Paul Carter is Cooler Than You

Don't Tell Mom I Work on the Rigs: She Thinks I'm a Piano Player in a Whorehouse 

by Paul Carter
p. 2005

I can’t remember how it was that I heard about this particular creative nonfiction book, but as soon as I read the punchy and absurdly long title, I knew I must have it.

I’m cheap so I didn’t go directly to Amazon to buy it; instead, I tried to find it in used bookstores and was pointedly surprised to realize that I was too embarrassed to say the full title to strangers. About the time I mumbled “Never mind, you probably don’t have it,” to the lady at John King Books and she pointed out that I was blushing, I decided to go right home and order it online the way I should have the first time.

Despite the awkward title, there is nothing to be ashamed of in the content of Don’t Tell Mom I Work on the Rigs… Published in 2005, it is a collection of stories from the life of on-off oil rig worker, Paul Carter. An Australian by birth but a roughneck at heart, Carter’s experiences with the wild side of the trade are many and varied; the oil trade truly is the flipside of civilization. And Paul Carter is at the heart of it all. He has traveled all over for the oil business, lived off the grid by choice, seen the darkest parts of people and lived to tell about it, and he actually seems tame compared to some of the personalities he comes across.

Though this collection of stories all are chiefly concerned with Carter’s work on the rigs and the interesting and dynamic characters that toil alongside him, this is the only connection they boast. My chief complaint with this book was simply that there wasn’t enough of a common thread weaved throughout the book. Carter tells one raucous story then moves on to the next without much transition and the stuff mentioned early isn’t relevant by the end. This isn’t really a problem, per se, as plenty of creative nonfiction writers will amass collections of their life’s little stories for an anthology with only loose connotations, but it does give the book a random, disconnected sort of feel. When grappling with the unspoken question, ‘What is the point of all this?’ the only idea I could come up with was that perhaps this book would be more appropriately renamed Paul Carter is Cooler Than You. Indeed, Carter’s stories are the stuff that young people stuck in humdrum lives or too afraid to go experience the world would salivate over. Though maybe I, as one of those people—and either explanation is befitting—am just projecting my frustrations onto Carter, who never really comes across as a braggart. In all likelihood, someone who has encountered Paul Carter in his travels has told him ‘You should write all these down and publish them!’ and Carter went for it, and thus this book was created.

Though I found the descriptions of the trade and life that accompanies it intriguing at the time, I admit to not remembering too much of this story months later. The one part I will inexplicably remember for a long time hence is sort of random, but it comes early on in Don’t Tell Mom I Work on the Rigs, in its second chapter. Carter is describing an old roommate of his from Leinster, Craig, who had two unfortunate run-ins with death, the first when he was nearly beaten to death by some Maori truckers in a dive bar and the second on his way back from the hospital six weeks later, when a kangaroo jumped through his windshield and crashed his truck. Though the descriptions of Craig’s injuries—both times—are gruesome and uncomfortable to picture, this chapter had an unexpected optimistic twist at the end.

“His good looks were gone but in his ever-positive style, life took on a new precious zest, even when he caught people staring. He just wasn’t supposed to die young.”

If there’s one lesson or theme that can be meted out of this collection, it’s that life in all its bizarre and colossal ways, can only be lived in if you do it with a bold heart and a tenacious sense of humor, and Carter possesses that in spades. Lesser men would shy away from the life he leads but Carter embraces it and manages to convey it all with humor. I did not find his sense of humor as appealing as other travel nonfiction writers I’ve read (most notably my dear departed, Pete McCarthy) but others will. Carter is a man’s man and this is a story geared towards the type who are eager to or have ventured out into the world to truly experience it. The way I understand it, Carter has written a second collection of tales ‘from the edge of civilization,’ as he calls it, and I wouldn’t be opposed to checking it out, if it’s anything like his first book.

One more thing:

Since Don’t Tell Mom I Work on the Rigs technically qualifies as ‘travel fiction,’ I couldn’t help but compare it to other works I’ve read in the same genre, and realized that this was the third book of its type that included a mention of macaque. And I’m not talking a throwaway line somewhere; I’m talking gratuitous description of macaques. Like, a whole chapter dedicated to this breed of monkey. In this book, the macaque is a chain-smoking pet who becomes kind of a jerk when he hits puberty and is eventually accidentally blown up with a homemade coconut bomb (don’t ask). What is it about macaques that have people talking anyway? They seem like the real assholes of the primate world.

Melodrama at its Finest

Safe Passage 
by Ellyn Bache

p. 1988

I’ll admit that Safe Passage is a book I picked up only because I’d seen the movie many years ago and had vaguely fond memories of it. Interested to see if the book stayed true to the movie or revealed more about its characters, I picked up a copy amongst several of the secondhand copies hanging about and am happy to report that I was not the least bit disappointed. In fact, I tried to put this book aside several times to read something else I held higher on my priority list, but I couldn’t help but peek at the first chapter and from there, I couldn’t put it down.

Safe Passage, by Ellen Bache, is the story of the Singer clan, particularly the matriarch (and only female) Mag Singer, spread out over three days as they go through the turmoil of wondering whether one of their members—troubled son, Percival, now a marine—has perished in an explosion where he is stationed in Beirut. It is melodrama in its highest form, but strangely compelling and well-spoken melodrama nonetheless. I unfortunately could not benefit from the element of suspense this book would have for new readers, as I already knew the outcome from the movie, but Bache keeps you guessing until the end, and the tension is so thick, it begs to be felt.

The question of Percival’s fate is not the only thread in this story. When word of the explosion hits, the entire family floods into the house to await further news and clash in the meantime. To be more accurate, Safe Passage is a character study about Mag—a middle-aged woman who feels trapped in her life yet fiercely protective of her children. It’s not an easy task, as there are seven of them, all boys, and Mag never wanted children in the first place. Only one child—youngest son, Simon, who suffers from a birth defect that has left him partially deaf and is questioning a life-changing operation—is left at home, which means Mag works overtime worrying about her boys. There’s eldest Alfred, who is involved in a relationship with a single mother whom Mag despises for stealing her firstborn and shoehorning him into fatherhood, Izzy the genius student, Gideon the runner and champ, and Darren and Merle, who are twins. I don’t mean to denigrate them, but that’s really all there is to the twins. They don’t do anything noteworthy or have discernable personalities; I’m quite sure they exist solely to increase Mag’s burden and the aesthetic that she has produced a ‘litter’ instead of children.

Mag is a deeply conflicted character, and her feelings about her family may incite offense, if you were so inclined to be sensitive. She frequently claims to have favorites (though the favorite changes depending on who needs her the most at that time), she repeatedly thinks about running away from her life, rues that she ever started having children at all, and constantly takes on the burden of guilt whenever something happens to her children, believing the evils of the world to be ethereal punishments for her own failings. Adding on to that a general dissatisfaction with her marriage, and Mag is whole mess of complicated emotions that are just waiting to explode.

Impeding matters even more is the declining health of husband, Patrick, who suffers from undiagnosed and inexplicable periodic blindness. Mag often thinks about leaving him and finally starting the life she left behind twenty-odd years ago, but will not abandon him in his feeble state, though he appears to be independent. It is clear through flashback scenes that Mag is not, and possibly never was satisfied with her marriage. Patrick, though he appears to have grown and taken a sincere interest in his family, was not always the family man that he is when he attempts to take charge of the crisis. He was inattentive and often absent in the boys’ younger days, leaving Mag to take care of everything by herself, hence the weight of the world Mag seems to always take on her shoulders. Being the embodiment of stubbornness, Mag refuses to forgive his past discretions and cannot let go of her bitterness.

In an alternate but related thread, middle son Gideon, who is the last to come home and does so despite his parents telling him not to come, feels an equal amount of guilt in regards to Percival. The two were once close, but the relationship was diminished when Gideon began to outshine his older brother at running. You see, Percival, a scrawny kid with a sizable attitude, picked up the sport first, as a way to channel his incorrigible behavior into something useful, and he was pretty good at it until his brother came along. It wasn’t enough to Percival to be second best and he was always second or third or fourth in a family of boys that all exceeded at something. Gideon blames himself for being better while Mag blames herself for bringing Percival into the world in the first place. After all, she views it as her duty to provide a ‘safe passage’ in life for her children, and if she can’t even do that then she’s failed them just as she’s failed herself, and that will not do.

Safe Passage is a story comprised mostly of talking and waiting, but it is never boring. Each new chapter reveals layer upon layer of this complex family, and with the exception of the twins, each of them have their moment to shine. There is still so much more to know, and the ending is left open-ended in regards to these characters’ futures. Not everything is solved in those agonizing three days, but something has moved within Mag and her family, and Safe Passage is a peek into that world when it’s been shaken to its core.

Love And Distance

Threatened Species 
by Jeff Vande Zande
p. 2011




Original link to 360 Mainstreet review here.

I feel inclined to note how nice it was to read this novel by Michigan-born Jeff Vande Zande... especially so close after reading Murder at the Ingham County Fair... 

            Jeff Vande Zande’s Threatened Species is a collection of stories deeply entrenched in and in touch with the American landscape. Accompanied by five additional though unrelated short stories, the central novella is the story of a father and son learning how to cope with impending separation while on a road trip during their final two weeks together. It is heartbreaking and reflective and deeply personal, yet still manages to encompass its entire natural surroundings in one small world.

At the forefront of the titular story is the father, Ed Winters, and his son Danny, of an undetermined age, but most likely between 6 and 10. Danny is getting ready to move with his mother and stepfather to Paris, thanks to the latter’s new job, but before he goes, he gets to spend a final two weeks with his father, during which Ed has chosen to drive up north, taking in Michigan’s rich landscape without really taking anything in at all, as he is too preoccupied with worry and anger. Ed knows he may not see his son again for years following the move, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. His bitterness and frustrations are immediately evident—though wholly unidentifiable—to his young son.

The story is told in parallel narratives, primarily Danny’s and Ed’s, and both wholly encapsulate the characters in different ways. Danny’s point of view is in first person, told as only a child could tell it, looking up at the adults and the world around him as mysteries, things to be reveled at and awed. We are told he is fascinated by new words, and loves stringing them together, and his father is a distant yet eager figure from whom Danny is willing to learn. Vande Zande does an exceptional job at capturing this peculiar road trip—and the cold and bitter man behind the wheel, the appropriately named Ed Winters—through the eyes of a child earnestly seeking answers.

Ed, in stark contrast to his son, is a man who thinks he already has all the answers—about people, about the land, even about himself, at first. He gratuitously supplies his son with facts about towns and fish and becomes easily frustrated when Danny responds with seeming indifference. It’s obvious Ed wants some sort of unique bonding experience out of the trip, something he and Danny both can hold onto when they lose the proximity they’ve held onto when everything else was already tenuous from the divorce. Ed’s chapters are told in third person, and it’s no wonder, as Ed is a narrator that cannot be trusted. His emotions overtake him too easily, his temper flares, and his head is rarely in the right place. The reader is not meant to see things through Ed’s eyes.

The only other character whose point of view is represented is a man named Butch, a bounty hunter sent to track down Ed and retrieve Danny when the former makes up his mind not to give his son back. Butch’s first-person narrative appears in 90 pages in, and marks a stark contrast to the tone, somewhat disrupting the tone of the story, but it’s Vande Zande’s only misstep, and since the new direction takes us places faster than Ed’s meandering narrative, it serves a literary purpose after all.

Ever present throughout the novella—and each of the subsequent short stories as well—is an overarching sense of solitude and desperation. Vande Zande presents characters who are at the end of their respective ropes and desperately seeking a ground to stand on. The eloquent descriptions of the vast rivers Ed and Danny fish in, the howling of wolves at night and the road that stretches before them all contribute to the prevailing loneliness of its characters. Father and son spend a significant portion of the novella wondering if they’ll ever catch a grayling, a fish once native to Michigan but long since gone. Neither excels at communicating with the other, and Ed rarely wants to hear what Danny has to say about his new life. Other characters float in and out of their lives on the trip but Ed doesn’t want other men around, too insecure in his fears of replacement to allow another potential role model into Danny’s life as his stepfather has been let in. Many of Ed’s problems could be solved if he could only learn to let things go, but he tries too hard, and it becomes his downfall.

              Jeff Vande Zande has a strong understanding of the unique bond between parent and child, which expresses itself in other ways throughout his short stories, each of which could be expanded to a full-length story in its own right. Though his prose deserves better labels the ‘sad’ and ‘beautiful,’ they nonetheless suit the book just right, as simple and natural as the stories told and the landscape in which his characters find themselves.

Just Kill Me Now

Murder at the Ingham County Fair
by Richard Baldwin
p. 2009


I was directed to this novel--the latest in a mystery series by Michigan author Richard Baldwin--by 360 Mainstreet, a Saginaw-based online publication for which I occasionally write reviews. Due to the site's inclination toward presenting Michigan culture in a generally positive light, they were disinclined to publish my review the way I originally wrote it, so I wrote an alternative, laughably restrained review. Thankfully, they ended up publishing the original version regardless (you can read it here, and peruse my other reviews, if it pleases!), which is good because Richard Baldwin should not be allowed to butcher the good name of literature without proper payback.

I wish I was kidding when I say that this is the worst book I've ever read. I'm not the least bit surprised that Baldwin self-publishes. This is the unfiltered review but it's still fairly restrained...

In his 11^th self-published mystery novel, Murder at the Ingham County Fair, Michigan author Richard Baldwin presents a good old-fashioned whodunit and pays homage to his hometown through the telling of the investigation of Judge Winston Breckinridge’s murder. Leading the investigation is the astute, gentlemanly hero of Baldwin’s previous mystery novels, private detective Lou Searing, and a crafty team of diverse investigators that frequently aid him on cases.

Discounting a handy, informative paragraph regarding the real-life history of the Ingham County Fair (begun in 1855, admission was originally ten cents, a price which has no doubt increased as the number of attendees skyrocketed over the past century and a half), there is no prologue; Baldwin dives directly into the murder at the heart of the novel. The first chapter of Ingham County reads like a procedural drama, dumping exposition about the physical details of the case, a style of writing that is not repeated for the remainder of the novel. Instead, the remaining 200 pages consist primarily of dialogue, with maybe 5-10% leftover for descriptive writing.

In addition to over-reliance on dialogue, we are laden with a plethora of suspects—any one of whom has a feasible motive and conveniently no alibi—and seemingly irrelevant details—such as the Interstates each team member took on their drives or the way a suspect interviewed spells her name. If this style of storytelling was intentionally done to bewilder the reader and leave them questioning up until the very end who committed the murder, then Baldwin has succeeded, because the motive and final reveal of the culprit responsible is impossible to guess based on the clues given. Ingham County would benefit more from more showing and less telling, if the readers are at all meant to take on the duties of novice detective alongside Lou and his team.

Speaking of Lou’s team, they might serve an equally effective purpose narrating infomercials about political correctness. Lou himself is a senior citizen, as is his assistant and primary field operative Jack Kelly, a replacement for the inexplicably disabled (and adoptive mother of a Korean baby) Maggie McMillan. The fourth team member is a college student named Heather, also wheelchair-bound, who helps to modernize their investigative techniques. There is no discernable reason for either female to be wheelchair-bound, as it does not help or hinder in any way. Even Lou’s dog is handicapped, having lost one of its legs in an earlier incident with an assassin pursuing Lou that sounded much more exciting than anything that happened in Ingham County.

Despite its insistence that Lou and his team are fascinating and extraordinary, one thing that Ingham Countynot is a character-driven story. You can count on your fingers the number of personality traits attributed to all four team members, and they are usually immaterial details, such as Lou’s membership in Knights of Columbus, the Harley he owns and rarely drives, the fact that everyone orders French Vanilla lattes at a local coffee shop, and one throwaway line about Jack being a snappy dresser. The despicable murder victims are given a much broader and clearer range of personality than our investigators, leaving very little to relate to as a reader. is

It’s not even clear why Lou was brought into the case in the first place besides the simple fact that he was around when it occurred. According to Baldwin, local authorities in Michigan don’t have time to look into the murder of a high-ranking and controversial judge and would much rather rely on a local “small-time” private detective. If we had seen the authorities participate in the investigation at any time during the months it took place, Lou’s involvement would be excusable, but they never once showed up to help. It might even be easy to overlook this if what we are told about Lou’s team—that they are highly intelligent and perceptive—were true, but their techniques are nothing out of the ordinary and in fact each person relies quite heavily on the “blunt force” method of interrogation. At least half a dozen times throughout the novel, Lou or one of his teammates flat out asks a suspect, “Did you kill the judge?” as if this were at all an acceptable or reliable form of cross-examination.

Still, despite its mistakes and regrettable lack of imagery, there are parts to enjoy about Ingham County. Scattered throughout the book are illustrations by high-schooler Everett Jason Van Allsburg, which add very little to the story, but are a unique touch to the mystery novel experience. In addition, there are dozens of goodies for Michiganders to find, as Lou’s team visits places (and probably people) local to the real Ingham County, where Baldwin resides. A coffee shop called Bestsellers gets face time, as does a restaurant called Blondies, and even Tigers’ pitcher Justin Verlander gets his named dropped. No doubt there are a lot of parallels to Baldwin’s every day life to be found in Lou Searing’s routine. Both are married, write mysteries on the side, and even own a cat named Millie. It’s nice to see these regional details show up, proof that the author is proud to represent his hometown. Disappointingly, the titular fair itself played only a minor part in the murder, and is completely forgotten halfway through.

The mystery itself remains as such throughout the entirety of the book. For better or for worse, there’s no way to determine Winston Breckinridge’s killer until shortly before the culprit is arrested. This is definitely a whodunit that keeps you guessing, so if you’re the type of reader who likes to be kept on their toes and run through all the possibilities, then this may be a good mystery novel for you. If, however, you are looking for a story with vibrant, well-drawn-out characters, it may be necessary to read more of Baldwin’s series to paint the full picture. As it is, Murder at the Ingham County Fair presents only abstract figures revolving around an even more intangible landscape. It may not be clear who they are, why they are there, or how they are doing it, but they get the job done.

On A Big Ol' Road To Nowhere

Paperback Original 
by Will Rhode
p. 2003

Paperback Original, by Will Rhode, is a travel-themed, drug-fueled, crime-caper adventure that I unfortunately judged by its cover: I thought it looked exciting; I was wrong.

I picked this book up over a year and a half ago and could not get through it, despite proclamations from various reviews that the story resembled Alex Garland’s The Beach (a novel which I have yet to indulge in, though I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. I see the comparisons, story-wise, but I hope the real Beach novel is not so dry). I didn’t end up finishing the book until months later, and then only because I went on a road trip (seemed an appropriate venue, given the story’s setting, i.e. largely on the road) and this was the only book I brought with me. Still had a hard time choosing it over staring at cars through the window.

All right, so maybe I’m being a little harsh. Paperback Original is not a wretched book, by any means. It’s got layers and colors—how could it not, taking place in a setting as vibrant and messed up as India?

I guess my initial problem with the book is the false advertising. The blurb on the back is largely concerned solely with the content of the first chapter: British slacker son of a millionaire, Josh King, is told in the wake of his estranged father’s bizarre suicide that to inherit his father’s fortune he must get off his lazy entitled ass and do something. The task? To write a bestseller within 5 years. Unfortunately, Josh is too busy being idle and underachieving and masquerading as a journalist for a shitty paper in Delhi. That is, until he gets wind of a legend in the drug underworld: Baba, a mysterious figure he hopes to use as inspiration for his bestseller.

I suppose the Baba hook should have sufficed to pique interest in the story without giving away too much, but they could have given us a little more to work with. Here I was expecting a character-driven travel adventure in which our protagonist comes to grips with his dead father and learns to grow up and take on some responsibilities in life. In actuality, Paperback Original is the story of Josh deciding to root out a legendary drug dealer named Baba, first under the pretense of journalistic endeavors, then with the notion that he could use it as inspiration for his novel. He gets in over his head, falls for the girl, becomes addicted, gets clean, gets close to the criminal underworld, and in the peak of the novel, recruits some friends to help plan a jewel heist that would screw over his new kingpin boss who has come to trust Josh.

Normally, I would fault a book for not living up to its misleading cover descriptions. Authors don’t always have control over how their book is marketed, but I can fault the book for being overly long, largely pointless, and possessing only self-centered, moronic characters with too many irredeemable qualities.

Josh is the worst of them. His story starts with his father’s death and his lackluster attempt to make a buck off it, but the action doesn’t start until he meets Yasmin, resident love interest and exotic babe who causes nothing but trouble. Of course, Josh is too busy following his external organ to really notice this, but it’s painfully obvious to any remotely seasoned reader that Yasmin has tricks up her sleeve. That she turns out to be a double crosser is only a surprise to Josh, and it’s pretty difficult to get behind a protagonist who is so vapid and naïve, especially when the girl he’s been lusting after with reckless abandon is with someone else for the entire novel and he knows it. Josh learns nothing by the end of this story, nor do any of the other characters. I suffered through 454 pages of drug trips, poorly written love plots, and chasing shadowy figures through India’s packed side streets only for Josh to realize he’s chasing an illusion of a girl he likes while the reality fucks him over for the money. Okay. I might have felt sorry for him, but he was such a covetous dickhead that I didn’t care.

Due to Josh’s downward spiral when he comes in contact with the criminal world, all thoughts of the novel he’s supposed to be writing—the entire fucking reason he started this nonsense—vanish within the first fifty pages. It’s mentioned again at the end in a half-assed nod, but no one cares about it anymore, least of all Josh. It should be a sign of growth that he doesn’t care about the money, but considering he still doesn’t care about anything or anyone else and still lacks a direction in life, it’s not really growth at all, just a less volatile style of stagnation.

And the biggest kick to the face of all is this paragraph, which occurs near the end as Josh’s walls start crumbling around him with the revelation that the girl he’s been idealizing all along isn’t who he thought she was:

“Why am I like that? It’s not even as if my illusions are that charming. They’re certainly not worth dying for. I mean, Jesus, this whole episode has been little more than paperback formula. In fact, when I think about it, my whole life has been nothing but one big paperback novel. Wanting to be different, wanting to be original, has kept me rewriting the plot (life) and constantly casting myself as the hero. And this is just one more episode in that rather sad trend.

I should read some better-quality literature. It might improve me.”

So, let me get this straight. It takes Josh 440 pages to realize that his life sucks and he romanticizes everything because he’s a narcissistic, entitled fool? Great. I’m so glad I stuck with him for all that. Still, I’ve got to hand it to the book for pulling a fast one on us like that. All along they had me thinking I could be reading the makings of a bestseller before admitting lamely in the endgame that perhaps this story really is just ‘paperback fare’, i.e. something you’d read on the beach on a lazy afternoon. And here they had me fooled into thinking this all would amount to something worth reading.

Touché, book. Better quality literature, indeed.

Welcome bookworms, one and all

I'll admit, when I've talked about making a blog over the past few years, book reviewing is not the topic I thought I would attempt first, but it makes perfect sense.

To those that knew me when I was younger, I was always a rampant bibliophile. Staying up late, pushing the limits of sleeplessness to sneak in a few more pages of a fantasy novel, tucking a horror novel into my beach bag and sunning myself to the rhythm of the narration, stealing a few pages in between classes...

I'm sorry to say that my literary fervor wore off as I got older and books became assignments. I read less and surfed the Internet more. Real, substantive books were often replaced by fanfiction and forum posts. I still like those things, but I'm finding my reading habits on an upswing lately and I figured I'd take advantage of that by creating this blog to really explore them. Those who know me also know I am a lover of words, a writer at heart and an English major by trade, and thanks to four years of college, I can no longer read even the tamest of books without attempting to pick them apart.

This blog is my attempt to make something of the time spent put into these books, be they dull or intriguing, poorly-written or poetic, schmaltzy or droll. Since I know no other person on this planet will ever read the same combination of books as I have, it will probably be mostly for me, but for the fellow bookworm, maybe you'll find your new favorite amongst my findings... or have a laugh at my criticisms. Either way, I hope you enjoy!