Category Archives: Friday Reads

Earlier this month, Dermot Kennedy (a new-to-me artist whose music I’ve been enjoying) released an album called The Weight of the Woods. I’ve had the titular song and its reprise on repeat quite a few times since then.  

If I should fall down / under stars I can’t call out / get me back to my homeground / let me add to the weight of the woods // Tether my bones tight / in view of that coastline / and bury this soul of mine / give it back to the weight of the woods.  

An ever-increasing amount of years ago, like all good English Literature students, I was assigned to read Walden; or, a Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau as part of my American Literature studies. Something in those pages caught to the quick of me. And it wasn’t just the cabin he built for 28 (19^th century) dollars. Home ownership! Imagine! (Though he did not own the land).  

Anyways, “The Weight of the Woods” reminded me of Walden, as did the advent of spring, as did the itch of having no dirt under my fingernails. “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” indeed.  

I would imagine (or would like to believe, or even hope) that nearly every educated person  recognizes the name Walden and understands, at least in broad strokes, the themes associated with it: nature, simplicity, contemplation, and living deliberately. Most ought to recognize the iconic, oft-quoted line, oft-plastered-on-outdoor-outlet-store-walls, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived”  (Chapter 2: Where I Lived, and What I Lived For).  

Walden is, however, to my reading, more than a rote lesson. In fact, I think Thoreau himself would be remiss if his work was used as blueprint or gospel;  

I suspect that it is not purely an interest in diversity of life and observation that guides Thoreau to this conclusion, but rather a self-preserved reflex of we surely cannot all live in the woods and crowd that space — he remarks in Chapter 6, Visitors, that “These are the folks that worry the man / That lives in the house that I built. I did not fear the hen-harriers, for I kept no chickens; but I feared the men-harriers rather.” The use of the word “worry” in this instance refers to its meaning of “irritate.” This vexation is primarily caused by the “self-styled reformers, the greatest bores of all” and not the “honest pilgrims, who came out to the woods for freedom’s sake.”  

But the cut of what Thoreau cautions against is living a life uncontemplated, of following in another’s path just because the way already-tread is always easier than the uncharted path. Life is about simplicity, not ease; though Walden argues that simplicity eases the toils required to live. Don’t go off to live in the woods because you can’t think of anything else you’d rather do – go off to live in the woods because you think that there is nothing else that you can do, no other way that you can live. It’s true that Thoreau’s Walden experience only lasted a little over two years. It’s true that he was not the first or only to live in those Walden woods. But he did it, didn’t he?  

During my first reading of Walden — more than a decade ago now — my favorite chapter was Chapter 9: The Ponds. I was struck by Thoreau’s description of the pond. How could one not fall in love with such a place? It seems perfection; it seems ideal; it seems heavenly – ah, but Thoreau chides, “Talk of heaven! ye disgrace earth.”  

During this reading, it was Chapter 7: The Bean-Field that was dearest to me. There is something worthwhile and necessary in the soil, something worthwhile and necessary in the work of one’s hands, something necessary and worthwhile in birdsong and the woodchuck and the weeds. And how true it still rings today that, “ancient poetry and mythology suggest, at least, that husbandry was once a sacred art; but it is pursued with irreverent haste and heedlessness by us, our object being to have large farms and large crops merely.” 

Anyways, let me add to the weight of the woods and the beanfield – let me add some measure of my soul back to the work that I do, deliberately, turning the good earth in my hands wherever I can. 

Charles Yu’s Interior Chinatown is a pretty amazing book, and it is narratively different than anything I’ve read before. Frequently described as satire or metafiction, much of it is formatted to resemble a screenplay, with scene headings, character cues, and dialogue blocks. Additional narration, which expands beyond what would typically be included in a screenplay, is presented from the rarely-used second person point of view (think “you” pronouns).

Interior Chinatown’s main character, Willis Wu, is a young Chinese-American man who lives in Chinatown. He works as an extra (Background Oriental Male) in various movies and TV shows filmed on location, and he occasionally gets small speaking parts (Generic Asian Man). His aspiration, however, is to work his way up to the top slot in the hierarch: Kung Fu Guy.

Because of how this book is written, it’s often hard to tell whether actions are taking place on set or in real life. Willis and his neighbors, who are also cast in bit parts, share whispered commentary in the midst of scripted dialogue. And more significantly, dialogue between Willis and the stars of Black and White—the TV cop show they are currently filming—sometimes devolves into overt sniping about roles, stereotypes, and complicity with the system.

Text, subtext, and action blur. But the confusion serves a purpose. It opens up space for readers to interrogate the ways cultural tropes affect individuals—limiting how others see them as well as how they see themselves. It reminds us that everything is real life—even cliched cop shows.

This chaos is especially evident in the penultimate chapter: “Act VI: The Case of the Missing Asian.” Written as a courtroom scene, Willis is the defendant accused of “an internalized sense of inferiority.” According to testimony provided by Miles Turner, the Black detective from Black and White, “[Willis] thinks he can’t participate in this race dialogue, because Asians haven’t been persecuted as much as Black people.”

The trial is a wild ride. It provides Willis’s lawyer, Older Brother, whose recent absence from Chinatown is treated as a suspicious plot point in the latest Black and White episode but in reality is a function of his leaving to attend law school, an opportunity to share real case law pertaining to the historical treatment of minorities in the United States. It leads to Willis finally understanding that Kung Fu Guy is just another form of Generic Asian Man. And ironically, despite the main character’s epiphany, it ends in a giant Kung Fu battle—Wu and Older Brother vs. waves of cops—culminating in the freeing death of Kung Fu Guy

While Interior Chinatown’s plot is often bitingly funny, it never treats its subject matter lightly. That’s the brilliance of Yu’s work. It doesn’t offers easy answers, but it provides a crystal clear depiction of the dilemma confronting all of us: how to break free of the limiting roles and racial characterizations we’re steeped in.

Interior Chinatown was awarded the National Book Award in Fiction in 2020. It’s also been turned into a 10-episode miniseries available to stream on Hulu.

Yu, Charles. Interior Chinatown: A Novel. New York: Vintage Books, 2020.

Like so many others, I was laid low by the tragic news of Rob and Michelle Reiner’s deaths. I responded by watching movies Rob directed, including This is Spinal Tap (1984) and its recently released sequel, Spinal Tap II: The End Continues (2025). For the uninitiated, both films focus on Spinal Tap,  a fictional heavy metal English band consisting of Christopher Guest (Nigel Tufnel) on lead, rhythm guitar, and vocals; Michael McKean (David St. Hubbins) on vocals, rhythm, lead, and acoustic guitar; and Harry Shearer (Derek Smalls) on bass guitar and vocals. Their repertoire consists of songs they wrote together from their early classic, Gimme Some Money to the wildly popular Big Bottom. Continuing to blur the lines between fiction and reality, the trio of actor-musicians actually toured as Spinal Tap, playing at venues like Wembley Stadium, Glastonbury, and Carnegie Hall.

After watching both movies, I listened to, the audio book edition of A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap, narrated by Rob, Christopher, Michael, and Harry. The first part of the book explains how the quartet came up with ideas for the film by gathering ridiculous situations observed from real heavy metal bands. It also covered how difficult it was for the movie studio to understand the concept of the first ever mockumentary and the craft of “schnadle” or “schnäedling,” a term Christopher Guest invented to describe the specific brand of improvised acting performed by the cast.  The second part of the book is a conversation with the characters from Spinal Tap schnäedling the origin story of the band.

Most impressive is the fact that Christopher, Michael, and Harry are bonafide musicians and song writers. It’s the question they are most often asked, leading Michael to wonder why the general public cannot understand or appreciate that comics can also be accomplished musicians. Their musical talents were also showcased in the film, A Mighty Wind (2003) featuring more of their originally written folk songs displaying their instrumental versatility. This is Spinal Tap has entered our popular culture in many ways, most notably in our vocabulary. The well-known phrase “these go to 11” was even included in the Oxford English Dictionary in 2018 to signify something turned up to maximum volume or capacity beyond the maximum standard. This Is Spinal Tap was added to the Library of Congress Film Registry in 2002. To be nominated for the LC Film Registry, films must be at least 10 years old, and have “cultural, historical, or aesthetic significance.” The hardest part of the book to listen to was the four men speculating how the movie Spinal Tap would figure into their obituaries. For Rob, it was in the first line. 

If it weren’t for Spinal Tap, we wouldn’t have shows like The Office, Parks and Recreation, and Arrested Development.  Ricky Gervais created The Office after he fell in love with Spinal Tap. Then he sold something created in America back to America. If laughter is good like a medicine, introduce yourself to Spinal Tap or any of the mockumentary movies created by Reiner or Christopher Guest and discover the comic tonic of schnadling.

A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap by Rob Reiner, Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer, with David Kamp. Gallery Books. 2025

Every once in a while, it is good for readers to pick a book outside their usual choices. For some, that unexpected choice might be something light and fun. That choice might be Fredrik Backman’s Anxious People.

Described as a quirky Swedish comedy, Anxious People begins with a failed bank robbery. It was a cashless bank! The inept robber escapes into a nearby apartment building and inadvertently takes refuge in a unit where an eclectic group of strangers has gathered for a real estate viewing. What begins as farce quickly turns into an unlikely hostage situation.

At its heart, the book is about anxious people, and they are anxious for many different reasons. Backman presents enough of those reasons for readers to recognize themselves or others in the story. His main characters include the robber, the hostages, and the police (a father and son), all of whom are distinct and memorable. One of Backman’s strengths is his ability to create memorable characters with distinct stories, flaws, and depth.

Written with warmth and humor, the novel explores underlying themes: poverty, depression, family relationships, desperation, and the daily struggles of ordinary life. Each character’s backstory is gradually revealed, highlighting how interconnected lives can be and how individuals cope with their personal challenges.

The story unfolds through a series of interviews and flashbacks. As the narrative evolves, the hostages form a curious bond and, with empathy, conspire to help the bank robber. How these events ultimately resolve is best left for the reader to discover.

In interviews, Fredrik Backman has said that the book was inspired by his own experiences with anxiety. He has noted that while many people worry about similar things, they often feel isolated in those experiences.

For readers seeking a novel that falls squarely in the “feel-good” category, without ignoring life’s complexities, Anxious People is an excellent choice.

Anxious People was later adapted into a six-episode Netflix series that premiered in 2021. One of Backman’s earlier and best-known books, A Man Called Ove, was a bestseller and was later adapted into a motion picture starring Tom Hanks.

Backman, Fredrik. Anxious People: A Novel. Atria Books. 2020.

The Mythmakers isn’t your typical biographical graphic novel. While it does do the job of telling the complex story of the relationship between C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, it does so in a very creative way.

The book is narrated by a wizard and a lion – a reference to particular fantasy characters, perhaps? They use the technique of breaking the fourth wall to connect with the reader, alternating between their own discussions about literature and the lives of Lewis and Tolkien.

I have read the entire Chronicles of Narnia series, as well as The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, so as a huge fan of both of their works, I was very interested to learn more about the authors.

And I was not disappointed. The tale of their personal histories and the ups and downs of their friendship does provide great insight into their respective works. The artwork is quite muted, in shades of greys, yellows, and pinks, and as such doesn’t distract from the writing.

Throughout the book, you are given the option of going through Portals to sections in the back of the book, where literary ideas and themes are explained and fleshed out more. It’s not required to jump back and forth between the main story line and these appendixes, but I enjoyed how they taught you the deeper concepts along the way.

With the banter between the wizard and the lion narrators, the academic portals, and the semi-fictionalized tale of the friendship between Lewis and Tolkien, The Mythmakers surprisingly succeeds at being both educational and entertaining.

Hendrix, John. The Mythmakers: The Remarkable Fellowship of C.S. Lewis & J.R.R. Tolkien. Abrams Fanfare, 2024.