Showing posts with label Bill Bryson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bill Bryson. Show all posts

19 September 2013

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson: audio book review

This is my last entry for my Official Audio Book Review Week--looks like I'll only have four entries instead of five.  But, oh, what a book it was!  If you have ever read my blog before, you might know about my love for Bill Bryson.  I've read more of his books than any other author's, and I've even read every word of his reference books.  This is all the more unusual since Bryson is a nonfiction writer and I'm an unapologetic reader of novels and not much else.  I've even had the pleasure of meeting the man not once, but twice, and they were two of the best days of my adult life. The fact that he would still have very little, if any, awareness of my existence is not a justifiable reason for suicide, or so I keep telling myself.  Every day.

Anyway, I read The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid back when it was first published, and my husband reminded me that we had listened to the audio of this book together during a trip to Hawaii (we did a lot of driving on the Big Island), which I had all but forgotten. So finishing up this audio book in my car last night was more like revisiting an old friend on two levels--both the content and the performance. Bryson is an excellent reader of his own books and I estimate that I've listened to his voice for upwards of 100 hours.

This book is a memoir of his childhood growing up in Des Moines, Iowa. He was the youngest of three children, born to a mother and father who both worked for the Des Moines Register (the local newspaper) at a time when not many women worked outside of the home, or at least not many wives and mothers. He grew up in a time of wonder (childhood in general) but also a time of national fear (the cold war, the Bay of Pigs, etc) and this juxtaposition makes for a pretty entertaining read.

Based on what I've read in his other books, I feel as if I generally have a good idea of Bryson's politics and social values, which is why some of the content in this memoir was all the more surprising. I don't actually believe that Bryson is a man who objectifies women or is homophobic (he does, alas, appear to be rather anti-Southern in most of his books), but those things were both present in his memoir.  That is, he spends a good bit of time specifically recalling the urgency with which he tries to enter the stripper tent year after year at the Iowa State Fair and trying to see naked women in general. Though Bryson becomes fast friends with a gay boy in his teens, there are the casual references to the negative social repercussions for kids who acted/looked/dressed gay, and the use of "gay" as a pejorative.

After a bit of reflection, I think Bryson was more likely trying to show an accurate reflection of growing up in middle America in the 1950s and 1960s, rather than trying to reflect his current views on anything in particular.

The downside, of course, of listening to a very funny audio book is that it's nearly impossible to excerpt   my favorite parts in a review.  Clearly it would take far more effort than I'm willing to expend to go find my copy of the actual book, flip through it, and decide which parts to quote here. So, suffice it to say that listening to Bryson is a singularly excellent experience.  If you've never read him before, I wouldn't necessarily recommend starting with Thunderbolt Kid--try A Walk in the Woods or In A Sunburned Country instead and prepare to be entertained and enlightened at once.

17 June 2013

BEA, Bill Bryson, and Other Bookish Events

Workman booth at BEA
I have been woefully behind in my blogging!  Book reviews, author signings, and publisher dinners have come and gone without my posting, but I can't skip out on BEA, or BookExpo America.  BEA is arguably the most important book/publishing event worldwide, up there with the Frankfurt or London Book Fair.  It's also a chance for me to meet up with friends in publishing and from other bookstores whom I only see 1-2 times a year at bookseller conventions like this one.  It's lots of fun. It's also *exhausting.*

My favorite YA from last year, along with its sequel
I spent most of my Thursday and Friday in meetings with publicists from various publishing companies to promote my store for its 50th anniversary this fall. We're trying to build a MONSTER events schedule for the anniversary celebration, so we were pitching to everybody. If I could get just one of the big authors we were shooting for, my pick would be Bill Bryson, who has a new book out in the fall called One Summer: America, 1927, which I'm reading now. My highlight of the day on Thursday was getting to meet him again (I spent an exalted hour in his company once before, which you can read about here) when I showed up in the Random House meeting room for my appointment.  Here's the man himself, chatting with a...publisher? Marketing person? Publicist? I'm actually not really sure.

Bill Bryson (on the left) 
On Thursday we had the Celebration of Bookselling luncheon, where each table has an author or illustrator and somebody from publishing, and we indie booksellers get to chat them up. I got to sit next to Will Schwalbe, author of End of Your Life Book Club, and we shared a Moment. One of the folks speaking (John Green by video, maybe? I really cannot remember) got us both a little choked up and then we glanced at each other and started laughing because we were both so sappy.
Will Schwalbe
Publishers also throw lots of fun parties, and that is a good part of where the exhaustion comes in.  My coworker and BEA roommate, Hannah, might have overdone it just a tad on her first day, but I don't blame her.  It was her first BEA, and she was in appointments all day long, followed by cocktail parties for Random House and Simon & Schuster, followed by more time on the town in the company of a very groovy Wiki chick. I then was witness to her heroic efforts to make our 9:00 appointment on Friday morning.

Workman's menu. Bacon candy? Yes, please!
Odyssey Booksellers!
I went to the Workman party, which is open to almost everybody, and then made my way to a dinner hosted by Algonquin (I've raved about them before, but they're a wonderful publisher based out of North Carolina and a part of the larger Workman group).  We always try to get to the Workman party right when it starts so that we can actually have a conversation and meet new people, because after about 45 minutes, the room fills to a ridiculous level and you cannot hear anything.  Plus the wait for the bar or for food is ridiculous!

Three lovely public school librarians from near Buffalo, whom I met at Workman
At 7:30 I left the party and walked to  Home restaurant, where I was lucky enough to be seated with author Lee Smith for the first (and longest) part of the night.  The authors rotate from table to table so that everybody gets to meet each one, but Lee was at our table for drinks, appetizers, and salad, so I got extra time with her.  Also at my table were the editors from O Magazine and Family Circle, which was pretty cool, and the publisher and a marketing person from Algonquin.

That's Larry Watson in the middle
Friday was largely a repeat of the previous day, except that my dinner that night was sponsored by Milkweed, an indie publisher based out of the Twin Cities.  They do great work, too, and this was another fairly intimate dinner.  Sue from Milkweed took us to Lupa, which is one of Mario Batali's restaurants, and treated us to the tasting menu.

This is me with Betty, who runs a big literary festival in one of the Dakotas. Shhh...I can't remember which one.
I left Lupa and started walking towards Poisson Rouge, where the PGW party was happening, but wonder of wonders, the music was over before I even got there.  I think it must have started super early, 'cause I'm not the type of person who usually shows up at an evening music venue after it's over.  I'm no night owl. Anyway, I ran into a woman who used to see my old mentor, so we grabbed a quick drink and then found our way home.
The post-music dregs of the PGW party
Saving the best for last, I met up with some fellow bookbloggers at an Irish pub near Penn Station on Saturday morning: Alice, Alley, Rayna, and Amanda were all there and we had a grand ol' time.  We talked about BEA, suffragists vs suffragettes, Bessie Bueller, Harry Potter, fan fiction, and lots of other breezy subjects about which we know everything. Everything. Seriously, next to chatting with Bill Bryson, this was without a doubt my favorite part of the BEA weekend.
L-R: Rayna, me. Amanda, Alice, Alley
I thought I was going to have time to blog about the fundraiser/cocktail party/dinner bash that I got to attend the following week, but alas, I do not.  The good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, I'll get to it  soon.

24 December 2012

Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson (redux)

My ARC and finished copy. The knife is to give scale and to cut anybody who doesn't like Bill Bryson

I'm in a quasi-reading rut right now but for my audio books.  Last week DH and I had dinner with some friends and at the end of the evening, one of them handed back to me the audio book of In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson that I had let him borrow quite some time back. I'd forgotten that I had let him borrow it and was actually just on the verge of ordering another copy since I'd been looking around the house for it in recent weeks to no avail.  I LOVE Bill Bryson. I popped disc one into the car on the drive home that night and just finished the last one tonight as I pulled into the driveway.

Normally I would write a whole new blog post about how incredible his book about Australia is (it ties for me with A Walk in the Woods as my favorite), but it's the holiday season and I work in the retail world and frankly I'd rather be drinking, eating, or sleeping than almost anything else in what little spare time I have. Thus I have reprised one of my previous posts about Bill Bryson (with slight modifications), in which I met the man himself and spent the better part of the afternoon in his company whilst he signed books.  Of course, I cannot post it at the time of said modifications because Alice recently taught me that nobody writes or reads blogs on the weekend, so this will post on Monday morning instead. Merry Christmas Eve, y'all.

Bill Bryson's latest work, piled high!

I don't think I've mentioned recently just how much I love my job.  Or my sales reps.  Because right now I'm bursting with love for bofe 'em. (NB: I still love my job and my sales reps, but by "right now" I meant October of 2010.)

Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson.
The man himself
 You might have guessed, but I just got to meet Bill Bryson.  There has been exactly one other author I have been this excited to meet, and he happened to write the best book I've read in the last decade (Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone.  Read it, y'all!), and I definitely went all fan-girl on him the two times our paths crossed.  But Bill Bryson is in a different category all together.  I'm not usually a completist when it comes to most authors, let alone non-fiction writers, but he's one of the few authors of whom I can say I've read all of his or her published works (And I mean an actual body of work, smartass.  John Kennedy Toole and other one-hit wonders most emphatically do not count), and I'm such a Bryson-completist that I include his reference books, too.  Yup, read every word. The little book he wrote for charity that scarcely broke the 50 page mark?  I read that one, too.

I have also listened to many of his published works, and because he is the reader of his audio books, I've listened to him for hundreds of hours.  His voice is as familiar to me as my own brother's.  He's like a friend whose humor has seen me through the years, both the high times and the rough patches.  I bought In a Sunburned CountryA Walk in the Woods, and Neither Here Nor There on tape.  I listened to all of them so many times that the tape wore through in several places.  Then I replaced them with CD versions and kept on listening.

Today I drove to Arlington, MA, with my devoted and long-suffering husband to meet Bill Bryson, who was signing books at the New England Independent Booksellers Association (NEIBA) office in Arlington, MA.  One of my sales reps from Random House, Ann Kingman, arranged for Bryson to sign books for her accounts.  So I got to take the day off work and go for a Sunday drive on a beautiful day with my favorite person in the world to meet one of my favorite writers in the world.  The phrase "walking on sunshine" comes to mind. 

Bryson was in the region promoting his new book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life, which I've already blogged about twice.  You can read the posts here and here.  It's marvelous and funny and erudite and everything else that I like about his writing. 

May I confess something?  Before I moved from Mississippi to New England to live with the man who became my husband, I wrote up an extensive pro and con list.  My husband knows that one of the "cons" was that I would no longer be able to watch episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer as they aired because he didn't have access to the UPN network (this was before newfangled websites like Hulu were around).  But what he doesn't know is that one of the "pros" is that I would be more likely to have the chance to meet Bill Bryson, who lived in New Hampshire at the time.  So you could say that Mr. Bryson is one of the reasons I moved to New England.  I'm just not revealing exactly what position he had on my "pro" list. 

Mr. Bryson was also kind enough to sign and inscribe my personal collection of his works, or at least those books still holding together without tape.  I thought it might be unseemly (though a compliment of the highest order) to bring him my copy of In a Sunburned Country that was in two pieces. Or my copy of A Walk in the Woods, which one of my dogs enjoyed as much as I did. 

Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson. 

L-R: The man I moved to New England for, the other
man I moved to New England for, and me.


13 June 2011

June is Audio Book Month! Part Deux

Most of the audio books that I listen to on my daily commute (and longer drives, too, when I take them) are fiction.  I need a strong narrative to pull me in and keep me interested, but as with so many other things in my life, Bill Bryson is an exception to that rule.  Bill Bryson is my hero.  I adore his books, to be sure, but I adore his audio books even more.  (If you'd like to read about the wonderful day that I got to meet Mr. Bryson himself, check out this blog post from last fall.)  My first encounter with his books was the audio version of A Walk in the Woods, his wondrously engaging tale of hiking the Appalachian Trail, and after that I was smitten enough to seek out the rest of his published works. 

Bryson happens to read his own audiobooks.  I do not usually condone the author's reading of his or her own work, as I find it more often than not disastrous (cue: Toni Morrison reading anything).  But he is simply wonderful--he hits all the right notes ranging from wry humor to righteous outrage and everything in between.  Moreover, he is as enlightening as he is entertaining.  I'm constantly amazed at the random factual tidbits that I am able to work into conversation, of which his books are the source of my knowledge.

For longer trips, I tend to prefer Bryson's material that has a stronger internal narrative, which would be all of his travel books, but his most recent work, At Home, is great for shorter drives like my daily commute.  I'm hard-pressed to choose between the aforementioned Walk and his book about Australia called In a Sunburned Country, as my favorite.  I've listened to both of them multiple times and am, in fact, currently listening to Sunburned again this week. 

I think if there were one writer whose style I'd most like to emulate, it would be Bryson's.  It's the perfect blend of humor, information, and personal anecdote, with both understatement and overstatement used to great effect.  His audio books are even better.  You come away smarter and more thoughtful about the world than you were before, and you feel as if you've somehow made a friend along the way. 

17 October 2010

Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson!

Bill Bryson's latest work, piled high!
I don't think I've mentioned recently just how much I love my job.  Or my sales reps.  Because right now I'm bursting with love for bofe 'em.

Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson.
The man himself
 You might have guessed, but I just got to meet Bill Bryson.  There has been exactly one other author I have been this excited to meet, and he happened to write the best book I've read in the last decade (Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone.  Read it, y'all!), and I definitely went all fan-girl on him the two times our paths crossed.  But Bill Bryson is in a different category all together.  For starters, he's one of the few authors of whom I can say I've read all of his or her published works (And I mean an actual body of work, smartass.  John Kennedy Toole and other one-hit wonders most emphatically do not count), and I'm such a Bryson-completist that I include his reference books, too.  Yup, read every word.

I have also listened to many of his published works, and because he is the reader of his audio books, I've listened to him for hundreds of hours.  His voice is as familiar to me as my own brother's.  He's like a friend whose humor has seen me through the years, both the high times and the rough patches.  I bought In a Sunburned Country, A Walk in the Woods, and Neither Here Nor There on tape.  I listened to all of them so many times that the tape wore through in several places.  Then I replaced them with CD versions and kept on listening.

Today I drove to Arlington, MA, with my devoted and long-suffering husband to meet Bill Bryson, who was signing books at the New England Independent Booksellers Association (NEIBA) office in Arlington, MA.  One of my sales reps from Random House, Ann Kingman, arranged for Bryson to sign books for her accounts.  So I got to take the day off work and go for a Sunday drive on a beautiful day with my favorite person in the world to meet one of my favorite writers in the world.  The phrase "walking on sunshine" comes to mind. 

Bryson was in the region promoting his new book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life, which I've already blogged about twice.  You can read the posts here and here.  It's marvelous and funny and erudite and everything else that I like about his writing. 

May I confess something?  Before I moved from Mississippi to New England to live with the man who became my husband, I wrote up an extensive pro and con list.  My husband knows that one of the "cons" was that I would no longer be able to watch episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer as they aired because he didn't have access to the UPN network.  But what he doesn't know is that one of the "pros" is that I would be more likely to have the chance to meet Bill Bryson, who lived in New Hampshire at the time.  So you could say that Mr. Bryson is one of the reasons I moved to New England.  I'm just not revealing exactly what position he had on my "pro" list. 

Mr. Bryson was also kind enough to sign and inscribe my personal collection of his works, or at least those books still holding together without tape.  I thought it might be unseemly (though a compliment of the highest order) to bring him my copy of In a Sunburned Country that was in two pieces. Or my copy of A Walk in the Woods, which one of my dogs enjoyed as much as I did. 

Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson, Bill Bryson. 

L-R: The man I moved to New England for, the other
man I moved to New England for, and me.


03 August 2010

An odd coincidence

Okay, so is it a coincidence? Or is it just an instance of cosmic harmony where two of my best loved books for the fall happen to mention the same obscure historical figure? Mary Toft was an English woman living in the early to mid 18th century who convinced leading medical authorities of the day that she had given birth to rabbits. Yes, live rabbits. Apparently she had them going for quite a while and eventually 'fessed up. What an embarrassment to the Royal docs, eh?
Bill Bryson makes reference to it in his wonderful book called At Home: A Short History of Private Life in a section on medical history, particularly the woefully inadequate medical care given to women up through the 20th century. Not only was it indelicate for a doctor (always male) to actually examine his female patients, his patients didn't even have the vocabulary to describe their ills when something went amiss "down there." It's a wonder that every woman didn't die in childbirth.



In Julia Stuart's charming new novel called The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise, it's a minor character who stumbles across the interesting information about Mary Toft and then shares it with his friend Balthazar, a Beefeater living in the Tower of London, as a means of distracting his friend from mourning the death of his son.

I had read Bryson's book first and found the Mary Toft tidbit extraordinary, but that was nothing compared to how I felt when I ran across her name once more in Stuart's novel. Is there anybody out there who can calculate the chances of that happening? I dunno. But it seemed so rare that it deserved its own blogpost.

18 July 2010

What I read on my summer vacation, part IV

Here are two more books forthcoming this fall in hardcover.  Steve Martin is still the most intelligent person in show business I can think of, and it shows in his fiction.  And any season with a new Bill Bryson book is a great book season, in my opinion.  Wish I could say we had booked both of these authors for the Odyssey, but alas, it would be untrue.  



 Object of Beauty by Steve Martin.  Despite my reluctance to admire yet another celebrity writer, Martin impressed me with his first novel, Shop Girl, and he continues to do so with this book.  He introduces us to Lacey, a compelling but morally ambiguous young woman who becomes a mover & shaker in the Manhattan art world of the late 20th Century.  The reader ends up getting a crash course in both contemporary art history and consumerism, with sneak peaks into the rarefied worlds of Sotheby’s, uptown art galleries, and the moneyed international clientele who can patronize both. I, for one, found this book very hard to put down. 


 Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson.  Bryson takes his own home, a mid-nineteenth century rectory in Norfolk, England, as the jumping-off point for investigating every possible angle of domestic history.  We get the expected lessons in architecture, furniture and horticulture, as well as the more unusual, such as the brilliant teamwork skills of rats, or the strategic importance of nutmeg in empire-building, or even how “teeth” were mysteriously listed as a leading cause of death in London in 1758.  Bryson’s trademark humor and wry social commentary are certainly present, but what stands out most here is his ability to trace intriguing connections between seemingly unrelated facts.  In short, I found it endlessly fascinating. 

29 August 2009

Some books to consider...

The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost. Troost is following in the footsteps of my favorite travel writer, Bill Bryson, providing readers with a narrative arc that is equal parts humor, philosophy, self-deprecation, and actual information. When his girlfriend, Sylvia, takes an NGO job, they move to Kiribati, a nation of tiny coral atolls lying forgotten in the South Pacific. What he imagined would be two years of ease in tropical splendor, writing the great American novel, turned out to be two years of arduous sweating in tropical squalor, where subsistence wealth isn’t an oxymoron so much as a way of life. You’ll never look at fish, dogs, or beer the same way after reading this book, and if you’re like me, you’ll be chomping at the bit for more.

ONE FOOT WRONG by Sofie Laguna. Hester Wakefield is without a doubt the most unfortunate and pitiable child I’ve ever encountered in the world of literature. Kept imprisoned by her unbalanced, zealously religious mother, she has only fleeting contact with the outside world, and the only life she knows is one of torture, pain, and abuse of every imaginable stripe. She meets her first and only friend when she is banished to an asylum and from there she makes halting steps towards recovery. This book is almost relentlessly dark and certainly not for the faint of heart, but readers who stick with it will discover an ending that practically defines poetic justice and a character whose haunting life will resonate long after the book is put down.