There’s no reason this book should be funny. There’s every reason it shouldn’t be: Judd’s father has just died, his wife has just left him for his boss, he’s (therefore) jobless, and his entire family is dysfunctional as all heck.
And now I’ve just explained why this book is so blasted hilarious.
Judd’s father’s last wish was for his family to sit shiva. So Judd, wry sister Wendy, bitter older brother Paul, and lovable loser of a little brother Phillip return to their childhood home to be penned up with their larger-than-life therapist mother for seven days. All of them have complicated love lives, and everyone except Judd has a spouse or girlfriend who creates their own special drama—as if there weren’t enough already. This book’s got it all: fistfights, grown men smoking in the boys’ room (and setting off the fire alarm), marital infidelity, darling children learning how to swear without saying the words, romantic confusion all over the place, and people sitting on the roof (and falling off it). Through it all, Judd’s straight-man narration and dry sense of humor make the whole thing terribly funny, even when it’s terribly serious. These people are so imperfect, a near-perfect book was practically guaranteed.
Anyway, back to our story… Here Smith focuses on the presidencies of FDR and Truman, and we get a vivid look at the life of a correspondent during those (rather wild) days, back when average old citizens had access to the White House without having to request a tour 6 months in advance from their senator or representative. And it sounds like liquid lunches were just as common then as in the Mad Men days…
The chapter titled “The Boss” is a terrific portrait of FDR, which acknowledges that the man truly was inscrutable, but then proceeds to convey a clear picture of how Smith perceived him. And Smith was a keen observer of humans, so this character study is a fascinating thing to read.
Smith’s description of the day FDR died is gripping. It’s also strikingly incomplete.
First, the gripping part—Before even hearing the announcement, Smith had grabbed a phone because he knew, having been summoned to the Warm Springs Foundation, that the news was going to be big. His dialogue, calling Washington D.C., to report the news, is interspersed with William Hassett’s announcement of FDR’s death. When Smith screams, “Flash!” into the phone, it’s perfectly shocking. (I am grateful that journalists do what they do. And that they have the fortitude to do this work.)
Here’s the incomplete part—Nowhere does Smith mention that Lucy Mercer was in Warm Springs with FDR when he died. Smith was of that generation of journalists.
Smith is frank about his reaction to Truman’s assuming the presidency—stating that he found it difficult to think of him as the president at first. But he seems to have developed a true appreciation for him. He says that the biggest difference between Roosevelt and Truman could be summed up like this: “Franklin D. Roosevelt was for the people. Harry S. Truman is of the people.” (p. 218) I like that.
Smith went on to be one of the reporters present when JFK was assassinated.
Smith wrote another grand book called Merriman Smith’s Book of the Presidents, which is simply a splendid thing: behind-the-scenes and light in tone.
Blowing My Cover: My Life as a CIA Spy by Lindsay Moran
In stark contrast to Valerie Plame Wilson’s book Fair Game, with its somber tone, Blowing My Cover is a lighthearted romp. In Wilson’s book, she comments that she is surprised that Moran was able to include so much detail about CIA training in Blowing My Cover. I confess that I felt pleased (and, yes, a small bit smug) to think that I already had Moran’s book in my pile of books to read—and opened it the minute I finished Wilson’s book (which had consumed my full attention while I was reading it—this is a rare situation for me, so kudos to Wilson.)
Again, in contrast to Wilson’s story, Moran’s account of her days in the CIA had me laughing out loud occasionally. Moran is not shy about poking fun at herself, and there are many ridiculous situations there she recounts with great humor. Some of the scenes at the Farm, during her training, are downright hilarious. But she also describes the loneliness of keeping secrets, being separated from family and friends, and lying to protect her cover. A startlingly frank account of a remarkable young woman’s experience as a spy.
Washington Schlepped Here: Walking in the Nation’s Capital by Christopher Buckley
A pure delight. That’s what this book is. A delight. And if you watched the inauguration coverage this week, you saw some of the terrain it covers.
I listened to this book—it’s a little thing, only 3 CDs in length—and it’s nothing but good. I’ve actually listened to it three times now: once just for fun, once in preparation for a trip to Washington D.C., and one more time just because. Buckley confesses to being no expert on D.C., but he gathers the good stuff from the various books about the city and its history, and he wraps it up in the nicest little gift-wrapping and presents it to us. The book is set up as a guide to a few walking tours, and I found that I could “walk” along with him in my head, both before and after my recent trip to Washington. The “walking tour” format is really actually only a device that allows Buckley to string together the interesting facts and anecdotes related to various Washington sites—including some anecdotes about his days working in the OEOB, facts about the Capitol, the story of the building of the Washington Monument (and why it took so long), and the story of Pierre L’Enfant.
The only down side I found is that Buckley is, of course, a partisan, and he occasionally lapses into a brief, snarky comment about the left—which was out-of-step with the light tone of the rest of the book. It’s a minor thing, though, given his wonderful sense of humor and the joy he takes in his adopted city. He loves Washington, D.C.; I love Washington, D.C.; how can you not love Washington, D.C.?
Josie is a young-ish mother whose work on her thesis has stalled out. Meanwhile, her husband Peter’s academic career is skyrocketing, and he appears to be on the verge of canoodling with a colleague. So Josie’s life is beginning a downward spiral when she seizes the opportunity to work as the researcher for a celebrity biographer who is preparing to write about Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. While Peter is away due to his work, Josie and their adorable young son Henry move in with her mother. Since the new man in her mother’s life is a newly released felon, Josie has one more worry to add to her list. But when she begins her research, Josie discovers some surprising similarities between her life and that of Jackie Kennedy – and she is inspired by Jackie’s grace. If you like Elinor Lipman and Jeanne Ray, give Caroline Preston a try. This book stands out because of its light tone, charm, and occasional hilarious moments.
It takes a lot to make me laugh out loud, and this audiobook had me roaring on multiple occasions. My land, Bill Bryson can tell a tale; and my land, he can turn a phrase. I’m not a fan of the travelogue, so this book was a departure for me – and I’m so glad I went. Bryson’s good-spirited story of his travels in Australia is a hoot and a holler. The author reads the book himself, and his droll tone and occasional ecstatic exclamations add to the glory of this book. I’ve read and listened to other works by Bryson, but this one is my favorite.