Pulitzer Prize winner Michael Moss explores the world of processed
food and reveals the truth behind what we are eating. Every label
design and even the layout of the supermarket have a singular
purpose: to sell products to the consumer, and have that same person
come back and purchase more. The “food” the companies are
manufacturing that goes into our toasters and microwaves has led to
our country’s obesity, high blood pressure, and short attention
spans. The solutions to the problem are not self-evident. Moss
tries food lacking in salt at several companies, and for example
discovers that an unsalted frozen Eggo waffle tastes like straw.
Corporations that have manufactured food with less fat, sugar, or
salt, notice a huge decrease in sales, so the incentive to tone down
the stuff that is bad for us is lacking to the makers. What makes
consumers crave the junk so much? Moss talks to the scientists
responsible for finding the average person’s “bliss point,” and
describes the truth behind what we eat. Science and history blend
into an amazing read that should be mandatory for everyone.
Peppiatt grew up in Toronto, Canada listening to American and
Canadian radio shows in the 1940s. His fascination with the medium
led him to radio advertising, and then, due to the constant need for
material, to a writing partnership with John Aylesworth. With the
advent of television, the two neatly segued into comedy writing for
the Canadian market. Soon Hollywood and New York were calling, with
much bigger stars and much bigger paychecks. Peppiatt's breezy
memoir recounts his and Aylesworth's adventures in writing and
creating the variety shows that were the mainstay of 1960s and 70s
American television. These programs featured a mixture of songs and
comedy sketches. A Frank Sinatra special might seem nearly
spontaneous, but the two worked hard crafting the themes and
content. Likewise, the seemingly off-the-cuff remarks between songs
were carefully scripted. Alas, the book contains only a couple of
examples of their material (probably due to legal rights; their
writing was work-for-hire), so we don't really see why exactly they
were so in-demand. But the book is nonetheless packed with anecdotes
about the TV and movie stars of yesterday, such as when they were
called in to save the day for Judy Garland's and Doris Day's
programs. The most interesting material concerns the creation of
their surprising success, Hee Haw. Critics almost universally
reviled the country music and cornpone-joke-based show, yet it was
number one in the ratings and ultimately ran for two decades. The
story of how the show was filmed—a year's worth of certain segments
shot back-to-back over the course of just one or two days before
striking one set and putting up another for more marathon
filming—and how, after the show was canceled by CBS, Peppiatt and
Aylesworth gave it away directly to hundreds of smaller, syndicating
stations and made a fortune, should be required reading for anyone
interested in show business.
Back in 2008, possibly the most useful book ever written for American
Anglophiles was published: Darl Larsen’s annotated guide to every
episode of the 1970s British television phenomena Monty Python’s
Flying Circus. Now the book has been reprinted in paperback and
has been split into two volumes, covering episodes 1 – 26 and 27 –
45, respectively. The paperbacks together cost less than the
hardcover, and they are much easier to handle than the massive,
encyclopedia-like predecessor. The volumes are organized first by
episode, and then, within each episode is an alphabetical listing of
all the references mentioned or seen. Half of Monty Python’s humor
relied on the audience understanding the literary, pop culture,
sports, and historical allusions that flew by faster than an unladen
African swallow. The Pythons having been educated at Oxford and
Cambridge, these were sometimes obscure and erudite. Even 1970s
British viewers probably didn’t catch everything. Now, almost four
decades later, these volumes are invaluable if we are to understand
references to Antony Armstrong-Jones (film-maker and Princess
Margaret’s former husband) and all those “football clubs” (soccer
teams). And Larsen’s work is, as the title promises, truly
comprehensive. If you pick, say Episode 8, which features the “Dead
Parrot” sketch, you’ll find 22 references to just that sketch alone,
ranging from notes on other episodes where you can find the
“thesaurus sketch” technique employed by John Cleese (“He's passed
on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be!”), to the simple
definitions of “pining” (including a bit of a Gerard Manley Hopkins
poem) and “fjords.” Larsen’s work is simply a must-have for any fan
of the Pythons.
Even the most casual student of politics and / or language
probably knows that Harry Truman popularized the phrase “The Buck
Stops Here,” adopting it from the game of poker to mean that,
ultimately, responsibility rests with the President. Or that Dwight
Eisenhower warned against a “military-industrial complex,” which
would result in an ever-increasing arms race and expenditures. But
few might know that many more common turns of phrase also originated
at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Dickson's brief, browsable book covers the
gamut, from “administration” to “XYZ affair.” Franklin D. Roosevelt
coined “Cheerleader” in 1903, decades before becoming president,
when describing his and his friends' rooting for Brown University in
a ball game. “Iffy” also came from FDR, who lived in uncertain
times. “Indoors” is an invention of George Washington, who, writing
in his retirement, took note of the work one could do despite “Hail,
Rain, or Snow.” The phrase “wall of separation between church and
state” isn't in the Constitution, but Thomas Jefferson first used it
in a letter to a group who had asked him to define the First
Amendment. George W. Bush's “embetter” was not a neologistic flub;
it dates back to 1583, and so is a “real word.” And
“misunderestimate” (to underestimate by mistake) may turn out to be
a popular term given time. We don't really have anything similar. As
Bush noted, Thomas Jefferson, “contributed more new words to the
language than any other U.S. President.” Bush was just carrying on a
long tradition, even if by accident.
Charlie Hood’s first big undercover assignment began with a
nineteen-year-old girl living in a small town in Russell County,
Missouri.
T. Jefferson Parker has carved out a niche for himself as the
Hemingway of thriller writers. And all his talents are firmly on
display in the flat-out terrific The Famous and the Dead, his
sixth (and last) entry in the series featuring Los Angeles sheriff’s
deputy Charlie Hood.
Hood has already been morally battered and beaten by a long stretch
serving in the New West, the stretch of the Mexican border where
smugglers practically collide with each other trekking contraband,
drugs mostly, into the U.S. You wonder how much he’s got left in
the tank when Parker’s latest gets underway, but rest assured it had
better be a lot. That’s because once again Hood finds himself at
odds with his surrogate son Bradley Jones who straddles both sides
of the law and Mike Finnegan who comes down squarely on the side of
evil. Kind of a modern take on The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,
but rising to a crescendo of violence more like The Wild Bunch.
Parker’s sparse, melodic prose is as simple as it is haunting. Along
with John Hart and James Lee Burke, he joins a rare breed popular
fiction authors whose work transcends genre and approaches
brilliance in style as well as substance. His writing is a wonder to
behold and The Famous and the Dead is a riveting read.
Estleman’s UCLA film preservationist / “film detective” Valentino
(that’s his nickname) returns in his third novel. Expanded from a
1998 short story, here Valentino goes in search of something that
has actually been rumored to exist: Bela Lugosi’s screen test as the
Frankenstein Monster before the role went to Boris Karloff. When an
acquaintance is murdered, and Valentino finds a suitcase full of
books about the Universal monster movies of the 1930s, he begins to
piece it together. Meanwhile, there are gangsters (Hollywood
gangsters—they control the stagehands’ and projectionists’ unions),
and the ongoing saga of Valentino refurbishing an old movie palace.
This is my favorite mystery series of recent years. Not only are the
mysteries themselves cleverly constructed, and the dialog snappy,
but the books are suffused with Hollywood history. And, while the
first two were excellent, they were about the missing silent film
Greed and Greta Garbo, respectively; Alive! is all about
the monsters. The peculiar affection we have for these creatures and
the actors who played them is threaded through the book. There’s
even an analogue to Forrest J. Ackerman, the late publisher of
Famous Monsters of Filmland, (if you recognize that name or that
title, this is exactly the book for you) and a tour through his
mansion turned science fiction and horror memorabilia museum. The
book concludes with 20 pages of Estleman’s notes on various
biographies, histories, and the films themselves.
Emperor Mollusk Versus the Sinister Brain
is a light, funny read in the same breezy neighborhood as The
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
It is, however, on the other, slightly less satisfying, side of the
street from that iconic story. While it’s creatively bursting with
enough sci-fi conceits and references to keep the reader happily
flipping the pages—like a big, geeky bowl of popcorn you can’t stop
eating—it’s also about as filling as that popcorn.
Emperor Mollusk is the conqueror of Earth, a largely benevolent
dictator who has grown weary of the role. But now that he’s stepping
back from ruling Earth, it seems that someone else wants to take his
place, and Mollusk will not allow harm to come to his former
subjects. He’s originally from Neptune, and, indeed, in this version
of the solar system all the planets have their own natives. It’s one
of the entertainingly retro elements of the plot, hearkening back to
a late-nineteenth/early-twentieth century outlook on Martians and
Venusians and such.
There are plenty of twists and chases and last second escapes to
keep the story moving briskly along, but you can never really feel
concern for Mollusk. Not only is he a mollusk-like creature in a
robot body and a former dictator, but his somewhat-reformed evil
genius gets him out of most seemingly fatal situations without much
effort. Although he’s largely likable, and you root for his victory,
there’s no real emotional hook in the story. It keeps the reader
smirking and amused throughout, but Mollusk leaves your mind as soon
as the last page is turned.
No writer working today manages a more even balance between the
normal and paranormal, the natural and the supernatural, than
Heather Graham. And her spellbindingly irresistible latest, Let
the Dead Sleep, features the absolute perfect blend of all.
Much of the action, appropriately enough, takes place in an old
antiques shop Danni Cafferty has inherited in the wake of her
father’s passing. But the shop, in true Stephen King fashion, is
not what it appears to be, chock full of secrets, spells, mysterious
writings, and one especially evil statue that may have a mind of its
own.
“I threw it in the trash, and it was back in the study the next
day,” rants the statue’s owner, Gladys Simon, who wants desperately
to part with it. “I dropped it in a dumpster on Bourbon Street, and
it was back the next day. I buried it—and it was back!”
Kind of a hellish version of the Maltese Falcon and before you
can say “Twilight Zone,” Danni and ex-cop Michael Quinn are on the
trail of that statue after it vanishes in the wake of Simon’s very
suspicious death. Scouring the dark underbelly of the French
Quarter to stop the evil it both magnifies and spreads.
Let the Dead Sleep is as close to a perfect paranormal thriller as you’ll find
these days, a sprinkling of The Exorcist added to Needful
Things. Classic horror-suspense that will leave you looking at
your curio cabinet wondering if anything inside is staring back.
Stephan Pastis, creator of the comic strip “Pearls Before Swine,” has
written and illustrated his first novel for children, “Timmy
Failure: Mistakes Were Made.” It tells the heartwarming and funny
story of a young boy detective named Timmy and his partner, a giant
polar bear named Total. The agency is named Total Failure, Inc.
The cases he receives include who stole someone’s candy and who is
stealing a young girl’s shoes. But the demands of the firm affect
his schoolwork and his life at home. His cluelessness might just
prove to be his undoing. He blames another student for the theft of
his mom’s Segway, and sees a girl in his class as being behind a
string of crimes, not realizing she just has a crush on him. The
silly humor and funny illustrations help tell the tale. Recommended
for fans of both Pearls as well as kids who enjoy the Diary of a
Wimpy Kid books.
Tenth-grader Tom Parking has just learned that he is the Chosen
One. He is to be the savior of a mythic kingdom. There's a prophecy
and everything. Too bad the kingdom, which has an unpronounceable
name, is basically crap. Not literally, of course, more just
“crappy.” The secret entrance is a clothes donations bin outside a
Kmart, and the kingdom's subjects wear the cast-off clothes from our
world. Their cars are made of junk, and the castle looks like a high
school drama department set, unpainted side out. There is a
princess, and a king, who at least has a British accent. But it's
just not the sort of place anyone would want to be the Chosen One
of. It's a kingdom of “meh.” The people are filled with low
expectations and a bummer of an attitude. Besides, Tom's just
starting to connect with his lovely classmate Lindsy. Little wonder
then that he declines the offer to be their Chosen One and returns
home to knuckle down on his homework. But when inspiration strikes,
he returns only to find that his best friend Kyle has already
replaced him . . . and he's doing a much better job. Soon the magic
from the lousy kingdom begins to stir up trouble in our world.
Although the book's language isn't any saltier than the title, some
of the situations are more adult, making it a better choice for teen
readers rather than young fans of Narnia and Hogwarts.
