Category Archives: Non-Fiction

Review: Cybill Disobedience, by Cybill Shepherd

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Cybill Disobedience
Cybill Disobedience
Cybill Shepherd
Get it from Amazon.com >>

I have to confess: I really only read Cybill Shepherd’s autobiography, Cybill Disobedience, because I saw it listed as a free digital download on KindleIQ.com, and while I do have standards, I’ll read anything from the backs of cereal boxes to eye wrinkle cream reviews if I’m doing it to test out a new toy. Or at least, the fact that it was a free download was why I began reading Shepherd’s book. She’s so honest and engaging, and funny, however, that very soon I was reading it for its own sake.

The thing about celebrity memoirs is that they’re more interesting if you have a decent working knowledge of the author’s body of work. In the case of Ms. Shepherd, I knew her from Moonlighting and the later sitcom that bore her name – Cybill, and liked both. I also remember her Loreal commercials (for hair color, not for eye wrinkle cream), and sometime in the last year she was in a Hallmark movie (or maybe it was a Lifetime movie?) about a divorced empty-nester who resumes her college education, which movie I quite liked. I knew nothing about her career in film from the decades before Moonlighting, nor had I any clue of her politics or her relationship history.

After reading the book, I was left awed by how very cool Cybill Shepherd is, politically and personally. She’s the kind of person I’d love to have as an ‘affectionate’ auntie, or stand next to in a protest march, and her book was entertaining, interesting, as candid as possible without jeopardizing the semblance of privacy her family needs, and really sort of compelling.

Goes well with sweet tea and barbecue.

Review: Fixing Freddie, by Paula Munier

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Fixing Freddie
Fixing Freddie
by Paula Munier
Visit Amazon.com for a copy of your own.

When I was offered the opportunity to review Paula Munier’s wonderful book, Fixing Freddie: a true story about a boy, a mom, and a very, very bad beagle, I was excited. I’ve been in a non-fiction mood lately, and I love dog stories, so this seemed like the perfect match for my tastes.

Like someone already skinny who is taking clinicallix to lose weight, I was not disappointed. Munier’s first person account of her marriage, divorce, cross-country move, and first foray into home ownership and puppy parenthood is told with a blend of candor and humor that felt as if she was sitting in my living room telling me about her life. I could see her son playing video games, smell the roasted chicken that the dogs (Freddie had an older friend named Shakespeare), and see Freddie’s cute face. In fact, I was so caught up in the book that I brought it into the bath with me, despite my personal policy against reading hardcovers in the tub. It was that gripping.

Maybe it’s because I have three dogs of my own, at ages 10, 3 and 1.75, two of which I’ve had since they were eight weeks old (the oldest and the youngest) that I could sympathize when Freddie escaped from the yard, got caught on a frozen lake (my dogs have all done the former; my oldest dog has fallen into the swimming pool several times), or eaten something he shouldn’t (Miss Cleo and my chihuahua, Zorro, now at the Rainbow Bridge have eaten things as diverse as an entire t-shirt, the backs of my suede shoes while I was wearing them, the string from a roast, half a London broil, a stick of butter, and, once, all the topping from a pizza, though they left the crust and closed the box when they’d finished), or maybe it’s just that in Freddie we see the lost puppy in all of us – the part of our human selves that wants someone to direct us where to go, feed and bathe us regularly, and let us curl up in a warm bed, in exchange for mere affection and coming when called.

Or maybe it’s just that any woman who’s ever dated (or married) a man can understand Munier’s frustration with that species.

Or maybe it’s because Munier’s story is universal, and boils down to the search for a safe haven and a cozy home.

Fixing Freddie may be essentially a “dog story,” but it’s also a memoir about life and love and growing up, and letting go.

Even if you’re a cat person – even if you don’t even have a pet rock – you will enjoy this book, and come away from it with a new perspective.

Goes well with: roasted chicken, and a begging dog.

Review: My Fair Lazy, by Jen Lancaster

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My Fair Lazy
My Fair Lazy
by Jen Lancaster

I’ve been a great fan of Jen Lancaster’s memoirs since before she published them, and was just another snarky blogger. I mean, even though our politics would never mesh, we’re pretty close in age, and have similar cultural landmarks because of it. It is with some regret, then, that I say I found her latest offering My Fair Lazy: One Reality Television Addict’s Attempt to Discover If Not Being A Dumb Ass Is the New Black, or, a Culture-Up Manifesto less sparkly than her previous offerings.

Maybe it’s because we’re both getting older, or maybe it’s just because Jen is funnier when she’s playing her shallow consumer act (it is an act, right? Right??) but some of this book just seemed sad to me. I mean, her voice is still as sharp as ever, but I think I’m losing interest in her version of the world.

On the other hand, I did turn into a prune while reading this book in the bath, using my toes to add alternate doses of hot and cold water. I’d have preferred to be reading it while seated on my new-this-year outdoor chair cushions, but even the best Jen Lancaster book isn’t worth sacrificing oneself to the mosquitoes for.

But yes, I will buy her next book.
Whatever that is.

But it will probably be the Kindle edition.

Retro-reading: Warped Factors by Walter Koenig

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Warped Factors

Warped Factors
by Walter Koenig

There are some celebrity autobiographies that make you kind of want to bitch-slap the authors. There are some celebrity autobiographies that make you think you should be curled up in a library with a crackling fire, smoking endless tatuaje cigars. Then there are the celebrity autobiographies that perfectly balance the behind-the-scenes, name-dropping dish we all claim to hate, but secretly crave, with the relatively candid story of a person’s life that makes them seem like a real person.

Walter Koenig’s autobiography is one of the latter kind.

I first read it several years ago when it came out, but when I was up in the Word Lounge a few weeks ago, looking for something entirely different, it caught my attention, possibly because I’d just re-read a Star Trek novel featuring the character he played. I sat down on my old blue couch to read just a few pages, and found myself, hours later, reading the last of it via booklight in bed, while my husband snored blissfully beside me.

As autobiographies go, this one, Warped Factors is free of major scandal. Instead, it’s a wry, sometimes self-deprecating glimpse into the life of a man who has a far larger body of work than most of us probably realize, and while there are some moments of bitterness in regard to his career, they’re not without provocation.

Reviewing an autobiography feels sort of like judging an actual person, which is silly, because it’s still just a glimpse. A peek.

But as glimpses and peeks go, especially if you’re any kind of classic Star Trek fan, Warped Factors is pretty good reading.

Review: Lunch in Paris, by Elizabeth Bard

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Lunch in Paris
Lunch in Paris: a Love Story, with Recipes
by Elizabeth Bard

When I picked up Elizabeth Bard’s wonderful foodie memoir, Lunch in Paris, I’m not sure what I was expecting. I mean, I knew the story of a young American woman in Paris wasn’t going to be about the side effects of diet pills or overspending with credit cards, but I think I was expecting something more like Julie and Julia.

What I got was sort of Adam Gopnik with food. This memoir begins at lunch, quickly moves to the author’s then lover’s (now husband) flat, and then into the kitchen before going back to bed. As I do, she associates food with highs and lows in her life, and has a recipe – familiar or French, sometimes both – for every milestone in her life. Her tales of going to the market are completely envy-inspiring, and her description of standing in her tiny kitchen licking the knife after making a flourless chocolate gateau are drool-worthy.

Bard is a journalist, by trade, of course, so it helps that she already knows how to hook a reader. I’ve never read any of her magazine writing, but I love her writer’s voice in this book, and really hope she does more like it. Soon.

And yes, I have tried at least one of the recipes.

Goes well with: a dry cappuccino and a single square of dark chocolate

Review: Three Cups of Tea

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Three Cups of Tea
Three Cups of Tea
by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin

I initially picked up Three Cups of Tea some time last year, in the same shopping trip that included picking up a couple of different anti aging creams for my mother, having my hair done, and spending some time alone with a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich at Barnes and Noble. I didn’t actually read it until recently, however, because it got lost in my house – so lost, that I actually picked up a second copy thinking I’d never purchased the first!

I’m glad I finally read this book though, because the story is beautiful. I mean, I disconnected a bit in the first third of the book when author Greg Mortenson, whose story this is, was living in his car to save money so he could get back to Pakistan, but by the time I got to the end of his book – which is really just the beginning of his legacy – I was completely invested in the man and his mission.

For the five people who haven’t read it, Three Cups of Tea is the story of an American mountain climber who fails to reach the summit of K2, becomes severely ill during his descent, and gets lost in a remote corner of Pakistan, where local villagers take him in, help him recover, and essentially adopt him. As thanks, he promises to return and build a school where the young women of the village can be educated. He eventually makes good on his promise, first building a bridge, then the first school, then heading a foundation with a mission of building more schools in Pakistan, all for educating women and girls, while still being respectful of local religion and customs.

And to top it all off, this is all taking place at the very beginning of the Taliban’s rise to power.

While, at times, my not-so-inner snob found her skin crawling at the less-than-pristine conditions of Mortenson’s living arrangements, I finished the book with tears in my eyes. I feel this book should be required reading for everyone, everywhere.

Goes well with: Tea and flat bread.

Review: Passage from England, by Frank Zajaczkowski

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Passage from England
Passage from England
by Frank Zajaczkowski
CreateSpace, 378 Pages
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When author Frank Zajaczkowski contacted me about reading and reviewing his memoir I was flattered – as I always am. Then I went to his website and read the excerpts posted there, and immediately I was hooked, not just by his story – his journey from a small boy in post-war England to southern California, and his other journey, less prominent in the book, but still relevant, from California to the Virgin Islands, as an adult – but also because his descriptive paragraphs have some of the best imagery I’ve read in years, though, granted, a lot of what I’ve been reading this summer is beachy novels about women with designer houses, SUVs, strings of kids, and the ability to either summer or just live on the island of Nantucket.

So Mr. Zajaczkowski’s book served as a palate cleanser, of sorts, but also as a glimpse into the recent past. That the author is the same age as my mother, who is also the child of a war veteran, also an American living abroad (in her case, Mexico, which, I suspect, shares more similarities than differences with St. Thomas, despite the long distance between them), made the story resonate with me. I felt his trepidation at being put on a train, then on a boat to America, at a young age, and cowered with him when his alcoholic father grew violent. I felt his sense of loss, and even betrayal as his brother left the family to become an actor (I won’t share what he’s done, but I confess I looked him up on IMDB after I finished the book), and even more so, at the end of the book, when the high school aged Frank and his sister are abandoned again, by their mother this time.

In between those two events – the ocean crossing and the final betrayal, there are a series of coming of age stories – seeing the Tarzan house, kissing a girl for the first time, first jobs, first cars – all seen through the slightly filmy lens of memory, but with no less impact than if they were happening now.

Interspersed among the memories are a fresher set of memories, that of the adult Frank’s move from L.A. to St. Thomas with his wife, and the frustrations tied to that process – delayed shipments of belongings, hurricanes and other storms, where to spend holidays when you no longer have a home “back home…” the list goes on.

If there are any flaws in Passage from England they are limited to a few typos that got missed in editing (it happens at all levels of publishing) and my own desire to find out what happened after the last scene – but that, I hope, will be in Zajaczkowski’s next memoir.

As to this one, I’d recommend it to anyone who is part of the “baby boomer” generation, and to those of us who are their children, to ex-pats, immigrants, and the spouses and friends thereof, and to anyone who wants to know what life was like just a few decades ago. It’s a compelling story, and a great read.

Goes well with: fish tacos and cold beer.

Review: Prairie Tale

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Prairie Tale
Prairie Tale: a Memoir
Melissa Gilbert
Gallery, 384 pages
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I’ve been a fan of Melissa Gilbert ever since the first episode of “Little House of the Prairie” first aired, but I hadn’t realized she’d published her memoir until I saw it for sale among the souvenirs of “Little House on the Prairie: the Musical” several weeks ago. I ended up buying the trade paperback version, and reading it in one night.

In Prairie Tale Gilbert starts with her childhood as a kid in pigtails going to commercial auditions, and walks us through the grittiest details of her life until now. She speaks wryly about her nervousness about the kissing scenes and love scenes with Dean Butler, who played Almanzo on the show, and candidly about her first serious relationship, with Rob Lowe. She shares her dreams, and also shares her struggle with the loss of Michael Landon, and her deeper struggles with both self esteem and alcohol. If she’d been using Lipovox, she’d have written about that too, no doubt.
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In the end, this book does what a good memoir should: it makes us feel as if we’ve had a long chat with someone we once wished we could be friends with.

Goes well with strong coffee and a slice of corn bread.

Review: The House on First Street

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The House on First Street
The House on First Street: My New Orleans Story
by Julia Reed
Harper Perennial, 224 pages
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Julia Reed’s The House on First Street: My New Orleans Story may be her memoir of the renovation of the home she buys (across the street from Anne Rice’s old place) with her husband, after many years of living in tiny, funky New Orleans rentals, and not quite cutting ties with New York, but it’s also a love story about old houses and old cities, and the magic that both offer, if you only know how to feel it.

While this book, with it’s comical (to those of us who are merely reading about it) and familiar (to any of us have gone through it) tales of slow, less-than-adequate contractors, dusty floors, paint disasters, plumbing woes and the search for the perfect appliances, fixtures (everything from the most charming door knob for an inside door, to debates about porcelain – should they use Toto toilets or some other brand?), rugs, and furniture is essentially about the relatively common practice of restoring a vintage home, it’s also a first-hand account of the aftermath of Katrina.

The hurricane struck, you see, just two weeks after Reed and her husband had finally moved into the House on First Street. They were lucky – they lost an expensive tree, and had some minor exterior damage – but their neighborhood didn’t flood. Nevertheless, Reed was in position to be in the city sooner than most of the other residents, and while she shares humorous anecdotes about buying barbecue for an entire platoon of National Guards, underlying the wry tone is the poignance of a woman who just wants to go home.

Review: Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven

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Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven
Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven
by Susan Jane Gilman
Grand Central Publishing, 320 Pages
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I read almost all of Susan Jane Gilman’s travel epic while sitting in the Mexicana Elite lounge in Mexico City about ten days ago, and on the plane trip home. I had a few hours to kill between connections, and the only other book I had left after vacation was a hardcover – not easy to read on the plane – so I began reading the novel while curled up in a lovely recliner, being served glasses of Mexican Coca Cola, and chatting (at intervals) with various Mexican businessmen – I was the only woman in the room, and every time one of them moved, they offered to get me something. I felt very popular, but there was nothing sexual in it, just sincere graciousness.

It’s interesting reading a travelogue while traveling yourself. This book, about the author’s backpacking trip through the People’s Republic of China after her college graduation, about “ten minutes after” Westerners were allowed into the country had that “out of the world” quality that really good romances do, but it’s not at all romantic (well, bits of it are), it’s more nitty-gritty psychodrama, for Suzie (as she was known then) develops a cold that slowly builds to pneumonia almost immediately after leaving Hong Kong, and Claire becomes convinced she’s an International Spy with Serious Enemies – really convinced.

While this book is a memoir, it reads like an epic novel – adventure, fear, great escapes, and true friends in unexpected places, all show up. In fact, about the only thing not mentioned is where you can buy off-label extenze, and that’s only because it had yet to be invented.

Read this book. Then take a long hot bath.

Goes well with Chinese takeout and steaming hot tea. Or banana chocolate chip pancakes.