Tag Archives: books

February 24, 2012 · 5:36 pm

The Second Time Around

Did you miss me? I have not been blogging for a bit. This is because I am hibernating, like a bear — or a chipmunk. It is quite frankly amazing that any of us live through winter here in the upper reaches of the Midwest at all. Whose brilliant idea was it to leave equatorial Africa, anyway? But fascinating things do happen in wintertime. For a good dose of stellar improbability, I recommend reading an old(er) book that I really liked:  Winter World, by Bernd Heinrich.

I snapped this up when it was new (in 2001), but am only now telling you about it. I know, I’m like that. The rest of these delightful literary indulgences are things that I missed when they were new because I was hanging out under my rock. If you missed them too, haste to remedy that.

Jeanette Winterson

Her new memoir is wonderful. But then, all of her things are wonderful, as I discovered when, upon finishing the ARC of Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?, I embarked on a program of obsessively reading of all her other stuff.  The Passion is my favorite, set in France & Venice during the Napoleonic wars. It is at once a deeply sensory book (you feel like you can smell the chicken cooking and feel the snow and move with the sway of an imagined gondola) and a deftly philosophical one. Wry lyricism abounds. Wow, that’s a pretentious sentence – but how many times do you get to say, “Wry lyricism abounds”? Twice, apparently.

The Rumpus

It’s an on-line literary magazine! One that I, happily, can sometimes read at work under the pretext of staying up-to-date (which we know is a sham – see rock, above). Anyway, it is witty and fun and has real writers saying real things on a regular basis. Also: comics. I love comics.

We Will Measure Our Loss

Penguin stopped letting libraries lend their eBooks a week or so ago. This is not really news now. But this *is* a compelling portrait of changing technologies and how they affect people at all levels of society.

More Web-based Fun

Lindy West writes a film column for the Seattle Stranger. She is incredibly funny. My favorite article involves that inexplicable cinema-atrocity, Star Wars: The Phantom Menace in 3-D. It made me laugh out loud on a day when even smiling did not seem to be in the cards. I caution you against her drinking game, though (she is right – and no one likes to have their stomach pumped). Sometimes West’s reviews can be a leetle too raunchy for me, but then, I do live under that rock.

From movies to TV

Did you see the BBC series, Black Books? You should. Watch the pilot episode. The later ones are heavy on the slapstick, but that first one… oh, pure comedy gold.

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October 10, 2011 · 8:47 pm

Skunk Puppy

The dog has been skunked. Strangely, when he came zooming into the house at 4 a.m. after his close encounter with the skunkly kind, he smelled like… onions. Like a lot of onions – like he had been mugged by a roving band of onions gone to the bad; A Clockwork Onion, even.

Which I thought was weird, but was why I let him back into the bed — believing that he had just gotten into a patch of onion grass in the yard and comforting myself with the thought that the next day was laundry day. Despite repeated rounds of scrubbing, my bedroom can still only be described as “musky.” I did try incense, making the house smell like a skunk who wears tie dye.

This all got me thinking about books and smell. No, I will not be covering

Proust; this is not that kind of blog. We’re a little more lowbrow here. You can make your own madeleines if you want.

The Lantern

An homage to Du Maurier’s Rebecca, set in Provence. After a few chapters, I began to think that I could smell the lavender. In addition to being an elegant, creepy mystery with tons of style, The Lantern also gives the reader a smattering of fun-facts about the origins of lavender farming in the region.
The whole novel was so much fun I wish I could pick it up and read it again for the first time. It’s still in hardcover and is not getting nearly the amount of press it deserves. This means that you should just buy five or ten copies now, wrap them in holiday paper and be done in time to laze through both Halloween and Thanksgiving with an imperturbably superior air.
This one is getting a lot of press. It’s a fun romp and very atmospheric. The scents here are caramel apples and bonfires, ashes and falling leaves, exotic perfumes and spun sugar, snow, and the vanilla whiff of old paper. It’s perfect to read on a crisp autumn night and is supposed to be made into a movie. The book is so visually lush that I expect great things from the film. The plot has to do with treachery and magic, artifice and attraction, imagination and romance (But not in a goopey way. And for the guys: it is safe to read this. You’ll like it).
Seanan McGuire’s October Daye series follows a fae P.I. through San Francisco crime scenes. By fae I mean that she’s a fairy, as in “the fair folk,” “the people under the hill,” “those folks who steal babies and sour milk.” There are a lot of paranormal detectives out there in fictionland these days, so I should clarify: If you were thinking, “pink and sparkly?” Not so much. Daye’s world is peopled by just about every living thing in western myth. There are centaurs and pixies and plenty of weirdnesses you’ve probably never heard of unless you had a Welsh grandmother who liked to tell stories and try to scare the crap out of you.
McGuire’s mysteries are always fun and always full of good sensory descriptions. For instance, the magic produced by an individual carries a characteristic scent – so does their blood. There’s a good deal of humor in these books too. Sometimes it’s dark, but sometimes it’s just funny. With this, her 4th mystery in the series, McGuire’s really on top of the game – One Salt Sea is a tight, layered, fast-moving who-done-it that nicely evokes the Northern California landscape. You can start with the first one, Rosemary and Rue, or jump in at the last – but keep in mind that these novels get better and better from book to book. Also, check out this writer’s blog. It is just flat smart. I particularly admire this entry and this one.
Back to de-skunking the dog. It’s a good thing he’s cute, because he sure is smelly.

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June 23, 2011 · 9:44 pm

My Stars

Please let me preface this by saying that I don’t know beans about Bristol Palin’s life, but I would not want to slam anybody who is a single mom. Single momming is all kinds of hard work.

That said, people who write jacket copy for the memoirs of single mothers are fair game. So from the front flap of B. Palin’s new book, Not Afraid of Life: My Journey So Far, I give you:

“…Through all of these ups and downs, Bristol learned how to face her challenges head-on with courage and grace, [WAIT FOR IT!] traits she put to good use as a contestant and finalist on Dancing with the Stars.”

People are generally said (if they emerge from such horrors not actually having descended into a permanent state of jibbering idiocy) to have faced things like life-threatening disease, natural disasters or hostage situations with courage and grace. Dancing with the Stars? Really?

I would prefer to face Dancing with the Stars with gin and tonic.

Other things that make me giggle, but in more of a laughing-with-you kind of way:

The Practical Napper: Tips, Facts, and Quotes for the Avidly Recumbent, by Jennifer Eyre White.

My favorite:

Napping is good for world peace. When you’re napping, you’re not:

  1. Behaving like imperialist swine.
  2. Trying to convert other countries to your religion and/or political system and/or fashion sense.
  3. Calling other countries mean names.

 

The Ralph Steadman Book of Dogs

Every once in a while, somebody will bring up that old hypothetical question, “If you could have a dinner party and invite anybody you wanted, living or dead, who would you ask?” People generally get all earnest about this one and come up with a guest list that includes Gandhi, Mother Theresa, and Eleanor Roosevelt. Personally, I think having Ralph Steadman, Rabelais and Christopher Moore over for pizza and booze would be a laugh riot. Ooh — and Django Reinhardt. Maybe he’d jam. I’d ask Hunter S. too, but he might wander off with a bottle of drugged wine and a shotgun to lie in wait for the delivery guy.

Steadman’s latest goofy collection of canine drawings is a hoot.

That's some hat.

Anything by Angela Thirkell

I first discovered Thirkell during a dark, scary, I-can’t-read-anything-distressing-my-life-is-distressing-enough-what-if-I’m-doing-everything-all-wrong-probably-it-would-be-better-for-everyone-if-I-just-hid-here-under-the-couch-wow-I-should-really-vacuum . . . time in my life. She seemed the perfect antidote to my then-reality: a sort of buttoned-up, post WWI Jane Austen knock-off.

Thirkell is a gentle and forgiving observer of every-day people doing every-day things in an English village. She’s also got an out-of-nowhere-surprise hit of snark when you least expect it. Literary quotes from Dickens and Thakeray sneak up and bite you when you’re not looking. She wrote for money, starting in the 1920’s and continuing into the 50s. She didn’t expect most of her “society” friends to like, or even read, her novels. She’s classist and sexist and funny and kind — sometimes, upsettingly, all at once. I like her Barsetshire books the best. If you’re a guy, you will very likely hate them (I didn’t say in what way she was sexist). If you’re not, or you’re up for something different, give them a try.

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June 1, 2011 · 12:18 am

Books to Mend a Broken Heart – and One to Break It Again

Recently, a customer was asking about a copy of The Bell Jar to send to her granddaughter. “Do you think she’d like it? She’s been going through a very rough time lately with her young man.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” we booksellers cried as one, throwing our bodies in front of the classic literature stacks.

Alright, that’s the dramatized version. What actually happened was, Nancy said, “Um, well, I’m not sure that’s a very good…er…” and Reid fled to the basement, and I said, “You really have to be in an emotionally secure place for Plath. She doesn’t want to read that now. Let’s find you something cheery.”

Years ago, I made the mistake of giving a copy of The Bell Jar to a good friend who was sad. Needless to say, this did not help. Individuals currently on pain meds, starting birth control pills or other hormone-based therapy, beginning a regimen of blood pressure regulating drugs, being treated for depression, anxiety or other emotional ills, or even just having an off day should avoid Plath like the plague. Her writing – both verse and prose – has great power and emotional heft and is best left for better days. The Bell Jar does have one of my very favorite (and supremely creepy) opening lines though:

“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York.”

If you don’t know the story, it’s not like it gets any sunnier from there. Not good stuff to read while experiencing heartbreak.

What is? Here are some ideas – all safe as a hot cuppa, comforting as a pint of Ben & Jerry’s:

Kaya McLaren’s novels, The Church of the Dog and On the Divinity of Second Chances, are both uplifting in a non-goopy way.

I also like Peculiar People: The Story of My Life by Augustus Hare, for pure it-could-be-worse-you-could-be-him value. He laments the Decline of The English Eccentric. His stories are enchanting, but I can’t share his reluctance to see these people go. Loons, every one. I have also sometimes wondered if Augusten Burroughs wasn’t influenced by this writer, or if he might even have chosen his name based on Hare’s, but then I think that Augusten Burroughs can hardly be a pseudonym, because who would do that to themselves?

Anything by Henry Mitchell. I first came upon his Essential Earthman, a collection of his gardening column for The Washington Post, when I won a copy from the lavishly generous people at Indiana University Press (long story). His non-garden stuff is even better, though not much of it is still in print. He writes tenderly, with great understanding, and with the humor necessary for same. Try Any Day.

Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.M. Delafield is funny and diverting and contains little mention of love. Plenty of polite snark, though.

I Don\’t Care About Your Band by Julie Klausner and My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me (Hilary Winston) are good for general grrl power rallying and the exorcising of bitterness. Band is better, but the quote on the back of Boyfriend is, all by itself, worth the cover price. Oh, marketing department at Sterling, are there t-shirts? Can there be t-shirts?

 F**k You, Box is, sadly, only available from the author as a digital download now, but is superb for this (or really, any) situation. Who doesn’t love a swearing cat?

Thus supplied and with plenty of chocolate, a girl can make it through some trying times.

But this, this is a book to shatter your heart and make you weep:

On Canaan\’s Side, by Sebastian Barry.

You don’t want your heart shattered? You don’t feel like weeping? You will. This is the sort of novel to make you glad you speak English. It is what our language is for. A haunting story, the book is unmatched for sheer lyricism. It is poetic, colloquial, and full of a wrenching beauty that will keep you reading, your mouth hanging open for more. Barry has been shortlisted for Man Bookers before and he won a Costa in 2008, so you open this book expecting something pretty good. And then Barry makes you fall in love with a suicidal 80 year old living on Long Island and leaves you praying that her talk will never cease. It comes out in September. Don’t’ miss it.

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May 3, 2011 · 10:21 pm

Sex and Robots

I have two new books to tell you about. One is Robopocalypse, by Daniel H. Wilson. It comes out in June. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I’m a fan of speculative fiction (A Canticle for Leibowitz, The Left Hand of Darkness, The Difference Engine, The Windup Girl), but usually, things with “-opocalypse” in the title just don’t speak to me.

Robopocalypse is a fast-paced, smart thriller. It’s good fun and very, very hard to put down. Run out and grab a copy this June. And if you’ve got a quirky graduate to buy for: This is it. You will be “The Cool Relative who got me This Awesome Book.” Engineering student? Perfect. Reads the Onion? Wrap this puppy up. But honestly, everyone will be hooked. I’m thinking it will be The Book of the Summer. A guilty pleasure? Yes, in the exact same way that Clancy and Grisham were, at the top of their game.

The jacket promotion on my reader’s copy tells me that Stephen Spielberg is supposed to be making a movie of the novel in 2013. It will probably make a great film. If you’re a fifteen year old boy. It’s not a short book, so I envision it reduced to loud and incessant Transformer-like effects. I will go see it, and (thanks to my old college roommate and her fondness for high-volume hair metal) will probably sleep soundly through the second half.  A girl can dream though…  And since movies, as a rule, need bear no relation to the book they are named for, I wish for this closing scene:

Humphrey Bogart turns to his unlikely automaton companion and watches as the machine tosses a can of Vichy Brand Motor Oil into the wastebasket. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” says Bogie, as they stroll down the runway into the Moroccan night.

Sex with Presidents

Larry Flint and Harvard professor David Eisenbach have recently published One Nation Under Sex, a look at how the sex lives of the powerful have molded American politics and history. Did you know they think Lincoln was gay? Yeah, that’s an old one. And except for the feather it ought to put in the caps of everybody who fights the good fight for gay rights, I really don’t care. Tom & Sally sittin’ in a tree is pretty much yesterday’s news too, but I did not know so much about James Buchanan before.

It’s an interesting book. Because most of the people in it are dead, it was less salacious than I expected, and also more put-down-able. Still, a worthy read. And the last chapter makes it an important one, in a nation which has tended in recent years to think that who somebody sleeps with is more important that who they call airstrikes on.

I’m never sure how I feel about Larry Flint. As a full-on Freedom of Speech geek, I kind of like him. As a girl… meh. I’ve got nothing against the young women who pose for things like Hustler. Good for them; they are making money. And I guess that the fellas who purchase the mag are paying their wage, but really? It just kind of perpetuates this weird disconnect between what guys are led to think goes on inside women’s heads and what really does. What goes on in guys’ heads? No idea. Ask Lincoln.

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March 24, 2011 · 4:37 pm

Adventures in coffee drinking

This morning in my zeal to get to work uber-early and place our book order, I went and spilled coffee right down my front. Often, this would produce no visible effects (other than grouchiness) since I tend to dress in shades of black and brown (I have worn my breakfast before), but today I was feeling teal. I tried to blot my sweater with a wet cloth once I arrived at the shop, but wound up drenching it. Now it’s draped over the step stool in front of the space heater, drying. I hope. Because my t-shirt (not intended to be seen except for cuffs & collar under the sweater) is just a little too tight. Thank you, Cadbury chocolate eggs.

 

Drying-out clothes at the office always makes me think of my brief stint at the Fed. One of the economists used to dry his socks on the lovely old radiator behind the desk in his office. I don’t think he ever wore galoshes, or those things they call “rubbers” in England (you know, goofy overshoes for men – Do they even make those anymore?) when it rained. Nope, just draped the socks over the radiator and they dried. It made for a pleasant, homelike atmosphere.

 

Which brings me to our latest money management -type acquisition. Suze Orman\’s newest is all the rage, but am I the only one who thinks that her cover photo makes her look like she needs a trip to the Betty? She’s always looked sort of scarily over enthusiastic, but now seems to have crossed over into true Speedy the Squirrel mania. Maybe she just needs to cut down on the caffeine. Maybe it’s her photographer. Who knows? In any case, that is all that I know about her book. Which is selling like hotcakes. And which I could probably use. But I would so much rather eat Easter candy and read one of the following:

 

First Grave on the Right  It’s a mystery. The narrator is the grim reaper. Yes, I know… you’re tired of the paranormal. But really, she’s funny and snarky and noir. You’ll like this one. It’s great for Sookie Stackhouse fans & smart enough for devotees of Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman & Christopher Moore to enjoy.

 

Rawhide Down  I never was much of a Regan fan, but this

play-by-play of his almost-assassination looks pretty fascinating. The inner workings of the secret service, the fact that he was much closer to being dead than we were ever told, the jolly, brave face he put on the whole thing, lend insight into the man’s character – not to mention lots of drama, and make it seem worth slogging through the exhaustive details.

 

Furious Love  Normally I can’t be bothered with actor bios, but the photos alone make this a lovely way to remember Elizabeth Taylor.

 

War Horse  Did you miss this wonderful children’s book when it first came out? Have you heard about the amazing stage production of it in London? Do you know they are making the book into a movie? Even if you don’t give a fig for all the hype, this is a deeply touching story of the mutual affection of a horse and his boy during The Great War. Generations away, we tend to think of WWI… well, not very much at all. But this was a conflict that scarred people in a whole new way – something like the Vietnam of its time. I’d love to take a class on WWI in fiction someday. The Lord of the Rings would be among the obvious choices for something like this, but War Horse gives an interesting window into this terrible time as well.  Besides all that, the horse is really, truly horse-ish. Like all the best fictional animals, he makes us better somehow. And his boy – well, you’ll just have to read it, won’t you? 

 

Having read thus far, you may be thinking that my take on politics, both present and past, is a bit dicey. I am about to exceed your worst fears.

 

Theories of International Politics and Zombies  I just ordered this for stock today and I cannot wait until it comes! If you’re looking for a poly sci run-down with a clever dose of satire, I’m thinking this is your book. Possibly for the title alone…

 

And now my sweater is dry. Whew!

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February 28, 2011 · 6:41 pm

Reading for the end of February

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like you may have morphed (a la Gregor Samsa) into somebody’s ancient aunt Hilda – the one who stopped soaking her dentures after her husband died? For those of us with an advanced case of the mullygrubs, or who are feeling a bit like Miss Havisham, but without all the dough on this icy February afternoon, here are some books to make you laugh. None is exactly new, but I think of them as essential equipment for the late-winter blahs.
 
We start with the juvenile (but in a good way – it’s young adult literature): Away Laughing on a Fast Camel, by Louise Rennison will make anyone with a pulse positively bray. It’s the fifth in her Confessions of Georgia Nicholson series, but there’s no reason you have to read them in order. Skip right to this one. They’re all good, but I think it’s the funniest. Who is Georgia Nicholson? She’s a self-obsessed British teen with a great attitude and a horde of killer one-liners. Think Bridget Jones\’ Diary except that you don’t want to smack the narrator. (Sorry, Bridget fans:  I seriously wanted someone to drop that girl with a tranquilizer dart & have her wake up in therapy by the end).
 
Then there’s Janet Evanovich. Enough said. She’ll make you giggle. She also always makes me gain about 5 pounds per novel. I’m from Jersey, and between the descriptions of Garden State pizza (none better) and the Tasty Pastry Bakery I generally need to do a face-plant in some junk food by Chapter 3.
 
Tom Robbins. My fave is Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas, but any will do.
 
P.J. O’Rourke’s Holidays in Hell is a delight. If you are not as old as I am, you may not get some of the pre-Glasnost era jokes, but he is just one fine humorist. I’m about as left as he is right, but I love his writing. I also recommend his guide to housekeeping, Bachelor Home Companion, which includes the Tuna Casserole recipe that I use to strike terror into the hearts of small, misbehaving children.
 
Want a classic? P. G. Wodehouse is your man. The Code of the Woosters is my favorite.
 
Prefer your laughs straight-up and unadulterated? Try one of these comics collections. Sheldon is a web comic that’s a lot like the early days of Calvin & Hobbes. Dave Kellett doesn’t sell to the trade, so you can only get it here. Unshelved is set in a library, so it’s perfect for fellow book-nerds. You can read it daily on the web, here. Or buy one of the books.
 
Last but not least, I give you,  You Are a Dog by Terry Bain. Want to know what your canine companion is really thinking? Are you sure? This will have you rolling – but it’s also an incredibly touching book, so you may want a hankie in places.
 
This is your bookseller, signing off and headed for the tub.

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January 21, 2011 · 10:09 pm

Women of Noted Misbehavior

Karen Abbott\’s new biography of Gypsy Rose Lee is fascinating. And if you think you know something about the famous stripteuse’s life from the oft-revived musical which bears her name, lemme tell ya, there’s a lot more to it.

How can you not love a woman who responded to Fiorello LaGuardia’s snipe that she had “a need to take her clothes off,” by saying, “Why Mr. Mayor, you know I would never end a sentence with a preposition”?

Accused of indecency, Gypsy always maintained that her burlesque act was “pure comedy.” Even given her physical charms, this can’t have been far from the truth. Her long-time signature act had her walk on stage in a stuffy and elaborate Victorian gown, held securely together with straight pins. To orchestral accompaniment, she would remove the costume piece by piece, tossing the pins into the bell of a tuba with resonant pings.  Sexuality is always best seasoned with a little laughter, as anyone who’s ever been married will tell you.

American Rose: A Nation Laid Bare: The Life and Times of Gypsy Rose Lee follows the changing cultural climate of a nation as well as the making of a consummate performer. From a family that calls to mind Dave Peltzer or Augusten Burroughs, Gypsy’s world was a complicated dance to start with. Balancing an arguably psychotic mother and a sister determined to get the hell out (who could blame her?) Gypsy held the family together, for good or ill, longer than was likely. She was the “ugly, untalented” one of the clan, but achieved a professional success beyond any expectations but her own.

…And, as we approach Valentine’s Day, the subversive in me can’t help but laud another kind of misbehavior by recommending The Gallery of Regrettable Food, by James Lileks. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, this is the tasting menu at Chateau Run, Run Away – RUN NOW!

A truly loveable collection of the worst in American cooking, Lileks’ feast for the eyes includes Liberties taken with peas, and plaid sauce. Readers are treated to page-turning fun, peppered with perky 50’s housewives who use Frigidaires to abuse innocent cabbages. The A-1 Steak Sauce Guide to Better Sex is a personal favorite.  Lurid and disturbing photos of jello molds occur throughout.

Please note:  The canned salmon section should be kept from children and those with cardiac ailments.

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December 15, 2010 · 11:33 pm

Books for Christmas

Well, what else do you think you would get from the bookseller? There are about a million lists of “What books to give for the holidays,” but they are tedious. I am going to tell you what I like to read at this time of year. For what it’s worth, this is what I would give you.

Let me tell you about Michael Chabon’s collection of essays, Manhood for Amateurs. It has a Christmas essay in it. It’s not what you will expect, but everyone I know loves what it says about humanity, and in this cruel season of ice and want we can all use some of that. Bits of this book fill me with such joy that I want to run out of the bookshop and tongue-kiss strangers in the street. Strangers beware:  I am thoughtlessly without breath mints.

I would also like to lavish Kay Ryan on the world. She was our Poet Laureate recently, till W.S. Merwin got the job. And she has a new book, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems. Fans of Mary Oliver will especially like her. I never know how to describe poetry, so I’m just going to type out one of the poems here. It originally appeared in Elephant Rocks and makes me think of the iridescent violet-blue that the moon can make snow, and of Christmas lights, hung purely for the enjoyment of  passers-by.

Crib

From the Greek for
woven or plaited,
which quickly translated
to basket. Whence the verb
crib, which meant “to filch”
under cover of wicker
anything—some liquor,
a cutlet.
For we want to make off
with things that are not
our own. There is a pleasure
theft brings, a vitality
to the home.
Cribbed objects or answers
keep their guilty shimmer
forever, have you noticed?
Yet religions downplay this.
Note, for instance, in our
annual rehearsals of innocence,
the substitution of manger for crib—
as if we ever deserved that baby,
or thought we did.

 

The last book I give you is The Magician\’s Elephant, by Kate Di Camillo. It’s one of those children’s books that isn’t really for children. I mean, it’s certainly appropriate and fairly entertaining for children, but this little fable is perfect for the snow-bound adult, both for its undemanding nature and for the glittering, wintry world it evokes.

Wishing all of you the kindest  and most sparkling winter possible,

Enjoy your books!

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October 17, 2010 · 8:53 pm

Puppy Love

I was a good little vector. I went and got my flu shot early and am now sick as a dog regardless.  Despite the best efforts of wonderful people to bring me  soup and otherwise look after me, I’m trying to spare folks the intense germification and accompanying crankiness which I spew out in equal measure. So I’m hiding out at home with the dog, a bag of lemons and a jumbo box of echinacia tea. And I’ve become aware of a canine virtue we often overlook:

The Dog as Nurse

My dog knows I don’t feel well. While he might normally spend a day at home leaping about and gnawing on me or the furniture, today he just gently follows me around looking for all the world as though he’s about to ask how to turn on the kettle so he can make me a toddy.  I wonder if this is a trick you can teach a dog… bartending is so useful. The dog also functions excellently as hot water bottle. He curls up beneath the quilt but above the sheets and keeps my feet toasty. At first I was concerned. How can he breathe under there? But he seems to like it, so I’m chalking it up to yet another example of how talented a member of the family he is.

This is all really just an excuse to tell you about some dog books.

I Didn\’t Do It, by Patricia MacLachlan and Emily MacLachlan Charest is probably my favorite picture book this year. I was kind of behind the ball and didn’t know they’d come out with a follow-up to their previous & delightful Once I Ate a Pie until I saw a copy of this new one at the Great Lakes Independent Booksellers Association Fall Trade Show. Who says it’s not worth it for publishers to attend these things? I made a real traffic hazard of myself accosting other booksellers outside the Harper Collins booth to show them the book and gush. I can’t help myself, I get excited.

Katy Schneider’s illustrations are wonderful as always, full of the personality of each doggy character. The astonishing thing about this book and Once I Ate a Pie is that in the kid-lit world of disneyfied animals (who are cute and fun, but not particularly real) they are so doggish. Each poem and illustration brings us a little closer to the playfulness, the devotion and the humor of dogs.  I’d give you an excerpt here, but like all the very best picture books, the words are wonderful – but the pictures are what make them whole.

Oogy: The Dog Only a Family could Love

I’ve been telling people about this warmhearted memoir by Larry Levin for weeks now. It’s the story of a former bait dog, and before you stop reading I want to let you know that there are no scenes of violence in the book. We meet Oogy after his life has been saved by a wonderful vet clinic and the Levins have decided to adopt him and give him a cozy home. For all you folks who just cannot read another sad dog story, this is just what you will like. The perfect antidote to the evening news, this is about people being their best – people saying, “I want to take that dog home, the one with no ear and all the scars.” Make no mistake, for all our horrors and failings as a species, some of us say that every day at shelters and vets’ and pounds around the country:  I’ll take the one with three legs, the broken one, the one who can’t see. I’ll take the old one who can’t find a home. I’ll take the lost one, running in traffic, about to get hit. I’ll take the one who needs shots every day, the one with no tail and all the burns, the one with mange, or fleas, or heartworm. I’ll take the one who needs me.

This is the kind of story that lets us know what we’re here for. We can help – in a big way, or a seemingly small one. Like many of us, I know people who have taken in animals from truly horrifying circumstances. The funny thing is, those people are nearly always rewarded with the same kind of love and education that Oogy offers his family of people. Animals are great teachers of love and courage and trying again – giving things another chance and a new start. Their bravery is extraordinary and comes with the kind of open heart that takes humans a lifetime of practice. Read Oogy and feel good about dogs and people – and know there are some wonderful things in this world.

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