The Pint Man by Steve Rushin

This site is generally home to children’s book recommendations, but occasionally a grown-up book comes along that deserves a mention. I have been a fan of Steve Rushin’s writing since his early days with Sports Illustrated and was curious to see if his style would translate to a novel.

The answer, without a doubt, is yes. The Pint Man is funny and clever and filled with Rushin-isms. And while the book is not for children, it is most definitely a book for certain grown-ups, including people who:

• have spent regular time at a local watering hole, preferably an Irish establishment.
• have ever admired a public restroom.
• enjoy a pint of Guinness. Or Harp. Or Fosters.
• think it’s funny that a bar has booths made from salvaged church pews, above which hangs a sign quoting Mark 2:16. “When the scribes and Pharisees saw him, they said unto his disciples, How is it that he eateth and drinketh with publicans and sinners?”
• also think it’s funny that the bar’s resident bulldogs (one, sadly, deceased) are named Edith and Drinketh.
• are personally offended by the general public’s inability to correctly use apostrophes.
• keep random reference books on hand to settle trivial disputes.
• spend time on Wednesday afternoons watching the English Premier League or wish their schedule would allow it.
• think pollen and swollen ought to rhyme, like main character Rodney, and “not just because they look alike. They were partners in crime. One led to the other.”
• appreciate wordplay, the sort employed by Carnac the Magnificent. (Answer: “Sis boom bah.” Question: “What is the sound made when sheep explode?”)
• keep every book they read.
• find connections between life and literature.

The list could continue, but we’ll stop there. Suffice it to say, if you see yourself (or another reader) in the above criteria - if not perfectly, at least partially - then Rodney’s tale of losing employment, nourishing a relationship, sheltering an injured friend, and pursuing a refreshing beverage just might be for you.

The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg

The introduction to The Mysteries of Harris Burdick explains how a mysterious man - Harris Burdick - arrived at a publishing company one day many years ago and shared fourteen images, each with a caption and each from a different story. Mr. Burdick explained that there were many other pictures for each story and was curious if his work was of any interest to the publishing company. The man Mr. Burdick spoke with, Peter Wenders, said he was indeed interested in the stories based on these phenomenal and fascinating images. Leaving the fourteen images, Mr. Burdick promised to return the following morning with the complete stories.

He never arrived, and Mr. Wenders never heard from Harris Burdick again.

Eventually the fourteen images, the story titles, and their captions were published as this book, The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. But without the complete stories, readers are left to fill in the ginormous gaps with their own imaginations. In the twenty-seven years since it’s publication, readers have done just that, creating adventurous, horrifying, mysterious, touching, mystical - and wholly personal - stories of their own based on Mr. Burdick’s incredible images. Many people have written them down, but most stories live only in the imaginations of the readers, free to evolve with each reading and each imagining.

Teachers and parents will love this book. It moves the imaginations of students and children, inspiring creative writing and storytelling for a long time after reading.

Now comes The Chronicles of Harris Burdick. Fourteen award winning authors were invited to create their own stories based on the original images in The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. Click here to read my review of this new collection based on Harris Burdick’s original work.

The Blind Side by Michael Lewis

I was hooked immediately. I’m not sure if the hook would work for all readers, but for me it was perfect. “From the snap of the ball to the snap of the first bone is closer to four seconds than to five. One Mississippi: The quarterback of the Washington Redskins, Joe Theismann …” That’s all I needed. In that instant I was twelve years old, watching Monday Night Football, and seeing that unforgettable play over and over in my mind. If you’ve seen The Blind Side in theaters, you’ve seen the play. The movie starts exactly as the book does.

Unless of course, like me, you couldn’t watch.

There’s much more football in the book than the movie, and that’s more than fine by me. Bill Walsh, Joe Montana, Lawrence Taylor, Bill Parcells - these are names that drew me into football in my childhood. They are also names that provide the back story for why a six-five, 350 pound man is worth his weight in gold in the NFL.

Michael Oher’s story has become pretty familiar in the last year. You’ve at least seen the movie trailer on TV. Maybe you’ve seen the features produced by ESPN or NFL Network leading up the 2009 NFL Draft. Michael Oher, now a starting lineman for the Baltimore Ravens, lived homeless and basically parentless until, mostly by chance, he ended up at Briarcrest Christian School and had random run-ins with the Tuohy family.

Big Mike, by simply seeking warmth in the school gym one cold night, ends up on the Tuohy family’s ten thousand dollar couch. They share their Thanksgiving dinner with him. Mrs. Tuohy buys him clothing. More and more frequently they offer him a place to stay. Soon they offer him a permanent place in the Tuohy family. They legally adopt him.

The story of Michael’s (he hates being called Big Mike) journey from homeless and education-less to NFL starter is truly amazing. More people than just the Tuohy family offer their time and talents to give Michael what he needs. Tutoring, coaching, patience, and time, time, time. In the book author Michael Lewis takes a more methodical approach to telling the story. The movie’s approach is more emotional. Both, however, tell an incredible story and neither should be missed.

And I don’t say that very often about movies based on books.

Public Enemies by Bryan Burrough

I wrote the following statement before I saw the movie, but nevertheless, at that time I naively believed my uneducated opinion to be true:

The book is better.

Now I’ve seen the movie and I must, to be honest and fair, revise the previous statement. It now reads:

Why even try? I mean really! To say “the book is better” is like saying “Dillinger robbed banks.” No kidding. The movie is to the book like your little brother’s piggy bank is to the Federal Reserve. Which one gives gangsters the bigger reward?

Yeah, that’s a bit more accurate.

I've been planning on seeing Public Enemies ever since it was announced the John Dillinger movie would be filmed in Wisconsin, and historical sites, including one in my hometown, were scouted as possible locations. Then late last summer I had breakfast at Little Bohemia Lodge in Manitowish, Wisconsin, site of a bungled FBI raid on Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, and others. Before my biscuits and gravy arrived, I read the brief history of the lodge and the failed raid printed on my placemat.

But now I’ve read the book, which includes a bit more information than the placemat, and it is phenomenal. Painstakingly researched by author Bryan Burrough and incredibly detailed, Public Enemies: America’s Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-1934 is much more than another John Dillinger story. Readers learn the truth about numerous criminals of the time. For example:

Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd gained national notoriety due to media speculation after the Kansas City Massacre, a crime he didn’t commit, and by spring of 1933 he had “withdrawn from bank robbing altogether, preferring to spend his days baking pies in his cousins’ kitchens.” (He didn’t, of course, retire as a baker.)

Bonnie and Clyde were far from the glamorized characters portrayed by Hollywood. Their crimes were small compared to their contemporaries – one bank robbery earned them only $80, another attempted job was on a bank that had been closed for weeks. Bonnie nearly died in a car accident, and as they became more notorious, “they gave up bathing and normal hygiene. Their clothes were dirty. They smelled.” Hardly glamorous.

Ma Barker, portrayed by J. Edgar Hoover as the criminal mastermind of the Barker Gang, was more interested in jigsaw puzzles than crime. (But died from an FBI bullet to the head nevertheless.)

George F. Barnes was a dreamer and a joker, a nervous man who sometimes vomited before bank jobs. He and his wife were behind the kidnapping of Charles Urschel and the $200,000 ransom, but he missed the first cash drop, probably because he flooded his car. The most impressive part of his legacy may be his nickname: Machine Gun Kelly.

It has been said that truth is stranger than fiction. Public Enemies shows that truth can be better than fiction. Hollywood would be hard pressed to concoct a cast of characters with stories as interesting and intertwined as those on both sides of the 1933-1934 War on Crime. In fact, even when Hollywood is presented with a golden story in an open vault, it still makes off with only a buck-two-eighty. (For more thoughts on the movie, click here.)

Public Enemies: America’s Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-1934 is not to be missed. While the movie includes plenty of high speed chases and shoot-em-ups, the book explains how they managed to rob banks, as Dillinger once said, in “one minute, forty seconds. Flat.” It explains how the gangs were able to repeatedly evade the law, and especially how the FBI, just a fledgling organization being created on the fly to fight the War on Crime, often times made it easier for the gangs to remain free. Public Enemies is an eye-opening view through the bars of a life of crime and into the offices of the men trying to fight it.

The Downhill Lie by Carl Hiaasen

All adult hackers - current, former, recovering, or as Hiaasen, returning after a 30 year layoff - will relate to The Downhill Lie. (And make no mistake, this is a book for grown-ups.) We've all played Ray-Ray golf. (One shot like Ray Floyd, the next like Ray Charles.) After slicing/hooking into the woods, we've all deserved to be called Daniel Boone for our affinity to the wilderness. Every golfer who has struggled for mediocrity, who has set "average" as a goal, will relate to Hiaasen's superstitions (find items that hold great mojo) and attempts at the mystical (Sympathetic Resource Technology via the Q-Link necklace), the medicinal (Mind Drive capsules), and the technological (the RadarGolf kit).

Something, we think. Something will allow us to eliminate the three-putts, slices into the water, hooks into woods, and second shots from the ladies' tee. If we could just do that we'd be happy. That's all we ask.

At one point a friend of his describes the wonder of numberless golf and suggests that it's a much more enjoyable sport when you don't keep score. I half expected him to ask his friend, "So how do you compare yourself with other golfers?" only to hear, "By height."

Why is it that sub-par golfers... Wait a second! Why is it that sub-par is used to describe something less than desirable? "My bagel was good, but the coffee was sub-par." That makes absolutely no sense. Sub-par is exactly where golfers want to be. I'd love to be described as sub-par when it comes to golf. It'd be a ton better than being described as a double-par golfer, which, in actuality, is much more accurate.

My apologies for the digression. Back on topic. Hiaasen perfectly captures the emotions in the golfer's quest for adequacy. Part hope, part despair, part neurosis. We've all deconstructed a round of golf, realizing we were only two three-puts, one triple bogey, two lost balls, and that one #$&#%@ snowman away from breaking par.

We've all stood on the last tee box swearing we'd never play this ruinous sport again, promising ourselves to mothball the clubs as soon as we got home. And then...what's this? A drive that splits the fairway? A long iron that sticks? (Have the heavens opened? Do I hear the heavenly host singing?) A twelve-footer for birdie?

And that's enough. Those two shots feed the addiction. Whether we knock down the birdie or three-put for a bogey, both equally probable, we'll be back tomorrow.

Minders of Make-Believe by Leonard S. Marcus

"What Shall the Children Read?"

That's the question, referencing the title of a 1939 book by Laura E. Richards, asked at the onset of Leonard S. Marcus' historical record of children's book publishing in America. Throughout history people have attempted to answer, and the funny thing is, no consensus has ever been reached. Opinions abound.

"What Shall the Children Read?" The only answer I know for sure after reading Minders of Make-Believe is this: Not this book.

Well, not the children anyway. But grown-up lovers of children's literature need to carve out a chunk of their allotted reading time and delve in. Starting with colonial America and ending at Hogwarts, Minders of Make-Believe covers books (and book covers, ba-dum-dum), publishers, authors, editors, printers, and pretty much anything else involved in children's literature.

The research is exhaustive, and I found myself wishing I could have been a fly on the wall or a worm in the book or...well, I found myself absorbing all of it and hoping for more. From stories of classics that were almost passed over to the behind the scenes work of editors to the stories of how authors got their start. I found all of it fascinating.

Watching how children's book publishing has changed over the years and how our culture, education, politics, parents...and oh yeah, kids...have influenced the industry makes me wonder what the future holds for children's books. But most exciting is the fact that we won't need to wait for Volume II. We'll get to watch it happen.