library if nothing for a quick appraisal of its organization and artwork. \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b> is a shining example of how McSweeney’s Books takes publishing to the next level. Even a quick perusal shows the care with which the book was assembled. This novel is more detail-oriented than any I have read — it is no assembly line product.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However, I wondered how much of the book was written by Plascencia and how much was guided by his publishers. Did the author think of all the quirky little inserts — the little drawings, the graphs, the weird patterns — or did his editor? Did he put them right into the manuscript while writing or were they put in afterwards?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But these additions and the organization begin to feel like a shtick. A hundred pages into the book and it became too much. Instead of following the characters or getting caught up in the plot, I caught myself puzzling over things like the strange hand gestures that don the beginning of each of the book’s parts. At times, \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b> is so “out there” that it distracts from the story, and that is not a good thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1932416218\">\u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Salvador Plascencia\u003cbr>Hardback, 200 pages\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "The first thing that caught my attention about the novel \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1932416218\">\u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>\u003c/a> was its title. I was intrigued. Who were these paper people, I asked myself, and where did they come from? Perhaps, it was a metaphor for fragility and mortality. I went to the library to get the book and find out.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The first thing that caught my attention about the novel \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1932416218\">\u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>\u003c/a> was its title. I was intrigued. Who were these paper people, I asked myself, and where did they come from? Perhaps, it was a metaphor for fragility and mortality. I went to the library to get the book and find out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I quickly discovered that it was both literal and a metaphor. In the novel there is an actual woman made of paper, called Merced de Papel, and a host of characters whose emotional fragility leads them into a myriad of schemes, adventures and campaigns. Author Salvador Plascencia creates a fantastical world in which the out-of-the-ordinary is taken as common place. This includes, among other things, mechanical turtles that roam the streets, plagues of mythical proportions that ascend upon the earth and a serial bed-wetter who engages in a war against fate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The few people I had met, previous to reading \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>, who had actually read the novel had a difficult time summarizing its premise, which, I thought at the time, could be either a good sign or a very bad one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I now know where they were coming from. It \u003ci>is\u003c/i> hard to explain, in so many words, what the book is essentially about, in part because it encompasses so much. There are dozens of characters introduced (Little Merced, Margarita aka Rita Hayworth, Federico de la Fe, Froggy, Cameroon) and even more fantastical creatures (mechanical turtles, Baby Nostradamus, a seemingly mentally-retarded baby who holds the history of the universe in his eyes, Saturn, the ringed planet as a character against whom a war is raged). It’s hard to keep track of it all. But, somehow, Plascencia manages.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel strongly reminds me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez; it has the same poetic quality and the same taste for the absurd. It is magical. However, at times it is so over the top that the emotional core of the story is sidelined. The characters experience genuine sadness and loss, but instead of facing these matters head on Plascencia cloaks them in absurd imagery and tucks them behind preposterous tasks. I feel like he didn’t quite get at the meat of it like he could have and took the easier road by using metaphors and crazy ideas rather than actually dealing with what his characters were going through. Nonetheless, \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b> is a mastery of magical realism regardless of its lack of analysis.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The ingenious layout of the book itself (it’s divided into three parts and shifts point of view between characters every few paragraphs and, in some cases, a few pages) is worth the trip to the bookstore or the library if nothing for a quick appraisal of its organization and artwork. \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b> is a shining example of how McSweeney’s Books takes publishing to the next level. Even a quick perusal shows the care with which the book was assembled. This novel is more detail-oriented than any I have read — it is no assembly line product.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However, I wondered how much of the book was written by Plascencia and how much was guided by his publishers. Did the author think of all the quirky little inserts — the little drawings, the graphs, the weird patterns — or did his editor? Did he put them right into the manuscript while writing or were they put in afterwards?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But these additions and the organization begin to feel like a shtick. A hundred pages into the book and it became too much. Instead of following the characters or getting caught up in the plot, I caught myself puzzling over things like the strange hand gestures that don the beginning of each of the book’s parts. At times, \u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b> is so “out there” that it distracts from the story, and that is not a good thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1932416218\">\u003cb>The People of Paper\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Salvador Plascencia\u003cbr>Hardback, 200 pages\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Last week the documentary \u003ca href=\"http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/middlesexes/index.html\">\u003cb>Middle Sexes: Redefining He and She\u003c/b>\u003c/a> premiered on HBO. I didn’t see it, but it reminded me of a recent novel I had read, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312422156\">\u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Jeffrey Eugenides (who also wrote \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0446670251\">\u003cb>The Virgin Suicides\u003c/b>\u003c/a>) whose main character is a hermaphrodite.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b> follows the trials and tribulations of the Stephanides family as narrated by Cal, an adult male formerly known as Callie back when he was a girl. And, no, Cal is no transsexual; he is a hermaphrodite. I had no idea what the book was about when I first picked it up. I thought it was some period piece set in England (yawn), imagine my surprise when I read the first line, “I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan in August of 1974.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was titillated and intrigued. Something, no doubt, the author had intended or, at least, had hoped for. Present day Cal is fairly well adjusted for a person living something of a dual existence. But he’s got issues. Serious issues. He starts from the very beginning and tells us his family’s tale in an effort to make sense of it himself and learn more about the origins of his “condition”.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The epic tale begins in Ottoman-controlled Greece. You are first introduced to Desdemona and Lefty, a brother and sister living in a village on a hillside during a time of political upheaval. Lefty is a passionate and restless young man and Desdemona is ever the responsible, practical older sister trying to keep it together as their parents are now dead. As is her duty, she is trying to marry Lefty off. But he has other ideas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ideas that include making the moves on his sister. I know — totally gross. But Eugenides spins the love story in such a way that you actually sympathize with the siblings. You know it’s wrong and yet you still find yourself secretly rooting for Lefty as he declares his feelings and pleading with Desdemona to give in to her urges. It’s twisted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Years of such inbreeding are the cause for Cal’s physical state. Desdemona and Lefty escape Turkey and head for the United States where they start a new life as husband and wife rather than brother and sister. They head to Detroit where their cousin lives and begin their pursuit of the American Dream. Lefty goes to work for Ford, learns English, gets involved in bootlegging, starts a speakeasy in the basement, and eventually opens up a diner. Meanwhile, Desdemona bears and raises two children, keeps the house running through the Depression and goes to work for the black Muslims (think Louis Farrakhan).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The story then follows the lives of their children where more inbreeding ensues. Desdemona and Lefty’s son, Milton, marries his cousin Tessie. Good times. Milton and Tessie, (at this point) Callie’s parents, move out to the suburbs with their two young children in tow and thrive in an upper middle class existence. Callie is a beautiful young girl who blossoms into a hunkering, awkward adolescent and her brother is a geek who turns into a hippy in college much to his parents’ dismay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It is during this “ugly stage” in Callie’s life (she’s tall, her voice is changing and she doesn’t have any of the womanly attributes girls her age have already been developing) that she “discovers” that she in fact also has a penis, which she naively and euphemistically refers to as a “crocus”. It is also during this time that others discover her extra package. A discovery that eventually leads her/him on a cross-country road trip culminating in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unfortunately, so much of the novel focuses on Cal’s grandparents that you are left wanting for more of his/her own story. There are references made earlier on in the novel that are never followed through with and you are still curious about Cal. \u003cbr>What was college \u003ci>really\u003c/i> like for him? What was the rest of high school like? Callie had attended an all-girls school. Where did Cal have to go?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cal refers to his first relationship but never delves into it. I realize maybe Eugenides wanted to stray away from sexual accounts that came off as sensationalist, and didn’t want to turn Cal from a regular ol’ character into “the other”. But not dealing with these issues at all was not the way to go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It made my imagination wander. I started doing research on hermaphrodites. I wanted to know how it all worked. How it must have been for Cal. I needed to fill in the blank spaces. Did you know that some hermaphrodites can get pregnant? That’s amazing. Technically, it’s like a man being able to have a baby. But different.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But Cal can’t get pregnant. I least I don’t think so. Anyways, \u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b> has too many gaps to be a great book. I wasn’t quite satisfied when I finished reading the last page. The novel ended up being more about Cal’s family than about him/her but, then again, that may have been the point. And while the Stephanides are engaging and amazing, I wanted more about Cal. After all, the book is called “Middlesex” rather than “My Big Fat Incestuous Greek Family”.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312422156\">\u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Jeffrey Eugenides \u003cbr>Paperback, 544 pages\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Last week the documentary \u003ca href=\"http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/middlesexes/index.html\">\u003cb>Middle Sexes: Redefining He and She\u003c/b>\u003c/a> premiered on HBO. I didn’t see it, but it reminded me of a recent novel I had read, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312422156\">\u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Jeffrey Eugenides (who also wrote \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0446670251\">\u003cb>The Virgin Suicides\u003c/b>\u003c/a>) whose main character is a hermaphrodite.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b> follows the trials and tribulations of the Stephanides family as narrated by Cal, an adult male formerly known as Callie back when he was a girl. And, no, Cal is no transsexual; he is a hermaphrodite. I had no idea what the book was about when I first picked it up. I thought it was some period piece set in England (yawn), imagine my surprise when I read the first line, “I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan in August of 1974.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was titillated and intrigued. Something, no doubt, the author had intended or, at least, had hoped for. Present day Cal is fairly well adjusted for a person living something of a dual existence. But he’s got issues. Serious issues. He starts from the very beginning and tells us his family’s tale in an effort to make sense of it himself and learn more about the origins of his “condition”.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The epic tale begins in Ottoman-controlled Greece. You are first introduced to Desdemona and Lefty, a brother and sister living in a village on a hillside during a time of political upheaval. Lefty is a passionate and restless young man and Desdemona is ever the responsible, practical older sister trying to keep it together as their parents are now dead. As is her duty, she is trying to marry Lefty off. But he has other ideas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ideas that include making the moves on his sister. I know — totally gross. But Eugenides spins the love story in such a way that you actually sympathize with the siblings. You know it’s wrong and yet you still find yourself secretly rooting for Lefty as he declares his feelings and pleading with Desdemona to give in to her urges. It’s twisted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Years of such inbreeding are the cause for Cal’s physical state. Desdemona and Lefty escape Turkey and head for the United States where they start a new life as husband and wife rather than brother and sister. They head to Detroit where their cousin lives and begin their pursuit of the American Dream. Lefty goes to work for Ford, learns English, gets involved in bootlegging, starts a speakeasy in the basement, and eventually opens up a diner. Meanwhile, Desdemona bears and raises two children, keeps the house running through the Depression and goes to work for the black Muslims (think Louis Farrakhan).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The story then follows the lives of their children where more inbreeding ensues. Desdemona and Lefty’s son, Milton, marries his cousin Tessie. Good times. Milton and Tessie, (at this point) Callie’s parents, move out to the suburbs with their two young children in tow and thrive in an upper middle class existence. Callie is a beautiful young girl who blossoms into a hunkering, awkward adolescent and her brother is a geek who turns into a hippy in college much to his parents’ dismay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It is during this “ugly stage” in Callie’s life (she’s tall, her voice is changing and she doesn’t have any of the womanly attributes girls her age have already been developing) that she “discovers” that she in fact also has a penis, which she naively and euphemistically refers to as a “crocus”. It is also during this time that others discover her extra package. A discovery that eventually leads her/him on a cross-country road trip culminating in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unfortunately, so much of the novel focuses on Cal’s grandparents that you are left wanting for more of his/her own story. There are references made earlier on in the novel that are never followed through with and you are still curious about Cal. \u003cbr>What was college \u003ci>really\u003c/i> like for him? What was the rest of high school like? Callie had attended an all-girls school. Where did Cal have to go?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cal refers to his first relationship but never delves into it. I realize maybe Eugenides wanted to stray away from sexual accounts that came off as sensationalist, and didn’t want to turn Cal from a regular ol’ character into “the other”. But not dealing with these issues at all was not the way to go.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It made my imagination wander. I started doing research on hermaphrodites. I wanted to know how it all worked. How it must have been for Cal. I needed to fill in the blank spaces. Did you know that some hermaphrodites can get pregnant? That’s amazing. Technically, it’s like a man being able to have a baby. But different.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But Cal can’t get pregnant. I least I don’t think so. Anyways, \u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b> has too many gaps to be a great book. I wasn’t quite satisfied when I finished reading the last page. The novel ended up being more about Cal’s family than about him/her but, then again, that may have been the point. And while the Stephanides are engaging and amazing, I wanted more about Cal. After all, the book is called “Middlesex” rather than “My Big Fat Incestuous Greek Family”.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312422156\">\u003cb>Middlesex\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Jeffrey Eugenides \u003cbr>Paperback, 544 pages\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>One of the things I love about San Francisco is the culture of walking that is dominant as a means of transport, adventure and recreation. With only seven miles of land, from end to end, you can literally walk across the entire city in a single day. To do this, is to experience the smelly air of the Bay hitting your face, the delicacy of a gourmet Vietnamese sandwich enlivening your taste buds in the Tenderloin and being wrapped in a cloak of fog as the neon-sign of the Balboa Theater glows against a twilight sky in the Richmond. Walking across the city is like getting a free movie pass, being part of a traveling sideshow or a moving meditation. It’s beautiful and dirty and harsh, all at the same time. Walking encourages chance encounters and synchronicity, it’s not just about getting from point A-to-B, but taking all the divergent paths that happen to come your way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I like the word “flâneur” to describe the art of walking with no purpose or specific destination. The word invokes romantic images and a grand tradition of free spirited wanderers. The dictionary describes the flâneur as “somebody who is idle or loafing about.” This negative connotation ignores a significant tradition of writers and artists and thinkers who have “loafed” to find inspiration. Through these walks countless artists have observed the minute details of life and transformed them into words and images. Maybe that’s why most films produced in Hollywood feel so false and artificial. Can you experience the smells, sounds and interactions of daily life from behind the wheel of a moving vehicle?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In any case, on one of my numerous meandering walks across the city, I followed the rickety staircases leading up to Twin Peaks and wound my way to Tank Hill. The view was sublime, with an expanse of blue sky and an unobstructed view of both bridges as well as the Presidio, Golden Gate Park, Buena Vista Park, all of down town, and a clear shot inside the multi-million dollar homes that line the street. (There is always something fascinating about seeing how other people live.) Although Tank Hill is a small park and space is limited, sitting on the edge of the hillside gives you the illusion of floating in the sky and literally having the entire city at your feet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I am not suggesting that this tiny bit of land is a completely unknown entity, but I had been living in San Francisco for over a decade before I experienced its beauty and wonder. The name Tank Hill dates back to 1894 when the area housed a giant water tank that stored drinking water pumped from Laguna Honda. After the tank became obsolete in 1957, the entire hill was sold for merely 250,000 dollars and slated for development. In 1977, the community pressured the city to buy back the land from developers as part of the Open Space program and to restore its natural habitat. Since the environment represents the indigenous landscape of the area, sitting at the top of Tank Hill is a little bit like going back in time. I often try to imagine the expanse of land before it was leveled and paved over to create modern day San Francisco. No cars, no roads and miles of uncharted territory for those brave souls who dared to walk in the wild.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I meander down the hill and back into the grind of city life, I recognize my appreciation for both the wilderness of San Francisco’s past and the chaos of its present incarnation as a city. I am pleased to join a long tradition of artists, philosophers, tramps, and bums who have made wandering an art form, pastime and religious experience.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rebecca Solnit’s book \u003cb>Wanderlust: A History of Walking\u003c/b> describes the joys of getting lost in everyday life. It comes the closest to capturing this experience on the page and explores the importance of letting go of a goal or a destination, of rediscovering one’s environment through wandering. \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/epArchive/R507151000\">Listen to an interview\u003c/a> with Rebecca Solnit of KQED’s \u003cb>Forum\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To learn more about Tank Hill visit the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfneighborhoodparks.org/parkhistories/tankhill.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Neighborhood Parks Council\u003c/a> (at sfneighborhoodparks.org).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.balboamovies.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Balboa Theater\u003c/a> (at balboamovies.com).\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>One of the things I love about San Francisco is the culture of walking that is dominant as a means of transport, adventure and recreation. With only seven miles of land, from end to end, you can literally walk across the entire city in a single day. To do this, is to experience the smelly air of the Bay hitting your face, the delicacy of a gourmet Vietnamese sandwich enlivening your taste buds in the Tenderloin and being wrapped in a cloak of fog as the neon-sign of the Balboa Theater glows against a twilight sky in the Richmond. Walking across the city is like getting a free movie pass, being part of a traveling sideshow or a moving meditation. It’s beautiful and dirty and harsh, all at the same time. Walking encourages chance encounters and synchronicity, it’s not just about getting from point A-to-B, but taking all the divergent paths that happen to come your way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I like the word “flâneur” to describe the art of walking with no purpose or specific destination. The word invokes romantic images and a grand tradition of free spirited wanderers. The dictionary describes the flâneur as “somebody who is idle or loafing about.” This negative connotation ignores a significant tradition of writers and artists and thinkers who have “loafed” to find inspiration. Through these walks countless artists have observed the minute details of life and transformed them into words and images. Maybe that’s why most films produced in Hollywood feel so false and artificial. Can you experience the smells, sounds and interactions of daily life from behind the wheel of a moving vehicle?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In any case, on one of my numerous meandering walks across the city, I followed the rickety staircases leading up to Twin Peaks and wound my way to Tank Hill. The view was sublime, with an expanse of blue sky and an unobstructed view of both bridges as well as the Presidio, Golden Gate Park, Buena Vista Park, all of down town, and a clear shot inside the multi-million dollar homes that line the street. (There is always something fascinating about seeing how other people live.) Although Tank Hill is a small park and space is limited, sitting on the edge of the hillside gives you the illusion of floating in the sky and literally having the entire city at your feet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I am not suggesting that this tiny bit of land is a completely unknown entity, but I had been living in San Francisco for over a decade before I experienced its beauty and wonder. The name Tank Hill dates back to 1894 when the area housed a giant water tank that stored drinking water pumped from Laguna Honda. After the tank became obsolete in 1957, the entire hill was sold for merely 250,000 dollars and slated for development. In 1977, the community pressured the city to buy back the land from developers as part of the Open Space program and to restore its natural habitat. Since the environment represents the indigenous landscape of the area, sitting at the top of Tank Hill is a little bit like going back in time. I often try to imagine the expanse of land before it was leveled and paved over to create modern day San Francisco. No cars, no roads and miles of uncharted territory for those brave souls who dared to walk in the wild.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I meander down the hill and back into the grind of city life, I recognize my appreciation for both the wilderness of San Francisco’s past and the chaos of its present incarnation as a city. I am pleased to join a long tradition of artists, philosophers, tramps, and bums who have made wandering an art form, pastime and religious experience.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rebecca Solnit’s book \u003cb>Wanderlust: A History of Walking\u003c/b> describes the joys of getting lost in everyday life. It comes the closest to capturing this experience on the page and explores the importance of letting go of a goal or a destination, of rediscovering one’s environment through wandering. \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/epArchive/R507151000\">Listen to an interview\u003c/a> with Rebecca Solnit of KQED’s \u003cb>Forum\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To learn more about Tank Hill visit the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfneighborhoodparks.org/parkhistories/tankhill.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Neighborhood Parks Council\u003c/a> (at sfneighborhoodparks.org).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.balboamovies.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Balboa Theater\u003c/a> (at balboamovies.com).\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Who are these people? Who are the people who live inside popular American “literary” fiction? Working in a bookstore, these novels cross my counter all day long, and my customers ask me “Have you read this? Have you read that?” In order to prove I am not a complete elitist snob when it comes to bestsellers, I have to pick up the occasional popular novel and read it. Usually I wait ’til a used copy comes in so I can borrow it, read it, and return it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is what I did with \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b> by Tom Perrotta. Perrotta is the author of Election, which was made into the funny indie movie by Alexander Payne, starring Reese Witherspoon and Matthew Broderick. I knew \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b> was about bored parents of young children who hang out at the playground, and since this was kind of my life up until last year, I thought I’d give it a whirl. But as soon as I started, I had to ask myself: “Who are these people??”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b>, two parents of toddlers start up an affair during the long summer months, while their spouses remain somewhat disengaged and oblivious. Todd, the “Prom King,” as the ladies at the playground have taken to calling the handsome stay-at-home dad, has failed the bar exam twice and is married to a stunning documentary filmmaker named Kathy who is supporting the family on her meager income. Sarah, the too-smart-for-suburbia mom with frizzy hair and low self-esteem, uses her affair with Todd to validate her life and give it some kind of shape and meaning. Todd also gets wrapped up in a late night touch football league with some of the local dads, including Larry, a retired cop hell-bent on outing and punishing the newly-paroled child molester who has recently moved in with his mother on Blueberry Court.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe I live in a bubble, and if so, I’m glad of that. Because these suburban cardboard cut-out characters found in most popular fiction are so dreadfully one-dimensional it makes me want to hurl. And this is not necessarily the fault of this writer, who is perfectly capable of constructing a page-turning plot, but I fear it’s the fault of our country and society which create these people and somehow turn them into literary models that the average reader can relate to. It’s like watching reality TV and thinking, “Wow, is everyone in this country really only concerned with looking hot, hooking up with someone who looks hot, and getting a lot of money?” In the world of \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b>, these people all live in the suburbs and see nothing beyond their kids, their marriages and their petty obsessions. Except for one brief discussion of Madame Bovary, no one in this book seems to be able to use their brain for anything beyond whatever is right in front of them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What is ultimately frustrating is that I don’t believe Perrotta is really making any cynical or postmodern statement about the shallow lives of people in the suburbs, because he seems to find their lifestyle perfectly acceptable as a jumping-off point for his storytelling. He even embellishes them with such attributes as “documentary filmmaker” and “retired cop,” as if just saying these things will make these characters all of a sudden spring to life and have some kind of depth. The deeper problem is that these people exist at all, even if they are imaginary. Desperate Housewives is more aware of itself than this book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some of the descriptions of the tedious routine of caring for young children do fit the bill, though, and it’s pretty entertaining and comforting to know that others find the lifestyle a bit, well, stultifying. As gratifying as it is to be the stay-at-home parent for your little one, there comes a point where you really resent your spouse for being able to get dressed and go to work every day. Now that I go to work almost every day, and my son is in preschool, I occasionally have those moments of missing the simplicity and regularity of a day ruled by meals, playtime, and naps. No wonder Todd and Sarah decide to have an affair in the book. Why not? They’ve got nothing better to do during naptime!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I did find \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b> ultimately entertaining, except for the long drawn-out descriptions of Todd’s touch football games which made my eyes glaze over and drool drip down my chin. Snore. The sub-plot of the child molester living in their midst mixes up the intrigue to a somewhat suspenseful finish, and as much as I found everyone in the book boring beyond belief, I did want to know what was going to happen. So either this means Tom Perrotta’s a good writer, or I need to get a life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312315732\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Tom Perrotta\u003cbr>Paperback. 368 pages.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Who are these people? Who are the people who live inside popular American “literary” fiction? Working in a bookstore, these novels cross my counter all day long, and my customers ask me “Have you read this? Have you read that?” In order to prove I am not a complete elitist snob when it comes to bestsellers, I have to pick up the occasional popular novel and read it. Usually I wait ’til a used copy comes in so I can borrow it, read it, and return it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is what I did with \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b> by Tom Perrotta. Perrotta is the author of Election, which was made into the funny indie movie by Alexander Payne, starring Reese Witherspoon and Matthew Broderick. I knew \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b> was about bored parents of young children who hang out at the playground, and since this was kind of my life up until last year, I thought I’d give it a whirl. But as soon as I started, I had to ask myself: “Who are these people??”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b>, two parents of toddlers start up an affair during the long summer months, while their spouses remain somewhat disengaged and oblivious. Todd, the “Prom King,” as the ladies at the playground have taken to calling the handsome stay-at-home dad, has failed the bar exam twice and is married to a stunning documentary filmmaker named Kathy who is supporting the family on her meager income. Sarah, the too-smart-for-suburbia mom with frizzy hair and low self-esteem, uses her affair with Todd to validate her life and give it some kind of shape and meaning. Todd also gets wrapped up in a late night touch football league with some of the local dads, including Larry, a retired cop hell-bent on outing and punishing the newly-paroled child molester who has recently moved in with his mother on Blueberry Court.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe I live in a bubble, and if so, I’m glad of that. Because these suburban cardboard cut-out characters found in most popular fiction are so dreadfully one-dimensional it makes me want to hurl. And this is not necessarily the fault of this writer, who is perfectly capable of constructing a page-turning plot, but I fear it’s the fault of our country and society which create these people and somehow turn them into literary models that the average reader can relate to. It’s like watching reality TV and thinking, “Wow, is everyone in this country really only concerned with looking hot, hooking up with someone who looks hot, and getting a lot of money?” In the world of \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b>, these people all live in the suburbs and see nothing beyond their kids, their marriages and their petty obsessions. Except for one brief discussion of Madame Bovary, no one in this book seems to be able to use their brain for anything beyond whatever is right in front of them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What is ultimately frustrating is that I don’t believe Perrotta is really making any cynical or postmodern statement about the shallow lives of people in the suburbs, because he seems to find their lifestyle perfectly acceptable as a jumping-off point for his storytelling. He even embellishes them with such attributes as “documentary filmmaker” and “retired cop,” as if just saying these things will make these characters all of a sudden spring to life and have some kind of depth. The deeper problem is that these people exist at all, even if they are imaginary. Desperate Housewives is more aware of itself than this book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some of the descriptions of the tedious routine of caring for young children do fit the bill, though, and it’s pretty entertaining and comforting to know that others find the lifestyle a bit, well, stultifying. As gratifying as it is to be the stay-at-home parent for your little one, there comes a point where you really resent your spouse for being able to get dressed and go to work every day. Now that I go to work almost every day, and my son is in preschool, I occasionally have those moments of missing the simplicity and regularity of a day ruled by meals, playtime, and naps. No wonder Todd and Sarah decide to have an affair in the book. Why not? They’ve got nothing better to do during naptime!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I did find \u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b> ultimately entertaining, except for the long drawn-out descriptions of Todd’s touch football games which made my eyes glaze over and drool drip down my chin. Snore. The sub-plot of the child molester living in their midst mixes up the intrigue to a somewhat suspenseful finish, and as much as I found everyone in the book boring beyond belief, I did want to know what was going to happen. So either this means Tom Perrotta’s a good writer, or I need to get a life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312315732\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cb>Little Children\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Tom Perrotta\u003cbr>Paperback. 368 pages.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>As soon as I heard that author Aimee Bender was coming out with a new collection of stories, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0385501137\">\u003cb>Willful Creatures\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, I went on-line and reserved a copy at the \u003ca href=\"http://sfpl.org\">\u003cb>library\u003c/b>\u003c/a>. When it arrived, I gulped it down in one sitting. Which is easy to do with a writer like Bender who has mastered the art of sparse and succinct (yet somehow still lush) storytelling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All her stories, as well as her novel, seem like demented fairy tales. Indeed, I once read that the genre was a heavy influence. Her words have this very particular style about them that is pretty much indescribable. The best thing is to just pick up one of her books and see what I mean for yourself. She may be the most creative writer working today. She uses language in a way that no other author I’ve come across ever has; each adjective conjures a dream and each metaphor forms a world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This style is best seen in her novel \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0385492243\">\u003cb>An Invisible Sign of My Own\u003c/b>\u003c/a> about a disturbed young woman who suffers from a very particular case of OCD that drives her to knock on things incessantly, obsess over numbers, shy away from physical human contact, and deprive herself of happiness and enjoyment in a misguided attempt to help cure her father’s mysterious ailment. You would think a protagonist like this would be a total drag to read about, but Bender somehow makes her accessible and sympathetic to readers. She makes her human.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, Bender seems to specialize in making fantastical creations into genuine characters. She did so in her debut, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0385492162\">\u003cb>The Girl in the Flammable Skirt: Stories\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, and in \u003cb>Willful Creatures\u003c/b>, she does more of the same. This latest effort, however, is darker than any of her other work. Perhaps Bender is maturing and leaving behind the fanciful whims of her youth? This collection is definitely more Brothers Grimm than Disney.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Divided into three parts, the stories range from a little man being kidnapped and trapped in a cage to be used for his new owner’s sick sense of enjoyment (“End of the Line”) and the cruelty of adolescence (“Debbieland”, “Jinx”) to the extent of a mother’s love (“Dearth”) and the antics of mentally unstable, lost women (“Off”, “Fruit & Words”). All the stories, while cloaked in levity are pretty damn dark. In this world, people are often cruel — they murder, mock, beat, and damage the soul.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the first story “Death Watch”, someone is brutally murdered within the first page. “The Case of the Salt & Pepper Shakers”, in which a husband and wife kill each other through means inspired by their preferred spices, also ventures into the macabre. However, Bender’s manipulation of language balances the grisly aspects, turning them into flights of fancy instead.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The story “Motherfucker,” which you would think would be one of the crudest stories, is actually one of the sweetest and most delicate. It follows a man who is a motherfucker, in the most literal sense — he’s got a fetish of sorts for mothers. He pursues a starlet, with a four-year old son and an ex-husband who left her for another man, and unleashes the desire within her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The whimsical ideas that have become Bender’s signature style are rampant in this collection. “Fruit & Words”, in which a woman in the desert sells luscious fruit along with words made out of solids, liquids and gases, is a good example of this. As is the story “The Leading Man” about a boy with “fingers shaped like keys.” Both stories sound like the stuff of an acid trip and could easily be too weird for mass consumption, yet Bender makes these oddballs seem like the most normal characters in the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Part Three seems to be the most experimental, which is a departure from Bender’s other works which are, while totally out there, still not this avant-garde. The pieces in this section push the boundaries of her style. To be honest, they weren’t my cup of tea. “Hymn”, which closes the collection, was totally lost on me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you already love Aimee Bender, then you must read \u003cb>Willful Creatures\u003c/b>. And if you haven’t yet experienced her unique way with words, now here’s your chance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0385501137\">\u003cb>Willful Creatures\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Aimee Bender\u003cbr>\nHardcover, 224 pages.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the first story “Death Watch”, someone is brutally murdered within the first page. “The Case of the Salt & Pepper Shakers”, in which a husband and wife kill each other through means inspired by their preferred spices, also ventures into the macabre. However, Bender’s manipulation of language balances the grisly aspects, turning them into flights of fancy instead.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The story “Motherfucker,” which you would think would be one of the crudest stories, is actually one of the sweetest and most delicate. It follows a man who is a motherfucker, in the most literal sense — he’s got a fetish of sorts for mothers. He pursues a starlet, with a four-year old son and an ex-husband who left her for another man, and unleashes the desire within her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The whimsical ideas that have become Bender’s signature style are rampant in this collection. “Fruit & Words”, in which a woman in the desert sells luscious fruit along with words made out of solids, liquids and gases, is a good example of this. As is the story “The Leading Man” about a boy with “fingers shaped like keys.” Both stories sound like the stuff of an acid trip and could easily be too weird for mass consumption, yet Bender makes these oddballs seem like the most normal characters in the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Part Three seems to be the most experimental, which is a departure from Bender’s other works which are, while totally out there, still not this avant-garde. The pieces in this section push the boundaries of her style. To be honest, they weren’t my cup of tea. “Hymn”, which closes the collection, was totally lost on me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you already love Aimee Bender, then you must read \u003cb>Willful Creatures\u003c/b>. And if you haven’t yet experienced her unique way with words, now here’s your chance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0385501137\">\u003cb>Willful Creatures\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Aimee Bender\u003cbr>\nHardcover, 224 pages.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Having read author Anita Diamant’s controversial first novel, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312195516\">\u003cb>The Red Tent\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, I didn’t know quite what to expect from her latest effort, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0743225732\">\u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b>\u003c/a> (and, before I continue: no, it has nothing to do with Z-boys or skating culture). I knew it was about a group of misfits living in a small New England town back in the day. But would it have the same passionate quality and dark undertones as that of its counterpart?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No. It does not. The language, characters and stories are understated and sparse, much like its rugged setting. A distinctive New England ethos pervades the pages, and while \u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b> lacks the same intense drama that made \u003cb>The Red Tent\u003c/b> so memorable, this novel more than makes up for it in its characters and sense of place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book recounts the stories of the last few remaining residents of a dwindling village in the early 19th century inhabited by widows, orphans, drunkards, spinsters, outcasts, philanderers and so-called witches. Diamant tells their stories giving insight into their backgrounds, aspirations, motivations and hidden desires. You meet sweet and lonely Judy Rhines, who pines for her first and only love Cornelius Finson, a mysterious and reserved “African”. There’s Easter Carter, who owns the largest house in Dogtown and operates an informal tavern, and Black Ruth, aka John Woodsman, the reticent female stonemason who dresses as a man and boards in Ruth’s attic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You also hear the story of the town’s madame Mrs. Stanley, the two pathetic prostitutes she keeps, Molly and Sally, her enterprising, ambitious charge Sammy Stanley and her pimp of sorts, the violent alcoholic John Stanwood. And then there’s Oliver Younger and his bitter, ornery aunt Tammy. Indeed Oliver’s story happens to be the only truly happy one in the entire novel. Happiness being a rare commodity in Dogtown.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In her Author’s Note, Diamant implies that she was inspired with the idea after reading a pamphlet and then doing some subsequent research on an actual hamlet once known as Dogtown which has since long perished. She writes, “⿦the death of a village, even one as poor and small as Dogtown, is not an altogether trivial thing. Surely there was value in the quiet lives lived among those boulders⿦”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The premise and organization of \u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b> (the chapters, except for the first in which you are introduced to all the major players, are each dedicated to a particular character’s story with the occasional appearance of one or another) seems like an elaborate writing exercise. One in which you take a \u003ca href=\"http://www.flickr.com/groups/foundphotos\">\u003cb>found photo\u003c/b>\u003c/a> of a grade school \u003ca href=\"http://www.flickr.com/photos/velvethellvis/34710083/in/pool-foundphotos\">\u003cb>class\u003c/b>\u003c/a> and then proceed to write a story about each student. The characters are all in one place and are linked in some way but they have totally different backgrounds and will all meet different fates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What struck me the most was the way in which people in the community helped one another though they were all destitute and of meager means. People bartered goods (a few eggs for a jar of jam) and did odd jobs for a place to stay. It made me wonder if people would help each other in the same way today. Would you take in a down on his luck neighbor in exchange for him doing a household chore like your laundry? Have we lost our sense of community?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was also moved by the unrealized love and interracial relationship between Judy and Cornelius. Although blacks (really all people of color) and whites lived in separate communities with distinct physical and social boundaries, in towns and villages as small as Dogtown, those boundaries must have broken down enough for each to be able to live in fairly close proximity. In which case, intimate relationships would have the possibility of springing up. However, just because they may have happened doesn’t mean they were accepted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As illustrated by these two characters, who held a life-long love for one another but were never able to publicly acknowledge their feelings. Judy and Cornelius could never acknowledge their love and their relationship was doomed from the very start on the sole basis of the color of their skin. And when you look at how few interracial relationships exist today, you can’t help but think that, perhaps, things haven’t changed all that much.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b> mirrors its subjects in many ways. It is a quiet, self-contained novel that holds many secrets. Nonetheless, years from now, no one will be able to recall its existence. Much like Dogtown itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0743225732\">\u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Anita Diamant\u003cbr>Hardcover (288 pp)\u003cbr>Scribner: August 30, 2005\u003cbr>ISBN: 0743225732\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Having read author Anita Diamant’s controversial first novel, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0312195516\">\u003cb>The Red Tent\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, I didn’t know quite what to expect from her latest effort, \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0743225732\">\u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b>\u003c/a> (and, before I continue: no, it has nothing to do with Z-boys or skating culture). I knew it was about a group of misfits living in a small New England town back in the day. But would it have the same passionate quality and dark undertones as that of its counterpart?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No. It does not. The language, characters and stories are understated and sparse, much like its rugged setting. A distinctive New England ethos pervades the pages, and while \u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b> lacks the same intense drama that made \u003cb>The Red Tent\u003c/b> so memorable, this novel more than makes up for it in its characters and sense of place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book recounts the stories of the last few remaining residents of a dwindling village in the early 19th century inhabited by widows, orphans, drunkards, spinsters, outcasts, philanderers and so-called witches. Diamant tells their stories giving insight into their backgrounds, aspirations, motivations and hidden desires. You meet sweet and lonely Judy Rhines, who pines for her first and only love Cornelius Finson, a mysterious and reserved “African”. There’s Easter Carter, who owns the largest house in Dogtown and operates an informal tavern, and Black Ruth, aka John Woodsman, the reticent female stonemason who dresses as a man and boards in Ruth’s attic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You also hear the story of the town’s madame Mrs. Stanley, the two pathetic prostitutes she keeps, Molly and Sally, her enterprising, ambitious charge Sammy Stanley and her pimp of sorts, the violent alcoholic John Stanwood. And then there’s Oliver Younger and his bitter, ornery aunt Tammy. Indeed Oliver’s story happens to be the only truly happy one in the entire novel. Happiness being a rare commodity in Dogtown.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In her Author’s Note, Diamant implies that she was inspired with the idea after reading a pamphlet and then doing some subsequent research on an actual hamlet once known as Dogtown which has since long perished. She writes, “⿦the death of a village, even one as poor and small as Dogtown, is not an altogether trivial thing. Surely there was value in the quiet lives lived among those boulders⿦”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The premise and organization of \u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b> (the chapters, except for the first in which you are introduced to all the major players, are each dedicated to a particular character’s story with the occasional appearance of one or another) seems like an elaborate writing exercise. One in which you take a \u003ca href=\"http://www.flickr.com/groups/foundphotos\">\u003cb>found photo\u003c/b>\u003c/a> of a grade school \u003ca href=\"http://www.flickr.com/photos/velvethellvis/34710083/in/pool-foundphotos\">\u003cb>class\u003c/b>\u003c/a> and then proceed to write a story about each student. The characters are all in one place and are linked in some way but they have totally different backgrounds and will all meet different fates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What struck me the most was the way in which people in the community helped one another though they were all destitute and of meager means. People bartered goods (a few eggs for a jar of jam) and did odd jobs for a place to stay. It made me wonder if people would help each other in the same way today. Would you take in a down on his luck neighbor in exchange for him doing a household chore like your laundry? Have we lost our sense of community?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was also moved by the unrealized love and interracial relationship between Judy and Cornelius. Although blacks (really all people of color) and whites lived in separate communities with distinct physical and social boundaries, in towns and villages as small as Dogtown, those boundaries must have broken down enough for each to be able to live in fairly close proximity. In which case, intimate relationships would have the possibility of springing up. However, just because they may have happened doesn’t mean they were accepted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As illustrated by these two characters, who held a life-long love for one another but were never able to publicly acknowledge their feelings. Judy and Cornelius could never acknowledge their love and their relationship was doomed from the very start on the sole basis of the color of their skin. And when you look at how few interracial relationships exist today, you can’t help but think that, perhaps, things haven’t changed all that much.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b> mirrors its subjects in many ways. It is a quiet, self-contained novel that holds many secrets. Nonetheless, years from now, no one will be able to recall its existence. Much like Dogtown itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0743225732\">\u003cb>The Last Days of Dogtown\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Anita Diamant\u003cbr>Hardcover (288 pp)\u003cbr>Scribner: August 30, 2005\u003cbr>ISBN: 0743225732\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>There are things we do in our lives for the sheer discomfort of them — to remind us of what we have, and what we require for a happy existence, and what we need to sustain ourselves. We do things like hiking and camping, and mountain climbing, and sailing, and cross-country skiing. And the moment we return home from one of our outdoor adventures, whether we have hiked 10 miles to a remote wilderness camp or grilled ahi tuna next to the car in a state park, we feel at peace. We can peel off the dirty smelly clothes, we can warm the chilled extremities, we can take a long, excruciatingly hot shower and brew up some tea and cuddle up under the covers of a fluffy bed. This is exactly how I felt after reading \u003cb>Drop City\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Those of us who were lucky enough to have been born just behind the “Summer of Love” generation are sick to death of gagging on the regurgitated memories shoved down our throats by those who lived through those seemingly halcyon days. Images of flower children dancing in the park, and poets rallying against the war, and color wheels spinning out oily slicks of psychedelic mush behind some “legendary” guitar hero or raspy-voiced blues mama have been so overplayed as to be comical. Thankfully, T.C. Boyle cuts right to the dark underbelly of what it means to be counter-culture, both in the hippie sense, and in the sense of any men and women who choose to live “off-the-grid” in their own adventurous ways.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Drop City\u003c/b> starts out as a tale of a commune with growing pains, a Northern California hippie enclave which is attracting far too many weekend gawkers, freeloaders, and losers who just can’t handle their drugs. After a series of mishaps that brings the Man around to pressure the group to abandon their idyllic property, Norm Sender, Papa Bear to the clan, decides to move the whole free-lovin’ soap opera up to Alaska. His uncle has bequeathed unto him a cabin in one of the most god-forsaken regions of the Yukon, where the sun shines 24 hours a day in summer, but it’s dark and 40 below all winter, and if you’re not prepared and you’re not skilled, you’re in deep moose poop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They encounter a group of hardened river folk with their own turf wars and rivalries, and as the days grow shorter and colder, their stories grow more and more intertwined and claustrophobic, til you want to jump out of your skin lest Boyle regale you with one more scene of tedium, boredom and danger borne out of the darkest, sub-zero hell that is this particular part of the world. It’s a rocking good read, with stunning turns of phrase and characters that ooze from the page with startling ferocity. In Boyle’s world, you can run from society, but it will always track you down like a wild pack of starved dogs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So let those dogs lie. The laundry is done, the woodsmoke smell is out of everything, and the rain beats against the window as I lay here, thanking my lucky stars I’m not out there hunting down my dinner or trying to feed 30 stinky hippies and their misguided dreams.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0142003808\">\u003cb>Drop City\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by T.C. Boyle\u003cbr>Paperback (512 pp)\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There are things we do in our lives for the sheer discomfort of them — to remind us of what we have, and what we require for a happy existence, and what we need to sustain ourselves. We do things like hiking and camping, and mountain climbing, and sailing, and cross-country skiing. And the moment we return home from one of our outdoor adventures, whether we have hiked 10 miles to a remote wilderness camp or grilled ahi tuna next to the car in a state park, we feel at peace. We can peel off the dirty smelly clothes, we can warm the chilled extremities, we can take a long, excruciatingly hot shower and brew up some tea and cuddle up under the covers of a fluffy bed. This is exactly how I felt after reading \u003cb>Drop City\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Those of us who were lucky enough to have been born just behind the “Summer of Love” generation are sick to death of gagging on the regurgitated memories shoved down our throats by those who lived through those seemingly halcyon days. Images of flower children dancing in the park, and poets rallying against the war, and color wheels spinning out oily slicks of psychedelic mush behind some “legendary” guitar hero or raspy-voiced blues mama have been so overplayed as to be comical. Thankfully, T.C. Boyle cuts right to the dark underbelly of what it means to be counter-culture, both in the hippie sense, and in the sense of any men and women who choose to live “off-the-grid” in their own adventurous ways.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Drop City\u003c/b> starts out as a tale of a commune with growing pains, a Northern California hippie enclave which is attracting far too many weekend gawkers, freeloaders, and losers who just can’t handle their drugs. After a series of mishaps that brings the Man around to pressure the group to abandon their idyllic property, Norm Sender, Papa Bear to the clan, decides to move the whole free-lovin’ soap opera up to Alaska. His uncle has bequeathed unto him a cabin in one of the most god-forsaken regions of the Yukon, where the sun shines 24 hours a day in summer, but it’s dark and 40 below all winter, and if you’re not prepared and you’re not skilled, you’re in deep moose poop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They encounter a group of hardened river folk with their own turf wars and rivalries, and as the days grow shorter and colder, their stories grow more and more intertwined and claustrophobic, til you want to jump out of your skin lest Boyle regale you with one more scene of tedium, boredom and danger borne out of the darkest, sub-zero hell that is this particular part of the world. It’s a rocking good read, with stunning turns of phrase and characters that ooze from the page with startling ferocity. In Boyle’s world, you can run from society, but it will always track you down like a wild pack of starved dogs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So let those dogs lie. The laundry is done, the woodsmoke smell is out of everything, and the rain beats against the window as I lay here, thanking my lucky stars I’m not out there hunting down my dinner or trying to feed 30 stinky hippies and their misguided dreams.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>After having watched the outstanding film \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0379725\">\u003cb>Capote\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, essentially about \u003ca href=\"http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/capote.htm\">\u003cb>Truman Capote’s\u003c/b>\u003c/a> experiences researching the grisly murders of a family in rural Kansas in 1959, I was compelled to read \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0679745580\">\u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, the product of the six grueling, emotionally trying years of said research. The movie asserts that the novel simultaneously established the author as the most famous writer in America \u003ci>and\u003c/i> ruined him both emotionally and physically; he never finished another book and subsequently became addicted to both alcohol and drugs. I was intrigued and, I admit, a little scared. 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The first few pages immediately set the scene and tone for the rest of the book, much like the opening scene of a movie (Capote also wrote the novella \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt005469\">\u003cb>Breakfast at Tiffany’s\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, which was then made into the movie starring Audrey Hepburn). You are guided into the world inhabited by the subjects and feel yourself leaving the present behind. Welcome to Holcomb, Kansas, the (unlikely) scene of the crime.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Equal parts bleak and joyful, Holcomb is a small tight-knit community that seems like an ideal place to grow up and then quickly move away. Despite the flat prairie lands that mercilessly expose one to the elements, Holcomb and the nearby town of Garden City were really quite sheltered. That is until November 1959, when one of the community’s most-popular and best loved families, The Clutters, were murdered for no apparent reason, shot point blank in the heads, with the father also having his neck slit. After this tragedy, things just weren’t the same in good old Holcomb.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film doesn’t really go into the family’s background or the townspeople and instead focuses more on the killers and Capote. Thus, I was slightly taken aback by the extent to which \u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b> delves into both the Clutters’ and the community’s lives as well as that of the two murderers. It’s so well constructed and pieced together that it’s difficult to fathom that it’s non-fiction and that the victims weren’t interviewed by Capote from the beyond the grave. I kept on asking myself, “How could he possibly \u003ci>know\u003c/i> all this stuff?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, Capote creates in-depth character studies of each member of the family — Mr. Clutter, his mentally unstable wife Bonnie Clutter, the enormously popular and peppy Nancy and his moody, nerdy only son Kenyon — except for, mysteriously, the two eldest sisters and only surviving members of the family, Beverly and Eveanna, who were away at the time, one being married and the other engaged. Maybe they refused to talk to him? Capote doesn’t stop with the Clutters, he includes and interweaves the stories of various members of the town — from an English teacher at the high school and Nancy’s best friend Susan, to the Kansas Bureau of Investigation agents working the case and even the likes of Mrs. Myrtle Clare, the ornery, opinionated postmistress — in an almost Dickensian panorama with the same grand results.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The most disturbing passages, besides those that actually describe the murders, are those of the murderers themselves, Perry Smith and Dick Hickock. Their easy cruelty, delusions and violent tendencies sent shivers up my back. I imagined having to spend years hanging out with one of them in a jail cell while researching a book as Capote had done with Smith. Of course, he was driven to drink! These evocative passages are interlaced with the other passages creating a seamless, layered story, which gradually builds suspense and tension. You are compelled to turn the page even though you’re apprehensive of what happens next.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was quite an interesting dynamic having first seen a film about how the author was affected by the story and then reading \u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b> afterwards. It added another nuance to the reading experience, that’s for sure. I kept on imagining him sitting at his desk writing and interviewing the subjects and picturing Truman Capote as \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000450\">Philip Seymour Hoffman\u003c/a>. Through enormous amounts of research and imagination, Capote miraculously re-constructs and pieces this tragic story together with a chess-like stratagem, creating a novel of epic proportions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0679745580\">\u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Truman Capote\u003cbr>Paperback (368 pp)\u003cbr>Vintage; Reprint edition: February 1, 1994\u003cbr>ISBN: 0679745580\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>After having watched the outstanding film \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0379725\">\u003cb>Capote\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, essentially about \u003ca href=\"http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/capote.htm\">\u003cb>Truman Capote’s\u003c/b>\u003c/a> experiences researching the grisly murders of a family in rural Kansas in 1959, I was compelled to read \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0679745580\">\u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, the product of the six grueling, emotionally trying years of said research. The movie asserts that the novel simultaneously established the author as the most famous writer in America \u003ci>and\u003c/i> ruined him both emotionally and physically; he never finished another book and subsequently became addicted to both alcohol and drugs. I was intrigued and, I admit, a little scared. I mean, if the material inside those pages could scar someone as urbane and jaded as Truman Capote, what would it do to me?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>First of all, it should be noted that \u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b>, while written like an extremely well crafted work of fiction, is not the product of an overactive imagination. It’s all real. That’s the frighteningly haunting part. It is a non-fiction literary novel, a genre created by Capote and of which he still reigns as king, which means that it’s all, whether you like it or not, factually-based. I have yet to come across a non-fictional book that is half as full of description and deeply developed “characters” as is \u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b>. And, perhaps I never shall.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Published in 1965, the novel is dedicated to both Jack Dunphy, Capote’s longtime lover, and Harper Lee (who wrote \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0446310786\">\u003cb>To Kill a Mockingbird\u003c/b>\u003c/a>), his lifelong friend. The first few pages immediately set the scene and tone for the rest of the book, much like the opening scene of a movie (Capote also wrote the novella \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt005469\">\u003cb>Breakfast at Tiffany’s\u003c/b>\u003c/a>, which was then made into the movie starring Audrey Hepburn). You are guided into the world inhabited by the subjects and feel yourself leaving the present behind. Welcome to Holcomb, Kansas, the (unlikely) scene of the crime.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Equal parts bleak and joyful, Holcomb is a small tight-knit community that seems like an ideal place to grow up and then quickly move away. Despite the flat prairie lands that mercilessly expose one to the elements, Holcomb and the nearby town of Garden City were really quite sheltered. That is until November 1959, when one of the community’s most-popular and best loved families, The Clutters, were murdered for no apparent reason, shot point blank in the heads, with the father also having his neck slit. After this tragedy, things just weren’t the same in good old Holcomb.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film doesn’t really go into the family’s background or the townspeople and instead focuses more on the killers and Capote. Thus, I was slightly taken aback by the extent to which \u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b> delves into both the Clutters’ and the community’s lives as well as that of the two murderers. It’s so well constructed and pieced together that it’s difficult to fathom that it’s non-fiction and that the victims weren’t interviewed by Capote from the beyond the grave. I kept on asking myself, “How could he possibly \u003ci>know\u003c/i> all this stuff?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, Capote creates in-depth character studies of each member of the family — Mr. Clutter, his mentally unstable wife Bonnie Clutter, the enormously popular and peppy Nancy and his moody, nerdy only son Kenyon — except for, mysteriously, the two eldest sisters and only surviving members of the family, Beverly and Eveanna, who were away at the time, one being married and the other engaged. Maybe they refused to talk to him? Capote doesn’t stop with the Clutters, he includes and interweaves the stories of various members of the town — from an English teacher at the high school and Nancy’s best friend Susan, to the Kansas Bureau of Investigation agents working the case and even the likes of Mrs. Myrtle Clare, the ornery, opinionated postmistress — in an almost Dickensian panorama with the same grand results.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The most disturbing passages, besides those that actually describe the murders, are those of the murderers themselves, Perry Smith and Dick Hickock. Their easy cruelty, delusions and violent tendencies sent shivers up my back. I imagined having to spend years hanging out with one of them in a jail cell while researching a book as Capote had done with Smith. Of course, he was driven to drink! These evocative passages are interlaced with the other passages creating a seamless, layered story, which gradually builds suspense and tension. You are compelled to turn the page even though you’re apprehensive of what happens next.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was quite an interesting dynamic having first seen a film about how the author was affected by the story and then reading \u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b> afterwards. It added another nuance to the reading experience, that’s for sure. I kept on imagining him sitting at his desk writing and interviewing the subjects and picturing Truman Capote as \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000450\">Philip Seymour Hoffman\u003c/a>. Through enormous amounts of research and imagination, Capote miraculously re-constructs and pieces this tragic story together with a chess-like stratagem, creating a novel of epic proportions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/0679745580\">\u003cb>In Cold Blood\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Truman Capote\u003cbr>Paperback (368 pp)\u003cbr>Vintage; Reprint edition: February 1, 1994\u003cbr>ISBN: 0679745580\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>I’m not a crier. While I shed tears at appropriate occasions like weddings and funerals and may break down while giving a particularly sentimental speech, I rarely cry during movies (unless it’s a serious tear-jerker, which I try to generally avoid) and even less so when reading a book. I remember crying over \u003cb>Bastard out of Carolina\u003c/b> and needing serious proverbial therapy in order to deal with the disturbing ending. I was also all mopey over \u003cb>The Passion\u003c/b>. But I read those books years ago and the ducts have been dry ever since. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t read anything that’s really moved me in such a way. That is until I picked up \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1400043395\">\u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b>\u003c/a> at the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfpl.org\">library\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Japanese British author Kazuo Ishiguro’s (\u003cb>Remains of the Day\u003c/b>, \u003cb>A Pale View of the Hills\u003c/b>) latest novel is a masterpiece. Essentially it is about the life-long yet somewhat dysfunctional friendship between three characters: Kathy, Ruth and Tommy who attended an idyllic boarding school of sorts in the English countryside called Hailsham.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel unfolds entirely in flashbacks through Kathy’s reminiscences, which all possess a touch of bittersweet sadness and childlike wonder. As she talks about lazy days lying about in the fields, petty fights, gossip about teachers (called guardians at Hailsham), self-conscious social interactions and all the other things that make up a good bildungsroman, you are swept away into your own awkward childhood and adolescent experiences.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All those hurts and pangs and yearnings I once had, drifted right up to the surface. Making me thankful, once more, that I never have to go through any of that crap ever again. Unless I’m reliving it through a book of course. I don’t want to write about the saddest part of the novel, which would give away the ending, but only say that it haunted me many days after. In fact, I had to stop and breathe and run for tissues just to get through those final scenes; which is not to say that \u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b> is a depressing read.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, there is something about the characters’ experiences, though presented with a subtle elusiveness, which is powerful and uplifting. And, despite the tears, I am thankful to Ishiguro for both bringing me along for the trip and creating this world and these characters, which have stayed with me long after I closed the book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b> has earned its position on my all-time favorite books list. Even though it made me cry. Or maybe because of it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1400043395\">\u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Kazuo Ishiguro\u003cbr>Hardcover (304 pp)\u003cbr>Knopf: April 5, 2005\u003cbr>ISBN: 1400043395\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>I’m not a crier. While I shed tears at appropriate occasions like weddings and funerals and may break down while giving a particularly sentimental speech, I rarely cry during movies (unless it’s a serious tear-jerker, which I try to generally avoid) and even less so when reading a book. I remember crying over \u003cb>Bastard out of Carolina\u003c/b> and needing serious proverbial therapy in order to deal with the disturbing ending. I was also all mopey over \u003cb>The Passion\u003c/b>. But I read those books years ago and the ducts have been dry ever since. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t read anything that’s really moved me in such a way. That is until I picked up \u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1400043395\">\u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b>\u003c/a> at the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfpl.org\">library\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Japanese British author Kazuo Ishiguro’s (\u003cb>Remains of the Day\u003c/b>, \u003cb>A Pale View of the Hills\u003c/b>) latest novel is a masterpiece. Essentially it is about the life-long yet somewhat dysfunctional friendship between three characters: Kathy, Ruth and Tommy who attended an idyllic boarding school of sorts in the English countryside called Hailsham.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel unfolds entirely in flashbacks through Kathy’s reminiscences, which all possess a touch of bittersweet sadness and childlike wonder. As she talks about lazy days lying about in the fields, petty fights, gossip about teachers (called guardians at Hailsham), self-conscious social interactions and all the other things that make up a good bildungsroman, you are swept away into your own awkward childhood and adolescent experiences.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All those hurts and pangs and yearnings I once had, drifted right up to the surface. Making me thankful, once more, that I never have to go through any of that crap ever again. Unless I’m reliving it through a book of course. I don’t want to write about the saddest part of the novel, which would give away the ending, but only say that it haunted me many days after. In fact, I had to stop and breathe and run for tissues just to get through those final scenes; which is not to say that \u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b> is a depressing read.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, there is something about the characters’ experiences, though presented with a subtle elusiveness, which is powerful and uplifting. And, despite the tears, I am thankful to Ishiguro for both bringing me along for the trip and creating this world and these characters, which have stayed with me long after I closed the book.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b> has earned its position on my all-time favorite books list. Even though it made me cry. Or maybe because of it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"/.amazon/1400043395\">\u003cb>Never Let Me Go\u003c/b>\u003c/a> by Kazuo Ishiguro\u003cbr>Hardcover (304 pp)\u003cbr>Knopf: April 5, 2005\u003cbr>ISBN: 1400043395\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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}
},
"baycurious": {
"id": "baycurious",
"title": "Bay Curious",
"tagline": "Exploring the Bay Area, one question at a time",
"info": "KQED’s new podcast, Bay Curious, gets to the bottom of the mysteries — both profound and peculiar — that give the Bay Area its unique identity. And we’ll do it with your help! You ask the questions. You decide what Bay Curious investigates. And you join us on the journey to find the answers.",
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"order": 3
},
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},
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"info": "The day's top stories from BBC News compiled twice daily in the week, once at weekends.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/BBC-World-Service-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
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},
"link": "/radio/program/bbc-world-service",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/global-news-podcast/id135067274?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/BBC-World-Service-p455581/",
"rss": "https://podcasts.files.bbci.co.uk/p02nq0gn.rss"
}
},
"californiareport": {
"id": "californiareport",
"title": "The California Report",
"tagline": "California, day by day",
"info": "KQED’s statewide radio news program providing daily coverage of issues, trends and public policy decisions.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-California-Report-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareport",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 8
},
"link": "/californiareport",
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"amazon": "https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/26099305-72af-4542-9dde-ac1807fe36d5/kqed-s-the-california-report",
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}
},
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"title": "The California Report Magazine",
"tagline": "Your state, your stories",
"info": "Every week, The California Report Magazine takes you on a road trip for the ears: to visit the places and meet the people who make California unique. The in-depth storytelling podcast from the California Report.",
"airtime": "FRI 4:30pm-5pm, 6:30pm-7pm, 11pm-11:30pm",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareportmagazine",
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"order": 10
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM3NjkwNjk1OTAz",
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},
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"id": "city-arts",
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"info": "A one-hour radio program to hear celebrated writers, artists and thinkers address contemporary ideas and values, often discussing the creative process. Please note: tapes or transcripts are not available",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/05/cityartsandlecture-300x300.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.cityarts.net/",
"airtime": "SUN 1pm-2pm, TUE 10pm, WED 1am",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "City Arts & Lectures"
},
"link": "https://www.cityarts.net",
"subscribe": {
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/City-Arts-and-Lectures-p692/",
"rss": "https://www.cityarts.net/feed/"
}
},
"closealltabs": {
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/closealltabs",
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"order": 1
},
"link": "/podcasts/closealltabs",
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"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"meta": {
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},
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"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
"airtime": "THU 10pm, FRI 1am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 9
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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"id": "freakonomics-radio",
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"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/freakonomicsRadio.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
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"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
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},
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"id": "fresh-air",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=214089682&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510051/podcast.xml"
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"hidden-brain": {
"id": "hidden-brain",
"title": "Hidden Brain",
"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/series/423302056/hidden-brain",
"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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},
"how-i-built-this": {
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"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/howIBuiltThis.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510313/how-i-built-this",
"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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},
"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"order": 15
},
"link": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 18
},
"link": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/id1492194549",
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}
},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
"subscribe": {
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
}
},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Masters-of-Scale-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
"subscribe": {
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/464615685/mind-shift-podcast",
"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/stories-teachers-share",
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}
},
"morning-edition": {
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