#340 Musings Beyond the Bunker (Monday May 2)
Good morning,
It’s Monday and time for another decade of great books. We’ve now moved into the 1980s, the age of Reagan, the fall of the Iron Curtain, the specter of Iran-Contra, the finale of M*A*S*H, and the advent of “Cheers” (where everybody knows your name). As I’ve said before, I think decades don’t fit neatly into ten-year periods but start and end with seminal defining events. The 80s to me begin with the election of Reagan, the freeing of the hostages from the American embassy in Iran, and my own graduation from law school (hey, these are my Musings) and end with the Clinton “third way” election, the L.A. riots in the wake of the Rodney King beating, and the birth of Jake Sonnenberg (again, my Musings!), all in 1992.
BOOKS OF THE EIGHTIES
Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry. This 1986 Pulitzer Prize winner was the basis for one of the best TV miniseries ever. The LA Times called it “a wondrous work, drowned in love, melancholy, and yet, ultimately, exultant.”
Bonfire of the Vanities, by Tom Wolfe. Wolfe is so, so good at honing in on the zeitgeist of an era. I almost chose The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test for the 70s. This one is the classic of the “me” decade, investment banks, and the “captains of the universe.” Hard to know which of Wolfe’s books is the best. The Right Stuff and Man in Full were, in their ways, similarly evocative of an era, an industry, and quintessential places that represented their respective times.
A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking (when we began to doubt who we are or why we’re here, a book that put it all in perspective)
The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco. Complex and fascinating 14th century murder mystery, with a monk at the center of the investigation.
Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. One of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read. Magic realism at its best.
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks. In these days of increased awareness of issues of mental health, this book is particularly relevant.
The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood. Dystopia at its finest. Eerily evocative of an era not unlike our present moment (well, perhaps just metaphorically). The first TV series was great. After the show runners took over the writing from Ms. Atwood, it’s less interesting. The idea is great. The subsequent lives of the protagonists and beating us over the head with the concept are not worthy of multiple seasons.
The Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan. While a great peek into the Asian American immigrant experience, what child or grandchild of immigrants can’t see bits of their own family history in this?
The Bourne Identity, by Robert Ludlum. This is not great literature but it is thoughtful and engrossing and one of a plethora of books by the prolific Mr. Ludlum. I read most of them.
A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy O’Toole. Tried twice to start this posthumously awarded Pulitzer Prize winner. Couldn’t get into it.
The Cider House Rules and The Hotel New Hampshire, by John Irving. There was a time I couldn’t get enough of Irving. I loved Cider House most of all, about a gynecologist/abortionist and headmaster of a home in Maine for lost boys. There are sentences in novels that harken back to the story and remind one of a wonderful character. Dr. Larch’s evening admonition to the boys still provides goosebumps: “Goodnight, you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New England.” It says so much about the need to give children worth. How they are described, regardless of their background or condition, will have an effect on who they will become.
The Prince of Tides, by Pat Conroy. Set in the south, familiar territory for Pat Conroy. The Great Santini, later a movie starring Robert Duvall, might be the more entertaining novel. But think about how good a book must be that begins with the line, “My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call…”
Presumed Innocent, by Scott Turow. Turow began with one of the best non-fiction books about law school, the auto-biographical One L. This is his first of a number of legally-centered novels. The 80s brought us a spate of books, movies and TV shows focused on the law, law enforcement and the practice of law.
White Noise, by Don DeLillo. This won the National Book Award for fiction. Definitely a strange book. It’s about the two topics Woody Allen focuses on—sex and death—but mostly death and the abiding fear of death.
Maus: A Survivor’s Tale: My Father Bleeds History, by Art Spiegelman. It has been getting a lot of hype recently in our society’s desire to quash controversy from library shelves. Proof that the graphic novel form can tell a compelling and important tale in ways that the “typical” written word cannot.
The Way to Cook, by Julia Child. This book represents Julia’s move from strictly French cooking to a more “American” style. The book focuses on broad principles and basic recipes and how they can be enhanced and modified depending upon the dish. I’m a fan of learning the basics before learning the details…much like one must first play scales before Chopin. One cannot overstate Child’s ubiquity in the 80s and her effect on culture and encouragement of chefs—both professional and in our everyday kitchens.
Have a great week,
Glenn
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