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Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics” by Daniel James Brown

June 6, 2014

In the early 1930s, the United States was deep in the Depression with millions out of work. Hitler gained control of Germany, and persuaded the International Olympic Committee to award the 1936 Summer Games to Berlin. According to Daniel James Brown’s account there was a brief US effort to boycott the Berlin games but nothing came of it. Without those games we would not have the inspiring story of Jesse Owens. It turns out that there’s another story, too, about the eight-oared crew that represented the Americans in those games.

Rowing crew may appear to be an elite sport, but as Daniel James Brown tells it, the young men (Brown refers to them as boys throughout the book, because they were 18, 19, 20, perhaps 21 years old in 1934-36) who won that medal were not privileged. The boat representing the US was the varsity crew of the University of Washington, made up of students who were the sons of farmers, or loggers, or men who had tried and failed at business.

Brown builds the book around Joe Rantz, and that’s because Rantz’s story is singular. His mother died when he was quite young, and his father abandoned him not once but twice. The second time, Rantz came home from school at the age of 15 and found his father, step-mother, and half-siblings in the car, packed and ready to go. They left him in a half-finished house, on a half-cleared farm, with almost no food and no money, to fend for himself. Which Rantz did. He also finished high school, worked for a year, and saved enough money to enroll in the University of Washington.

None of the other crew members had quite as devastating a history, but each of them had similar drive and determination. Brown describes practices that took place in snowstorms, students who took janitorial jobs so they could stay in school, and student athletes who didn’t have enough to eat. Every word is compelling. The book is consistently terrific, and Brown is perhaps at his best at conveying the excitement of boat races that took place 80 years ago.

Part of Brown’s narrative follows the German preparations for the Olympics. It’s necessarily brief, and largely focused on the propaganda value the Olympics had for the Germans (most notably through Leni Rifenstahl’s film “Olympia”). Threading throughout is the contrast with the drive and sheer grit of the Americans. Here is one example:

[W]hen Hitler watched Joe and the boys fight their way back from the rear of the field to sweep ahead of Italy and Germany seventy-five years ago, he saw, but did not recognize, heralds of his doom. He could not know that one day hundreds of thousands of boys just like them boys who shared their essential natures–decent and unassuming, not privileged or favored by anything in particular, just loyal, committed, and perserverant–would return to Germany dressed in olive drab . . .

A tale of “the greatest Olympic race you’ve never heard of,” the story of a surprisingly resilient young man, and a history of a demanding sport, “The Boys in the Boat” is a book you don’t want to miss. Which episodes stick with you? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “Famous Writers I Have Known” a novel by James Magnuson

May 30, 2014

Image via Amazon.com

Frankie Abondonato, the narrator of James Magnuson’s hilarious new novel “Famous Writers I Have Known” is an orphan. He grew up in foster care and became a small-time crook trying to operate below the radar of the New York/New Jersey mafia. This works until a scam goes wrong, Frankie and his partner Barry are discovered, and Barry is murdered. Frankie grabs some cash and heads to the airport. The novel is set before 9/11, so he is able to buy a ticket to Texas and get on a plane. Once there he’s mistaken for the reclusive novelist V.S. Mohle, who was on his way to – but didn’t show up for – a lucrative three-month teaching residency.

Frankie notices someone move out of the boarding line – and that the person looks kind of like him. He figures out that Mohle, who wrote one book that is assigned in every high school English class in the country and almost nothing else, has decided to return to his isolated Maine island. Frankie takes full advantage of the situation, living in a nice house, teaching creative writing students, and persuading the head of the writing program to cash Mohle’s checks.

This should all work out for Frankie, except for two things. The program is funded by Rex Schoeninger, a novelist of prodigious breadth and length, who had a very public spat with Mohle a couple of decades earlier. Schoeninger craves literary recognition for his output and wants to make up. Frankie-as-Mohle wants money, and his con man instincts are aroused by Rex’s needs. He has to get through a couple of gatekeepers, including Rex’s irascible assistant and even crankier cook, but Frankie’s skills at reading people are top-notch, and he manages it. The same skills make him a fairly successful teacher to the creative writing students.

We all need recognition, and perhaps that’s the heart of the con man’s artistry: he gives us what we want. What we do with the harsh lesson is up to us. Magnuson has been head of the James A. Michener Center for Writers at the university of Texas and clearly knows his stuff (the head of Magnuson’s fictional writing program is duped as thoroughly as everyone else in this story). What’s particularly skillful in this novel is how well Magnuson conveys Frankie’s persona. Of course, as he says, Frankie tells stories; that’s what con men do. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that novelists do as well – but since we are holding a book (or e-reader) in our hands we know we are being asked to suspend disbelief.

The main problem for Frankie is keeping the mounting number of lies straight. He lives in hope that the goons who killed Barry won’t find him in Texas, and of course his impersonation depends on the real Mohle remaining in Maine. Naturally, things all come crashing down – and Magnuson brings this novel to a satisfying and credible conclusion. What’s your favorite moment? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” A Novel by Maria Semple

May 16, 2014

Image via Amazon.com

Bee Branch lives in Seattle with her dad, Elgin, who works at Microsoft, and her mom, Bernadette Fox, who — well, let’s just say Bernadette does what she can to make Bee’s and Elgin’s lives happy, and doesn’t much care what the neighbors say. Bee is a top student at the Galer Street School, “a place where compassion, academics and global connectitude join together to create civic-minded citizens of a sustainable and diverse planet.” This fuzzy thinking provides the takeoff point for Maria Semple’s hilarious novel “Where’d You Go, Bernadette.”

Galer Street is a top second-tier school (it’s located in an industrial park next to a wholesale seafood distributor), and much of the plot revolves around the efforts of its fundraising consultant, Ollie-O, to raise it to a top-tier school. The plan includes an outreach brunch for the very desirable Mercedes Parent (and a few other steps – Semple manages to include a thorough catalogue of consultant-speak in one short memo). The brunch is to be held in – where else? – the Griffins’ house next door to the Branches’ ramshackle, overgrown place. There’s conflict immediately, as Audrey Griffin wants some blackberry bushes, which Bernadette loves, cleared in advance of the party.

Bernadette is a complex character. Her husband and daughter love her dearly, but she avoids people generally and specifically hates most of the other Galer Street parents. Bee has negotiated a trip to Antarctica as a reward for her good grades, and Bernadette outsources most of the planning and outfitting of the trip. Tickets are obtained and packages arrive, but Bernadette’s state of mind declines rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, that Elgin decides to intervene. Unfortunately, Bernadette disappears.

Elgin and Bee don’t give up on her, but life without Bernadette isn’t the same. Semple uses several approaches to tell her story, including a series of emails (illustrating a digital-age epistolary novel) mixed with Bee’s first-person narrative. It’s an adept way of conveying the actions and motivations that Bee, who is only 12 when most of the story takes place, might not have fully understood when she witnessed it. The emails also allow Semple to shift among different characters’ points of view as the novel progresses. There are quite a few surprises along the way, and every one of them is convincing.

Semple skillfully skewers, among others, social climbers, modern parenting, Seattle (Beecher’s! recumbent bikes! the elite tiers of the various Microsoft shuttles!), and consultants. This book will take you through a long plane ride, a day at the beach, or, if necessary, a convalescence. What’s your favorite among Semple’s targets? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “The Good Doctor: A Father, a Son, and the Evolution of Medical Ethics” by Barron H. Lerner

May 9, 2014

Image via Goodreads.com

As Barron Lerner demonstrates in his clear-eyed and loving memoir “The Good Doctor,” the practice of medicine has changed dramatically over the course of our lifetimes and those of our parents. When Philip Lerner, Barron’s father, was training to be a doctor in the mid-to-late 1950s, antibiotics were relatively new and the polio vaccine had yet to be developed. Doctors knew best, they made decisions autonomously, and often withheld information – particularly when the diagnosis was cancer – from their patients. By the time his son Barron Lerner was trained in the 1980s things had changed dramatically: resident training hours were limited, new technology such as CT scans and MRIs was becoming available, and patient autonomy was central to practice.

That’s not all that changed. The epistemology of medicine was evolving, too. High-powered computers made large statistical studies possible, and they replaced the small retrospective studies doctors like Philip Lerner had published. Some of the consequences of mid-century medicine, like the emergence of drug-resistant bacteria, were becoming evident as well. By looking in some detail at the life of his father and his own professional history, the doctor and historian Barron Lerner charts the sea change the practice of medicine has undergone in the past half-century or more.

But he does more. Philip Lerner published studies in journals, brought his teenaged son to the hospital, and left detailed journals. Drawing on all this information Barron Lerner found himself at times horrified and flabbergasted at some of his father’s actions. He opens the book with a dramatic scene: Philip Lerner, a senior infectious disease consultant, entered the room of a dying patient. The patient did not have a do-not-resuscitate order, but Dr. Lerner stated that no resuscitation should be performed. The nurses called in the order anyway. Dr. Lerner returned to the bedside and

placed his body over the patient, deliberately blocking his colleagues and foiling their desperate attempts to perform CPR. Despite their frantic objections, he stayed in place for several minutes, until they finally gave up.

This incident occurred in 1996. It’s one in a line of incidents that Barron Lerner relates, illustrating his father’s independence of mind. Philip Lerner was an example of what was worst and best about mid-century medicine. He was a distinguished and caring doctor who was a superb diagnostician and beloved by his patients, as many of them told Barron right after his father’s death. Philip Lerner was trusted by his family, too, and managed the medical care of many of his older relatives – something now regarded as a poor practice. Philip Lerner, child of working class parents, was very grateful to his grandfather’s foresight in emigrating from Poland in the early part of the 20th century, saving the family from likely extermination during the Second World War. He became a doctor to serve his community.

The son’s slow realization that his father’s paternalistic yet humanistic approach to his patients was in many cases prescient provides the book’s compelling narrative arc. One of the many interesting discussions is about the use of advanced technology to prolong the lives of dying patients. Philip Lerner appears to have believed, consistently and ahead of his time, that their use is not always a good thing – and that the fact that a DNR order is not in place is as much a failure of education efforts as anything else. What changed around him was the medical profession’s view of the ethics of the situation. On another topic of interest now, Phil Lerner was an early proponent of developing a meaningful way of organizing automated patient data, including lab reports. (If you haven’t yet read James Fallows’ thought-provoking series of blog posts on the irritating delays in developing electronic medical records, you can start them here.) It would be nice to think that the tide is at last turning.

“The Good Doctor” is part history, part loving if conflicted memoir and all of us, doctors and patients, should read it for its thought-provoking descriptions. What issues resonate most with you? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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Arts and Entertainment, Events

The Art of Brooklyn Film Festival May 7-11

May 6, 2014

The Art of Brooklyn Film Festival returns for a week of “Brooklyn‐born, Brooklyn-based and Brooklyn-centric films,” with many screened at Brooklyn Heights Cinema and St Francis College’s Founder’s Hall. Highlights include Bodies in Irreversible Detriment, starring Breaking Bad‘s Mark Margolis, and New York Dolls’ David Johansen; Balance, starring Stephen Baldwin; and Spoke: A Short Film About NYC Bikes by BHB’s Heather Quinlan. There will also be midnight screenings at Brooklyn Heights Cinema of PAN, described as “a sexy take on Peter Pan,” and Lapsus, “a creepy psychological thriller set in a Brooklyn laundromat.”

Tickets and schedules are available here, and you can watch a trailer here. See you at the movies!


Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/66994

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Books

Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “The Bridesmaids: True Tales of Love, Envy, Loyalty . . . and Terrible Dresses” by Eimear Lynch

May 2, 2014

Image via Goodreads.com

A wedding day has many ceremonies and requires bit players – like bridesmaids – to support the central characters. What woman hasn’t been there? By the time we are in our late twenties, most of us have been a bridesmaid at least once. It’s a shared experience among American women, but in fact it’s an American custom. In her new book “The Bridesmaids” Eimear Lynch has set out to explore this peculiar institution. As Lynch puts it:

I enjoyed standing up for each bride, but at times I didn’t quite see the point of the role. Sure, I was a symbol of support, and, yes, it was great to get some actual face time with the brides, but I thought there must be more to being a bridesmaid . . .

Well, no. The wedding is one day in the lives that surround it, but being a bridesmaid doesn’t rise to the level of a rite of passage (despite the expense). It’s about friendship, good and bad.

Lynch’s surprisingly interesting book is a series of first-person narratives. Best friends, sisters, former girlfriends of the groom, gay men, straight men, and lesbians all tell their stories. Some, including a former nun recounting the wedding of another former nun, are quite moving. Others, like the straight man who has been a bridesmaid in not one but two weddings, are quite funny. (He offered to wear a dress. The bride said a tux would be fine.) One of the least expected and most emotional is a nun’s description of taking religious vows:

In both a wedding ceremony and a sister’s vow ceremony, you are participating in this very hopeful thing, and the shared hope is that you can live up to what you are promising to do. You see the promise of a future that is better than it would be without a commitment to this other person. In our case, that other person is God.

It’s a pretty good definition of marriage.

Almost every bridesmaid, Lynch reports, has learned something, often something unexpected. Here’s someone who was a bridesmaid to a woman who reconnected with a high school boyfriend at a shiva for the mother of a mutual friend Rebecca:

The whole thing made me realize that Adina and I were friends because of our history, not because we had anything in common. . . And she still does this thing when she sees Rebecca that is both awful and funny. She says, “Oh Rebecca, thank God for you. I wouldn’t have ended up with Levi without you.” Which is sort of like saying, “Thank God your mom died . . .”

Lynch describes a few bridezillas, and some of the stories are horrors. One about the bride who wanted to save money asked her wedding planner friend to be a bridesmaid. Then the bride let the friend do all the wedding planner work – and didn’t pay her. More often, there are stories about resilience. In one, the bride’s sister organized a group of people with smartphones to keep an eye on weather reports, since storms were predicted. The storms did materialize, along with a tornado. The power went out, and families with small children took shelter in an old barn. Everyone else?

I thought that when the power went out everyone would want to leave, but the bar was still there and there was room for dancing. . . The big stroke of luck was that [the bride] wanted the reception to be candlelit, so we had lots of lanterns and candles on the tables. People just hung out . . . the wedding was awesome. People still tell me it was the best party ever.

“The Bridesmaids” is “about the experience of being a bridesmaid,” that is, a friend of the bride who supports her through the big day. But it’s really about friendship, good and bad, and keeping your eye on what’s important. It’s an experience many of us will repeat: supporting a friend through an intense and challenging and important period of her life. The dress doesn’t matter. The friendship does.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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Events

NY Transit Museum presents “The Routes Not Taken” May 13

April 28, 2014

On Tuesday, May 13, the New York Transit Museum will host “The Routes Not Taken,” an evening in which Joseph Raskin and Jim O’Grady will discuss the subway system’s unbuilt and unused tunnels and stations. Joseph Raskin is an independent scholar and an authority on unbuilt subway systems; he is also Assistant Director of Government and Community Relations for the MTA. Jim O’Grady is WNYC’s transportation reporter.

The event will be held Tuesday, May 13, at 6:30 pm at the NY Transit Museum, Boerum Place and Schermerhorn Street in Brooklyn. It’s free, but tickets, available here, are recommended.

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Books

Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “A Sting in the Tale: My Adventures with Bumblebees” by Dave Goulson

April 25, 2014

Picador. Image via Kirkus Reviews

Consider the bumblebee. It’s big and scary looking, it’s not supposed to be able to fly but it does, and Simon and Garfunkel called it lazy. In fact, according to Dave Goulson’s fascinating new natural history “A Sting in the Tale,” bumblebees are far from lazy. They’re important pollinators, they don’t sting often (unlike their relatives the honeybees) and, far from being lazy, they are very hard workers. They are also impressive navigators, able to find their way back to their nests from as far as 10 kilometers away.

Goulson begins with the story of the introduction of the short-haired bumblebee into New Zealand in the 1870s. British settlers had imported cattle, and clover to feed the cattle, but without bumblebees to pollinate it the clover didn’t grow well in New Zealand. The solution, obvious to the Victorian naturalists, was to import bumblebees. It took a couple of tries – in the course of which various people concerned figured out that they had to keep hibernating queen bees cool so they would survive the trip – but eventually short-haired bumblebees established themselves in New Zealand. They have thrived there ever since. Unfortunately, that’s not the case in the UK, where changing farming methods and development have largely wiped out the habitats of the short-haired bumblebee and many other species.

From this beginning, Goulson provides a two fascinating narratives: the natural history of bumblebees, with occasional forays into the lives of related insects, including honeybees and wasps, and his own life story as a biologist studying bees and their important role in the environment. He provides terrific descriptions of the evolution of the birds and the bees and their central role in the evolution of plants. That’s before he gets to the importance of bumblebees to the development of crops. Throughout, the writing is both spritely and clear:

[A]lmost every fruit or vegetable that is good to eat is pollinated by bees; imagine a diet without almonds, blueberries, raspberries, beans, apples, melons, cherries, cucumbers, pumpkins . . . Many vegetables do not require pollination by bees to produce an edible crop, but nonetheless pollination is needed to produce the seed for next year. Even cows require pollination. You may think I’m getting a bit carried away here, but many fodder crops, such as clovers and alfalfa, require bees to pollinate them . . .

Unlike other books about science, this is neither a tale of triumphs or of disasters. It’s more of a picaresque: Goulson and his students and collaborators test a theory with an experiment. Sometimes things pan out. More often, they don’t, and Goulson admits to a great many errors and failures. It’s as clear a description of the actual work of science one might hope to find. Goulson also names and credits his graduate students.

Goulson ends the tale where he began it, with the short-haired bumblebee. The Bumblebee Conservation Trust, an organization he founded, wanted to reintroduce the short-haired bumblebee to Britain. Doing so required developing sufficient habitat, which was comparatively (and surprisingly) easy, and finding suitable healthy bees. The second task was harder, as might have been expected, and Goulson describes the many useful lessons the Bumblebee Conservation Trust learned. The book, originally published in the UK last year, ends before Goulson learned whether the 2012 attempt would be successful. If you’re interested, you can get an update here.

Goulson begins with an account of his childhood fascination with insects of all kinds, and some mishaps. What’s your favorite? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

This post has been updated to correct some spellings.

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Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “The Woman Upstairs,” A Novel by Claire Messud

April 18, 2014

Women’s anger is an uncertain thing. It’s deserved, but sometimes we hold back from expressing it. Nora Eldridge, the narrator of Claire Messud’s gripping 2013 novel “The Woman Upstairs” has certainly earned her anger. Nora is a school teacher – she teaches third graders – a career she came to after her first career, as an artist, didn’t work out. She’s single and lives alone, and makes enough money to keep a two-bedroom apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The second bedroom is her studio. Nora has friends, occasional lovers, and she keeps an eye on her widowed father and his sister. As a life, it’s a full and happy one.

Until. One year, a beautiful boy Reza Shahid, half French, half Lebanese, joins Nora’s third-grade class. His mother, Sirena, is an artist and his father Skandar is an academic. Skandar’s work has brought the family to Cambridge for a year. Neither Sirena nor Reza is especially happy to be there. Sirena’s career was about to take off; her work is just starting to be shown in important Paris galleries. Reza is a sweet boy, but he looks different from many of the other children at the school, and he is bullied.

Because of the bullying, Nora gets to know Sirena and Reza. Because Nora falls a little in love with Reza she allows herself and Sirena to cross boundaries that normally she is strict about maintaining: Nora babysits for Reza. She and Sirena decide to share a studio. She accepts invitations to dinner at the Shahids. She feels as if she has joined the family.

Nora makes great progress on her own art – she creates small reproductions of writers’ rooms, starting with Emily Dickinson’s – while the Shahids are in Europe over the Christmas holidays. Then, when Sirena’s project takes off, Nora ignores her own work for weeks to help Sirena. She ends up working as an assistant on Sirena’s project, and even arranges a field trip so that the third-graders can see it. Why is Nora so willing to drop her own work for Sirena’s? Is it because Sirena’s work is really “art,” while Nora’s is just a hobby? Nora struggles with the question, even as she is preoccupied with Sirena’s project.

At the end of this terrific novel the themes of love and betrayal come together in a scene that makes clear to Nora her place in the Shahids’ world, and the world she has created in her imagination. There is blame to go around for what happens, and plenty for Nora to feel angry about. One of the interesting questions the novel raises is who, exactly, has betrayed whom. Nora, though unable to admit it, is an obvious candidate as both. Yet if she is an actor, who is it she has betrayed? It’s a satisfyingly ambiguous ending, even though it’s one that Nora is quite rightly angry about. Do you agree? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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Brooklyn Bugle Book Club: “Vernon Downs” a novel by Jaime Clarke

April 12, 2014

Image via Roundabout Press

Pity poor Charlie Martens. Since his parents died without making adequate provision for him, Charlie bounced from relative to relative until he wound up at Glendale Community College, in Arizona, studying creative writing. He has never learned to plan; he just improvises until he’s out of moves. Every few years he reinvents himself in a new location. It’s almost a good-enough preparation for a writer’s life. It’s certainly good preparation for what Charlie does in this novel: move closer and closer to the life of the writer Vernon Downs. Ultimately, Charlie inhabits that life, and consequences, not all of them predictable, ensue.

Despite Charlie’s rootless and amoral existence, Clarke succeeds in making him into a surprisingly sympathetic character. It’s not so much that Charlie acts with good intentions; it’s that no one else is looking out for him. The plot is set in motion when Charlie, attempting to impress the woman he is dating, sets out to arrange a meeting with Vernon Downs, who is coming to speak at Glendale. One reasonable lie leads to another, and eventually events spin out of Charlie’s control. Charlie gets away with it, barely, but that initial success only leads him on to greater and deeper involvement.

The unpleasant Vernon Downs also engenders some sympathy. He’s turned from being a person to a persona, but all the same he doesn’t deserve to have first his apartment and then his life taken over by a dybbuk, even if he has leaned on the accommodating Charlie – and in his turn been accommodating enough for Charlie to pull off his impersonation. Clarke builds in a nice symmetry: towards the end of Charlie’s deception as Vernon he enters into an email correspondence with Shannon, an aspiring writer. Shannon, in turn, stalks Charlie-as-Vernon.

Charlie is surprisingly self-aware for someone who lives so alarmingly close to the edge of disaster. If only, Charlie thinks,

he could bead his experiences on a chain, not just to memorialize them in print for posterity, but to search them for threads of meaning or instructive themes.

It’s Charlie’s complete inability to do so that leads him into disaster. Clarke himself is more successful, developing what at first glimpse is another story about the challenges facing aspiring writers into a rich story of the effects of obsession both on the object and the obsessed. “Vernon Downs” is a surprisingly compelling and entertaining novel.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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