how to be a movie star, what the dog saw
Yesterday I mentioned that I was going to start using LJ to chronicle all the books I read this year, a project for which I am -- on day 22 of the year -- already behind. Not a very auspicious beginning.
I was between jobs from December 22 to January 12, which was prime time for reading. I honestly thought I would get through more, but when you take a look at all the cooking magazines I read (Cooking Light, Bon Appetit, Food & Wine, Cook's Illustrated), there's not a whole lot of room for books!
Sometime in November of last year, I started reading How To Be A Movie Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood. It should be noted that I'm not a particular fan of hers, and am not even very curious about her life. That's probably why I didn't finish it until right at the end of my vacation. But I do love myths about the old-school Hollywood studio system, and it's no secret that I'm a sucker for the pictures that inevitably go along with a biography like this one. (Pictures I could find through Google in about two seconds. I guess I'm still old-fashioned about these things.)
In terms of Hollywood biographies, I don't have a lot to compare this one to. The only other I was seduced by off the bookstore shelf was She Always Knew How: Mae West, A Personal Biography. Mae was more of a mystery to me than Elizabeth, so it was an easier read. Both bios left me with a gross feeling, though, due to the sycophantic way the authors fawned and fluffed and flattered. I don't know why I was expecting unbiased reporting.
The Taylor biography peters out in the 60s. There is a single-page summary of her last two marriages, and no comment about her declining health or her notorious friendship with Michael Jackson. I get it. Elizabeth Taylor isn't very intriguing once she's old and frail, and it would definitely be a let-down to read 400+ pages about her being the sexiest woman alive, and then be faced with what she's become. Plus, it extends the shelf life of this thing. Personally, I wanted it to be glamorous AND gritty. I always thought Liz Taylor was a real broad. Here, she's just a gorgeous, gay-loving, man-stealing, greedy bitch. All good things! But more shiny than I was looking for.
On the day after Christmas, I put aside Liz for Malcolm Gladwell's What The Dog Saw and Other Adventures. I have not read Gladwell before. For reasons I can't explain, I've also chosen not to listen to any of his NPR interviews, or, really, to listen to any of the buzz about him at all. I actually thought he was an economist. No joke.
But I really, really enjoyed this collection of essays from the New Yorker. The one exception, actually, might be the eponymous story, which is the whole reason I was given this book for Christmas! Like most other dog owners, I am DYING to know the secret behind Cesar Milan. And I thought, "finally! here it is!" That story is (seemingly) the shortest one. It teases with details of how Cesar's wife put him in therapy, because he didn't know how to love humans more than -- or even equal to -- his dogs. Gladwell believes Cesar is the real deal, even without editing. But he can't tell us HOW CESAR DOES IT. Which is maddening.
I also dug chapters on the differences between panic and choking, between a puzzle and a mystery. I was fascinated by the story about the ineffectiveness of mammograms -- even more so when I found out that a friend will potentially be involved in a large clinical breast cancer study, and could back up Gladwell's thesis. I just. I dunno. I liked him. I guess I have to read The Tipping Point now. I feel like such a sellout!
In my gym bag right now: Where The God of Love Hangs Out by Amy Bloom. I'm already about halfway through, and I've already gotten weepy twice. Amy Bloom is my favorite modern author, right there with Alice Munro. I'm sure I'll wrap this one up by the weekend, so more later.
I was between jobs from December 22 to January 12, which was prime time for reading. I honestly thought I would get through more, but when you take a look at all the cooking magazines I read (Cooking Light, Bon Appetit, Food & Wine, Cook's Illustrated), there's not a whole lot of room for books!
Sometime in November of last year, I started reading How To Be A Movie Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood. It should be noted that I'm not a particular fan of hers, and am not even very curious about her life. That's probably why I didn't finish it until right at the end of my vacation. But I do love myths about the old-school Hollywood studio system, and it's no secret that I'm a sucker for the pictures that inevitably go along with a biography like this one. (Pictures I could find through Google in about two seconds. I guess I'm still old-fashioned about these things.)
In terms of Hollywood biographies, I don't have a lot to compare this one to. The only other I was seduced by off the bookstore shelf was She Always Knew How: Mae West, A Personal Biography. Mae was more of a mystery to me than Elizabeth, so it was an easier read. Both bios left me with a gross feeling, though, due to the sycophantic way the authors fawned and fluffed and flattered. I don't know why I was expecting unbiased reporting.
The Taylor biography peters out in the 60s. There is a single-page summary of her last two marriages, and no comment about her declining health or her notorious friendship with Michael Jackson. I get it. Elizabeth Taylor isn't very intriguing once she's old and frail, and it would definitely be a let-down to read 400+ pages about her being the sexiest woman alive, and then be faced with what she's become. Plus, it extends the shelf life of this thing. Personally, I wanted it to be glamorous AND gritty. I always thought Liz Taylor was a real broad. Here, she's just a gorgeous, gay-loving, man-stealing, greedy bitch. All good things! But more shiny than I was looking for.
On the day after Christmas, I put aside Liz for Malcolm Gladwell's What The Dog Saw and Other Adventures. I have not read Gladwell before. For reasons I can't explain, I've also chosen not to listen to any of his NPR interviews, or, really, to listen to any of the buzz about him at all. I actually thought he was an economist. No joke.
But I really, really enjoyed this collection of essays from the New Yorker. The one exception, actually, might be the eponymous story, which is the whole reason I was given this book for Christmas! Like most other dog owners, I am DYING to know the secret behind Cesar Milan. And I thought, "finally! here it is!" That story is (seemingly) the shortest one. It teases with details of how Cesar's wife put him in therapy, because he didn't know how to love humans more than -- or even equal to -- his dogs. Gladwell believes Cesar is the real deal, even without editing. But he can't tell us HOW CESAR DOES IT. Which is maddening.
I also dug chapters on the differences between panic and choking, between a puzzle and a mystery. I was fascinated by the story about the ineffectiveness of mammograms -- even more so when I found out that a friend will potentially be involved in a large clinical breast cancer study, and could back up Gladwell's thesis. I just. I dunno. I liked him. I guess I have to read The Tipping Point now. I feel like such a sellout!
In my gym bag right now: Where The God of Love Hangs Out by Amy Bloom. I'm already about halfway through, and I've already gotten weepy twice. Amy Bloom is my favorite modern author, right there with Alice Munro. I'm sure I'll wrap this one up by the weekend, so more later.