Freakonomics: A Whole Lotta Facts that Don't Really Matter

Freakonomics
Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner

How does one get a lazy eye? More importantly, how do I not get one? And how long can I continue to avoid glaucoma testing before my sight is compromised? How do I rid myself of my eye phobia? Why do I think so much about eyes? (Answer: Red Dragon at 9 years old.) Why can't we send someone into a black hole to see what happens upon reaching the singularity? (I nominate Paris Hilton. That will get rid of Paris AND her lazy eye, all in the interests of scientific knowledge. Three cool things for the price of one. Did I mention lazy eyes freak me out?)

Anyway, back to my questions. How many lashes does it take to atone for liking Fall Out Boy? Why do I suck at formatting my posts on Blogger?* Why don't more people recognize the greatness of Peewee's Big Adventure?

Comedy at its greatest

As you can see, I have lots of questions. Unfortunately, Freakonomics answered none of them. Instead, it answered questions on crack and sumo wrestling, two things I don't really care about. So I have stupid questions, they have stupid questions. The main difference between their questions and mine? They answered theirs. And made a lot of money doing it. Suckers. And by suckers I mean fuckers.

The authors ponder everything from crack to sumo to whatever else they can get data on. While some people criticize the book for not having a "unifying theme," I like its randomness. When it comes to math, random = not boring. Let's keep things crackling, I always say.** The authors study how teachers, sumo wrestlers, and white-collar bagel buyers all cheat, how crack dealers remain poor, how a baby's name affects its life, and even how abortion lowers the crime rate. Some parts seem more logical than others, but I wasn't too distracted by what seemed like a stretched conclusion in places -- I like Freakonomics because it involves math and I can still understand it. Woot woot.

In a nutshell: If you name your daughter Heaven, she'll probably end up a stripper. Well, shit, I could have told you that.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

*As my past few posts have illustrated, my formatting skills are coming along MARVELOUSLY. Last week I posted a picture WITH a caption. Today I posted a video. Take that, computer geeks. Here I come!

**I don't actually say this.

Earth Abides, or a study in boredom

Earth Abides
George Stewart

When I was an angst-ridden teen, I took delight in wallowing in the pathetic smarm of my tortured soul by engaging in mildly destructive activities like the application of heavy eyeliner and awful hair dye (semi-permanent, thank you), half-hearted attempts at self-mutilation (considering I still have a panic attack every time I visit the dentist, I obviously didn't get very far), and recreational drug use (and I am not condoning such behavior; I think it's fairly clear that I was a tool during this time). Oh, I had the world on my shoulders indeed. What an awful life I lead, living rent free and in relative ease with no worries or any real problems. At least my Trent understood. Downward Spiral forever!

Today, I am slightly older and clearly much wiser. My appearance is poser-free and I look and feel fabulous. More importantly, I no longer need to occupy my time with the hallmarks of the immature and emotionally stunted. Instead, I stoke the embers of my pain by reading novels like Earth Abides.

"Life is pain"

Let me say right away that Earth Abides is scarily realistic; after reading it, I have no doubt that whenever the end comes, whether it be the machines that rise against us, or the icebergs, or some bird-killing superflu, much will happen exactly as Stewart predicted. (Okay, maybe not if there’s a war against the machines; we'll be too busy hiding in foxholes while a cast of assorted robots traipse across a battlefield of human bones.) At any rate, I am eternally grateful for having read this book, since I now realize that in the event I survive the destruction of humanity, I must immediately cut off my head with the nearest implement capable of doing the job. Survival be damned.

Am I being a bit melodramatic? Perhaps. Perhaps not. And even though discussing an author's picture branded me silly* I will say that he looks like a nice enough guy:

"Hey, sonny! I'm only trying to warn humanity!"

And because he is cute in a grandfatherly sort of way, I feel really bad about trashing his book. So instead of doing that, I'll just give you a sampling of the novel by pretending I'm a survivor in Stewart's futuristic funhouse:

I'm alone. Let's explore!

Hey hey! Fruit in a can! Nice!

Oooh, there's a dog. I hope it doesn't bite me! Where's my hammer?

Uh-oh, what's that smell? That can't be good....

Huh, the street has flooded. Should I unclog the drain? Nah, let it be...the earth will reclaim it.

The fence fell down. Ah, nature.

Found a survivor! Crap! He's an alcoholic! Too bad he isn't tough like me!

Hey! A goat's eating my lawn! Oh well.

Uh-oh, my clock stopped. Who needs time, anyway?

Look at all these ants!

I'll go to the library! Nothing better to do!

Found a lady friend! Let's mate!

Where did all the ants go? Ah, Darwin!

Let's have some canned peaches for dinner!

Whoa, look at all the rats!

Let’s travel the country before the earth reclaims the roads and bridges!

New York is depressing.

What happened to all the rats?

Uh-oh. Fire.

Oh well.

Repeat the above 290 times, and you've just read Earth Abides!

In a nutshell: Very realistic, but if this is life after the end of the world, count me out. Maybe I would have liked it more if it were a short story.

Bibliolatry Scale: 1 out of 6 stars

*a euphemism for "idiot", not that I'm bitter or anything

The Big Secret Done Right: The Thirteenth Tale

The Thirteenth Tale
Diane Setterfield

I've been burned by misleading book reviews, so when a book is as hyped as Setterfield's Thirteenth Tale, I am more than a bit skeptical. I've read many reviews raving about the novel's unexpected secrets and unforeseen twists and turns. We'll see, thought I.

The novel begins as Margaret spends her time among the books in her father's bookstore. She has not much time for people, and she likes it that way. Her endless span of days spent reading and cataloguing is interrupted by a letter from the legendary Vida Winter, the nation's most beloved -- not to mention secretive -- writer.

Vida is old and ill and understandably desperate to tell the world the true story of her life, which she has successfully kept hidden for decades. The crux of Vida's story involves a lost twin, a situation Margaret understands. As Vida's complex past unravels, it soon becomes clear that her story is quickly rushing headlong toward the unveiling of a Really Big Secret. In fact, it seems that adding a Really Big Secret to your under-appreciated novel will guarantee it all sorts of attention and acclaim (c.f. The Keep by Jennifer Egan for a good example of a bad novel getting excellent press due to a "surprise." Brilliant use of the technique, really.)

In fact, these two novels have a lot in common. Besides their mysteriousness, both novels feature Gothic elements, ghost-like characters, a writer seeking to uncover the truth, and, of course, a Really Big Secret. The main difference, however, is that Egan's secret is like a fart in an elevator: all up in your face and impossible to conceal. In a nice contrast, Setterfield's secret is deftly obscured until the very end; while I kept trying to guess it, I never once came close.

In a nutshell: Pretty good for a hyped bestseller. Thankfully the first chapter is the only one in which she begins every other sentence with the word "for." For I could never forgive an entire novel of such overwrought, melodramatic rubbish.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

Revenge, by Stephen Fry

Revenge
Stephen Fry

Finally, a good book!

In a contemporary Count of Monte Cristo, Stephen Fry explores what happens when revenge becomes one's entire purpose for living. We follow the super-fortunate Ned Maddstone, who has it all--until, that is, a silly prank takes it all from him. Locked away for twenty years, Maddstone has plenty of time to plan his revenge, which he executes with relentless fury until none of the guilty parties remain standing.

After finishing Revenge days ago, I have postponed my review because I have nothing to say about this book. It was really good--gripping and well-told. Literary allusions (and not just to Dumas) abound. And, although you knew Maddstone would have his revenge, the manner in which it was achieved was never predictable.

Sigh.

My fears have been confirmed. Only shitty books prompt good stuff from me. Have no fear, though; I'm currently reading a bestseller in which every other sentence begins with "for." For she knew that it wouldn't be enough... Ugh.

I'm sure I'll have some better material next time.

In a nutshell: I haven't read Monte Cristo (gasp! Coupled with my lack of knowledge re: Pat Conroy, I truly must be "nigh on to an idiot"), but neither has Fry. I'm still going to say that Revenge is better. Why? Because I want to, and this is MY blog. That makes me win.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

White Apples, by Jonathan Carroll

White Apples
Jonathan Carroll

A character I often fondly remember is Ellsworth Toohey from Ayn Rand's Fountainhead. As a literary critic, he delighted in championing utter shit and passing it off as literature, knowing the dumb public would eat it up like the sheep they are. The public can't tell a turd from a diamond, isn't that so? Apparently, according to those who've championed Carroll's latest literary bowel movement, White Apples.

Now, I don't know who Pat Conroy is (I have since been informed that he wrote The Prince of Tides...alllllllrighty then), nor do I know who writes book reviews for The Washington Post, but I have a sneaking suspicion they are Ellsworth in disguise. Pat Conroy had the balls to compare Jonathan Carroll to Dostoevski. DOSTOEVSKI? The man who gave us Raskolnikov? Prince Myshkin? I know--he also compared him to Calvino. I am so amazed that I have nothing funny to write about this. After sitting here endlessly thinking of a humorous analogy, I can only feel dismay that a work of such poor quality has received such glowing reviews. Maybe Conroy wants to know if anyone will call his bluff. Apparently not, as this book has received 3.5 stars on Amazon.com and an almost perfect score on Barnesandnoble.com.

Well played, Mr. Conroy. Well played, indeed.

The Washington Post, double-dog dared by Pat Conroy to take the joke still further, wrote that we should -- and I quote directly here -- "fete him." Fete him??

Damn they have balls.

Anyway, a word or two about the book. Vincent Ettrich has died and come back to life. Why did he come back? He soon finds out he was brought back by his pregnant girlfriend, because their offspring will save the world and it needs Vincent's help to do it. Along the way, they encounter crazy creatures like the spirits of dead animals and the "Eef," which is -- and I am not making this up -- A BEING CREATED OUT OF THEIR ORGASM.

Simply put, this was the lamest book I ever read. In fact, his is the lamest author picture I've ever seen. I would hope he's about to cover his face in shame, but I somehow doubt he feels at all bad about writing White Apples.

In a nutshell: Utter garbage disguised to look like a book. Don't be a sucker.

Bibliolatry Scale: 0 out of 6 stars

Divided Kingdom, by Rupert Thomson

Divided Kingdom
Rupert Thomson

In the middle of the night, a child named Matthew Micklewright is taken from his home by the police, and sent to be educated about the reformation of their country. Matthew becomes Thomas Parry, and is sent to live with a new family, the so-called others of his kind, as the country seeks the kind of stability that had been lacking before its reorganization.

Once the United Kingdom, the country has been divided into four sections based on the natures of the inhabitants. The Divided Kingdom's citizens are now classified as either Sanguine (nice and pleasant), Melancholic (depressed and emo), Phlegmatic (spiritual and laid-back), or Choleric (angry bastards). The borders of these four areas are tightly controlled and no travel is allowed among them.

Now let's thicken the plot. I'm sure you can see where this is going: our boy Thomas will transgress these rules, become a man against society, and seek his own identity in a world that wants conformity.

And there you have Divided Kingdom. The book was okay, as far as dystopian novels (which I generally love) go. The story was interesting, and I really got into it once I had finished the first half. However (and there's always a however, isn't there?), the book had quite a few drawbacks. For one, a society based on the four humors?? Really? That doesn't seem practical at all. And is all that description necessary? Allow me to try my hand at it:

I looked down. To the left of my foot stood a toad. He looked at me, mouth gaping. I walked on, intent on finding the doorway. The walls of the hall were grimy with handprints. I remembered I hadn't brushed my teeth yet today. There was a tiny hole at the very bottom of the left wall. I wondered if some rat hadn't gnawed its way through, trying to escape, feeling trapped in the prison of these tiny, choleric rooms...

You get the point. The above passage is, if you couldn't tell, mine. I was just trying it on for size. Thankfully, whenever I enter the Bog of Eternal Description (much like the Bog of Eternal Stench, if you can catch that clever allusion), I just use my handy-dandy skimminator which I purchased at Ye Olde Skimme Shoppe. Thus I finished half the book in just under a day's time, and I have a feeling I didn't miss out on anything important. Thomas is lost. Thomas suffers. Thomas is healed. Campbell would be proud.

The biggest drawback to the book is the ending. I won't give anything away, but you know the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas? How every one has joined hands, all friends now, singing merrily? It's kinda like that. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a dystopia?

In a nutshell: Not the most believable book-of-the-future, but mildly entertaining. Some very cool scenes.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3 out of 6 stars