Category Archives: nonfiction

The Next One is for You, by Ali Watkins****

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One of the most hotly contested political issues for English speaking people during the 1970s and 1980s was the battle taking place in the North of Ireland between its original inhabitants and the British government. This reviewer was deeply interested in the conflict while it took place, and so when I saw this book, The Next One is for You: A True Story of Guns, Country, and the IRA’s Secret Army, by Ali Watkins,my heart began to pound before I’d read a single page. My thanks go to NetGalley and Little, Brown and Company for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

The fight between the working-class citizens of Belfast and the middle-class Protestants, who worked hand in glove with the British Crown, has roots that are centuries deep. Watkins reviews these without going into the weeds, and leads us up to modern times succinctly. I appreciate her fair discussion of the manner in which the Irish Republican Army, or IRA, developed and burgeoned. (U.S. readers new to the topic should know that ‘Republican’ was part of the name due to a desire for the Irish Northern counties to be restored to the Republic of Ireland, not because of any political similarities to the Republican party in the U.S.A.) Initially the movement was modeled on the Civil Rights Movement of the United States, with large, peaceful marches; there were signs, songs and speeches given. People packed lunches and took their children with them. But these protests were violently repulsed, with police and the military surrounding the participants so that there was no escape, and then shooting them like wooden ducks in an arcade.

Poverty was widespread in Belfast and its surrounding areas, with few jobs, and miserable living conditions in government subsidized apartments. “A Catholic surname got you passed over for jobs, if you even got the chance to apply.”  There was no Bill of Rights, and when armed forces chose to search someone’s home, they announced themselves by kicking the door in. The situation was intolerable.  And so, when peaceful protest was no longer possible, there were two choices remaining: armed struggle or defeat. “The goal: to expel the British from Northern Ireland, whatever the cost.”

Because such a large portion of the U.S. population is of Irish descent, these circumstances were of great interest in America. When the IRA broke off from the more traditional, less militant (and ineffective) organization that already existed, it wasn’t long before many Americans wanted to help in some way. Two organizations developed in the States, and this is much of what Watkins discusses. Clan na Gael was an Irish solidarity organization that had existed in the U.S. since 1867. It became an important element in the Irish struggle, organizing politically, and raising funds. But in order to gain widespread appeal, there needed to be an additional organization that existed for those that wanted to contribute financially to the poor of Belfast without also supporting the armed fight. In 1969, NORAID was born.

A disclosure: this reviewer was a great supporter of both organizations during that time. In fact, I once won a raffle from the Clan, which netted me a wheelbarrow of whiskey! Since I don’t drink, I took one bottle for my spouse and donated the rest back to the Clan. I never joined the Clan, primarily because I wasn’t asked.

Watkins discusses the history of both organizations as well as the key individuals that brought them about. She does a magnificent job and brings a treasure trove of outstanding documentation, right up until nearly the end of the book, at which point she inexplicably lapses into the journo-speak of the period, blathering about “senseless violence” in an abrupt shift that made my jaw drop. She had already explained, very capably, just why a nonviolent struggle was completely impossible. The devastating numbers of Irish youth that died during this campaign is indeed heartbreaking, but at the same time, just what else were they supposed to do? No foreign government was even remotely interested in assisting them; the British government was a key ally of the U.S. government, and had something of a headlock on its protectorates. And while I respect that the author had to conclude the book in one way or another, just admitting that there was no clear solution would have been vastly better than parroting American mainstream media of the time period. What the what?

Nevertheless, those with an interest in this struggle should get this book and read it. Just bear the ending with a grain of salt.

Ain’t Nobody’s Fool, by Martha Ackmann****

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“People don’t come to see me be me. They come to see me be them.”

Ain’t Nobody’s Fool: the Life and Times of Dolly Parton, by Martha Ackman, is a fine biography of one of America’s most iconic musicians. My thanks go to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Dolly began singing as a child, first informally, as children do, but she also understood very early on that this would be her life’s work. Most of her family was musically inclined, but she had a greater talent and a greater need to use it. She also had the right personality for the job; though her early years were filled with deprivation—the song “Coat of Many Colors” does actually describe an early childhood experience that marked her—she was also born with a sunny outlook and determination. For example, when she met the love of her life, Carl Dean, just as she was beginning to be heard on the local radio, she told him that though she loved him, she could not become a traditional wife to him. She would not have supper waiting when he finished work. She would not produce a houseful of children. These are the things that would prevent her from realizing her burning ambition. They were a trap. And happily, Carl—a private man that didn’t listen to country music so much as Led Zeppelin—told her that was just fine with him. He wasn’t going to tag along everywhere and be Mr. Dolly Parton, but they would make it work. And they did.

Fans of Dolly’s might have wondered, as I did, whether we would learn more about the rather mysterious Carl when reading this biography. We will not, apart from seeing Dolly’s philosophy where her marriage was concerned. Though in every other respect she has been open and accessible to the public, Dolly has followed her mother’s advice, that she should find just one thing about her life that she would not share with others, but keep for herself. For Dolly, that’s Carl. The man died last year, but she still keeps Carl, and her memories of their sixty years of marriage, to herself. And I don’t see how we can complain.

Whenever I read a galley, I highlight passages that I think might be suitable to include as quotes in my review. In this case, I highlighted 60! I can’t use them all, but this should give the reader a clue as to how readable this lovely biography is, and how saturated with quotes from Dolly, and from those that know and love her. From her early, sometimes tumultuous years working for and with Porter Wagoner, to the actors that she worked with in movies such as 9 to 5 and Steel Magnolias, to her own family members, it’s rich. Another fun fact: by doing some of her recordings in Tennessee, and by creating the massive theme park, Dollywood, she has come close to doubling the GDP of the state of Tennessee!

Many people may not be aware of Dolly’s intellect and savvy business skills. I have read so many musical memoirs and biographies of hugely talented, successful musicians that trusted others to take care of their business matters and accounting, only to discover too late that they’d been robbed. Perhaps my favorite anecdote in this biography is where early on, when she was only starting to be recognized, Colonel Parker, the man that ran Elvis’s career and gutted his finances, came to Dolly to express interest in one of her songs. Elvis wanted to sing “Islands in the Stream.” But he told her sweetly, Elvis is accustomed to receiving the publishing rights to any song he performs. And Dolly, also responding sweetly, told him how sorry she was, but she just didn’t believe in parting with her catalog. Many years later, after she and Kenny Rogers had gone more than platinum with that same song, she said that that song alone made her more than enough money to buy Graceland, at least hypothetically!

Serious fans and researchers will do well to augment their knowledge by reading at least one other biography, or Dolly’s own autobiography, My Life. Though author Ackman has a congenial writing style and has read a great deal about her subject, she has apparently never interviewed Parton herself. I combed through the documentation at the end of the book and found that out of the hundreds of end notes, there are just five references to a couple of interviews by the author with friends and family of Dolly’s. Sources for the book’s early chapters are sparse and not well integrated, relying almost exclusively on the autobiography.

Nevertheless, this is a greatly enjoyable read. I played Dolly’s music as I read, and though I am finished with it and am reading other things now, I still carry Dolly around with me.

Charlie and Me, by Mary Neiswender, Kate Neiswender

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Mary Neiswender was the first and primary journalist that the notorious serial killer Charles Manson was willing to talk to. She did so at a time in history in which women in journalism were exceedingly rare, and she put up with a whole lot of crap, first in order to remain in her field, and then later to rise to its pinnacle, receiving a Pulitzer nomination.

My thanks go to the University of Nebraska press and NetGalley. This book is for sale now.

Charles Manson was the leader of a group that called itself “The Family,” almost entirely made up of girls and young women that had nowhere else to go. However, people came and went within it, and so those that spoke of it as a cohesive entity were mistaken. Manson was handsome and charismatic despite his small physical form, and he was convicted of the 1969 Tate-LaBianca murders even though he was almost certainly not present at the time.

Neiswender regarded him as a killer, but also was convinced that he hadn’t had a fair trial. She makes a good case. She delayed writing this book until Manson’s death in prison in 2017, as she had promised to keep much of what he said off the record. Once he died, she considered herself to be freed from that agreement. Neiswender died in March of this year, and her daughter has assisted her in seeing that the book was completed and published.

I don’t read a lot of true crime, but I couldn’t put this book down. Neiswender’s observations and insights are fascinating, and she does a fine job of bringing Manson to life—in a way that the public can appreciate without the physical threat the man represented in person.

Highly recommended.

100 Rules for Living to 100, by Dick Van Dyke****

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Dick Van Dyke was a wonderful part of my childhood, and this lovely audiobook has put a little more bounce in my step. It’s not really about rules, of course, but the format is a perfect scaffold for a combination memoir and self-help book. My thanks go to NetGalley and Grand Central Publishing for the review copy; this book is for sale now.

Van Dyke entered my consciousness when I was a kindergartener, and the original movie Mary Poppins brought droves of families to theaters. I was not the only family member that was entranced, and all of us sang along to the sound track once the record was on our stereo turntable. The movie, and its lead characters, played by Julie Andrews and Van Dyke, glowed with humor and optimism.  What a wonderful message to share, the idea that the best we can give our children is our time and our attention. In the early 1960s, the suggestion that adults ought to listen to children was ahead of its time and much needed.

Many of the anecdotes the author conveys have to do with experiences shared between him and Arlene, his current wife. Despite the May-December romance, it sounds like a wonderful union. He talks about the recent and horrific events with the Santa Ana fires that took the homes of so many—though his own was spared. My favorite parts, though, are the ones in which he discusses the future roles he’d like to play, because he isn’t really retired from the industry. Way to go, Dick!

Reader Tom Bergeron does a nice job, and as a bonus, he sounds quite a bit like the author.

I recommend this little gem to everyone that could use some positive energy, and to all that love the author.

The True Happiness Company, by Veena Dinavahi****-*****

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4.5 stars, rounded upwards. Veena Dinavahi’s experience as a member of a cult called The True Happiness Company is so outrageous that if it were written about as fiction, it would be universally panned as ridiculous and unbelievable. But it isn’t fiction; it’s what happened to her. My thanks go to Random House and NetGalley for the invitation to read and review. This book is available to the public now.

Veena’s parents are immigrants from India who gave everything that they had in order to provide their children with the best opportunities possible. Between their sacrifices and Veena’s high I.Q., she was admitted to a coveted, highly competitive school that also had a horrifyingly high rate of suicides and suicide attempts due to the intense pressure under which its students labored. When Veena became suicidal, her parents turned to professionals for guidance, but one of the so-called professionals they consulted, the most persuasive and charismatic of them all, was a charlatan. With their life savings neatly stashed in his own bank account, this man, who claimed to be a psychologist but was not, diagnosed Veena as having a borderline personality; once she accepted the diagnosis, “Bob” used it to undermine her instincts of self-protection and what seemed to her to be common sense. She couldn’t be trusted to decide anything for herself, because she was crazy. And thus was this young woman brought under the spell of an insidious conman and sexual predator, one who also used her parents’ unfamiliarity with American culture to gain their acceptance of the things to which their daughter was subjected.

Before she knew it, Veena was married to a young man she didn’t know very well, but who was also susceptible to the charms of this snake oil salesman. She married him because the doctor said to; once this was done, Bob became the third element in their marriage. Both of them spoke to him in person or by phone daily, or even multiple times a day. He resolved every dispute, and he forbade them to resolve anything without involving him first. It is a miracle that Veena was able to find the support and resolve she needed in order to extricate herself and her children from the dungeon of despair he created.

I am quite late with this review; the book came out in May, but it is a harsh read, and I took my time with it. Were it fiction, Veena could have inserted moments of levity or joy to relieve the horror, but it isn’t, and there were none. I would have liked for her to break up some of the roughest bits by flashing forward to bits of her life as it is now, but then, it’s not my story to tell. I’m just glad she and her children are safe, and that she can rebuild her life.

Those that enjoy true crime will be interested in this memoir. Highly recommended to those that have interest in cult stories, and that will willingly endure a rough read.

Words for My Friends: A Political History of Tupac Shakur***-****

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3.75 stars, rounded up.

Tupac Shakur lived for just 25 years, but he left an outsized legacy. Author Dean Van Nguyen has published a “political history,” a biography of sorts focusing on Tupac’s political ideology and the foundation on which it was formed. My thanks go to NetGalley and Doubleday for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Van Nguyen begins his narrative with an overview of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and ‘60s.  This is an area I’ve studied fairly closely, and so there was no new information in it for me, but I could see its value in a community college Black Studies or general history course. Once we’re past that, we enter into Tupac’s family background, and from there forward, his personal and political upbringings are intertwined. His parents were members of the Black Panthers, a militant, armed group of rebels seeking to force equity for Black people in the U.S. from a government that was long on promises and short on substance. There is a tremendous amount of the book given to the history of the Panthers, and most of what is recounted occurs either before Tupac was born, or while he was an infant.

Here’s my takeaway: I have often been curious about the Panthers, whose struggle I knew in broad strokes, but few specifics, and so this is interesting to me. But the book’s title has led me to believe that this book is primarily about Tupac, and we are at around the 40% before he even comes into the narrative. This is my sole complaint about this work, but it’s a significant one. Had the title been clearer that this is really a history of Tupac and the Black Panthers, I probably would have still read it, but because of the way it’s promoted, I feel frustrated when the 20% mark goes on by, then the 30% mark, and apart from a brief reference or two, Tupac isn’t even in it. In fact, we learn more about his mother than we do about him.

Once we do get to the meat of the matter, this is riveting material. What a gifted man he was, and yet he was still coming of age when he died. He loved reading classical literature, and he attended a fine arts high school where he was better able to develop his interests and talents, playing in Shakespearean productions; but as is often the case for children in low-income households, about the time he put down roots and made connections, his mother had to give up their lodgings, and that meant moving to a new town and a new school.

 This happens again and again. Single motherhood is hard anyway, but once you bring crack into it, the game’s all but over. And (here I suppress a primal scream,) because his father isn’t there and his mother is struggling, Tupac believes he must take care of his mother and long, long before he is old enough to bear such a burden. Teachers everywhere have seen that kid. He might be Black, Caucasian, or any other ethnic and racial background; he might be a she, for that matter. But children that take the responsibility that belongs to the head of the household are under a whole lot of stress, and the fracture lines often don’t show in their teens. They look as if they’re handling the job like an adult, often being praised by those in authority for their organization and focus. But—ask a social worker here—when they hit their twenties, that’s when they start falling apart. Because kids cannot be adults. When they are forced into the role, it will break them, sooner or later. And it seems clear to me that this is part of what led to Tupac’s early demise.

There’s a lot of interesting material packed into the relatively small part of the book that he occupies. We learn about the other famous performers he meets and befriends, first in school, then professionally, and about the political ideas he explores, serving for a while as a member and organizer of the local chapter of the Communist Party’s youth group. His willingness to dive deep into ethical and political ideas is reflected in his music, and to my knowledge, there is no other rapper that has included respect for women, along with an overtly pro-choice message, in their recordings. But just as his star begins to rise in earnest, he is killed.

Those considering reading this book should either be ready to read extensively about peripheral issues and events that don’t directly include Tupac, or should be ready to get the book with the intention of skipping a lot of material. As for me, I’m glad I read it.

Tonight in Jungleland, by Peter Ames Carlin*****

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“And then the door flew open, and the wolf of doubt came slinking in.”

Springsteen fans, get your plastic out. Peter Ames Carlin has crafted a riveting Springsteen biography about the making of the iconic album, “Born to Run.” Having read it, I have gained even greater appreciation for the Boss’s rock and roll genius. My thanks go to NetGalley and Doubleday for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

“Born to Run” is Springsteen’s third album; the first and second albums received rave reviews from industry publications, but they sold poorly, and Columbia Records had Bruce on their kill list. He was contracted for three albums, but since they had already decided he wasn’t going anywhere, it was difficult to get them to finance the third album’s production or even listen to it once it was done. Take a brilliant, charismatic singer/songwriter, a talented, loyal band, and a couple of industry influencers that would all but starve themselves in order to see this album succeed, and it was nevertheless a nail-biter.

Mike Appel was Bruce’s manager, and he believed in his client so passionately that he was ready to bend a few rules and take a blow torch to a few others. When expenses exceeded the support from Columbia, when everyone’s charge cards were maxed and there was still a record to finish, he dumped his children’s college funds into the general kitty so that the album could see daylight. Columbia Records had told him they’d review his client’s work if he could make a hit single, so “Born to Run” became the song on which the album’s success was hinged. Then Jon Landau, a much-revered industry journalist, heard Bruce’s music and wrote, “I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.” Landau became his producer, and it is due to this holy musical trinity that Springsteen and the E Street Band became world renowned. In fact, they went so far as to send bootleg copies to friendly deejays, since the record company was doing absolutely no promotion, and it worked!

I have never been a sufficiently rabid fan to go into the weeds on this band or any other. I didn’t know who else was in his band, apart from his wife. I also had no idea what was required of anyone attempting to get an album financed and promoted by a major house—particularly during the pre-digital days of the late 1900s. Two things have always drawn me to Springsteen’s music: tunes so impossibly resonant that I am unable to sit still when I listen to them, and the lyrics that speak to the industrial working class. These are not the songs of a pretender. Bruce grew up lean and hungry, and because of that, and his rare talent for communication, the songs ring true.

Springsteen was, and I suspect still is, a perfectionist. The following quote is lengthy, but that seems appropriate, given the amount of time, toil and sweat they put into this album:

Ensconced in 914 in the wee hours, Appel and Bruce seemed to try every idea that occurred to them. A string section. An ascending guitar riff repeating through the verse. A chorus of women chiming in on the chorus. An even bigger chorus of women oooh-ing behind the third verse. Still more strings on the bridge and on the last verse, doing those disco-style swoops, like sciroccos whipping up from the dance floor. They’d work out a part, hire whatever musicians or singers were needed to get it on tape, then mix it all together to see what they had. Sometimes it would stick, sometimes they’d just laugh, shake their heads, and slice it out… Work on the instrumental track went on and on, but it still didn’t rival Bruce’s laboring over the lyrics. He had always put energy into his narratives but the pressure he felt to get “Born to Run” just exactly right pushed him to a whole other level of perfectionism, determined to get every word, every nuance, every syllable, something like flawless. No, exactly flawless. Sometimes he’d be in the midst of a take, sing a few lines of a verse, shake it off, then take his notebook to a folding a chair. He’d find a pen, open the book, look at the page, and just …think. He’d be there for a while. An hour, two hours, maybe more. Meanwhile in the control room Appel would be at his place at the board, Louis Lahav in his. This happened a lot. How long would it be this time? They’d peer through the glass, chat a bit. Fiddle with paperwork, try to see what Bruce was up to. Still staring into space? Reading back through his pages? Writing? Impatience was not an option. Appel was paying the bills but as far as he was concerned Bruce could have all the time he needed. Eventually he’d look up, reach for his headphones, and say he was ready to record. Lahav would roll the tape and they’d begin again.

When I read a musical memoir or biography, I take frequent breaks to stream the music in question. Ames’s narrative has made me appreciate the musician and his band more deeply. I also have to say—as a person that once aspired to become a musician also—that I am dumbfounded by anyone that can write and then play their music without knowing how to read music, or assembling a score to help them recall it later. The same is true for band members that can hear a song and create their own accompaniment without benefit of a written score. As a youngster, I thought such an approach was stupid. Now I stand in awe of it.

If you’ve made it all the way through this review, the book will be a snap. If possible, read it in a time and place where you’ll be free of distraction. It’s worth it. Highly recommended.

Heartbreaker, by Mike Campbell and Ari Surdoval*****

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Mike Campbell is a musician and songwriter who served as Tom Petty’s lead guitarist and songwriting partner from the band’s inception until Petty’s death in 2017. I’m a sucker for a strong musical memoir when I can find it; although the galley for this book was available, I chose not to request it, instead using an audiobook from Seattle Bibliocommons. I didn’t want the pressure of a deadline. I wanted to be able to lose myself in Campbell’s story, to take unlimited side trips to stream songs that he refers to, either because I haven’t heard of the song and want to listen to it, or because he’s identified a song that I have loved for a long time and want to hear again.

Although I listened to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers from the late ‘80s onward, I was never one to follow the news about individual band members. In fact, before I read Warren Zanes’ biography of Petty, I didn’t even know who was in the band. I just knew that when I was in the car and I heard Petty’s voice on the radio, it was time to turn up the volume. And so I come to this memoir without any preconceived ideas, and also without a lot of prior knowledge. Sometimes when a luminary dies, people that have only known them peripherally come out of the woodwork with their stories, looking to make some quick money by inflating their own importance in that person’s life. Once I begin listening to Campbell—who narrates his own audiobook—I can see that this is definitely not that.

It’s also not a Tom-and-me kind of memoir. Petty appears in it of course, but this story is about Campbell, not about Petty, and once it gets rolling, I can tell that Campbell has plenty of interesting experiences worth hearing about independent of anyone else.

The audio takes me a little while to get used to. As it begins, I note the delivery that is nearly a monotone, and a less than fluid reading style. In a strange way, it reminds me of being in an elementary school classroom that’s doing round robin reading aloud. We have come to the student that doesn’t want to read aloud because he knows he won’t sound good. And just as I am thinking that surely for a book that has the kind of reach I expect it to have, they could have found a more engaging narrator, the penny drops, and I realize—oooh, this guy is reading his own book! That being the case, I resolve to stop being so picky and accept the author’s narrative style. Eventually I grow accustomed to it, and it’s a good thing, because I find Campbell’s experiences fascinating! What a lot these musicians endured in order to be heard. Hunger, homelessness, and the derision of their elders; broken down cars, unfriendly cops, and shifty bar owners that want the music, but don’t really want to pay for it. And I am so glad they persevered, because the world of rock and roll would have been so much poorer without them.

I strongly recommend this memoir to those that enjoy listening to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Heal the Beasts, by Philipp Schott***-****

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Veterinarian Philipp Schott brings us another charming book, Heal the Beasts: A Jaunt Through the Curious History of Veterinary Arts. My thanks go to NetGalley and ECW Press for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

In his trademark style, Schott provides veterinary history through a series of brief vignettes. My favorite deals with Manvir, the constipated elephant. And with that, a word of caution: there’s plenty of gross material here, as one might expect; be advised in case, like me, you are fond of reading and eating simultaneously.

Among other things, we see a series of firsts—for example, Dr. Elinor McGrath was the first veterinarian in the world to perform tonsillectomies in dogs, in 1888. Chicagoans, be proud! The ancient Egyptians tended to spoil their pets every bit as much as many of us do today, and it was a crime to mistreat an animal.

There are also some fictional anecdotes and myths woven into the narrative, and I am not a fan of this, particularly since they are interspersed with factual material within the same chapter. My first preference would be to have everything here be nonfiction, but failing that, for goodness’ sake, separate out the fictional material. Put a little border around those anecdotes or something, don’t just drop them into the middle of true information!

That aside, I like this collection. Most animal lovers will enjoy it, but it would be especially nice to have in veterinary office or hospital waiting rooms. Recommended to those that love their pets—or other people’s.

Class Clown, by Dave Barry****-*****

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4.5 stars, rounded upwards.

The first time I read a Dave Barry column, it was 1984, and a friend sent it to me. We had only snail mail back then, but it was so funny that she snipped it out of the airline magazine she’d read on a business trip and mailed it to me. I don’t remember which column it was, but it left me gasping for air, I laughed so hard. This was a difficult time for me, a young mother with two small children, a third on the way, and almost no money, and I floated along on the laughter that article brought me for a solid month. I hung it on the fridge where I could reread it whenever the urge struck me. That is how I became a Dave Barry fan.

Since then, his work has either hit or missed for me; almost all of the time, it has hit and although times are easier for me now, laughter is always a balm. When he misses—which is rare—he misses bigtime. But this time he’s golden, the Dave I remember reading that first time.

My thanks go to NetGalley and Simon and Schuster for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.

It strikes me again how frequently the funniest humorists, be they journalists, novelists, standup comedians, or comic actors, have tragic backgrounds. Barry has experienced more than his fair share, with a schizophrenic sister who’s been institutionalized, a father that died too young, and a mother that couldn’t recover from his loss, and took her own life. Barry wrote about her when it happened, and he reprints some of it here.

He reprints some other things, too, and I expected that. I don’t think that it cheats the reader when he documents parts of his professional journey by reprinting some of the things he wrote; he’s been writing prolifically for thirty years, and it seems to me that it was probably a lot of work just choosing what to include and what to leave out. It feels strangely like a school reunion, rereading the excerpts from drop dead funny columns that I enjoyed for the first time when they were originally published. Oh, my heart, “Ask Mr. Language Person!” I’m an English teacher, and I’m in stitches all over again.

The thing about an autobiography is that the author is also the subject, and so when he decides what parts of his own life to write about and what to keep private, we readers need to accept that. At the same time, it does seem disingenuous to completely pass over his marriages and divorces. A paragraph for each, maybe? Just give us the benchmarks.

I hadn’t known that he was responsible for Talk Like a Pirate Day, and both I and my middle school students owe him for that one! But the thing that is most striking to me, and that I appreciate most, is his reflection about the political discourse in the U.S., and the way we have become polarized and too often, uncivil. In the past—and he cites the Kennedy/Nixon campaign—arguments between family and friends were “heated, emotional, sometimes angry, but never nasty. At the end of the night everybody hugged everybody, because they were friends, and they understood that they could disagree about politics without believing the other side was evil. Mistaken, maybe. Evil, no.” All I can say about that is thank you, Dave, and amen.

Because I was running late, I checked out the audio version from Seattle Bibliocommons. Barry does his own reading, and it’s even better that way.

There are a lot of hilarious experiences he recounts, but the thing about Barry that binds all of the experiences, the columns, and the books he’s written is his refusal to take himself too seriously, and it is his complete and delightful intolerance toward pretentiousness that keeps me coming back. I cannot imagine Dave Barry snubbing anybody, ever. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if everyone was like that?

Highly recommended.