A Review of "Plastic" by Scott Guild

 

The best speculative fiction gives us the distance to see our own world more clearly. Take Scott Guild’s debut novel Plastic. Most of its characters are just that, figurines, although others are waffles, or robots, or hairy shipping boxes with whirring propellers as means of locomotion. But their post-nuclear-war world is a nightmare of rampant consumerism, life lived virtually, and the ever-present anxiety over random terror attacks from groups trying to wake up the drugged-to-complacency citizenry to its own environmental destruction, in the book called the Heat Leap. It doesn’t take much for our humanity to be stirred by these unusual characters’ plights.

Did I mention when the characters converse, they do so in a quick cut new language? At one point history is described by a person explaining why not to study it: “War war war. Kill kill kill.” And here’s how a match from phone app Hot Date attempts to comfort our heroine Erin early in the book: “It okay feel bad, he says. No need embarrass. I get—I get total. Life just…creaky, no? So tough sometime.”

Care to read the rest then do at the California Review of Books.

Review also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on December 28, 2025.

A Review of "Life at the Dumpling" by Trisha Cole

 

Despite the obvious misery of the pandemic, if you had the luck, privilege, and health to make it through, it also provided opportunity. It forced us to slow, to focus on how our houses must be homes. It opened up the hours to do what we never allowed ourselves the time to do, whether bake bread (put the pan in pandemic?) or engage our arts-and-craftsy sides we tend to under-prioritize in a world of pressing deadlines.

In Trisha Cole’s case, it gave her time to crank out a family and friends newsletter, typed and handwritten and illustrated in a charming way that will create warm feelings of nostalgia for those of us who still pore over falling apart copies of the Moosewood Cookbook. Which is only fitting, as the newsletters offered recipes, poems, encouraging quotes, word search games, fashion tips from Cole’s teen girls, and more. And now the book Life at the Dumpling compiles the first 20 newsletters, originally penned and shipped from March 2020 to March 2023.

Care to read the rest then do at the California Review of Books.

Review also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on October 24, 2024.

A Review of "And Then? And Then? What Else?" by Daniel Handler AKA Lemony Snicket

 

Given he has previously penned a series of four books called All the Wrong Questions, it’s not surprising author Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket) would suggest he relishes the frisson of being wrong. He writes: 

That light dawning, that small but potent vertigo as a beautiful idea, taken for granted, falls apart in one’s mind, feels so very essential to the enterprise of literature, not only writing it but reading it and living in a world in which it is written and read. It’s a ticket, being wrong, not only a citation but a way of gaining entrance to something more marvelous and exciting for my not knowing at all what it really is. 

Readers who opt in by picking up his latest, And Then? And Then? What Else? will get to spend 200 pages and change frolicking in Handler’s mind as he struggles to figure out what it really is. It’s a bit of a genre-buster, this book, a sort of memoir in which he’ll do infuriatingly vague things like talk about his time in college without naming where he went (Wesleyan, if you’re interested), describe in detail how he writes while shying away from the writerly phrase process, and lean in to a tradition of many before him, from Didion to Orwell, from David Foster Wallace to Zadie Smith, examining the peculiar compulsion that leads anyone to put words together, thereby, perhaps, helping you do the same.

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

Review also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on June 26, 2024.

A Review of "This Bird Has Flown" by Susanna Hoffs

 

If you have ever wondered what life’s like for a one-hit wonder, Susanna Hoffs’ debut novel This Bird Has Flown is for you. The book’s 33-year-old protagonist Jane Start had one big record a decade ago, a cover of a lesser known tune by a mercurial, brilliant superstar the book invents, Jonesy. Jonesy comes off as part Bowie—who, you might recall, was born David Jones—and part Prince—who happened to pen one of Hoffs’ band The Bangles’ biggest hits, “Manic Monday.” It’s the kind of book where you keep getting to play with rock history nuggets like that as fun Easter eggs, though perhaps none of them top, “Tours with siblings. That has to be fraught.” (Sorry, former Banglemates Vicki and Debbi Peterson!)

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

This review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on February 7, 2024.

A Review of "Lou Reed: The King of New York" by Will Hermes

 

Will Hermes admits he’s on a fool’s errand with the opening quote of the preface to his 529 page biography of Lou Reed. The mercurial genius most famous as the leader of the Velvet Underground once told journalist Jonathan Cott, “There’s no reason to get into autobiographical things with me, because I’m a writer and a musician.” But Hermes, a diligent researcher (he makes clear he’s even read the archive of Reed’s sometimes terrifying “fan” mail), perceptive critic, canny social historian, and flat out elegant writer, is more than up to the task for what he himself calls “myth parsing.” As he puts it, “One gets the sense that memories might be clouded by subsequent myth, every double scotch or methamphetamine injection magnified into more smoking-gun evidence of the ‘Lou Reed’ character he blurred into by the mid-’70s.” 

 Then again, Reed went through a lot. Born in 1942 on suburban Long Island to a respectable middle class Jewish family—Hermes does wonderful work connecting Reed to that heritage—Lewis Allan Reed knew he was queer at age 12 almost two decades before Stonewall. Drawn to music and literature, New York City beckoned as it did to every artsy person in the northeast in the late 20th century. Alas Reed’s first and only year at NYU ended with him back at home and getting electroshock therapy (Hermes puts this seemingly barbaric practice into scary historic context: “In lieu of commitment to a mental hospital, an option that may have also been on the table, outpatient ECT probably seemed the lesser evil.”) Eventually Reed attends Syracuse, only to get his first case of hepatitis—and liver failure would be what led to his death in 2013—the first time he shoots heroin. It’s as if he was creating a life that could only be rock ‘n’ roll mythic.

Want to read the rest then do so at California Review of Books.

This review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on February 1, 2024.

A Review of "Creature" by Marsha de la O

 

Ventura, California-based poet Marsha de la O knows of fire, force of destruction and engine of rebirth. Consider the poem “The Afterlife of Flames,” from her intensely engaging (or perhaps that should be engagingly intense) new volume Creature, in which she writes: “there’s / no need to abide any longer, / no need for the abode, the / hut, the hull, the home, only / translation is required.” This is serious music, words tumbling like dice hoping to land lucky or right. Or perhaps it’s the very song of their fall to the troubled table of our world that matters. Fortunately for us, de la O is the keenest of translators, her book a bridge bringing us the world’s wordless but no less felt pain and beauty full force. 

 Even the note for “The Afterlife of Flames” at the back of the book is a prose poem; de la O, a lecturer in English at Cal State Channel Islands and indomitable arts advocate, writes that the poem “refers to the California fire poppy, which grows after a major burn. Its seeds can lie dormant for decades. They bloom for only one day.”

Care to read the rest then do at California Review of Books.

A Review of "Blood in the Machine" by Brian Merchant

 

Walter Isaacson’s Elon Musk biography sold nearly 230K copies in its first eight weeks in stores and is currently at #47 in Books at Amazon. Brian Merchant’s Blood in the Machine: The Origins of the Rebellion against Big Tech sits at #17,280 in Books. That’s just one way to say our fascination with the mighty always trumps (verb chosen advisedly) our interest in history’s “losers.” The Luddites have been pummeled so badly by history we don’t even use the term accurately. 

So it’s fortunate Merchant has written this engaging corrective that leans into rightfully earned polemic in its final chapters. Merchant, a Los Angeles Times technology columnist and author of The One Device: The Secret History of the iPhone, sets himself to a difficult task, for the Luddites have been misrepresented and slandered since they first took hammer to power looms in England in the 1810s. Even today, as he points out, a Google search will tell you a Luddite is “small-minded” and “resists progress.”

Care to read the rest then do so at California Review of Books.

A Review of "Why We Love Baseball" by Joe Posnanski

 

There’s that terrific anticipatory rush you can get when attending a classic movie in a theater and a beloved scene is about to happen. Think Gene Kelly wearing that manic, just-found-love grin, waving his driver along and starting to doo-doo his way through the intro of the unforgettable title number of Singin’ in the Rain. The whole crowd practically sighs, ready to relish four minutes of splash-dancing perfection.  

That’s a huge part of the fun for a fan reading New York Times bestselling author Joe Posnanski’s latest, Why We Love Baseball: A History in 50 Moments. Ah, it’s the Jack Morris-John Smoltz Game 7 World Series duel from 1991. And here comes Willie Mays’ over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 Series, lost in the deepest depths of the Polo Grounds’ centerfield.

Care to read the rest then do so at California Review of Books.

This review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on November 16, 2023.

Have a Little Hedonistas de la Fe in Me

 

It's National Mezcal Day, so let's celebrate with a terrific artisanal product, Hedonistas de la Fe. As with many mezcals sold in the U.S. market, Hedonistas came to be when some Americans obsessed with the drink and enough money and business acumen to want to build a brand went hunting in Mexico for a mezcalero they loved. Co-founders Bhalin Singh and Jim Beaubien discovered Gerardo “Kaín” Santiago Hernandez in Matatlan, Oaxaca and knew they had their man. Kaín is a fourth-generation mezcalero, doing things the right old way, from sourcing agave to roasting for days over mesquite to natural fermentation to double distillation. 

Hedonistas also gets to celebrate the wide-range of flavors mezcal permits. While tequila must be made of Blue Weber agave, there are actually over 250 varieties of the plant, and about 30 have been used to make mezcal. At this point, Hedonistas keeps its product line to four, but each is quite distinct.

They kick off with the mezcal most folks have had, an Espadín. This bottling is the only one of the four that comes from cultivated agave, and as part of the their sustainability efforts, Hedonistas replants as many as they use to distill. As you can see from the photo above, all four styles are crystalline, bordering on shimmering clear--part of the no additives process. Let's get to the smoke issue quick, too. Yes, that's one of the major distinctions between tequila and mezcal, but to act as if that's the only difference is like saying the only difference between the New York Giants and the San Francisco Giants is which coast they play on. I'd rather suggest the difference is more like that between football and baseball itself, with mezcal the more interesting, evolving, thoughtful, and varied, just like the national pastime. 

So with the Espadín you get the smoke on the nose and initial palate, but some of the taste of smoke is from burnt grapefruit peel, it seems. Each sip is integrated, complicated, lingering. There are floral notes, and notes of white pepper. It lasts. Hedonistas suggests you can mix this one for cocktails, but it seems too good for that, unless you really want to impress. And I am quite taken by some of their cocktail recipes on their website, in particular the Last Rite No. 1, made with the Espadín, yellow chartreuse, Italicus Rosolio di Bergamotto, and fresh lemon juice.

Moving up the ladder of complexity and price we get to the Tobala, the first of the wild agave sourced by trained jimadors who harvest the plants near the end of their 10-12 year life cycle. Think of Tobala as the whisper-to-a-scream mezcal--it starts attractively come hither on the nose with orange blossom notes, but then builds to a crescendo on its long finish with a hit of pyrazines--that green pepper flavor that makes Cab Franc so distinctive. For its late oomph it still is both sophisticated and inviting.

The Cuishe is kind of the flip side to the Tobala, enticing you in with a nose that makes you feel like a walk through a florist. Tropical, with a lingering note of petrol like in a Reisling, it's a tender mezcal, even down to having the smoothest mouthful of the four. Note that it doesn't give you a bit of alcohol kick at the back of the throat, like you got snapped with a tiny towel, just to remind you you're drinking firewater, if still very elevated booze. (All four come in at a kicky yet controlled 46% ABV, if you were wondering.)

Then there's the Tepeztate, which will make you rethink what mezcal can be. Green and grassy, the plants that make it up mature at 20-22 years (they're old enough to drink themselves in the States!). Think of it as the sturgeon of agave, well, not in flavor, of course. Hedonistas suggests it has a Calvados-quality I didn't quite pick up, but it is to be savored like a fine Cognac, without a doubt. 

You've probably guessed from the buzzwords handmade, artisanal, wild, and all those years it takes for the plants to be old enough to be harvested and distilled that this stuff doesn't come cheap. The range goes from $64.99 - $199.99. It's up to you to decide what's too dear for you. But if you can afford it, you won't go wrong.

A Review of "Misfit: Growing Up Awkward in the ’80s" by Gary Gulman

 

Gary Gulman is the kind of comedian you figured had a book in him, given his love of words and language that helped him craft a classic routine out of the creation of the states’ two letter abbreviations. (If you don’t know this bit, watch it now before reading this review; one delicious moment, “Ne’er-do-wells. How often do well? They ne’er do well.”) But there’s more—he’s also willing to open up in ways many people can’t. Check out his powerful, and powerfully funny HBO show The Great Depresh, where he intercut stand-up with footage of his fight with mental illness.

But wait there’s more—based on the painstakingly detailed tales of his K-12 education that make up Misfit—he’s a real-life Funes the Memorious. If that allusion is too-highfalutin, we can turn to one perhaps equally obscure if more middlebrow, the Disney live action classic The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, one of Gulman’s favorite flicks as a kid. Gulman even provides the phone numbers for his precious handful of friends when he introduces them in the book.

Care to read the rest then do so at California Review of Books.

This review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on October 18, 2023.

A Review of "Not Too Late: Changing the Climate Story from Despair to Possibility," edited by Rebecca Solnit & Thelma Young Lutunatabua

 

It’s not lost on me that I’m reading Not Too Late: Changing the Climate Story from Despair to Possibility (Haymarket Books) as I take a fuel-guzzling flight cross country. As much as the 28 essays that Rebecca Solnit and Thelma Young Lutunatabua have gathered provide hope, ammunition, community, congratulations for small gains along the way, as much as I don’t need to be in the slightest convinced that our human-caused climate crisis is destroying our planet (I also have recently left Maui a mere four days before Lahaina was consumed), I stand accused, too. And let’s not even get to our beloved vintage gas-burning Wedgewood stove….

Of course, how can’t we all take the boiling/flooding/drought-stricken/on fire end of the world personally? A collection like Not Too Late by its very nature tends to speak more to the converted no matter how hard its authors hope otherwise, and even the converted among us always yearn we might somehow be exceptions. It certainly helps that’s it’s only a few pages into the book when co-editor Lutunatabua asserts, “The question shouldn’t be Will my actions be enough? but Will our actions be enough? This is a communal quest in which everyone can bring their talents, visions, desires, access—and if one person struggles, we can help each other up.”

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

Vivid Green Sodas Drink Furiously

 

How fitting with another Teenage Mutant Ninja Moneymaker out that Jones Soda Co. has concocted their current special release that has the glowing hue of Mutagen. The good news is the soda won't genetically modify you or you loved ones, artfully-named turtles or otherwise. Nope, this gloriously green soda shouts its flavors in neon--it's Hatch chile and lime. As the label suggests, the pepper temp is at best a low burn, one that kind of warms up your palate as you get to the bottom of the bottle. You get a bit of the smoky characteristic Hatch is known for, but not a ton--I doubted the chiles are roasted before being infused, or however their "natural flavors" are extracted. The color comes from Yellow 5 and Blue 1, btw, but this is soda after all. It's not like you drink it for your health.

It is mighty tasty and just fun to consume, though. How pleasing is that vibrant green? And if you're going to give in to the flabbergastingly successful Hatch Chile marketing campaign--how one valley conquered the rest of New Mexico's chiles, not to mention their Anaheim cousins, I'll never quite figure out--you might as well get a smile out of it.

The consumer-provided "Reel labels" are a hoot, too. Each bottle offers a QR code so you can upload an image and maybe one day your photo will grace something retina-burningly chartreuse too.

For further research--seeing how well this Hatch Chile and lime works as a mixer in a cocktail; I'd have to imagine a splash of mezcal couldn't hurt.

A Review of "Dinner with the President: Food, Politics, and a History of Breaking Bread at the White House" by Alex Prud’homme

 

Freedom Fries—the bogus re-naming bestowed by right-wingers requiring simple-minded revenge during the Iraq War when France was a hesitant ally to the US—weren’t the first occasion food nomenclature became a patriotic battlefield. During World War I, Herbert Hoover, then the head of Woodrow Wilson’s Food Administration and years prior to his own presidency, decided sauerkraut was too Germanic to stomach. He renamed it Liberty Cabbage. If tasty bits of trivia like that entertain, they will be one of the many motors propelling you through Alex Prud’homme’s extensive and entirely fascinating Dinner with the President: Food, Politics, and a History of Breaking Bread at the White House. 

 Believing “the president is the eater in chief,” Prud'homme explores not only what was eaten and with whom in the White House, but also the history of U.S. food policy. In his introduction he asserts, “[The President’s] messaging about food touches on everything from personal taste to global nutrition, politics, economics, science, and war—not to mention race, class, gender, money, religion, history, culture, and many other things.” Overall, the enlightening volume — complete with 10 presidential recipes so you can play White House chef at home — provides Prud’homme with the opportunity (as he told me in an interview I conducted with him for a different publication) “to look at American history through the lens of food, which, oddly, has never been done before. I was surprised to find out there hadn’t been a book quite like this, so that was a blessing for me.”

Care to read the rest then do at the California Review of Books.

The review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on September 19, 2023.

A Review of "Noir Bar: Cocktails Inspired by the World of Film Noir" by Eddie Muller

 

Not every book can help you fill your Nick and Nora coupes and your evening’s film-watching playlist, but Noir Bar does both with elan. That’s not too surprising given the author is Eddie Muller, host of Turner Classic Movies’ Noir Alley, on which he curates and provides intros to generally 1940s noir from well-known classics like The Big Sleep to the B-est of B-pictures, like The Devil Thumbs a Ride. Although the book is full of gorgeous photography from the shadow-soaked films to the shots of the drinks, it’s not just some coffee table symbol of class. On the facing page to the Contents there’s a still of little known Virginia Field from even lesser known Dial 1119, and while there’s a quote from Arlen & Mercer’s “One for My Baby (and One More for the Road,” it alludes to Ida Lupino singing the ballad in Road House. Take that, Ol’ Blue Eyes.

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

The review was also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on April 30, 2024.

A Review "The Wonder Paradox: Embracing the Weirdness of Existence and the Poetry of Our Lives"

 

It’s not every self-helpish book that asks you to create your own poetry anthology, but The Wonder Paradox is sui generis. As Jennifer Michael Hecht puts it, “It is in poetry that we learn that nouns are really verbs, caught in a moment as a dancer in a strobe light.” That sentence hints at so much of Hecht’s skillful method as an author, with its insightful sweeping grandeur still tethered to vivid image, one far from whimsically chosen, for this is a book about illumination. Seeing. Dealing with what it is seen.

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

A Review of "Six California Kitchens"

 

Sally Schmitt’s posthumous publication Six California Kitchens proves you can write a powerful memoir one recipe at a time. Whether the book will become enough of a legacy to vault her into the position she deserves, praised alongside “inventors” of California cuisine—farm-to-table, local, seasonal—like Alice Waters, Wolfgang Puck, Nancy Silverton, and Mark Peel, only time will tell. But it’s also telling that Schmitt and her husband of 64 years Don were the founders of the French Laundry in 1978, which they sold to now world-renowned food superstar Thomas Keller in 1994 so they could get out of what they already saw was a rapidly commercializing Napa Valley. And note Keller pens one of the two encomiastic forewords; the other is from the founder of the famed Mustards Grill, Cindy Pawlcyn, who also, alas, generally doesn’t receive the kudos she deserves. 

 So, yes, there is a not-so-secret feminist core to this book, as Schmitt argues against the sad sexist trope “women are cooks and men are chefs” one unfussy but brilliant plate at a time. (In 1952 she graduated from UC Davis with a degree in, of all things, home ec.) Schmitt is also very much a mother, too, that “stumbling block” that often derails a woman’s career. Her solution was simple—have the whole family work for you. Not surprisingly to this day the Apple Farm, the idyllic spot the Schmitts took to in Mendocino County, eventually growing 80 heirloom varieties of apples, making all sorts of take-home products from that fruit and more, and most importantly, teaching cooking classes, is managed and run by Sally’s daughter, Karen, and son-in-law Tim. And Don was there all along, going from an Air Force vet to a banker to a sommelier on-the-fly, especially thanks to all their Napa winemaking friends.

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

A Review of "No Machos or Pop Stars"

 

Polymath producer-musician Brian Eno has this great theory about “scenius” as the corrective to “‘genius,’ which exemplifies what I call the ‘Big Man’ theory of history – where events are changed by the occasional brilliant or terrible man, working in heroic isolation.” You don’t even need to sic the use of man in that quote, as we all know how he-heavy official history is. Eno would no doubt approve of Gavin Butt’s insightful and informed No Machos or Pop Stars: When the Leeds Art Experiment Went Punk, as it makes a distinct scenius case for the creative caldron of that north Yorkshire city in the late 1970s. 

Butt, a professor of fine art at Northumbria University, provides this precis in the introduction: “No Machos or Pop Stars follows a select band of art school students—and their compatriots—who dared, for a time, to imagine things could turn out differently to what became Thatcherism’s neoliberal makeover for 1980s Britain. It tells the story of a dialectical entanglement of punk rock and art college radicalism through which both were sublated, in the manner of the Hegelian Aufhebung, into artistic forms that variously attempted to plot alternative routes out of the crisis that had befallen postwar welfarism—alternative, that is, to avant-garde art or rock industry business-as-usual.”

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

Review also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on October 10, 2024.

A Review of "Cure: New Orleans Drinks and How to Mix ’Em"

 

What Marseilles is to the Mediterranean, New Orleans is to the Caribbean, a savory meeting place where countries and cultures, priests and pirates, hopeful and hucksters mix daringly and delightfully. It would be easy to call New Orleans the ultimate melting pot, but it’s probably more fitting to think of it as a cocktail shaker, given its long association with drink culture. So, who better to take us on a tipsy tour of the town than Neal Bodenheimer, founder of the James Beard Award-winning bar Cure? Heck he’s even co-chair of the Crescent City-based Tales of the Cocktail Foundation. (To produce this book he was ably assisted by longtime food and drink writer Emily Timberlake.) 

 Obviously the bulk of Cure: New Orleans Drinks and How to Mix ’Em (Abrams) is recipes, each one sounding more quaffable than the next, but one also may read the gorgeously photographed volume both as a guidebook and a history of the myriad ways the mercantile impulse charted cocktail history. For instance, in his Sours chapter Bodenheimer tells the tale of the effects of the Italian lemon trade in New Orleans—he asserts that by 1884 they were New Orleans’s third most valuable imported commodity, behind only coffee and sugar. How could a Brandy Crusta not have happened, with its horse’s neck lemon twist prominent inside the glass? And while Bodenheimer himself isn’t the biggest fan of that drink, he has to tip his cap to its more pleasing offspring, including the margarita and sidecar.

Want to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

A Review of "The Ninth Decade: An Octogenarian’s Chronicle" by Carl H. Klaus

 

I like to think of Carl Klaus as a journal-ist. No, he didn’t write for newspapers, but his series of nonfiction books all were certainly journals, rich accountings of his life. His prose was lean and unfussy, but the more you thought about it, the more elegantly crafted it became. So, his writing was a lot like the man himself. That’s why it’s a gift that his final book The Ninth Decade chronicled his life in his 80s, a keen-eyed, non-sentimental examination of old age that he published a few months before his passing in February 2022.

Want to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

A Review of "To Hell with It: Of Sin and Sex, Chicken Wings, and Dante’s Entirely Ridiculous, Needlessly Guilt-Inducing Inferno" by Dinty W. Moore

 

If you’ve even wondered why the hell we came up with hell, this is the book for you. Dinty W. Moore knows of hell well, and in all sorts of ways— among his many books are The Emperor’s Virtual Clothes: The Naked Truth about Internet Culture in 1995 when future Facebook cyborg Mark Zuckerberg was only 11 and the genre-busting memoir Between Panic and Desire in 2008. But most of all Moore’s a recovering Catholic, so of course much of what he finds between panic and desire is guilt. Not to give away the book’s ending (we all die and who knows what happens) but check out Moore’s Index to espy the tone of the book: Augustine, Dante, Organized Religion, and Original Sin are the only items indexed. And the pages flagged for this fearsome foursome are for subjects like “makes us cringe,” “makes us doubt our worth,” “makes us loathe our very existence.”

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.