Lucy Reviews .... That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo

It's been an exciting week here at LEBSAB. I'm proud to finally unveil a new, semi-regular feature that I really hope will take off and catapult me into the superstardom only enjoyed by Ms. Michiko Kakutani (who will undoubtedly become my archrival). It's entitled "Lucy Reviews ....", and I hope to make it at least a bi-weekly column. So here's the deal. Ever since I launched this blog, publishers have been beating down my door begging me to review their books. They flattered, they bribed, and they cajoled. All I would hear day in and day out is "Mr. King would really appreciate a kind word from you" or "Mr. Bolano's ghost has been pestering us to contact you about his newly translated novel." I put them all off. Until now. That's right, yours truly now has a respectable career: that of a book reviewer.

For my inaugural column, I'll be reviewing Richard Russo's That Old Cape Magic published by Knopf and available for purchase on August 4, 2009. But before I start, I'd like to say thanks to Sonya at Knopf for sending me an advance copy.

Also, I'd like to comment on this totally awesome cover. It immediately tells you that this will be unlike any of Richard Russo's other novels. Also, it inspired me to learn to sit in chairs (see below).

So, anyway, I think a quick synopsis is in order. That Old Cape Magic is about Jack Griffin, a middle-aged college professor whose own marriage is crumbling as he reflects on his own life and prepares for his only daughter's wedding. Pretty vanilla, huh? That's what I thought too, until punches started getting thrown, cars started crashing, and elderly, wheelchair bound people started getting flung into trees.

To be fair, That Old Cape Magic is not Empire Falls, Nobody's Fool, or even The Risk Pool. But that shouldn't stop you from checking it out. It may not be Russo's masterpiece, but it is almost certainly funnier than anything else he has ever written, even Straight Man. My biggest piece of advice to you is that you should stick with this book. It gets off to a slow start, but really picks up.

One of the central themes of That Old Cape Magic really hit home for me. Much of Jack's problems revolve around his own parents' behavior (both past and present) and I can totally see how this can mess someone up for life. For instance, just the other day, I was crawling around with a fly swatter I found under the couch in one hand and a Kong ball covered with Bailey's slobber in the other. My mommy was trying to clean up the living room and all the blocks I had thrown everywhere, so I figured this was a great time to crawl over to Bailey's water dish and play in it. When mommy finally noticed, she screamed and took the fly swatter away from me, gave the Kong ball back to Bailey, and told me that I was not allowed to play in the water dish. Ever. I swear, sometimes the woman just won't let me have any fun!

Jack's memories don't go back this far, but I bet the underlying issue with his parents is something akin to the fly swatter incident of the other day. So I really want my mommy to read this book -- then maybe she'll change her ways and let me play with fly swatters or sit in Bailey's water bowl.

I give this book 8.5 rattles out of 10. Mr. Russo, if you are reading, I would like to note that I deducted .5 rattles due to the multiple instances where you disparage the midwest generally, and Indiana specifically. Come visit and you'll see that we're about more than corn and obesity. We've also got casinos. And property tax issues.

Stay tuned, because I have a lot of exciting things going on. I want to tell you all about the LEBSAB Neighborhood Outreach Program I started, and I should be back next week with a review of Pete Dexter's Spooner, due in bookstores in late September.

Also, maybe I can convince Knopf to send me a copy of Pat Conroy's South of Broad to review for early August. Sonya? How can you say no to this face?

The freedom of birds is an insult to me, too!!

The other day, my mommy took me to the zoo. You know what the best part was? It wasn't the monkeys. It wasn't the dolphins. It wasn't the lions. And it wasn't the horses. No, the best part was that all of these animals were in cages for my viewing pleasure. It brought to mind the following passage from Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian:

- The freedom of birds is an insult to me. I'd have them all in zoos.

- That would be a [heck] of a zoo.

The judge smiled. Yes, he said. Even so.

I totally agree with this! But enough about Cormac McCarthy and Judge Holden (who, I should note, was called the 'most frightening villain in all of American literature' by critic Harold Bloom). What I really want to tell you about is the new friend I made at the zoo. His name is Mr. Giraffe. He's pictured above, though I really can't tell him apart from Ned, his golfing buddy (also pictured above).

What follows is a rough transcript of our encounter.

Mr. Giraffe: Hello there. I am Mr. Giraffe.

Lucy: And my name is Human Baby. Why don't you level with me and tell me your real name, fella?

Mr. Giraffe (sadly): Mr. Giraffe is my real name.

Lucy: Really?

Mr. Giraffe: Yes. When the zoo people captured me in Africa, they thought it would be a good joke until someone could think of a real name. But Mr. Giraffe just kind of stuck.

Lucy: Wait, wait. Back up. You were captured? With a big net or what?

Mr. Giraffe: Well, it wasn't quite that simple. You see, the zoo people are tricky. They lured me into a clearing with the promise of acacia leaves. And then they shot me with a tranquilizer and dragged me onto a big truck. Next thing I know, I'm on a ship to America.

Lucy (eyes wide): That. Is. Awesome.

Mr. Giraffe: Well, not really. They took me away from my family and--

Lucy: Can you do any tricks? Like bounce a ball on your nose? Or maybe dance?

Mr. Giraffe: What? No. Giraffes don't do tricks. We're intelligent creatures that refuse to be humiliat--

Lucy (narrows eyes): Do a trick.

Mr. Giraffe: No.

Lucy: Do a trick or I'll tell everyone you bit me. And then they'll be shooting a lot more than tranquilizer into you.

Mr. Giraffe: That's preposterous. No would believe --

Lucy: An adorable little baby? Do a trick.

Mr. Giraffe: I will do no such thing.

Lucy: Fine. Have it your way. I wonder what giraffe-burgers taste like? I hear they taste a bit like ground sirloin.

Mr. Giraffe: Americans eat giraffe meat?

Lucy: We practically live on the stuff. In fact, I'm almost old enough to finally have a burger. By the time I'm ready, they'll probably be just about through processing your carcass. The timing here really might work out.

Mr. Giraffe: One trick.

Lucy: I've decided I want you to sing a song. Do you know any Toto?

Mr. Giraffe: This is humiliating.

Lucy: I bet you would go well with a side of fries.

Mr. Giraffe (in a wavering falsetto): I hear the drums echoing tonight / But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation ...

I cannot wait to go back to the zoo! Hopefully, Mr. Giraffe knows some good Rick Springfield tunes!

On a steel horse I ride

Eat my dust, suckers! That's right. I have wheels. Three to be exact. Note the slick colors of my ride and the tassels on the handlebars. This baby was built for speed. My only regret right now is that my legs aren't long enough to reach the pedals. Until then, however, I'm thoroughly enjoying sitting on my tricycle at every opportunity I have. It gives me such a sense of power! Now I know how God must feel when He sits on His tricycle!

I can picture myself now cruising along Route 66, smiling like a goat in a briarpatch. The sun would be shining and the wind would be blowing. I'd have nothing but sunglasses, a canteen full of apple juice, a baggy full of Cheerios, and a dusty copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in my knapsack.

Of course, I'd probably run into trouble with Johnny Law at some point. Bikes like mine tend to attract heat. As you well know, I've got about as much use for highway patrolmen as I do for a trapdoor in my canoe! The minute those blue and red lights start flashing, I'll kick it into overdrive and leave Arresty McDonuts in a cloud of gravel and dust.

But a life on the road really is no life at all. I'd miss Bailey. I'd miss my regular feedings. I'd miss my toys. So I'd eventually make my way back home. I'd park my tricycle in the garage and throw an old tarp over it. But once in a while, on cold nights when I'm feeling pensive and longing for the road, I'll go out there, pull back that tarp by the light of the moon, and wax my tricycle's frame and oil the wheels and straighten the tassels.

Basketballs are not to be trusted

I've come across my fair share of things that I don't like in this world. In fact, as you know, I even created an enemy list to memorialize some of my least liked people and places. While I don't really have anything good to say about those who are on my enemy list, I will say that my dislike for, say, George Lucas wasn't immediate. He had me fooled pretty good by A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back. I would also argue that Return of the Jedi has it's chill inducing moments -- the epic space battle, the final lightsaber duel where Vader sacrifices himself for Luke. It wasn't until I had seen The Phantom Menace for the second time that I started to doubt George. And that doubt didn't bloom into a dislike that rivals the heat of a thousand suns until Revenge of the Sith. Same goes for Michigan -- great lakes that blind you to terrible people and a farcical University. Ditto for hippies -- the music is good on the radio, but the stench is overwhelming in person. I could go on, but I'll spare you.

So, you see, something doesn't just make it on to the Enemy List because I harbor some casual dislike for it. I'v put thought into this. But then along came something so alien and so revolting that I had an immediate, inexplicable gut reaction to it. Every fiber of my being shrieked GET AWAY, LUCY! DON'T STARE DIRECTLY AT IT! See for yourself:

So there you have it. I don't like basketballs. I nearly dropped ghosts from Enemy List and replaced them with basketballs, but then a thought occurred to me. Perhaps the answer is to leave the Enemy List as it is and allow my hatred for basketballs to fly under the radar. Heck, maybe I'll even befriend a few for appearance's sake. It's like Mother Teresa says, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. And then, when it is least expected, I'll mount a strike the likes of which human eyes have not witnessed. Mark my words, I will not rest until every last basketball on this earth is either deflated or confined to internment camps in Michigan.

Happy Fourth of July!!!

Today, we celebrate our independence from the hated British! The Fourth of July may not be Christmas or Thanksgiving, but I like to give credit where credit is due. This is a pretty darn good holiday. You get to eat BBQ. You get to blow things up. And you get to watch Cops marathons on Fox.

I was really struggling with how best to articulate my feelings on this day, but then I realized that I need not spend the time to compose the words myself. Rather, I give you the below clip of the mighty Bill Pullman and the stirring speech he gave in the 1996 summer blockbuster Independence Day.

I also find the words of Toby Keith particularly relevant on this day: