Just Southern Food at Paul's

Dinner and Acknowledgments.

The intrepid Man Book Club headed north to Sonoma as Paul hosted us at his Glen Ellen home last Sunday afternoon.  The venue and atmosphere were a perfect foil for the gritty reality of this month’s book—Bryan Stevenson’s autobiographical Just Mercy, the story of one attorney’s crusade to prevent the execution of prisoners across the South.  Paul’s vineyard home was as far as one could get from the bleak death rows in Stevenson’s book.

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Paul rose to the occasion—as host and as Southerner-in-spirit—by serving a full Southern spread: grits with a Creole tomato gravy, shrimp, sausage, and collard greens.  It was precisely the kind of meal that the men Stevenson writes about would never have tasted in the sordid conditions of their incarceration—at least, not until their last meal.  Well done, Paul, on both the hospitality and the not-so-subtle reminder of what was at stake in our book.

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Our Review and Discussion of Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson.

Just Mercy is part memoir, part legal argument, and part moral reckoning.  Stevenson, a Harvard Law graduate who founded the Equal Justice Initiative in Alabama, tells the story of his early years as a capital defense attorney in the South.  The narrative alternates between the harrowing case of Walter McMillian—a Black man sentenced to death for a murder he did not commit—and a series of related vignettes about other inmates whose stories illuminate the systemic failures of the American justice system: its racial disparities, its disproportionate treatment of the poor, and the troubling ease with which it imposes the ultimate punishment on those least equipped to fight back.

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As a group, we found the book admirable but, at times, almost unbearably heavy.  Several of us—Dean and Dan among them—acknowledged that it wasn’t Stevenson’s writing that wore them down, but rather the weight of the material itself: the racism, the desperate circumstances, and the sheer accumulation of injustice.  Dan, who watched a 60 Minutes segment on the book and admitted he made it only 70% through, wished the narrative had focused exclusively on McMillian.  Those who found the multi-story structure frustrating, though, were outnumbered by those who appreciated it.  Paul and Tom both liked how Stevenson moved chapter by chapter between individual stories and the broader issue of unequal justice, even if it did (according to Larry) give the book the feel of a long-form magazine piece.  Tom was also struck by how easily a young person running with the wrong crowd can end up on death row, a point that resonated with those of us who have raised teenagers.

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Much of our admiration, predictably, was reserved for Stevenson himself.  Stan, who read the book more than a decade ago but listened to it again on Audible, was struck by how Stevenson dedicates his entire life to this crusade and by how horrifying it is that a single man’s perjured testimony can send an innocent man to death row.  Stan could relate, at least in part—he spent six years early in his career working for a nonprofit before concluding, with some reluctance, that he needed to “make a living.”  Glenn commended Stevenson for finding his calling in serving those on death row and inspiring many others to do the same.  He also posed the awkward question of how we’re expected to rate a work of non-fiction—especially one suffused with so much moral urgency—against conventional literary criteria.  

Andrew found Stevenson’s closing argument during the hearing on the motion to set aside McMillian’s conviction especially powerful—a moment that, Andrew felt, captures the essential message of the book: our judicial system makes it far easier to impose the death penalty on defendants who don’t deserve it than to set it aside when the evidence demands otherwise.  Andrew also observed that while efforts like Stevenson’s have helped swing the pendulum back toward a more just system, a troubling question lingers: why should equal justice depend on the political climate of where you happen to live?

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Our Rating of Just Mercy

When the ratings came in, we landed at a well-deserved 7.6—one of the stronger scores we’ve given a non-fiction title.  Terry, who didn’t finish the book, sat this one out numerically.  The rest of us clustered in the 7–8 range, a tight consensus that reflected our collective sense that the book’s importance and Stevenson’s achievement were not really in dispute, even if a few of us found the reading experience more draining than enjoyable.  We agreed that sometimes we need to be reminded of the privileged lives we lead in Marin (and Sonoma) County.  Just Mercy did that for us this month—a stark reminder that in parts of this country, equal and fair justice remain just words for too many people, particularly those of color or those too poor to afford adequate legal representation.

Next Up: The Winner by Teddy Wayne

Dan is our host for next month, and he’s steered us away from the death rows of Alabama toward what promises to be considerably lighter terrain: Teddy Wayne’s The Winner.  We look forward to whatever Dan has in store for us—and trust that the book, whatever its merits, will produce fewer existential crises than our last selection.

Catching Up On Our 2023-2025 Books

After Paul's phenomenal luncheon in July 2023, MBC continued reading and eating, but its online posts went quiet.  Thanks to Larry's initiative, our blog posts resumed last May.  What happened during our hiatus?  Here's a condensed account, with apologies to certain hosts (and authors) for more than a few omitted details:  

September  2023  Host - Larry

We met at Larry's to dine on beef/rice/corn/almonds (yes, those are my notes!) and talk about Ishiguro's (then) latest novel, a prescient tale of AI embodied in a robot named Klara.  Purchased as a companion for a sickly child, Klara develops an intelligence and sensitivity that forces one to ask what it means to be human and to love. As a group, we didn't love the book but we found ourselves deeply affected by its characters and the ambition of its author.  For that, we gave it an 

8.0.

November 2023  Host - Stan

Stan hosted us for our discussion of Geraldine Brooks' novel Horse.  Since our meals are often themed with our books, Stan avoided uncomfortable questions about the provenance of his entrée by serving seafood, not red meat. Once we'd tucked in and begun discussing the book, a clear consensus emerged: no one liked the modern frame story, but everyone liked the novel's inner story.  

The development of American horse racing in the south, as illustrated by the champion Lexington (whose offspring included the famed Preakness), and the role of the enslaved trainers and groomsmen, was a story fascinating unto itself.  What was not fascinating was the forced 21st century story of art, love, and racism.  Nor were we persuaded by the sanitized diction of Brooks' 19th century characters. (The use of the word "slave" is studiously avoided by both oppressor and oppressed.)

If Brooks' intention was to prod her reader into seeing and thinking about a southern economy built on slavery, it certainly worked.  If not for the clumsy framing of an otherwise interesting episode in American history, we might have rated it higher than 6.5. 

December 2023 / January 2024  Hosts - Glenn and Doug

Due to its length, we read Kingsolver's much-acclaimed Demon Copperhead over two months.  In December, 2023 we and our spouses dined in Glenn's barn and shared passing comments about the novel.  But only passing, because Glenn's food and venue were too distracting to allow for more. Then in January, 2024, we retreated to Doug's for a fuller discussion of this 2023 Pulitzer Prize winner.  (We also enjoyed Doug's roast pistachio salmon and his two excellent desserts--a whiskey cake and a toffee cake, the former perhaps a reminder of the substance abuse so central to our story?)

Yes, the novel is long, and yes it's a re-telling of David Copperfield, but it's populated with an unforgettable cast of characters drawn from rural Appalachia (U-Haul, Fast Forward, Maggot, Angus, and of course Demon himself). We found Kingsolver's narrative about the cycle of poverty, domestic violence, and opiate addiction uplifting in spite of its themes.  Our comments said it all: "among my top 5" (Andrew), "did not want it to end" (Jack), "great characters" (Glenn), "fascinating" (Roy), "developed a complex relationship with the book" (Paul, who always develops a complex relationship with our books), and "puts Hillbilly Elegy to shame" (Doug). Our effusive reaction pushed Demon Copperhead to the top of our ratings with an 8.9.

February 2024  Host - Dean

Dean hosted us in February for a discussion of Toni Morrison's 1988 Pulitzer winner, Beloved.  Naturally, we ate as our novel's characters ate--or rather, as they fantasized about eating.  Dean's turkey, homemade bread, butter, and blackberry pie were taken from the meal enjoyed by the novel's protagonists (all escaped slaves) just prior to the arrival of the bounty hunters.

Our enthusiasm waned though when it came time to share our reactions to the book. A rewarding read? Maybe. A painful read? Absolutely.  From the outset, Morrison makes it clear the reader's on an arduous journey.  Her characters suffer almost unendurable trauma, only to realize that freedom cannot exorcise the pain of memory. Morrison's famous line aptly reflects her characters' pain and her white reader's guilt: "...the future was a matter of keeping the past at bay."  Before we set aside our discomfort, we applauded Morrison with an 8.0. 

April 2024  Host - Terry

In April, we gathered at Terry's to share our reactions to Kingdoms of Savannah, a mystery set in today's south but with the legacy of slavery haunting the margins of every page.  Alas, we were not impressed.  But we were impressed by Terry's menu.  With oven-fried chicken, beans, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and chocolate cake, Terry's version of southern comfort food was pitch perfect.

On the surface, Green's novel had the earmarks of a successful southern gothic mystery: a wealthy, landed class bent on protecting its own, a matriarch whose dysfunctional family eventually pulls together, and a murder whose investigation sets fire to it all.  Unfortunately, it had a dime store paperback feel (Jack), plenty of misogyny and twisted characters (Paul), a candy high after our previous titles (Dean), and was overwrought and unbelievable (Doug).  The most interesting plot development (i.e., the revelation that the island targeted for development was the ancestral home of free Blacks who fought for the British during the Revolutionary War) is saved for the end, but by then it was too late for most us.  Our 6.0 rating said it all.

June 2024  Host - Roy

Our book in June gave Roy the perfect opportunity to display his Japanese culinary skills. Accompanying the freshly-caught panko halibut was an egg custard (Chawanmushi), spinach salad with black sesame (Goma-ae), a cucumber salad (Namasu), and bean sprout with sesame and vinegar (Moyashi). 

His bounty contrasted with the bleak post-war environment depicted in No-No Boy, which chronicled the struggles of Japanese-American men who, while interned during WWII, were given loyalty questionnaires. Those who, for reasons of conscience or principle, answered "No" and refused to serve in the US military were sent to a federal penitentiary.  

We all were deeply moved by the plight of the novel's protagonist, Ichiro, who returns to Seattle after the war and can find neither work nor a place in the Nisei community.  We were also touched by Larry's account of his family's internment experience.  However, we were not impressed by the quality of the narrative: few likable characters (including the protagonist), aimlessly plotted, and an ending without closure. If not for its evocation of a seminal moment in our nation's history, No-No Boy would not have earned our modestly positive 6.9 rating.

August 2024  Host - Tom

When Tom hosted us in August, he served us old-fashioned southern food to aid our discussion of a middle-aged man's return home to Memphis, at the request of his sisters, to deal with his father's infatuation with a much younger woman.  Despite its 1987 Pulitzer Award for Fiction, Peter Taylor's finely-etched story of marital, sibling, and generational conflict failed to interest us nearly as much as Tom's menu for the evening.

The writing was fine in an old-fashioned sort of way, but there was too little to sustain our interest.  As a quiet study of southern manners, the story might have worked.  But when the message is simply that there's no escaping 1) your southern roots, 2) your domineering father, or 3) your own miserable relationship, our response is: 1) it's unsatisfying, and 2) it ain't Faulkner. Garth's comment was the most damning: the book felt like Ambien laced with Thorazine.  

September 2024  Host - Jack

In September Jack introduced MBC to Dennis Lehane and his 2023 novel about family, race, and mob politics during Boston's 1974 school desegregation crisis.  With some criticism for its "beach read" feel and its pat ending, we mostly found Small Mercies to be a worthy end-of-summer escape. 

Primed with Jack's excellent shepherd's pie, we dug into Lehane's murder mystery in South Boston and found ourselves mired in a discussion of the effects of school desegregation in the 1970s. Dean saw it in San Francisco, Roy lived through it in Indiana, and Stan experienced it in Marin County. Tom, on the other hand, noted that his large public high school in Siskiyou County was almost entirely white. With those asides, we concluded that the strength of Lehane's novel (apart from a mystery well told) was its ability to paint the various shades of hate and racism in convincing detail.  For that, we awarded him a 7.5.

October 2024  Host - Larry

In October, we convened at Larry's for a delicious paella and a spirited discussion of Percival Everett's 2001 satirical novel, Erasure.  Any discussion of Erasure is complicated by the nested narratives that Everett clearly had fun assembling.  The reader learns at the end that the story is in fact a movie about a story about a book written by an impoverished academic posing as a Black street kid with an authentic new voice. The whole thing is a send-up, the ultimate meta-narrative. So our comments on the story wandered into and out of the main story and the street kid's story (aptly named Fuck) with mostly appreciation for Everett's cleverness.

Doug chided us for falling into the very trap set by the novel's protagonist, a professor who is so white in culture and upbringing that he has to contrive a ghetto story written by a fictional hoodlum in order to sell his work.  But we didn't mind.  Dean liked the Grateful Dead reference in Stagg R. Leigh's name; Larry appreciated the novel's focus on racial identity and belonging; Paul and Glenn enjoyed the implicit taunt to like the story or be seen as racist; and Terry, always the outlier, suggested that the book had virtually nothing to do with race but was merely about selling a winning formula.  We gave the book an 8.2 for its "novel" approach (Stan's pun), and we excoriated Terry for his iconoclasm.

January 2025  Host - Paul

At 945 pages, and in clear violation of our 500-page limit, Lonesome Dove required an extra month of prep, which meant we met next in January.  The delay was worth it:  Paul treated us to a feast of Old West-inspired fare, with appetizers of crickets in molasses, a single roast dove (lonesome indeed!), and cowboy skillet bread.  The rest of the meal (vegetarian chili, pork adovada, brown and white rice, corn bread, and blueberry cobbler) was almost anti-climactic. Even with our stomachs full, we found much to dissect, share, and ultimately praise in McMurtry's magnum opus.  Despite its flaws and its age, Lonesome Dove's greatest virtue is its storytelling, with characters both convincing and compelling. And with few exceptions, it held us captive for almost 1,000 pages. For that, McMurtry's 1985 novel ascended to the top of our ratings with a 9.0.

March 2025  Host - Dan

After a string of novels, Dan brought us back to non-fiction with an account of the rise and fall of Venezuela under the Chavez/Maduro regime.  Fortunately, the food scarcity endemic in today's Venezuela had no effect on our meal, as Dan plied us with a delicious all-Venezuelan menu of stew, beans, rice, plus a tasty chocolate cake courtesy of Penny.

As to the book, our discussion languished at times. The problem with discussing non-fiction is that it's rarely interesting to recite facts to others who read the same facts. Facts need context, and Neumann provided some, but mostly he just expanded a series of articles (he was the NYT's bureau chief in Caracas) into a book.  Our takeaways included: yes, the erosion of democracy in Venezuela's early days of Chavismo feels eerily similar to what we see here today; Venezuela's long decline into authoritarianism can be attributed to a national fascination with strong leaders; and Venezuela's massive oil wealth proved to be its downfall. For a narrative both interesting, tedious, and depressing, we couldn't muster better than a 6.7 rating.

Paul's Winning Wager: a Spanish Fiesta in the Sonoma Valley

Lunch & Acknowledgments

A huge thanks is owed to our host, Paul, who went to considerable effort yesterday.  Rather than emulate the poor fare served aboard HMS Wager, Paul prepared a meal that would have made Pizarro (the captain of the Spanish galleon targeted by the English fleet) quite proud.

To accomplish that, he enlisted the assistance of his fine friend Paul, an expert in hosting paella parties; he set out plates of delicious Spanish appetizers; and he avoided any food tainted by an association with the Royal Navy.  Actually, that's not true.  For verisimilitude, Paul included a plate of hard tack next to his 3 types of Spanish cheese, his marinated carrots, his blanched almonds, and his tureen of delicious Andalusian gazpacho. 

For an outstanding luncheon of paella and more, for the gorgeous vineyard setting in Glen Ellen, and for the gracious hospitality shown to us and our significant others, Paul has our gratitude. 

A smaller turnout, but no less convivial
l to r: Paul, Jack, Andrew, Tom, Garth, George, Larry, Stan

Our Review and Discussion of The Wager by David Grann

We spent several hours at Paul's but could only break away for 25 minutes to discuss our book.  No matter.  It was a fast consensus:  Grann has produced yet another winner in his preferred category of non-fiction (i.e., stories of events poorly remembered and long since sanitized).  It worked for him (and for us) with Killers of the Flower Moon, and now with The Wager.

Set in the 1740's during the fabricated War of Jenkins Ear, in which the English sought revenge for Spain's exclusionary trade practices in the Caribbean, The Wager tells the story of a small squadron dispatched from England to cross the Atlantic and round Cape Horn in order to capture a Spanish galleon in the South Pacific.  Challenged by harsh weather, rudimentary navigation, and malnutrition and disease, the Wager is separated from the fleet, founders off the coast of Chile, and is shipwrecked on a deserted island.  Convinced that the captain is unable to lead the 100 or so remaining crew back to England, 81 of the men mutiny and head back to London by way of Brazil.  Fewer than 30 make it.  Of the 20 who stay with the captain, two survive with him and they arrive in London the following year.

The journey, the hardship, the mutiny--all of these elements made our reading a pleasure.  But many of us were disappointed that the inevitable court martial was devoted to expedience, not justice. Grann teases the reader with the moral and legal questions provoked by the crew's behavior, but then makes no apology for the Admiralty's evasive ruling.

Our Rating of The Wager

While our reactions were uniformly positive, we split into 3 camps: the 7's enjoyed a terrific story but complained about a narrative too constrained by the official record or simply felt it suffered in comparison to other excellent non-fiction tales of the sea, like Endurance.  The 8's felt the story was impressive enough to overcome serious criticism. And the 9's--led by ringleader Stan--were simply out to game the ratings!  The result was an impressive 8.0.

Next Up:  Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

With a slate focused on the perspectives of children, Larry proposed Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, McCourt's Angela's Ashes, Zamora's Solito, and Ishiguro's Klara and the Sun.  Ishiguro has been on proffer several times and, with Klara and the Sun, we finally get our chance.  We'll see in September if his is the version of AI we need to fear.

Paul's Plainfare

Dinner and Acknowledgments

Remember when we read The Onion Field and every one of Paul's dishes contained onions?  The entire meal came together nicely despite--or maybe because of--the presence of onions in each course.  If we had doubts about Paul's ability to perform the same trick twice, our dinner last Wednesday put them to rest. 

At the appointed hour, we sat down to a meal of meat and potatoes, much like the bill of fare at Haruf's Holt Cafe. But, without benefit of a menu, it took a few moments for us to piece together Paul's clever theme. Following a tapenade that included baby pickles, Paul served us baby back ribs, a side of roast baby potatoes, and a baby greens salad with baby corn and baby carrots. For his piece de resistance, he prepared a dessert of "boiled baby."  (It's a type of pudding; it's boiled in a cloth; and, no, it was far from awful.)

None of us knows what Paul will dream up next, but last Wednesday's dinner was just superb. As we enjoyed each course, the food served to remind us of Victoria Roubideaux, the pregnant teenager at the heart of Haruf's novel.

Our Review and Discussion of Plainsong

Published to critical acclaim in 1999, Plainsong put both Kent Haruf and his fictional town of Holt, Colorado on the literary map.  Over the course of a school year, the characters in Haruf's quiet novel confront pain, depression, insult, and tragedy.  They also experience moments of shared joy and discovery.  All of this takes place in a town that feels far removed from the familiar afflictions of modern society.  That feeling of course is illusory:  Victoria's flight to Denver lands her in an environment just as confining as the one she left.

At the start of his book, Haruf helpfully defines "plainsong" as "a simple and unadorned melody"  as well as "unisonous vocal music" chanted by early Christians. As we shared our thoughts about the novel, our comments kept returning to the themes so evident from the title. We all noted the simplicity of Haruf's language and the dialog of his characters.  And several pointed out the clannishness of small town environments. (I'm talking about you, Larry.)  Haruf's spare style won over most of us, but there were detractors.  Peter and Jack both felt that too little was said and, as a result, Haruf's characters were flat and undeveloped.  Roy, who listened to the audio version, found the narration confusing thanks in part to the brevity of Haruf's writing. 

Haruf's biggest fan, Doug, missed dinner but emailed us his comments.  While he enjoyed Haruf's writing (he called it "compassionate" and "elevated"), he was mostly struck by the hard reality forced upon each character and the stoicism each affects.  He also noted the hopefulness that lifts the novel as autumn turns to spring, the McPherons find comfort as surrogate parents, and the birth of Victoria's child approaches.    

Rating Plainsong

As our most reliable barometer of a title's popularity, Tom likened the book's atmosphere to that created by Annie Proulx in Wyoming Stories and said he could have continued reading long after it ended.  Often a contrarian, John "fell into the book on the first page." I felt the same way and was touched by the pain of loneliness that seems to afflict all of Haruf's characters. (This is a theme he explores head-on in his final novel, Our Souls At Night, which Doug encouraged us to read.)  With only a few naysayers depressing the vote, Plainsong received a robust 7.8 rating, with several vowing to read its sequel, Eventide.

Next Up:  The Fixer by Bernard Malamud

Dan wasn't able to attend our dinner and instead asked us to select our next book from three titles, every one of them by Bernard Malamud!  His blatant disregard for our selection process did not go unnoticed.  We'll see next month if The Fixer, a novel about the wrongful imprisonment of a Jew in Tsarist Russia, exceeds our low expectations.  (Sorry, Dan, I couldn't resist.)

2015 Redux

Redux notwithstanding, I'll start with our early January 2016 ski trip.  The point is, after years of terrible conditions, we finally had enough snow for good skiing.  A day at Sugar Bowl and, for some, a day of cross-country at Royal Gorge, were appropriately exhausting.  They were also necessary, as they provided the spacing between Tom's lasagna, Peter's ribs, Dean's chicken piccata, and endless bottles of wine. Below, we tuck into that famous lasagna....

(L to R: Moguls, Aussie, Crash, Steeps, Hydro, 2XC4US)

Apologies to "Crash," who finally made our ski weekend only to have his wife's beautiful red SUV scarred by an errant (but honest) snowplow driver.

Our ski trip was only slightly consumed with reading.  We had a too-abbreviated conversation about Jess Walter's The Financial Lives of the Poets.  Proposed by Terry, and inspired in part by our appreciation of Walter's short story, Anything Helps, Walter's novel about one man's midlife travails was a comic if bittersweet glance back at the Great Recession.  His protagonist felt a little too like any of us:  middle-aged man (check), with kids (check), and beautiful wife whose fidelity is suspect (hmm...not going there), making bad decisions (sometimes), aware of those bad decisions (always), and with an epiphany at the end (time will tell).  We truncated our discussion to avoid spoiling it for those who hadn't yet finished.  But the consensus seemed to be one of great ambivalence.  Sort of funny, sort of painful, sort of true, sort of compelling.  An emailed rating later of 7.0 was surprisingly good for all the sort ofs.

In December, after a 6-year hiatus, we reprised our progressive holiday party. As before, we started at Larry's for appetizers (thank you for the fried lumpia, Larry!), had our entrees and sides at yours truly, and finished with dessert, mulled wine, and more at Terry's.  As usual, every man did more than he was asked to pull off this moving feast for 35 guests.  Special thanks to Tom (two days spent preparing Julia Child's boeuf bourgignon!), Peter (who, too sick to attend, still dropped off his slow-cooked ribs), and John (whose flourless chocolate cake was to die for, but who also sent each of us home with an individually-wrapped persimmon loaf from his kitchen). 

We traveled up to Petaluma in November for a midday meal with Glenn.  Ostensibly, we were there to discuss Conrad's Heart of Darkness, but most of us were happy touring Glenn's new/old house and listening to his plans for the barn (built, we were told, before Conrad penned his magnum opus).  Since he had no recipes from the Congo, and since Belgian food is French food ruined, Glenn turned to Apocalypse Now for inspiration and prepared an excellent dejeuner Indochine. With guest Rob contributing, we shared our thoughts on Marlow's tale of his quest for Mr. Kurtz. Despite the fact that everything has already been said about this story (most of it by college freshmen), our discussion was lively. Was the journey simply one long acid trip (Rob, speaking metaphorically, I think), intentionally purposeless (Terry), exploring darkness in the map's white spaces (Glenn), an indictment of corporatism (or was that mercantilism, Paul?), or just a vehicle for terrific writing (most of us)?  Regardless, our own quest to find Glenn up in Sonoma County left us amply (ful)filled. Enough so that, for the second month running, we lifted a title into our current top five, with an 8.4 rating.

In October, we repaired to Dan's for dinner al fresco and an opportunity to discuss one of the more original works we've read to date.  Violating our selection protocol by offering us only one title, Dan had us read Christopher Moore's Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal.  The title was incongruous, but the book managed to capture our collective fancy.  Whimsical, comic, irreverent--none of these does justice to Moore's re-creation of the Christ story with Biff as his cartoonish narrator.  Like Aslan's Zealot, Moore's Lamb acknowledges that so little is known about Christ's upbringing.  But in Moore's telling, absolutely anything is fair game.  Our comments ranged from "sophomoric" (Doug) and "juvenile" (me) to "refreshing" (Peter) and "meaningful" (Tom).  Quibbles aside, almost everyone found Moore funny and highly creative.  And that, to my surprise, propelled Dan's solo title into our current top five with an 8.7.  Creativity was also to be found on our vino, courtesy of San Marino Cellars' Label Division:
 

Dan and his Disciples

 (P.S.:  Dan, your Jerusalem-inspired meal of lamb and chicken shawarma more than compensated for your rules violation.  But don't tell anyone I said that. Otherwise, I'll let the world know that your own guest, Miguel, confessed that while Lamb may have been funny, it had "no depth.")

We convened in September wondering what Paul had in store for us.  In fairness, we'd been warned that our book's title should be taken literally.  And it was.  Paul's dinner dropped us right into the onion field described by Joseph Wambaugh. Seated outside and in the dark, we all took notice of the table's centerpiece, which was an artful arrangement of planted onion bulbs.  To make sure we got the point, each part of our meal featured onions, starting with an onion dip, then onion soup, and continuing with a delicious onion quiche.  The food unfortunately outdid the book.  Perhaps we were spoiled by Truman Capote, but everything about Wambaugh's true crime account suffered in comparison to In Cold Blood.  Most disappointing was the writing.  Plodding and tedious, the book's best moment was the actual homicide in the onion field north of Los Angeles.  While we all decried the writing, Larry further complained that the story had no protagonist worth caring about.  Indeed, had we cared more, we might not have been content to rate The Onion Field a 5.5.

2013 Redux

In June we gathered at Roy's, ate well from his table loaded with food from Sol, and discussed Michael Ondaatje's second-most famous novel, The Cat's Table. Recalled from a much later vantage point, Ondaatje's narrator describes his journey as an 11-year old from Ceylon to England.  Ostensibly an account of 21 days aboard ship, the novel proved to us to be so much more.  Ondaatje gave us a beautiful examination of wayward youth, lost innocence, misplaced recollections, and the pain of  friendships also misplaced. With no one dissenting, we happily awarded Ondaatje an 8.1 for a story so well told.

July arrived and, instead of simple afternoon cocktails at Doug's, we dined and discussed Dave Eggers' A Hologram for the King.  Surprisingly, we were to a man slightly underwhelmed by a novel that otherwise boasted so many of the elements necessary for our approval.  Eggers' protagonist, Alan Clay, an American businessman in his mid-fifties, has bottomed out financially and is desperate to redeem himself with a sales commission on a deal with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.  The product:  a holographic telecommunications system.  The client:  King Abdullah.  The setting:  a speculative city waiting to be built in the desert. With a huge nod to Waiting for Godot,  Eggers' story of ambition and failure, of a father's love and a spouse's betrayal, of a disappearing old economy and a mystifying new economy unfolds in a series of reflections and diversions as Clay waits and waits for the King to appear for a promised presentation of the hologram. We found Clay alternatingly pathetic and sympathetic, and perhaps because none of us has suffered so keenly the emotional toll of middle age, we couldn't quite forgive Clay his inability and unwillingness to move ahead.  A mildly pessimistic novel tempered our optimism and produced merely a solid rating (6.5).  Like Eggers' protagonist, our rating could and should have been better.

We declared a bye in August and reconvened in September at George's house for a fine German dinner, with schnapps from Roy and a drinkable Malbec (with an Urban label!) from Doug.  We had to decide whether we erred in selecting The Book Thief as our reading for the month.  Amid criticisms that Zusak's novel was written for young adults, boasts a female protagonist, and exceeded our 500-page limit, we nevertheless concluded that it was well worth the extra pages.  Set during WWII in Munich, and told from Death's perspective (yes, Death is the first-person narrator), Zusak's story centers on young Liesel Meminger, a girl whose poverty combined with her fondness of reading compels her to steal books.  With heartbreaking commentary on Jews, Jesse Owens, hunger, schoolyard bullies, bombs, Nazism, heroism and selflessness, and above all parental love, Zusak had us early in his story.  We all but admitted that our 7.7 rating would have been higher but for the book's YA designation.  Shame on us!

We met at Jack's in October and, with mouthfuls of tri tip and roasted autumn root soup, we dug into The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint.  Written by Brady Udall (to us baby boomers, better known for his relationship to Reps. Morris and Stewart Udall), Edgar Mint is about as bleak a novel as we've read to date.  Yes, there is redemption and closure (of sorts) at the end, and more than a little black humor en route, but Edgar's journey is filled with so much pain that the reader can only cringe as the obstacles mount. His story begins when, while living with his alcoholic mother, his head is run over by a mail truck.  He is taken to a hospital where his only solace is--you're not going to believe it--a urinal puck! Thence to an Indian reservation reform school where bullying and beatings are routine and supervision absent.  And then to the dysfunction of an adoptive Mormon family.  And all the while, in the background lurks the strange and seemingly predatory surgeon to whom Edgar owes his life.  We argued over the transitions between first and third person POV (Doug and Stan), we agreed that Udall is wildly imaginative (Paul and Larry), we found in Edgar the consummate survivor (John), and generally marveled at the co-existence of stereotypes and eccentrics in this coming-of-age/survival/nativist tale.  Udall really made us work for it, so we gave him a solid 6.8 for his and our combined efforts.

We bypassed November and met at Paul's in December. In recognition of Dashiell Hammett's role in the development of the noir genre (both book and film), Paul's menu went berserk.  Starting with a black truffle brie and black olives, then to an entrée of black rice, black beans, and blackened chicken, Paul had us wash it down with sips of Johnnie Walker Black. Dessert, naturally, featured blackberries.  Way to go, Paul!  As for Hammett, his The Maltese Falcon managed to stand up to the passage of time.  But since the entire genre has been co-opted, adapted, and reinvented many times over, the novelty was absent.  Dean felt it read a little like a Law & Order episode.  Moreover, the dry, potboiler writing felt stilted when compared to the sharp dialog we recalled from the movie.  Several of us (Larry, Tom, and Paul) found ourselves mentally toggling back and forth between Hammett's original tough-talking Spade and Bogart's archly classic cinematic version. All of us, though, enjoyed the 1920's San Francisco backdrop, from old street and hotel names to the city's colorful and checkered history as a port of embarkation to the far east.  As a quick read and a sentimental mood piece, we favored TMF with a 6.9 rating.

A Make-Up for 2012

As club secretary, I must fall on my sword for my repeated failure, over the last year or more, to regularly post summaries of our meetings. I blame Tom A. for initially stepping in to save me, only to later step out and expose my lack of constancy. With that mea culpa, herewith a very quick summary of our meetings since January's A Sport and a Pastime.

In February, Paul fed us victuals from the Kashmir as we considered the story of the 1999 expedition that discovered the remains of legendary British mountaineer, George Mallory.  In Ghosts of Everest, Hemmleb et. al. chronicle their successful attempt to re-trace Mallory's fateful route in 1924 in order to figure out what exactly happened to Mallory and his climbing partner, Andrew Irvine.  Less successful was the manner in which Hemmleb and his co-authors joined their account with Mallory's.  The story of each expedition was fascinating, but the book's split narrative was awkward and resulted in a modest 6.7 rating. Maybe it was the intimidating presence of our guest and published author/teacher, Andy, that made us extra critical.

In March, we convened at Stan's (yes, another outstanding meal of grilled meat and roast potatoes!) to consider Sherman Alexie's modern-day account of life on the rez in Reservation Blues.  We split over the dream sequences and mystical moments, but were taken by the honesty with which Alexie paints his characters.  Alternatingly sympathetic and scathing, Alexie depicts life on and off the reservation (and his characters' infatuation with music) with a remarkable vividness, especially for those of us for whom the BIA is just another acronym.  The 7.0 rating understated the generally positive tenor of our discussion.

Armando hosted us in April with an ethnic feast that complimented Robert Laxalt's beautifully drawn memoir set in pre- and post-war Nevada.  As men of a certain age, perhaps we were predisposed to fall hard for Sweet Promised Land and its elegiac re-telling of a quintessentially father-son story.  The father, Dominique Laxalt, is a hard-working immigrant (herding sheep in the foothills near Carson City) whose sons achieve fully the American dream (one as a US senator, another as a university professor) but whose heart can't quite forget the family he left behind in a small town in the Pyrenees.  His return home with his younger son is both reunion and closure. Several guys commented that this story continued to resonate long after the pages were turned.  It certainly did for me.  For that reason, it earned an 8.3 rating and climbed into our current Top 5.

We met next in June at my house and enjoyed plenty of sushi and sake as we considered Louis Zamperini's unforgettable odyssey from Torrance, CA to the Berlin Olympics to a POW camp in Japan.  Laura Hillenbrand is a shameless crowd-pleaser whose recreation of the Zamperini story engendered questions from us (and others) about its authenticity of detail. That aside, most of us felt uplifted and exhausted by Zamperini's extraordinary resilience and will to survive.  Our conclusion was to forgive the sometimes tedious and occasionally hyperbolic passages and celebrate--with a 7.4 rating--an amazing story of survival.

In July we declared a bye and instead appeared with spouses and no books at Doug's house for his second annual summer party.  After commiserating with him over his recent burglary, we tucked in and stuffed ourselves.  Thanks again, Doug.

Our last meeting was delayed to September, when Glenn hosted us at Roy's house.  With food from Sol, we were all ears as Ralph Leighton regaled us with stories about Richard Feynman, the Nobel physicist who was also his father's colleague at CalTech.  Glenn had proposed and we picked Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!, unaware that Ralph Leighton was Roy's brother-in-law.  The book was filled with the infectious humor and antics of a renowned physicist who related his personal story to Leighton in a series of recorded conversations over the space of several years.  From those recordings, Leighton produced this delightful memoir.  Even those of us with little interest in applied physics found in  Feynman (via Leighton) a riveting storyteller indeed. 

Paul's Perfect Paella

Acknowledgments
On Monday evening, we were invited to dine in the hills of Larkspur—or, as one of our more parochial members put it, the rump of Marin. The address was not 32 Avenida del Tibidabo, the venue was not the Aldaya Mansion, and none of Fermin Romero de Torres’ signature sandwiches was on our menu. Instead, Paul’s home and his hospitality met and raised Zafon on every count. His beautifully rebuilt house, nestled atop a ridge with views of both Mt. Tamalpais and San Francisco Bay, exceeded anything described in Daniel Sempere’s post-war Barcelona.

Once inside, the literary atmospherics escalated. Paul printed out menu cards, featuring selected quotes from The Shadow of the Wind, for each place setting.  Other excerpts from the book were typed up and strewn around the kitchen.  Nice touches, yes. But while his prominently displayed Library of Forgotten Books may have struck some as a clever riff on Zafon’s Cemetery of Forgotten Books, others were not amused by this cruel jab at the collected works of the Man Book Club.

As always, though, our evening was sustained by food. In this case, excellent food. From the Spanish cava to the Catalonian bruschetta, our appetites were duly prepared for a well-rehearsed and perfectly executed paella, preceded by gazpacho and followed by a Catalonian custard. Buen provecho, Paul!

The Book
The Shadow of the Wind traces the parallel lives (and forbidden loves) of Daniel Sempere, the young narrator, and Julian Carax, a local author whose disappearance becomes Daniel’s obsession and very nearly his undoing.  Despite the sound and the fury that followed our selection of The Shadow of the Wind, the surprise was that most of us actually enjoyed reading Zafon’s international bestseller. (And that includes Doug, even if he did liken the book to Harry Potter.)

We argued whether it was high lit, low lit, or even good lit (with takers for all three), whether the characters measured up to the florid prose (yes for me and Tom J.), whether the book was memorable (Paul) or forgettable (Glenn), and—most polarizing of all—whether this novel was written for a young adult audience (Tom A. argued the contrary, while conceding that teen fiction is where Zafon made his name).

Apart from all this disputation, the consensus was that Zafon had created an enjoyable narrative with an evocative and authentic style. This consensus, and our herd instinct (or pussy voting, according to the namecallers), produced a narrow voting range, with a middle-of-the-road result of 6.9. Interestingly, our rating would have been in the 7’s were it not for Stan (6) and Garth (5), the only men who didn’t finish the book.

Next Up
Armando proposed an eclectic set of titles for our consideration for next month's meeting. His absence, however, resulted in an extended debate over our selection process. Without the slightest irony, one of us (who notoriously relies on his father for book ideas) insisted that the upcoming host should first read the titles he puts forward.  In the end, we reverted to tradition and overwhelmingly opted for Tinkers, Paul Harding’s winner of the 2010 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Next month we’ll see if this neatly mannered family history meets our exacting summer reading standards.