Jennifer Petty Mann grew up in New York City, moved to London, England, then back to Boston, and is now happily ensconced on the EightMile river in Lyme with three little ones.  A former teacher, window dresser for Saks, and designer, she is taking her love of books to the proverbial “street.” 

I am beginning to feel that I should just March myself down to the Headmaster’s Office.  You all must be a tad unimpressed with my lack of professional fortitude.  Possibly a detention or six is in order.  (May I nap? ).

Despite my myriad of excuses (and they are all doozies), I am here.  I am still reading and I still have the urge to ramble about it.  Also – all summer books are supposed to be done.  Let us know if you have read them all and we’ll see about that party…)

I am currently reading Ann Blair Kloman’s new book (Isobel’s Odyssey) and loving it so that will be next, but I just finished The Hunger Games and got a huge kick out of it.

Suzanne Collins is apparently giving Stephenie Meyer (Twilight) a run for her money so I had to check.

What a fabulous concept!  Reminiscent of the The Running Man (Stephen King 82); the country has transmogrified into 12 Capitol-run districts.  To remind and punish people for a failed revolt, each year a hugely celebrated, televised reality contest is held.

Each district send, by lottery, two children aged between 12 and 18. The 24 contestants compete to win by remaining alive.  They must kill each other and save themselves.  It is horrific and fascinating.

Katniss Everdeen is a contestant from District 12 (the coal-mining district) and she is repulsed and terrified to find herself fighting for her life at the sick whims of the Capitol.

What makes this book captivating is the originality with which Collins tells the story.  It is brilliantly paced and you never lose your place or interest.  The contestants, their mentors, and their visual retinue are all tangible.

I also just finished the second book in the trilogy, Catching Fire and am twitchily searching for a copy of the third, Mockingjay.

Read this first and I’ll give you an update after I have read all three.  I will say also, that this is a book I eagerly anticipate seeing in film when it finally comes out.

Jennifer Petty Mann grew up in New York City, moved to London, England, then back to Boston, and is now happily ensconced on the EightMile river in Lyme with three little ones.  A former teacher, window dresser for Saks, and designer, she is taking her love of books to the proverbial “street.” 

Richard S. “Kinky” Friedman almost defies description.

A renaissance man and possible hysterical realist* (think Tom RobbinsStill Life With Woodpecker); he is a singer, writer, columnist and ocasional politician.  (He ran as an independent for Governor of Texas in 2006 and received 12.6% of the vote…)

He is primarily known, by me, as a member of Don Imus’ irreverent entourage.  In an effort to force my better half to read my columns I capitulated to reading/ reviewing the male coup de foudre that is A Blast From The Past.

I admit to liking it and finding much of it to be enticing enough to read the other one I took out, but it is definitely male humor. Fart jokes are the least of it.  Jamieson Whisky, public sex, genitalia, drugs, and the other staples of male humor are accounted for in bulk.

Despite being a tad traumatized (I am truly a prudy girl no matter how much I try to overcome it ), Kinky captures the dark insightfulness I like so much in David Sedaris.  (10.10.08)

Looking closely at something is always going to provoke and subsequently educate, more than a glossing over can. Kinky is brave enough to look under the rug and face what he finds.

Kinky is obviously a smart man and I liked his casual usage of literary references, many of which he left to hang in the breeze rather than over-explain.  (Reichenbach Falls 12.20.08).

I wouldn’t liken Blast From The Past to L”Elegance du Herisson (9.5.09)  in its thoughtful asides, but it isn’t a horse of an entirely different color either.  There are many bits that give one pause and deserve closer attention.  Abbie Hoffman’s cultural detritus for one …

There are also small gems like his mention of an idiot drunk in the bar named Myers who thinks of opening a British food shop in the Village.  “Most ridiculous idea I ever heard … whole idea’s a pipe dream.  Never happen.” **

I also loved the bar they frequent called the EAR because two of the bars on the B burned out.

Actually, the more the think about it the more I realize how good it it.  Possibly my mamby-pamby attitude is altering?   Am I becoming more indulgent of bathroom humor and private parts?  Nah.

… but I am going to pick up A Case of Lone Star.  Let’s see how Kinky does with that …

*Hysterical Realism, also called recherche postmodernism and maximalism is a literary genre of strong contrast between elaborately absurd prose, plots or characters and precisely specific social phenomena. 

 **Myers of Keswick
634 Hudson Street (between Horatio and Jane St.)
New York NY 10014
Phone: (212) 691-4194
Fax: (212) 691-7423
Mail: info@myersofkeswick.com
MON – FRI: 10am – 7pm
SAT: 10am – 6pm
SUN: 12noon – 5pm
(One of the best little shops around. Truly.)

Why do kids get to have all the fun?  Why can’t we have homework? 

Well, my darlings, you can.  My lovely friend TS and I have decided I will do a Summer Reading List.

There will only be six books to read.  I will not review them so you can’t cheat.

Actually I may do two to inspire you.

I will otherwise be reading them with you.  If you read the majority of them … you’re invited to the wine review that LymeLine will host at the end of the summer.

Wouldn’t that be fun?  You could have a drink with ME!  Really, what better incentive could there be?

None at all.

Luckies. You will have the opportunity to speak with impunity to me about my choices.  You hate them, you love them, I want to hear all!  So buck up my friends, here’s the list.

Laughing is so cathartic.  Take the worst time and find something to laugh about and, my God, you just can’t help but feel better.  The science that says just putting a smile on your face, changing the arrangement of your facial muscles and thereby affecting your mood, is right on.  Cool huh?

Bill Bryson never fails to make me smile.  In fact, I laughed so hard at his description of his legs involuntarily propelling him down a Belgian hill before crumbling into a ditch, I was worried the neighbors would come check on me.  And they are not close by.

John, if you were concerned, it’s OK now.