The return of Felis Catus, var. lector
Given the extent to which both cats and books are scattered about my home, it is inevitable, given the mobility of the cats and the immobility of the books, that the cats should get around to reading them. I've been over this before, but that was a while ago, and so it bears repeating: Cats read using delicate organs located under their belly fur, which is why they can absorb printed material merely by lying upon, even if they seem to be asleep at the time. This means, of course, that if you see your cat asleep on top of a book, magazine or newspaper, it's best to assume that they are assimilating the text at the same time they are napping, and not interrupt their intellectual activities.
I've had trouble keeping track of everything the resident felines here have read in the past several months. However, they had a brief discussion among themselves the other day, and here's their update, from their own lips, so to speak.
Bob: Does anyone know where Fidelio moved The Savannah Cookbook to? Because I hadn't finished with the seafood section.
Minerva: I think it's over there in that stack, unless she sent it off to her mother, along with Imagined London.
Bob: No, I investigated that package carefully. The other book was The Rose and The Briar, and while it may be OK, she doesn't need to bring in any more books by Greil Marcus.
Minerva: I kind of liked that one, although since he edited it, rather than writing it all his ownself, there's a little less Berkeley Free Speech Movement Changed My Life than usual. I have to say, when I was reading Lipstick Traces and The Dustbin of History I kept getting the urge to holler "Testify!" when he wandered away from the music writing and got into his personal development. But the ballad book is pretty good, and when Fidelio gets it back you might want to take a look at it. There's a cartoon by R. Crumb in it!
Bob: Who is R. Crumb?
Minerva: Kid, you know how to use Google. Go and look him up. R. Crumb matters, all right? Take my word for it, or I'll read selections from Mystery Train to you, like maybe the Presliad.
Bob: Please. Just don't. I'll have to go listen to The Ramones again, just because.
(Bob wanders over to the stack of books indicated, and locates the cookbook in it. With a careful shove, the stack topples and he's able to lounge upon his volume of choice.) Was Imagined London any good?
Minerva: Depends on how you feel about English literature and memoirs.
Bob: (yawns mightily) Memoirs? That was a memoir?
Minerva: Well, it was restrained and tactful, and more about the books, you know. I'm wondering now if there's a chance we can get Fidelio to pick up some Galsworthy, just to sample, you know. There's a copy of Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson around here somewhere, and I suppose I could start with that, since Fidelio doesn't have much Dickens. It certainly wasn't in the (makes hairball-horking sound) annoyance range of Simon Winchester.
Bob: Whatever. Maybe when it comes back, I'll take a look at it.
Minerva: I'm surprised you didn't get to it before Fidelio packed it up; it's been lying around here since she got back from Baltimore.
Bob: Well, to be honest, I figured it hadn't been moved since she unpacked, so it wasn't likely to any time soon. Have you taken a look at the stuff in that big box from the book club?
Minerva: Ask Jemmy, he supervised the unpacking so he could sit in the box afterwards.
(They both look at Jemmy, who is drowsing fitfully on top of a copy of Marshalling the Faithful)
Minerva: Ooooohhhhhhh, Jemmy...Jemmy...WAKEUPYOUANNOYINGREPROBATEANDMORALDISGRACEWENEEDTOTALKTOYOU!!!!
(Jemmy rolls off his book and awakens)
(Jemmy stretches, at length)
Jemmy: Thank you. That was painful enough I was beginning to be afraid I'd wake up with a crick in my spine. (He stretches some more.)
Bob: Is that a scary book? (His eyes become very large, and his tail-tip twitches.)
Jemmy: It's a book about the US Marine Corps' involvement in the early stages of the Vietnam War. it was written by a Marine.
Minerva: And?
Jemmy: He is not a natural writer. He appears to operate with no sure knowledge of usage and complex syntax, except when he gives in and looks something up in Strunk and White, and then you wish he hadn't, because then he tries to be so correct that he expresses himself even more awkwardly, and there is no life left in it, and you wish he'd go back to abusing English sentence construction and vocabulary. The fate of the subordinate clauses--it's sad, very sad. But it's a great story. And he cares a lot, so I can forgive him for the subordinate clauses and things.
Bob: But it's not written so badly that you can't tell what's going on?
Jemmy: No, you just kind of wish you had opposable thumbs and a blue pencil so as to fix things as you go along. Was that what you woke me up for?
Minerva: No, we wanted to know whether there was anything good in the box of books Fidelio got the other day.
Jemmy: Boxes. There was more than one. Let's see--she got some more copies of A Love Affair With Southern Cooking
Bob: I love that book! Now I won't have to fight with Minerva when we both want to read it at the same time. Anything else.
Jemmy: There was At War With the Wind, which is more World War II stuff. It's all about the Japanese suicide bombers. It's not bad; I think the author wanders about a lot between trying to write a formal history, and wanting to make it an eyewitness history. You can tell the editor lost a few rounds--or else that it wasn't edited at all, except for spelling and such.
Minerva: Really?
Jemmy: Well, there's this introduction, all about the USS Cole being attacked in Yemen, which is somehow supposed to tie into the World War II suicide attacks, but is a little all over the place, like it was added after the main part of the book was mostly all written, because everything is all about the Great War on Terror these days. A good editor would either have made Sears tighten that up, or take it out. Then, in this book on the war in the Pacific, are a couple-three paragraphs about the use of landing craft at the Normandy D-Day, which really left me grooming myself and going WTF? They really don't edit books anymore at all, apparently. I can see why Sears kept getting back to the first-hand accounts, though, since more and more of these old veterans are dying off all the time, and their personal accounts matter a lot. I mean, reading stuff like this, you can see why the first President Bush decided not to go to Baghdad. The ones who've seen a war aren't in as much of a hurry to have more. Sears even includes accounts from some of the men who were trained as suicide pilots, which is pretty cool.
Bob: How do you know so much about editing, anyway?
Jemmy: I read Making Book before Fidelio carried it off to the back room. There's an essay on there which demolishes American Psycho pretty comprehensively, and another one that's a house guide for copy editors.
Bob: Would I like American Psycho? It sounds scary.
Minerva: I remember that essay, and it mostly sounds stupid.
Jemmy: There's not a copy in the house, so we'll never know. I haven't really managed to get into any of the other things in the box--just some browsing. I did get to read the book Fidelio borrowed from stringwoman, A Perfect Red. That wasn't too bad, although I'd like to have had more about the Aztecs and all those guys.
Bob: What's it about?
Jemmy: Well, it's about these bugs the Precolumbian Mexicans used to make red dye, and how the Europeans went crazy over it.
Bob: Wait, bugs are good for something besides momentary diversion? Who knew? How do you tell if you have a valuable red-dye bug instead of just an ordinary bug?
Jemmy: They live on cactus plants, so I don't expect we'll see any around the house. Fidelio won't let us have plants, since we eat them and puke up on things she values.
Minerva: She's so unreasonable about that. It's like all these copies of The Joy of Cooking.
Bob: Wait, that's OK. They're all different editions. See, the blue one is the last one old Mrs. Rombauer wrote, and the skinny one is a reprint of the very first one, and then there's the 75th anniversary edition, which removed all the stuff people didn't like from the one where they dragged in all the professional cookbook writers after Mrs. Becker died, and--
(he stops as the others stare at him). Look, it makes sense when you think about it. Um, has Fidelio brought home any more chicklit?
Minerva: No, unless you count Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear.
Jemmy: Hell and Earth was good, especially if you're into caper stories, or new takes on historical fiction. I have to say, Seven for a Secret was scanty. Good, but scanty.
(Zaza wanders in)
Zaza: Sort of like your good sense?
Jemmy: Oh, snap. No, it was just scanty.
Zaza: That's why it's a novella, dude. You want lengthy fiction, go park yourself over on the Barry Hughart omnibus. Once you get past the proofreading and typesetting fail, it's all good. The Bear was good too, even if it was short, and it makes pretty good sense even if you haven't read New Amsterdam. But it's fraught.
Minerva: Well, it's an Elizabeth Bear book. Go figure.
Jemmy: But how does it all, you know, turn out? I kind of want to know, if you get my drift.
Zaza: I am sure that if we are meant to know, we'll find out eventually.
Jemmy: You mean Bear hasn't a clue herself how it comes out.
Zaza: Well, we can be pretty sure about the old lady...
Bob: No spoilers!
Zaza: Did you get around to Corambis yet, or must we hedge everything we say about it as well?
Bob: No, I'm good. I have to say, I'm amazed that it ended without any more carnage, and that Felix didn't manged to screw things up for everyone else, as usual.
Minerva: Word. You know how Fidelio talks about people who, if you locked them in a room full of nothing but good choices, would kick the door down so they could run out and find a bad choice instead? Felix, totally.
Bob: The machines were scary.
Minerva: What's this with you and scary stuff?
Bob: Well, first I read Heart-shaped Box, and then I read The Bone Key. It's not, you know, that I'm really scared. but, now that I know some books are scary, I'd like to know before I start reading, if you know what I mean. So I can be ready for it.
Jemmy: Riiiiight.
Minerva: Well, that's understandable. Because if I had known that new Mark Bittman was a vegetarian cookbook, I'd have kipped on another book.
Jemmy: Surely the title was a giveaway?
Minerva: Fidelio left the book lying upside down. I didn't realize what was up until I noticed that not a single one of the bean recipes had pork in it anywhere. I had to go lie on that James Beard for a while to recover.
Zaza: So, who's up for knocking over the stack by the computer table, so we can get at the books in it?
Jemmy: Go for it. I have my eye on the pile on top of the television. There's one up there on the Napoleonic Wars I thought looked interesting when Fidelio unpacked it, plus there's the stack by the couch, with the American Revolution book in it.
Minerva: Allow me, you all. There isn't a stack of books piled up I can't bring down faster than anyone here.
Jemmy: Not to be a hater, girl, but I'm not sure you can make it to the top of the TV set.
Minerva: I've done it before--all I have to do is go by way of stringwoman's loom, the same as the rest of you. Allez-OOP!
I've had trouble keeping track of everything the resident felines here have read in the past several months. However, they had a brief discussion among themselves the other day, and here's their update, from their own lips, so to speak.
Bob: Does anyone know where Fidelio moved The Savannah Cookbook to? Because I hadn't finished with the seafood section.
Minerva: I think it's over there in that stack, unless she sent it off to her mother, along with Imagined London.
Bob: No, I investigated that package carefully. The other book was The Rose and The Briar, and while it may be OK, she doesn't need to bring in any more books by Greil Marcus.
Minerva: I kind of liked that one, although since he edited it, rather than writing it all his ownself, there's a little less Berkeley Free Speech Movement Changed My Life than usual. I have to say, when I was reading Lipstick Traces and The Dustbin of History I kept getting the urge to holler "Testify!" when he wandered away from the music writing and got into his personal development. But the ballad book is pretty good, and when Fidelio gets it back you might want to take a look at it. There's a cartoon by R. Crumb in it!
Bob: Who is R. Crumb?
Minerva: Kid, you know how to use Google. Go and look him up. R. Crumb matters, all right? Take my word for it, or I'll read selections from Mystery Train to you, like maybe the Presliad.
Bob: Please. Just don't. I'll have to go listen to The Ramones again, just because.
(Bob wanders over to the stack of books indicated, and locates the cookbook in it. With a careful shove, the stack topples and he's able to lounge upon his volume of choice.) Was Imagined London any good?
Minerva: Depends on how you feel about English literature and memoirs.
Bob: (yawns mightily) Memoirs? That was a memoir?
Minerva: Well, it was restrained and tactful, and more about the books, you know. I'm wondering now if there's a chance we can get Fidelio to pick up some Galsworthy, just to sample, you know. There's a copy of Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson around here somewhere, and I suppose I could start with that, since Fidelio doesn't have much Dickens. It certainly wasn't in the (makes hairball-horking sound) annoyance range of Simon Winchester.
Bob: Whatever. Maybe when it comes back, I'll take a look at it.
Minerva: I'm surprised you didn't get to it before Fidelio packed it up; it's been lying around here since she got back from Baltimore.
Bob: Well, to be honest, I figured it hadn't been moved since she unpacked, so it wasn't likely to any time soon. Have you taken a look at the stuff in that big box from the book club?
Minerva: Ask Jemmy, he supervised the unpacking so he could sit in the box afterwards.
(They both look at Jemmy, who is drowsing fitfully on top of a copy of Marshalling the Faithful)
Minerva: Ooooohhhhhhh, Jemmy...Jemmy...WAKEUPYOUANNOYINGREPROBATEANDMORALDISGRACEWENEEDTOTALKTOYOU!!!!
(Jemmy rolls off his book and awakens)
(Jemmy stretches, at length)
Jemmy: Thank you. That was painful enough I was beginning to be afraid I'd wake up with a crick in my spine. (He stretches some more.)
Bob: Is that a scary book? (His eyes become very large, and his tail-tip twitches.)
Jemmy: It's a book about the US Marine Corps' involvement in the early stages of the Vietnam War. it was written by a Marine.
Minerva: And?
Jemmy: He is not a natural writer. He appears to operate with no sure knowledge of usage and complex syntax, except when he gives in and looks something up in Strunk and White, and then you wish he hadn't, because then he tries to be so correct that he expresses himself even more awkwardly, and there is no life left in it, and you wish he'd go back to abusing English sentence construction and vocabulary. The fate of the subordinate clauses--it's sad, very sad. But it's a great story. And he cares a lot, so I can forgive him for the subordinate clauses and things.
Bob: But it's not written so badly that you can't tell what's going on?
Jemmy: No, you just kind of wish you had opposable thumbs and a blue pencil so as to fix things as you go along. Was that what you woke me up for?
Minerva: No, we wanted to know whether there was anything good in the box of books Fidelio got the other day.
Jemmy: Boxes. There was more than one. Let's see--she got some more copies of A Love Affair With Southern Cooking
Bob: I love that book! Now I won't have to fight with Minerva when we both want to read it at the same time. Anything else.
Jemmy: There was At War With the Wind, which is more World War II stuff. It's all about the Japanese suicide bombers. It's not bad; I think the author wanders about a lot between trying to write a formal history, and wanting to make it an eyewitness history. You can tell the editor lost a few rounds--or else that it wasn't edited at all, except for spelling and such.
Minerva: Really?
Jemmy: Well, there's this introduction, all about the USS Cole being attacked in Yemen, which is somehow supposed to tie into the World War II suicide attacks, but is a little all over the place, like it was added after the main part of the book was mostly all written, because everything is all about the Great War on Terror these days. A good editor would either have made Sears tighten that up, or take it out. Then, in this book on the war in the Pacific, are a couple-three paragraphs about the use of landing craft at the Normandy D-Day, which really left me grooming myself and going WTF? They really don't edit books anymore at all, apparently. I can see why Sears kept getting back to the first-hand accounts, though, since more and more of these old veterans are dying off all the time, and their personal accounts matter a lot. I mean, reading stuff like this, you can see why the first President Bush decided not to go to Baghdad. The ones who've seen a war aren't in as much of a hurry to have more. Sears even includes accounts from some of the men who were trained as suicide pilots, which is pretty cool.
Bob: How do you know so much about editing, anyway?
Jemmy: I read Making Book before Fidelio carried it off to the back room. There's an essay on there which demolishes American Psycho pretty comprehensively, and another one that's a house guide for copy editors.
Bob: Would I like American Psycho? It sounds scary.
Minerva: I remember that essay, and it mostly sounds stupid.
Jemmy: There's not a copy in the house, so we'll never know. I haven't really managed to get into any of the other things in the box--just some browsing. I did get to read the book Fidelio borrowed from stringwoman, A Perfect Red. That wasn't too bad, although I'd like to have had more about the Aztecs and all those guys.
Bob: What's it about?
Jemmy: Well, it's about these bugs the Precolumbian Mexicans used to make red dye, and how the Europeans went crazy over it.
Bob: Wait, bugs are good for something besides momentary diversion? Who knew? How do you tell if you have a valuable red-dye bug instead of just an ordinary bug?
Jemmy: They live on cactus plants, so I don't expect we'll see any around the house. Fidelio won't let us have plants, since we eat them and puke up on things she values.
Minerva: She's so unreasonable about that. It's like all these copies of The Joy of Cooking.
Bob: Wait, that's OK. They're all different editions. See, the blue one is the last one old Mrs. Rombauer wrote, and the skinny one is a reprint of the very first one, and then there's the 75th anniversary edition, which removed all the stuff people didn't like from the one where they dragged in all the professional cookbook writers after Mrs. Becker died, and--
(he stops as the others stare at him). Look, it makes sense when you think about it. Um, has Fidelio brought home any more chicklit?
Minerva: No, unless you count Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear.
Jemmy: Hell and Earth was good, especially if you're into caper stories, or new takes on historical fiction. I have to say, Seven for a Secret was scanty. Good, but scanty.
(Zaza wanders in)
Zaza: Sort of like your good sense?
Jemmy: Oh, snap. No, it was just scanty.
Zaza: That's why it's a novella, dude. You want lengthy fiction, go park yourself over on the Barry Hughart omnibus. Once you get past the proofreading and typesetting fail, it's all good. The Bear was good too, even if it was short, and it makes pretty good sense even if you haven't read New Amsterdam. But it's fraught.
Minerva: Well, it's an Elizabeth Bear book. Go figure.
Jemmy: But how does it all, you know, turn out? I kind of want to know, if you get my drift.
Zaza: I am sure that if we are meant to know, we'll find out eventually.
Jemmy: You mean Bear hasn't a clue herself how it comes out.
Zaza: Well, we can be pretty sure about the old lady...
Bob: No spoilers!
Zaza: Did you get around to Corambis yet, or must we hedge everything we say about it as well?
Bob: No, I'm good. I have to say, I'm amazed that it ended without any more carnage, and that Felix didn't manged to screw things up for everyone else, as usual.
Minerva: Word. You know how Fidelio talks about people who, if you locked them in a room full of nothing but good choices, would kick the door down so they could run out and find a bad choice instead? Felix, totally.
Bob: The machines were scary.
Minerva: What's this with you and scary stuff?
Bob: Well, first I read Heart-shaped Box, and then I read The Bone Key. It's not, you know, that I'm really scared. but, now that I know some books are scary, I'd like to know before I start reading, if you know what I mean. So I can be ready for it.
Jemmy: Riiiiight.
Minerva: Well, that's understandable. Because if I had known that new Mark Bittman was a vegetarian cookbook, I'd have kipped on another book.
Jemmy: Surely the title was a giveaway?
Minerva: Fidelio left the book lying upside down. I didn't realize what was up until I noticed that not a single one of the bean recipes had pork in it anywhere. I had to go lie on that James Beard for a while to recover.
Zaza: So, who's up for knocking over the stack by the computer table, so we can get at the books in it?
Jemmy: Go for it. I have my eye on the pile on top of the television. There's one up there on the Napoleonic Wars I thought looked interesting when Fidelio unpacked it, plus there's the stack by the couch, with the American Revolution book in it.
Minerva: Allow me, you all. There isn't a stack of books piled up I can't bring down faster than anyone here.
Jemmy: Not to be a hater, girl, but I'm not sure you can make it to the top of the TV set.
Minerva: I've done it before--all I have to do is go by way of stringwoman's loom, the same as the rest of you. Allez-OOP!