AIRPLANE READING

Blogging as self-promotion: A book review of mine appeared Sunday in the Chicago Sun-Times:

It's hard to say which comes off worse in Herman Wouk's latest novel, his first in a decade: the U.S. Congress or the American press. "A Hole in Texas" offers the choice between two emblematic stereotypes: a red-faced opportunist who heads the House Armed Services Committee and a mustachioed investigative reporter for the Washington Post. Both are melodramatic, even comical cliches to serve the plot. But what a plot!

Wouk tells the tale of a colossal scientific project in particle physics, the Texas-based Superconducting Super Collider, done in by self-interested politicians who invariably mislead a clueless public with the help of weaselly journalists; meantime, news of a secret Chinese experiment that has found an elusive subatomic particle, the Higgs boson, touches off a national panic about an apocalyptic Boson Bomb.

The 88-year-old author, remarkable for his creativity in old age, has a canny knack for the topical and for touching all the bases. Though conventional wisdom colors the texture of the novel, it speeds the chapters along like, well, a superconductor. You can easily finish "A Hole in Texas" between the takeoff and landing of a transcontinental flight, and without skimming.

Read the rest here. One reader already has. He writes: "My recent airplane reads have been Dan Brown novels. It's amazing how he writes the same basic book again and again and still gets paid. I wanna do a similiar 'find and replace' style of writing and make my millions as well."

Most excellently well put. The breathless, deathless prose of "The Da Vinci Code" reads to me like an Ivy League boy's adventure. Wouk isn't much of a prose stylist either. Next to Brown, however, he's another Dr. Johnson.

Postscript: Ryan McGee writes: "I always like reviews that have energy. Mine sometimes replace 'energy' with 'drunken stupor,' like when I tackled the high culture of 'The Nick and Jessica variety hour.'"

April 13, 2004 8:49 AM |

Categories:

Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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