The Shroud of the Thwacker by Chris Elliott

Publisher: Miramax

Year: 2005

Pages: 368

I didn’t choose to read The Shroud of the Thwacker on the strength of Chris Elliott’s career. If you asked me to name a movie that he’s been in, the only one that would come to mind would be Cabin Boy, and that’s hardly an impressive resumé. Elliott did, however, appear on The Daily Show last December (maybe November), and I admit that I was intrigued enough to check it out (I should point out that this tactic failed me with regards to John Hodgman’s book).

The results were mixed. The book is, to say the least, madcap. It’s told in the first person, as narrator Elliot researches a famous—if short-lived—serial killer in 1882 New York. By means of his “research,” much of the plot then is merely an unfolding of those events (as if in 3^rd person), with brief interludes in which we are treated to Elliott’s self-flagellation. That is, until the plot twists, breaks down the fourth wall, &c.. As scatterbrained as much of it might be, and as dubious as I was at first, I found myself drawn to Elliott’s characters, which included a buffoonish Teddy Roosevelt, blusteringly charming and always in search of potables.

Though the end was a bit disappointing (and confusing), and naturally Elliott merely glossed over plot elements that would have been difficult (or at least lengthy) in explanation; still, the book is quirky, but remains coherent enough to enjoy. It’s neither the most inventive thing ever, but Elliott’s prose is remarkably good for a B-actor-turned-novelist (better than Bruce Campbell’s disappointing foray into fiction). Reread value is low, but novelty is high.

The Areas of My Expertise by John Hodgman

Publisher: Dutton

Year: 2005

Pages: 240

I’d been waiting for this book for a long time. I saw Hodgman on The Daily Show last year, promoting it, and he’s been back several times since as a sort of guest correspondent. His TV schtick, anyway, is funny, so when this book finally came in at the library, I was thrilled, even stopping The Shroud of the Thwacker to read it. Boy, was I disappointed.

The Areas of My Expertise is a highly satirical work purporting to be a complete encyclopedia of world knowledge, and written in a starched-collar style completely approach for its humour. However, I found the book to be so random, so scatterbrained, that much of its humour was lost. Hodgman begins each chapter with a chart of lycanthropy timetables. He includes large tables of squirrel types, a list of 700 hobo names (he has a special love for hobo history and conspiracy theories, often at the same time). Having read about half of Chris Elliot’s The Shroud of the Thwacker at this point, I was used to ridiculous, random humour, but this one really took the cake. It, I believe, failed its mission as a funny book and came off instead as a curious little tome of completely unrelated (and also unfunny) pamphlets.

It’s a pity, too, because I know that John Hodgman is funny, but either it doesn’t translate well into the written medium, or his just didn’t have a good book in him to write this time around. Either way, I would suggest avoiding this book and picking up better high-brow humour instead, like a McSweeney’s subscription, which is both (apparently) random and funny.

Dave Barry's Money Secrets by Dave Barry

Publisher: Crown

Year: 2006

Pages: 240

I wish that you could be reading a review of, say, 100 Years of Solitude right now. Or maybe Gravity’s Rainbow. But even the most voracious of readers need a break every now and then, so you’re reading a review of a short, easily-digestible book called Dave Barry’s Money Secrets.

I’ve been a fan of Dave Barry for a long time, ever since my sister got me into him. This was back when I was pretty young, and considered slogging through all ≈250 pages of Dave Barry Does Japan to be a boastable feat. I still enjoy reading Barry’s stuff, especially up into the mid 90s, which is when I think he peaked. His recent forays into fiction have been good, if somewhat reminiscent of Stephen King in terms of unecessary(?) characterization, but his column compendiums and books have been only “ok,” probably because he’s begun to repeat himself (a phenomenon he recognizes in Dave Barry Turns 50.

This particular book is about money, and it struck me that instead of writing new material, Barry took money-related items from previous books, reworked them, and called it new. The section on real estate hearkened back to Homes and Other Black Holes, as well as a piece on home ownership that first appeared in Dave Barry’s Bad Habits.

For all that, though, this book served its purpose, which was to make me laugh and provide a brief relief before I tackle Mark Prendergast 554-page tome about coffee.

Candyfreak by Steve Almond

Publisher: Harvest

Year: 2006

Pages: 288

Lately, I’ve become fascinated with exposès. I read Eric Schlosser’s Fast Food Nation last year. This year, I’ve got Uncommon Grounds (coffee), Sweetness and Power (sugar), and Food Fight (general food, esp. fast) all slated for future reading. In that spirit, I decided to try Steve Almond’s Candyfreak.

I had expected something a bit more… academic. When I saw the book, a scant 288 pages in an undersized hardback, I was a little wary. After reading the introduction, I was even wearier, as Almond takes humourous self-effacement to a new level. From the way he describes his historical and current love for candy, you’d think that he steals furtively to the bathroom every day and has carnal relations with peanut butter cups.

It wasn’t that Almond is necessarily a bad writer. In fact, I often found myself laughing at loud, and there was some actual information in the book, but mostly in the form of polemical tangents against the Big Three (candy manufacturers) who are relegating Almond’s favorite candies to oblivion. Sometimes, out of nowhere, he includes a section about how much he dislikes George W. Bush. It’s a feeling I share, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what it has to do with candy.

Almond decided on a sort of frame narrative for this, which is all good and fine (man with candy obsession tours small-time candy factories and learns in the process), but it’s so ineptly done, so random and inconsistent, that the brief nods back to the frame narrative leave the reader bewildered. One minute Almond is describing in sexual detail the intricacies of a Valomilk, and the next his is whining about the candy being a surrogate for familial love and attention.

It’s an interesting distraction, but hardly a book that I would recommend to people looking for a book about candy.