Spring Break
'Rants, Exploits and Expressions' Of A Different Sort
Book Review
John Bailey
Issue date: 10/17/07 Section: Focus
There's something unnerving about books with punctuated titles. Nevertheless, "Steve Almond's (Not that You Asked) Rants, Exploits and Obsessions" draws attention. The cover has a horrifying photograph of a big-eyed plastic doll with boxing gloves. The book jacket refers to oral sex, Kurt Vonnegut and chest waxing. Could there possibly be a downside?
It is an easy book to read and not in a bad way. Almond's writing is snappy, and while rarely gut-splitting, sardonic wit glimmers at the edges of his sentences like oil. The main subject of this book, in fact, could be described as "mean-a-humor."
Vonnegut gets an entire chapter - "Why I Crush On Vonnegut," devoted to his crotchety self and Almond's obsessive infatuation with the author. He details his sordid past spent idolizing the man, the feel-good hero worship of his college thesis, and his eventual struggle to meet with him personally. Throughout the entire book, Almond never feels more real and nuanced. His academic shame at being so drawn to a writer is comparatively unsophisticated, his guilty joy at finding Vonnegut's atrocious early drafts, the hopeful but cynical comparisons he draws between himself and his hero- these are real moments, told with a genuine voice. His description of an author's panel, where Vonnegut is surrounded by blithering, pig-headed morons, is especially heart-wrenching. Vonnegut's recent death earlier this year, to which he dedicates a brief postscript, gives this chapter an even greater weight.
For those who aren't interested in Vonnegut - though he certainly merits great interest - this chapter may resound considerably less. Much of it is biographical and highly detailed, although Almond avoids verging on the trivial. Unfortunately, the essential, personal quality that comes across in the chapter doesn't really find itself expressed anywhere else in the book.
Almond writes briefly about the nightmare journey of his budding sexuality, which generally takes the form of embarrassing scenes from hot tubs and convenience stores - the aforementioned chest waxing is explained here as well. Sex always manages to maintain a base level of interest, so this chapter never bores, but at the same time it's not particularly funny or insightful. The essays are explicit, which could be mistaken for honest candor at a distance, but it's clear after a read-through that the essay entitled "My First Fake Tits" is about exactly what it seems to be. The remainder of the book feels the same - entertaining, but without impact or nuance. There's a chapter on baseball, which attempts to both invoke and criticize the obese creature that is American sports fandom, but it's limited to the predictable critiques of fanaticism and the idiotic-but-charming male psyche. There are complaints about academia and personal manifestos of artistry, but none of them achieve the honesty of the Vonnegut chapter.
That's not to say there aren't other strong points. There's a discussion of reality TV from the insider's perspective which becomes a funny, if predictable, indictment of media culture. The story of Almond's resignation from his job at Boston College and subsequent transformation into media dog food is grotesque in its reality. The essays on the "joys" of fatherhood actually veer into the genuinely charming.
This isn't poor writing. This isn't average writing, either. It's above-average, witty and deeply personal at times. Unfortunately, it's also trite and predictable and few of the essays have the gravity required to resonate. Borrow it from a friend, or grab it when it's a $10 paperback. It's not worth the hardcover cost, especially when there's other stuff to read.
Contact John Bailey at John.C.Bailey@UConn.edu.
It is an easy book to read and not in a bad way. Almond's writing is snappy, and while rarely gut-splitting, sardonic wit glimmers at the edges of his sentences like oil. The main subject of this book, in fact, could be described as "mean-a-humor."
Vonnegut gets an entire chapter - "Why I Crush On Vonnegut," devoted to his crotchety self and Almond's obsessive infatuation with the author. He details his sordid past spent idolizing the man, the feel-good hero worship of his college thesis, and his eventual struggle to meet with him personally. Throughout the entire book, Almond never feels more real and nuanced. His academic shame at being so drawn to a writer is comparatively unsophisticated, his guilty joy at finding Vonnegut's atrocious early drafts, the hopeful but cynical comparisons he draws between himself and his hero- these are real moments, told with a genuine voice. His description of an author's panel, where Vonnegut is surrounded by blithering, pig-headed morons, is especially heart-wrenching. Vonnegut's recent death earlier this year, to which he dedicates a brief postscript, gives this chapter an even greater weight.
For those who aren't interested in Vonnegut - though he certainly merits great interest - this chapter may resound considerably less. Much of it is biographical and highly detailed, although Almond avoids verging on the trivial. Unfortunately, the essential, personal quality that comes across in the chapter doesn't really find itself expressed anywhere else in the book.
Almond writes briefly about the nightmare journey of his budding sexuality, which generally takes the form of embarrassing scenes from hot tubs and convenience stores - the aforementioned chest waxing is explained here as well. Sex always manages to maintain a base level of interest, so this chapter never bores, but at the same time it's not particularly funny or insightful. The essays are explicit, which could be mistaken for honest candor at a distance, but it's clear after a read-through that the essay entitled "My First Fake Tits" is about exactly what it seems to be. The remainder of the book feels the same - entertaining, but without impact or nuance. There's a chapter on baseball, which attempts to both invoke and criticize the obese creature that is American sports fandom, but it's limited to the predictable critiques of fanaticism and the idiotic-but-charming male psyche. There are complaints about academia and personal manifestos of artistry, but none of them achieve the honesty of the Vonnegut chapter.
That's not to say there aren't other strong points. There's a discussion of reality TV from the insider's perspective which becomes a funny, if predictable, indictment of media culture. The story of Almond's resignation from his job at Boston College and subsequent transformation into media dog food is grotesque in its reality. The essays on the "joys" of fatherhood actually veer into the genuinely charming.
This isn't poor writing. This isn't average writing, either. It's above-average, witty and deeply personal at times. Unfortunately, it's also trite and predictable and few of the essays have the gravity required to resonate. Borrow it from a friend, or grab it when it's a $10 paperback. It's not worth the hardcover cost, especially when there's other stuff to read.
Contact John Bailey at John.C.Bailey@UConn.edu.
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