Between the Covers

White whale sighting

In a blaze of coincidence - either that or the folks at Orion books are reading this blog, which seems highly unlikely, as I'm certain it's only read by close personal friends/family/people I've given ten bucks to - I have received the "Compact Edition" of Moby-Dick In Half the Time. No, really. That's what it's called. It's significantly shorter than the version a kind friend gave me a few years back (this friend perhaps overestimates my perserverance). The cover is pretty cool, too, as you can see. Is that tattooed dude Queequeg?

But now I'm feeling kinda guilty about...cheating. Is reading this too much like Clif's Notes? I never used those in high school. It was a badge of honor. And yes, OK, maybe I should've tried them when I didn't read Portrait of the Artist as A Young Man in 12th grade AP English and had to sit there praying nobody would call on me to discuss it, but I had too much pride.

Critics applaud Edwidge

The National Book Critics Circle - a member of which I am not, for reasons unclear to me but probably involve my own personal laziness - posted one of those "Top Books of the Year" lists, and Miami's Edwidge Danticat wins the top spot for nonfiction for her memoir Brother, I'm Dying.

Top fiction, in order: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz; National Book Award winner Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson; The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon; Exit Ghost by Philip Roth; Out Stealing Horses, Per Petterson. Guess no women wrote anything worthy of a top spot this year.

Nonfiction's another story, though. We have Edwidge at No. 1, followed by The World Without Us by Alan Weisman; The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein; Schulz and Peanuts by David Michaelis; and National Book Award winner Legacy of Ashes by Tim Weiner.

Are our fourth graders smarter than a Russian fourth grader?

In a story on a global reading survey, The Associated Press reports that U.S. fourth graders, here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, scored the same on an international reading test as they did in 2001, despite all that emphasis on reading comprehension brought to us by No Child Left Behind.

In 2001, the AP says, only three countries were ahead of the U.S. Now our kids scored lower than students in Hong Kong, SIngapore, Luxembourg, Hungary, Italy, Sweden, the Canadian provinces of Ontario, Alberta and British Columbia and Russia.

Russian fourth graders can read better than American fourth graders. Was the Cold War for naught? Ronald Reagan is spinning in his grave.

Book movie of the year?

It is with a heart leaping with joy that I report that Atonement - due in theaters Dec. 21 - is a faithful, gorgeous, heart-breaking, wonderful adaptation of Ian McEwan's novel set just before and during World War II. It's so rare that filmmakers get an adaptation exactly right, that every element meshes perfectly - casting, sets, screenplay, sound, cinematography, costumes - but here, Joe Wright has accomplished such a feat. He may well have made the movie of the year.

McEwan helped to adapt the screenplay, along with Christopher Hampton, who's adapted a few others, notably a fine version of Graham Greene's The Quiet American in 2002.

Some will feel they should read the book before seeing the movie, but in this case it's not necessary and may in fact pack more of an emotional punch if you haven't read the book. It's that easy to be swept away by this story of love and guilt and war. I'm usually anal retentive about such things but here, don't worry about the novel. Read it later. Just don't miss this film.

Hope for me - and Moby-Dick -yet

Like most New Yorker subscribers, I'm always a month or so behind. So forgive me for writing about an article in the Oct. 22 issue by Adam Gopnik, but it just might change my life.

See, Gopnik writes about the new "compact editions" of 19th century classics by the British publisher Orion, in which editors hack edit the books in half. One of the books in question is, of course, Herman Melville's "masterpiece," and Gopnik actually believes the edits improve the book. Out go the lengthy and outdated passages on whaling, as well as what Gopnik calls "the philosophical meanderings, and the metaphysical huffing and puffing."

What you get is, apparently, the good story. I need to get my hands on one of these mini Moby-Dicks so I can slay my own white literary whale at last.

For the record, Gopnik goes on to say the same trick doesn't work with Thackeray's Vanity Fair (a book I have read and loved). Apparently cutting out Thackeray's chatty asides leaves a story unable to charm or captivate, which I can believe.

Books: Better than socks any day

If you were crazy enough to go near a store this weekend, maybe you're already done with your holiday shopping. You're also out of your mind. If sleeping in was a priority these past few mornings, and you are in denial about having to buy presents, here's help. I made a couple of suggestions for books that make great presents in Sunday's holiday gift guide (no, not the Dave Barry gift guide...the other one).

My favorites: Life of Pi Deluxe Illustrated Edition by Yann Martel and Tomislav Torjanac, which is, obviously, a grandly illustrated version of Martel's wonderful parable about a boy, a lifeboat and a tiger named Richard Parker. The illustrations are simply gorgeous, and I have yet to meet a person not completely enchanted with the story or unable to discuss it for hours after reading it, especially if there is pinot noir involved.

Also not to be missed: Our Dumb World: Atlas of the Planet Earth by the Onion. If you don't find something hilarious on every single page of this faux atlas, there really is no hope for you at all. Every single country is insulted in horribly politically incorrect ways. The only one who gets hurt? You, if you don't check it out.

Poetry corner

Roses are orange

Violets are blue

FSU stinks

But really, what's new?

Brought to you by the Give Tim Tebow the Damned Heisman Committee.

Yesh

Now I'm glad I mentioned Patrick McDonnell's Mutts comics the other day, because I woke up sick this morning, and there's nothing I like reading better than Mutts when I'm sick (OK, I also haul out the old Calvin and Hobbes books, too). Something about old favorites...they just make you feel better, even if your throat is so sore you can't speak. (There are people out there who would applaud such an affliction befalling me, I know.)

Also, Earl the dog (pictured on the cover of the Mutts anthology at right) reminds me a lot of a certain mutt who has been sleeping next to me all day.

"CSI Cambridge" meets Brother Cadfael - only better

There is no David Caruso, and for that we are thankful. Here's what we have instead: Ariana Franklin's Mistress of the Art of Death, an atmospheric medieval mystery with lavish attention to period detail, intriguing historical perspectives and what we in the biz like to call page-turning suspense (look, I'm still under the influence of turkey narcosis, cut my poor writing some slack).

The novel is set in 12th century England, under the rule of Henry II, who is still being slammed by the Church for the murder of Thomas a Becket by Henry's henchmen. A child murderer is slaying the children of Cambridge in horrifying ways; the mobs blame the Jewish townspeople, from whom Henry makes a healthy wage; and he wants the real culprit caught.

Thus Vesuvia Adelia Rachel Ortese Aguilar, trained at the internationally famous Salerno medical school and perhaps the world's first forensic investigator, arrives in Cambridge with her axe-throwing eunuch and her compatriot Simon to track the killer.

Mistress is a fast read and a smart one - it opens with a cheeky Canterbury Tales reference - and though the book can be a bit gory, it's also thought-provoking, romantic and clever, exploring medieval religious attitudes as well as politics and the roles of women in such society (Adelia's medical school really did exist.) You don't have to be a fan of historical fiction to enjoy this novel, and my guess is by the time you finish it you'll be longing for the sequel, due out at the end of January, along with the paperback version of Mistress.

A typical ridiculous Thanksgiving post

Before I stuff myself to health-risking bloatedness, I feel compelled to give thanks for a few of my favorite literary things:

I'm thankful for the existence of Zadie Smith (at right)*, William Shakespeare, Andrea Barrett, Michael Connelly, William Faulkner, Anne Lamott, Barbara Kingsolver, Haven Kimmel, Ian McEwan, Martin Amis and Jane Austen. And Patrick McManus, the guy who does the comics Mutts. I love Mutts. And lots of others I won't bore you with.

I'm thankful I never have to read Moby-Dick unless I really want to.

I'm thankful I have excellent reviewers who write for me who will review the books I want nothing to do with (Philip Roth, I'm talking to you).

I'm thankful I never have to read John Irving's Until I Find You again. Though I am also thankful I'll definitely be able to read Hotel New Hampshire and A Widow for One Year again.

I'm thankful I have a job that lets me read for a living, even if sometimes that means I have to break my heart over a disappointment like Alice Sebold's The Almost Moon.

Mostly, though, I'm just happy to read. And that my sister made crabcakes as a Thanksgiving appetizer. Happy holidays!

* full on blathering post about how much Zadie Smith rules coming soon.