The Ascent of Money

Niall Ferguson is wicked smart and, I think, ambitious as hell. The first thing I ever read of his was The House of Rothschild (vol 1 and vol 2), and it was brilliant. I learned an amazing amount about history, economics, and why the Rothschilds were so instrumental in shaping European history during the 1800s and 1900s.

His later books haven’t been as thorough, though they’ve still been good — I’d recommend Empire and Colossus (the latter with some reservations) to anyone. The Ascent of Money? Not so much.

It’s light and breezy and I don’t know if it was orginally planned as a TV series but it maybe should have stayed there. The book was so hastily written in an effort to get it out quickly that there are obvious errors: Asia and other emerging economies are not insulated from the current economic climate, for the most obvious one. There are also places where he needs to get into more detail — about securitization, for example — so the reader can understand the current crisis and how it all ties together.

There are places where it shines: I find myself thinking about the French banks during the 1800s to understand the role of The Fed in our current crisis, and the bit about the Medici pioneering the first currency trading helps explain why economic isolation is A Bad Thing.

I like it, but I expected more of Niall Ferguson – the whole thing should be good, not just bits.

The Ascent of Money: Meh

Sneaker Wars

Sneaker Wars

Sneaker Wars is a fairly interesting book about Puma and Adidas, two sneaker companies that were run by brothers on the opposite sides of a small town in Germany. They started out owning Adidas, but then, due to family politics during World War II and its aftermath (the brothers got treated *very* differently by the occupying Allied troops), one of them left to start Puma. They barely spoke again until their deaths.

Honestly, the book reads like a soap opera. The brothers were only one of the family rivalries. After the split, the brother in charge of Adidas brings his son Horst into the business. Horst ends up running Adidas France as an almost separate company, with a parallel structure to rival the headquarters in Germany. There was a mess (to put it mildly) when Adidas had to integrate the two organizations to cut costs. Plus, this all coincides with the rise of marketing, which necessarily involves Nike, since they really masterminded sneaker and athletic wear marketing.

That said, I completely lost interest in Sneaker Wars once the businesses passed out of the families’ hands, which happens about two-thirds of the way through the book. The soap opera was done, and the story turned to the mechanisms of corporate raiders instead of being about families and relationships.

Sneaker Wars: Meh

The Secret Diary of a Call Girl

I got interested in The Secret Diary of a Call Girl because of a conversation with a colleague who has a masters in Women’s Studies about whether or not prostitution exploits women. (The short answer: it depends on who’s making what choices.) She finished up the topic by saying, “But are you watching Secret Diary of a Call Girl?” I had to answer no, that I didn’t have Showtime. She raved about it.

A few days later, I went in search of Belle de Jour, the author’s blog (that preceded the book), and read this post about how women treat other women vis a vis their sexuality. Based entirely on that, I reserved The Secret Diary of a Call Girl at the library.

I read the first 100 pages or so in one sitting. It was fascinating, but in that way that sex inherently fascinates. No one turns away from sex, unless the point is to turn away from it, in which case you’re still calling attention to it. And that’s not what I wanted from the book. I wanted… I don’t know, everything around the sex to be more interesting: better reasons for why she got into it (not just that she likes sex and needed the money – people always fall into their jobs because they like something about it and they need the money), how her boyfriend dealt with it, more thoughts about the why and how, less of the what. *

Maybe that’s what was disappointing: her blog now talks more about relationships in a very thoughtful way, in a way this book doesn’t. Maybe that’s where you get after five years of daily blogging about the same subject. The early entries in her blog are about the sex and now they’re more about the people. The sex is fun, but once you’ve figured out that her life isn’t really that different than anyone else’s (in the whole motivation-of-it-all, not in the day-to-day activities which are quite different), the people hold your attention longer.

The Secret Diary of a Call Girl: Meh. Read the blog instead.

* I should note that she seems remarkably psychologically healthy. Many people who like sex as much as she does often have self-confidence problems. She doesn’t.

The Thin Place

I don’t have much coherent to say about The Thin Place. It’s time for a simple, bulleted list.

For:

• There are lots of characters, just like real life. It’s nice when a story can admit that one person interacts with more than just five people in any given day.
• The characters are well-drawn. In most cases, they feel like real people. There are some stock characters, but not too many.
• The small-town atmosphere is small, but not backwards. The author realizes that real people live somewhere other than the coasts. (OK, The Thin Place takes place in New England, which isn’t exactly far away from the Atlantic, but the people in it could live in the middle of the country and not look like freaks.)
• It’s not flashy, which, even though I like Michael Chabon, is a nice change from his books.

Against:

• There’s a lot of religious symbolism.
• Because a lot of that symbolism goes over my head, I didn’t really understand what the book was about. I mean, I get that I didn’t understand it, but knowing that doesn’t make it less frustrating.
• This definitely falls into the “Plot? We don’t need no stinking plot,” category that I don’t like that much. Although that may be because of the aforementioned symbolism that went over my head.

The Thin Place: Meh.

On Paradise Drive

I’m putting On Paradise Drive down not because it’s bad. It’s not; in fact, so far it’s been quite entertaining. But that’s the problem: it’s entertaining. It’s not teaching me anything new about the structure of the suburbs and who lives there and why. In fact, it seems to be perpetrating some classic Baby Boomer stereotypes about who lives in the suburbs and their lack of an inner life. And even though it’s entertaining, that’s bothersome. Just because people live in the suburbs doesn’t make them more scorn-worthy. They just live in the suburbs: maybe it’s because that’s where their jobs are, maybe it’s because they have kids who need space to run around, maybe it’s because that’s where they grew up and they like it there. I don’t need David Brooks to remind me of any of that.

On Paradise Drive: Meh

A Perfect Mess

Here’s what I learned from A Perfect Mess: I’m existentially messy, because we’ve moved so much and every time we put together a life, it gets uprooted. I try to control that through organizing things, but I also organize things as a way to procrastinate doing things that scare me.

Trust me when I say this isn’t news to me.

And that’s the big problem with A Perfect Mess. There’s nothing new. Did you know that organizations can be more innovative when they’re less hierarchical? It’s true! Did you know that organizing everything to within an inch of its life may not make your own life easier? Also true! The book is saved from being not recommended by simply being a common sense antidote to sites like Lifehacker and 43 folders. Sometimes common sense needs to be pointed out.

Organization may or may not set you free.

A Perfect Mess: Meh

The Maltese Falcon

I’m noir-ed out. I’ve been reading too much Raymond Chandler, Elmore Leonard, Ian Rankin, and now Dashiell Hammett. Instead of thinking about the story, I found myself thinking about how shadows and nighttime play a large role in noir (books and movies), and wondering if it was a reaction to electric lights being more widespread in the first half of the twentieth century, with more people staying up later. (A simple search on “when did electric lights become widespread” doesn’t answer the question.)

The Maltese Falcon is one of the earliest noir novels that I know of. The mystery itself — where the hell the statue is — is pretty simple. The mystery comes from who’s lying, who’s double-crossing who, and who’s really in cahoots with whom.

Honestly, I read it because I felt like I should have read it, not because it particularly piqued my interest. That’s why it didn’t click: I didn’t care very much and it didn’t engage me.

The Maltese Falcon: Meh.

The Birth of Venus

The Birth of Venus: trashy, but really entertaining. It’s got pretenses towards serious fiction, but it’s chick lit that takes place in Renaissance Florence. The plot twists are predictable, and the characters are neither consistent or entirely believable. But it was still fun to read. Kind of like going to see a summer blockbuster.

The Birth of Venus: Meh. (Sorry, it’s bad enough that there’s no way I can actually recommend it.)

French Women Don’t Get Fat

I have this habit. Something was big a couple of years ago. I come across it. I wonder why it used to be so popular. I pick it up. Sometimes, I even spend good money to do so*.

French Women Don’t Get Fat is actually a pretty common-sense book, if you ignore that whole drink-some-water-that-you’ve-boiled-leeks-in-and-call-it-soup thing. It tells you to eat less, but not in some radical way; just pay attention to what you eat and figure out where you can cut back. Nor does it promise to help you lose weight fast; right at the beginning she says it’s going to take six months. Honestly, if it weren’t for all the French phrases peppered through the book, it would be rather boring.

It does also have a number of recipes. I’m always skeptical of recipes from books that aren’t really cookbooks. So I made one of them — halibut en papillote — and it turned out all right. The fennel seed was a nice touch that gave some flavor to what would have been an otherwise bland dish. I’ll be trying the vegetable soup (a full-on vegetable soup with potatoes and carrots and leeks and cabbage — although I’m going to substitute some chicken broth for the water) later this week.

I’m not recommending it because you can get the advice almost anywhere — What to Eat had most of it — and because her main advice to move more — to walk everywhere — is extremely difficult to follow in most American cities and suburbs.

French Women Don’t Get Fat: Meh.

* This was not one of those times. Thanks public library!

A Year in Van Nuys

A Year in Van Nuys made me realize that, much like I was a sucker for a Cinderella story when I was a kid, I’m now a sucker for a certain kind of realizing-who-you-are-and-coming-to-peace-with-that chick lit novel. Why Moms Are Weird was that novel. Literacy and Longing in L.A. was that novel (although not as well done). And, yes, A Year in Van Nuys is also that novel. Only this time it’s not a novel, it’s a memoir, and this one’s the funniest of the three. But not funny enough to be recommended even if you don’t like that particular sub-genre of chick lit.

She does score extra points for thanking everyone at Marketplace in her Acknowledgments section. I love Marketplace.

A Year in Van Nuys: Recommended, if you like that sort of thing, and meh if you don’t.

Tooth and Nail

Tooth and Nail is the third Inspector Rebus mystery, and I think it’s one of the worst. One of the things I like about these is how Inspector Rebus and Edinburgh work together. But Tooth and Nail takes place in London. Not to mention that the noir aspects of this one seem to take over, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. Why the murderer becomes a murderer is also disturbing in a particularly icky way.

Rebus is a better, more nuanced character in the later books. I think this one suffers from being too early in the series.

Tooth and Nail: Meh

Literacy and Longing in LA

Meh. Literacy and Longing in L.A. is a typical going-through-life-changes chick lit book. It reminded me a little bit of Why Moms Are Weird, except that the main character in Why Moms Are Weird is charming. The main character here is wealthy and doesn’t know what to do with herself and reads all the time. It’s actually a bit like she was test-marketed: someone in market research for a book company figured out the attributes that the main character of a chick lit book should have. That got passed along and the company found two people to write it.

It’s not particularly bad, it’s just not particularly good. If you want to read something like it, go for Why Moms Are Weird instead.

Literacy and Longing in L.A.: Meh

Robots of Dawn

Yep, still more Asimov. The main thing I wrote down about this one (since I read it more than a couple of weeks ago) is more on the cities/suburbs divide. It’s important to note that Robots of Dawn was written in the early 80s, while The Naked Sun was written in the 50s. In The Naked Sun, the Spacer Worlds (read: suburbia) were still very powerful compared to Earth (read: cities), but in this one there’s a palpable sense of decline. The idea here is that the Spacers are too comfortable with all their creature comforts, and lack the energy and willpower to expand their society.

Basically, it’s the same book as The Naked Sun. It’s even still got the reproduction issues that squick me out so.

Robots of Dawn: Meh.

On Beauty

Here’s the thing: I’m sick of this kind of book. On Beauty is a good book, well written, a compelling story (apparently based on Howards End, by E.M. Forester, something I’ve never read), but ultimately just not a kind of book that lights me on fire.

So, what kind of book is it? It’s about class and race and politics, and it explores academic life vs real world life — or rather, it would if it presented the real world as robustly as it did the academic life. I don’t know. If you want to talk about class and race and politics, stop presenting me with vignettes and start giving me numbers. Tell me about real people instead of some fictional story. It’s like David Brooks — a full vision of the world, but you don’t know if what he’s telling you is true because there’s no data to back up what he’s saying.

That’s not really fair — I shouldn’t be reading this looking for anything real world. That’s not what On Beauty is about. But it is trying to tell us something about class and race at the same time — it is trying to get at real issues. That’s my problem with this whole genre, and why I’ve never read any Forester.

On Beauty: Meh. But it’s me.

The Wonder Spot

I like Melissa Banks’ style. She takes short stories from a wide swath of someone’s life and ties them together to give you a picture of who they are and what made them that way. I like it because no one gets formed all at once, and how she writes deals with that in a likeable, readable way.

It worked better in The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing, though. There were ideas in that one about how people relate to each other that was a little deeper than most chick lit. This one, full of real people, doesn’t have anything new to say. Which is too bad, because I wanted to like it.

One of the problems is that her style doesn’t let anything too dramatic happen. The main character has a fiancé, who she dumps, and then he dies a year later. We never meet him. We don’t see anything about their relationship, just a couple of mentions well after the funeral. Now, in a book about relationships and how screwed up they can be, this seems like a problem. Someone’s unexpected death would have been too much for the rest of it. It wouldn’t have fit the pace or the style.

There is such a thing as too slow, and The Wonder Spot is.

The Wonder Spot: Meh

Lost in a Good Book

The second of the Thursday Next books (after The Eyre Affair), this one delves into the book world side of the universe. It’s a good idea, but it doesn’t hold up to extended scrutiny. That’s the same criticism I had for The Eyre Affair, but it’s even worse here. While I could recommend the first one, it’s too much here. I’m not sure if he thought he could get away with it because he was in a hurry, or if he just didn’t think it through. Whatever. It just doesn’t work.

The idea is that there’s a Library that holds a master copy of every edition of every book ever written. Those that have been published are upstairs, while those that haven’t are in the basement, called The Well of Lost Plots. The characters from the books, when they’re not busy playing their parts, police the books, taking care of plot holes, making sure that other characters don’t get bored doing the same thing over and over and try to leave, among other things.

The numerous inconsistencies are distracting. One of the major plot points is that a lost Shakespeare play is stolen from the Library and brought into the real world. But the play is stolen from the Library, not the Well of Lost Plots. And how are there only something like 27 editions of Great Expectations? Does that mean there are 27 versions of Miss Havisham running around? Then why do we only meet one? And when they go to fix a plot hole at the beginning, do they only have to fix it in one, and not all 27? It’s like he just got all caught up in the plot (which is fun, and makes for a fast read) and didn’t take the time to make his world consistent.

It’s entertaining, if you can ignore all the holes in its universe. Sadly, I can’t.

Lost in a Good Book: Meh.

A Year in the Merde

My expectations were too high.

I like Peter Mayle, but I also understand that his stuff is a bit over-the-top. So when my husband asked me if I wanted to read a spoof of A Year in Provence, I said sure. But, something making fun of something else also has to be as smart as the thing it’s making fun of. This book doesn’t qualify.

It’s actually a pretty realistic take on life in Paris, rather than anything out-and-out skewering it. Sometimes things go your way and sometimes they don’t. And you learn how to roll with the punches. The main character’s a bit of a tool, but that’s part of the point. He’s supposed to be.

It’s a good brain-candy, vacation book.

A Year in the Merde: Meh.

Bobos in Paradise

Remember when I reviewed Class? And I said that it needed updating because it’s not 1983 anymore? Yeah, David Brooks thought the same thing a few years ago. He doesn’t revisit all the classes, just the upper middle class, but he goes into that one with a lot more depth.

I don’t want to summarize that he says about that class (mostly because once I got going, it would be pages and pages before I stopped). I’d like to take issue with one main thing. He admits that he doesn’t really have a formal methodology; that he’s just writing about the things he sees around him. (Some of the material that he’s using here comes from previously published essays.) How does he know this is representative? Is this what the upper-middle class is like across the country, or only on the East Coast? To be fair, he never says that it’s the upper-middle class, but it’s obvious from how he’s writing. But one still can’t be sure. Remember, this is all an anecdote. A powerful one, but still: anecdote.

So, if you assume it’s true (and my instincts tell me that it is, having grown up in one of his bobo towns: Madison, WI), then the issues that I have are more with the class and less with this book. In no particular order, a partial list is: What makes Pottery Barn a responsible company? Why have you romanticized living in the middle of nowhere so much? Have you ever tried it? Why do you have kitchens that big if you never cook? (Waste resources much? And you started the environmental movement. Hypocrite.) How can you consider yourself to be Christian if you don’t actually believe that Christ a) existed and b) died for our sins? Isn’t that just religion-lite? Isn’t that wrong? How meritorious is it to be a pundit anyway? Why are you so sure that everyone wants to be a pundit? Why haven’t you been saving for retirement if you’re so smart, anyway? Don’t you care that you’re leaving social security in a complete mess for my generation to fix? (Clearly, no.) And why can’t you just admit that you’re never going to be able to retire, thus ensuring that I never get a promotion in a traditional company? (You wonder why dotcoms looked so appealing a few years ago.)

Ok, so he doesn’t talk about the economic questions at the end, but as far as I’m concerned, the Baby Boomers have a lot to answer for.

Yes Kate, you’re saying, but you’re not really telling me if the book is any good. Yeah, I think it is. And, like I said, my instincts tell me that he’s mostly right, even if his data is skewed toward a Coast rather than the Bobos in the middle of the country. Since he’s an essayist and not a scientist, I’ll let it go.

I’m not sure I’d recommend it unless you’re one of those people who likes reading books on this subject already. It’s definitely about our parents’ generation, not ours. (Well, my parents’ generation. I don’t know which generation you belong to.)

Bobos in Paradise: Meh

Originally published on degelau.com.

Why Good Girls Don’t Get Ahead, But Gutsy Girls Do

Hm. Overall, this book was useful; however, I’m not sure it was worth the fourteen bucks. It covered some things I already knew, made me think “Duh, why didn’t I think of that”, and drove home (read: “yeah, I knew that, but do I have to?”) other ideas too.

In the “things I already know” category: things that parents and schools do to ensure that girls follow all of the rules and don’t really try to stand out. When boys engage in free-form discussion (i.e. not raising their hands), the teacher is much more likely to let it go than when a girl starts to join in – then hands need to go up. When parents scold their children, they’re much more likely to mean it with the girls whereas with boys they tend to do it with a wink and a nod. I’m not sure when these studies were done, (her data comes from an interview with a child psychologist who worked with her at one of her magazines) but… Yeah. Some of her examples happened to me. I can think of others to add, but she effectively gets her point across. It’s not like this is the point.

And yes, since we’re about to have a girl, I’m encouraging my husband to read this chapter. Her self-esteem shouldn’t be screwed with the way mine (and lots of women’s) was.

In the “duh” category: you should have a vision, mission and objectives for yourself. So, I know that companies, groups within companies, and other working groups need these. I’ve even thought about giving myself a mission statement on occasion. But I’ve never really thought about going this far with it; it does make sense.

Also in the “duh” category: working more hours doesn’t mean that anyone’s going to promote you. So you’re getting more face time in at the office. So what? It might just mean that people perceive you as not being able to get your work done in your allotted hours. No one’s going to look at you favorably for that. If you’re working more hours to get something extra done, then people might pay attention. If you call attention to it.

In the “yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I should but…” category: networking. I know it’s important. I really do. I’ve read research papers that prove it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes find it similar to pulling teeth. I’d much rather be hanging out with my friends and family than with a bunch of strangers. Which brings me to my next point about networking: it’s so much easier when you have friends and family who can (and will) introduce you to new people. Then it’s not so much like pulling teeth and more like meeting someone new who you might get along with. That’s much more fun. I’m convinced it’s why etiquette books reinforce (or used to) the concept of letters of introduction, and not just walking up to someone to introduce yourself. It’s less awkward for all involved when you already have a mutual friend. Let’s have a return to etiquette! Then I won’t be nearly so reluctant.

I’m pretty sure that I’m glad I read this. But I might feel more like I’m getting my money’s worth if I lend it to others for them to learn too. Hey, if I lend it to someone, does that mean I’m networking….?

Why Good Girls Don’t Get Ahead… But Gutsy Girls Do: Meh

Originally published on degelau.com.

Fashionistas

Ahhh, brain candy. This is a light, fluffy book about trying to bring down your boss. Let’s face it: we’ve all dreamed about it at some point or another. Someone in charge doesn’t do what you like, maybe they’ve pissed you off somehow. You want revenge. This book does it in a simple way — get the editor-in-chief of a fluffy magazine to back a controversial art show. Watch her fall to the waves of protest.

This book is also a comment on how not glamorous working in editorial, particularly at the glossies, really is. Long hours, little respect, and a satirized Anna Wintour for your boss. It’s enough to make anyone cringe.

Fashionista doesn’t really dwell too long on any of this though. The author makes her points quickly in short chapters (her background in magazines shows through). This book is easily digestible and fun.

Fashionistas: Meh