I've been schlepping around Wilderness Warrior: Theodore Roosevelt and the Crusade for America for weeks. The thing weighs five hundredish pounds. It's like I'm working out. Only here's the thing, I don't want to work out. Do you know what else I don't want to do? Finish reading this stupid book. And I don't have to. I'm speaking directly to you, Douglas Brinkley. I can stop whenever I want. There's no book report due on this bad boy. You weren't counting on that, were you, pal?
I know the publishing industry is struggling, but was there no money available for an editor? Wilderness Warrior is something like eight hundred pages long- much of it minutia. Do we really need to know the Latin name of every bird TR laid eyes on? The life history of the author of a book TR read in his youth? No thank you. I'll take a pass.
Brinkley is just a big fat show off. His graduate assistants or maybe Brinkley himself, but probably his graduate assistants, did mega research for this book and every single little bit of it is in there. No footnotes. So you've got to read it all. Because, if you don't read it, how do you know you could totally skip over it? Yeah, think about that for a minute. Why not just dump it all on the floor and roll around in it, Doug? You know you want to. No need to drag me into it.
I wonder if historians think that an interesting topic makes an interesting book? Because it doesn't. You've still got to be a good writer. But historians are a funny bunch. I don't understand them. I was in a class once with a boy from the history department who was talking about some book...I don't know...doesn't matter...I think it had "the" in the title...anyway, he was talking about this book and he went on and on questioning the author's historic method. Listening to him, all I could think was I love the sound of your voice. OK, but, after that, all I could think was you've got the most beautiful eyes. Alright, but immediately following that, I was struck by how shitty it must be to spend your time ripping some one's method when you could be reading a beautiful book and listening for what's true and letting it change you. But what do I know? I tend to be overly romantic and, anyway, I've never published anything. Plus I'm ripping this guy's book. Hey, am I a historian?
So what should I read next? I think my next upstairs book will be Herding Dogs: Progressive Training by Vergil Holland which has been in my TBR pile for a while now. Obviously. Isn't it in yours? Downstairs, I'm starting The Master: A Novel by Colm Toibin. It was recommended I read The Master so I can be a little more sympathetic toward Henry James. Which I guess I need to be because every time I say his name I roll my eyes and mutter total douche. Which he is...was. Despite the whole mega-genius, great writer situation.
Forget trying to destroy Constance Fenimore Woolson's legacy by burning her letters and dumping the entire contents of her apartment in a lagoon. You couldn't have managed to pull yourself together enough to drag yourself to her funeral? You couldn't manage that? Total douche.
OK, so Herding Dogs: Progressive Training and The Master: A Novel. I'll let you know how it goes.
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