California Batch
Mother on Fire: A True Motherf%#$@ Story About Parenting! by Sandra Tsing Loh
(New York: Random House, 2008; ISBN-13: 9780609608135)
Orange County: A Personal History by Gustavo Arellano
(New York: Simon and Schuster, 2008; ISBN-13: 9781416540045)
I happened to read these books right next to each other, and it was an interesting juxtaposition. Both writers use wit to underscore their social observations and critiques; both have wide-ranging media presences, from public radio to the Huffington Post to the Los Angeles Times. And both were writing about a particular California experience.
Sandra Tsing Loh is a funny writer, a funny monologuist, and a funny radio commentator. I've enjoyed a lot of her other work (the comic essay collection Depth Takes a Holiday and the novel A Year in Van Nuys are my favorites), but this book is less consistent than her others.
The core stories make a funny contrast: Loh was fired from her public-radio job because of an un-bleeped expletive, which became a national media story; at the same time, she and her husband were looking for a school for their child, which turned into a crazy saga of yuppie entitlement and parental anxiety. There are moments of hilarious, insightful social commentary (some of the descriptions of schools, for instance, are riotous), but Mother on Fire, overall, is a bit of a mess. Good for the Sandra Tsing Loh completist, or for someone who wants a satirical perspective on the overachievement mania that grips comfortably-off LA parents when it comes to choosing schools.
Gustavo Arellano is a funny writer, as anyone who's read his "Ask a Mexican!" column knows. In Orange County, he takes on a tough challenge: redefining the place he grew up to folks who only know it from shows like "The O.C." and "The Hills." Where Arellano is really strong is where he talks about the role of Mexican-American and Mexican agricultural workers in creating the early 20th century citrus economy in Orange County, and in tracing how Chicanos and other Latinos preserved their culture and found their way, after fruit farming was displaced by development and high-tech, into new professional sectors and ways of life.
There's also some really strong writing about the connection between Mexican emigres to the US and their native villages; Arellano tells his own family's stories with immense love and compassion and with a vivid eye for detail, and brings in other perspectives for a broader look at the tension between nostalgia and upward mobility.
The downside, to me, of this book is its constant casual sexism. Arellano feels the need to define pretty much every woman by her looks (an opponent of immigration, for instance, is pilloried for being "pug-faced" as much as for her opinions; Arellano bemoans his "funny-looking" adolescence, largely because that meant he was "stuck with" the "ugly girls" at dances). So if that's a turn-off for you, I'd probably advise you not to read the book. On the upside, Arellano's done a lot of research, which he brings into the narrative in lighthearted town-by-town guidebook-style entries, which even include restaurant recommendations.
(New York: Random House, 2008; ISBN-13: 9780609608135)
Orange County: A Personal History by Gustavo Arellano
(New York: Simon and Schuster, 2008; ISBN-13: 9781416540045)
I happened to read these books right next to each other, and it was an interesting juxtaposition. Both writers use wit to underscore their social observations and critiques; both have wide-ranging media presences, from public radio to the Huffington Post to the Los Angeles Times. And both were writing about a particular California experience.
Sandra Tsing Loh is a funny writer, a funny monologuist, and a funny radio commentator. I've enjoyed a lot of her other work (the comic essay collection Depth Takes a Holiday and the novel A Year in Van Nuys are my favorites), but this book is less consistent than her others.
The core stories make a funny contrast: Loh was fired from her public-radio job because of an un-bleeped expletive, which became a national media story; at the same time, she and her husband were looking for a school for their child, which turned into a crazy saga of yuppie entitlement and parental anxiety. There are moments of hilarious, insightful social commentary (some of the descriptions of schools, for instance, are riotous), but Mother on Fire, overall, is a bit of a mess. Good for the Sandra Tsing Loh completist, or for someone who wants a satirical perspective on the overachievement mania that grips comfortably-off LA parents when it comes to choosing schools.
Gustavo Arellano is a funny writer, as anyone who's read his "Ask a Mexican!" column knows. In Orange County, he takes on a tough challenge: redefining the place he grew up to folks who only know it from shows like "The O.C." and "The Hills." Where Arellano is really strong is where he talks about the role of Mexican-American and Mexican agricultural workers in creating the early 20th century citrus economy in Orange County, and in tracing how Chicanos and other Latinos preserved their culture and found their way, after fruit farming was displaced by development and high-tech, into new professional sectors and ways of life.
There's also some really strong writing about the connection between Mexican emigres to the US and their native villages; Arellano tells his own family's stories with immense love and compassion and with a vivid eye for detail, and brings in other perspectives for a broader look at the tension between nostalgia and upward mobility.
The downside, to me, of this book is its constant casual sexism. Arellano feels the need to define pretty much every woman by her looks (an opponent of immigration, for instance, is pilloried for being "pug-faced" as much as for her opinions; Arellano bemoans his "funny-looking" adolescence, largely because that meant he was "stuck with" the "ugly girls" at dances). So if that's a turn-off for you, I'd probably advise you not to read the book. On the upside, Arellano's done a lot of research, which he brings into the narrative in lighthearted town-by-town guidebook-style entries, which even include restaurant recommendations.