Sunday, June 22, 2014

Bohemian Hipsters, Spiritual Canines, Tolkien House and the Infinite Monkey Theorem

Fool on the Hill
by Matt Ruff
p. 1988




Even though Sewer, Gas & Electric was my first foray into the delightful world of Matt Ruff, I still have Ruff’s debut novel, Fool on the Hill, to credit for the introduction because it was this book, and not the former that a friend recommended years ago. I loved Sewer, Gas, & Electric so much that I convinced myself to save Fool on the Hill for later to, like, savor the goodness or something. I don’t know; clearly I was an idiot, as there is probably no limit to how many times one can enjoy a Matt Ruff novel. There is just so much there to digest and his style is endearingly ADD. I get the feeling that both of these books will be even more enjoyable to me the second time around.

I said in my review of Sewer, Gas, & Electric two years ago that Ruff is fond of massive character rosters and convoluted plots. Just like the former, Fool on the Hill boasts an array of irreverent, liberal characters just bloated enough to require a two-page cast list for reference (and you will use it if you read this book) and a complicated, messy plot that all comes together for a comprehensive final act. In Fool on the Hill, the characters are divided into five main groups: Stephen Titus George and Aurora (the ‘white knight’ and the ‘princess’), the Bohemians (larger than life college students that play around the edges of the plot), Luther and Blackjack (the animals on a spiritual quest), the sprites (invisible to most humans, but affecting the plot nonetheless), and an omniscient otherworldly narrator, Mr. Sunshine. Each of those groups is divided into subgroup consisting of various combinations, with others weaving in and out of the story—a pair of Ithaca cops, some engineering students building a float, Aurora’s impulsive but doting father, a preppy frat boy villain.

Ganted, I—more than most readers—really take to comprehensive ensemble stories, so I am inclined to like Ruff’s style more than others generally would. I did not in the least regret having such a large list to keep track of, but it should be warned that others might. That said, I think it’s worth pointing out that while Ruff’s characters are often of a similar hivemind, and few of them are intensively explored, they all manage to stand out in unique ways. One of the things I kept noticing about Ruff’s characters is that even the smallest one, a character who, in any other story, would be a throwaway, manage to reveal something about themselves that gives them some depth, like Aurora’s long dead brother whose spontaneity and spirit forever changed her interaction with her father, or the Bohemian who joined the group long before our story ever started because he was pursuing a member who dropped out after being assaulted by a rival frat brother. All of these things seem so inconsequential but it is really these types of details that fill in the space between the lines.

The story takes place at Cornell University over the course of a school year and there are a lot of elements guiding the plot, not the least of which is Mr. Sunshine, a ‘Greek original,’ who occasionally sticks his hand in to mold the plot directly but is mostly content to sit back and watch fate play itself out. The sprites were generally my least favorite part of the story, but it is their misguided but well-intentioned actions that release the evil that the human characters have to deal with in the end, so they are crucial, even if they never talk to anyone else. Luther and Blackjack were definitely my favorite parts of the story, though the Bohemians will hold a special place in your heart, just for the sheer ludicrousness of them all. This whole book is a messy but fun mix of adventure, fantasy, romance and humor that just keeps adding layer upon layer.

Fool on the Hill was Ruff’s debut novel, and I didn’t find it quite as riotous as Sewer, Gas & Electric but to be fair, I knew what to expect this time and that changed the way I read it. I’d easily put it on par with the former, in terms of humor, and I am beyond thrilled to see how much more Ruff has in store.

Monday, June 16, 2014

More Platitudes Than You'd Find on Grandma's Best Throw Pillows

Tuesdays With Morrie
by Mitch Albom
p. 1997




About 7 or 8 years ago, when I was working the Star Theaters box office, I once sold tickets to Mitch Albom. I even checked his ID against his credit card to make sure it was really him, not that I had any frame of reference for what he looked like or anything. Mitch Albom was the only celebrity I ever encountered directly in that job, and I didn’t even get to ask him anything because it would have been kind of awkward to say “Hey! You’re that guy who wrote all those popular books I’ve never read...”  Well, I guess I could play it differently now if I ever got to relive my brief moment of stargazing. This story has no relevance to this review; I just felt like sharing my momentary proximity with an honest to goodness Michigan ‘celeb.’

Mitch Albom made a name for himself working as a sportswriter for the Detroit Free Press in the nineties, but he didn’t blow up nationally until he wrote Tuesdays with Morrie, a memoir of sorts dedicated to his former college professor, Morrie Schwartz, who passed away after a long battle with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). Mitch had lost contact with Morrie following college and only got in touch when he learned about Morrie’s ailment through a Nightline interview featuring Morrie. Mitch set out to keep some record of his beloved professor’s last days and final words of wisdom and set up their Tuesday interactions in a familiar way: Mitch as the student and Morrie as the teacher in the last ‘class’ he would ever teach.

Each chapter covers a different Tuesday and a different life topic—family, regrets, marriage, death, etc. Despite being set up like a ‘class’ there was nothing inherently academic about the lessons this ailing professor taught. The things Morrie has to say about life aren’t particularly intellectual or revolutionary; he mostly just expresses optimistic platitudes about life and love and waxes poetic exactly the way you’d expect a retired English professor facing mortality to do. I’m not saying Morrie didn’t mean what he said, or that there is anything wrong with optimism, just that you are unlikely to read anything in Tuesdays with Morrie that you haven’t heard before.

I’m sure these interactions meant the world to Mitch Albom, but I’m a bit surprised that it was so impactful to millions of people nationwide. Unless you have your own ‘Morrie’ I am skeptical that this book would be moving to you; it induces some nostalgia for the college days, and kind of makes me wish I had kept in better contact with a couple favored English professors of my own, but Morrie didn’t seem like the kind of person I’d have connected with in college (I prefer someone with a little more edge and a little less starry-eyed idealism), so the things he had to say didn’t exactly resonate with me.

But then, Tuesdays with Morrie came out in the late 90s, when coffee table mainstay, Chicken Soup for the Soul, was ubiquitous, so I guess I am not too surprised that people took to this book so strongly.
I read this book in a couple sittings over two weeks ago and I’ve got to admit I’ve completely forgotten most of the stuff that was said, which isn’t to say that it’s a terrible book. It’s a perfectly inoffensive piece of fluff, and it induced a couple fond chuckles from this reader, but it’s admittedly a little too pointless for me. The writing wasn’t too bad, though, so I’d be willing to check out more of Mitch Albom’s work. His second foray into writing, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, is fictional, and I’d be interested to see how well Albom makes the transition between styles, but I’m in no rush to indulge myself on his work.