Some years ago, at Best Video in Hamden Connecticut, the Most Ethical Man in the World and I stumbled on a video called Puss in Books. It was about cats who live in libraries. We could not resist renting this, and we did rent it, and we watched it I think five times before returning it. We showed it to cat-owning friends. We told everyone we knew about it. We considered buying a copy from the guy who put it together, at Iron Frog Productions, though we never did. From time to time, we talk about Puss in Books. Not every day or anything, but let’s just say that it’s never left our minds fully.
Reading this morning’s New York Times, I saw an article about Dewey, a library cat in Iowa. Apparently the head librarian in this Iowa library, Vicki Myron, and Bret Witter (identified as a former editorial director at Health Communications, the outfit that put together all those painful Chicken Soup for the [fill-in-the-blank] books), have sold a book they’re going to write about Dewey. Normally I don’t think I’d give a crap about something like this. I sold dozens of copies of that Marley and Me book back in the day but I’ll be honest: I never thought to read the book myself, not seriously. At least, I never considered buying it. Even with my employee discount. (Though maybe I’ll look for it at the library today.) But a book about a library cat, I might have to look into.
The Times article notes that Dewey was one of the featured stars in Puss in Books. I have to wonder how many people have ever seen this documentary. I don’t know what kind of distribution the video had – and it was, last I heard, only available on VHS, not on DVD – but surely Ethical Man and I are among an elite group of people who’ve seen this thing. Which means that most of you have missed the joy of seeing images of the wondrous Scottish Fold cats, Baker and Taylor, who resemble nothing so much as furry footballs. And you’ve missed seeing a bunch of elementary school kids “singing” their tribute to Baker and Taylor at deafening volume. (Why is it that when kids sing, it means they yell? What’s up with that?) I highly recommend this doofy documentary, if you can get your hands on a copy…the book about Dewey, I’ll wait and see…
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Preparing for a Seder: Two Womens' Perspectives
I recently read a small book, newly published, called Pesach for the Rest of Us by the novelist and poet Marge Piercy. I took it out of the library not because I was really that interested but because I knew I would be hosting a seder soon, and I thought, “Who knows, maybe she’s got some ideas we’d like to use.” Not likely, but you never know.
I can’t say as I’ve ever read Marge Piercy before, but my general impression of her work is that it wouldn’t appeal to me. I base this on my impression of her fans – with whom I do have some experience, after almost twenty years as a bookseller – who tend to be very, very earnest women. I don’t want to say they’re humorless, but I will say that they don’t tend to be the kind of people I’d want to drink Manhattans with. They’re more “just a glass of white wine, thanks” type people. Nice, but… that’s kind of the problem.
Still, I felt I had to read this book. I flipped through it and wasn’t too thrilled to see it had a lot of poetry in it (Edith does not enjoy poetry unless it’s the shorter work of Dorothy Parker or maybe, maybe… Philip Larkin; though, of course, I should have expected it); I was cheered to see that it had a lot of recipes. That kind of flippy-floppy reaction to the book is basically how I feel about the whole thing, in the end. It annoyed me, and it bored me, and then something struck me as charming or funny or smart. And then it annoyed me again.
Piercy has apparently hosted a seder every year for decades (in our household, this will be the 4th or 5th seder we’ve hosted, so we’re relative neophytes) and over the years has composed a Haggadah, which I gather is sort of a work-in-progress. She adds to it and takes things away as she’s moved; it’s a flexible text. (How PoMo.) Her book opens with a wide-eyed, pleading chapter on how contemporary Jews need to be reintroduced to the seder in such a way that they feel they can make it their own; she feels that too many people remember the seder as a sort of boring lecture that is endured simply to get to the food. Well, I can’t really argue with that. I don’t know that I’d call it a lecture, but I do think seders are fairly dull, and I do think it’s mostly about the food. It’s Thanksgiving dinner for Jews. Without the turkey, and, thank god, without the fucking cranberries. I think even my family’s sloppy seder is religiously moving, though – I mean, I think it has its moments – and I know I would not relish the thought of attending a seder that took itself much more seriously than we take ours. Bad Jew? Probably. So be it.
So Piercy wants us to rewrite our Haggadot to reflect our lives; she particularly wants us to rework the texts to reflect political views, preferably ones like hers. Piercy’s book dwells deeply in this area, with limited range. Has she never met a Jew who was a Republican? This was a large part of the annoyance factor in this book: over and over again, her added texts harp on subjects that, while important, I cannot be comfortable with at a seder. And she assumes that all her readers will agree with her, not allowing for debate in her lists of blessings. Her reworking of Dayenu made me want to scream. I should read about abortion rights at the seder table? I should read about the Iraq war at the seder table? No; I won’t forbid other people from doing it (not that it’d be possible to shut up some of my relatives anyhow without throwing the Cuisinart at them), but I’m not the kind of gal who’s going to encourage this kind of conversation at my table. Sorry.
So Piercy gets on my nerves… but then she writes these nice bits about her family, for example; she’s particularly affectionate when remembering her mother and grandmother. One story that amused me perhaps more than it should have was about her grandmother’s cat. “My grandmother’s gentleman cat, Blackie, always attended the seder, having a chair of his own. He did not, however, read the haggadah.” I can imagine our own gentleman cat sitting on a chair of his own at our seder; he often sits on a chair at our kitchen table anyway, looking at us and seeming to follow the conversation, wishing someone would offer him a drink, too.
In many ways, Piercy’s book is encouraging and comforting; it would be, I think, a wonderful book for someone who was preparing to do their first seder without having grown up attending seders regularly. Or, maybe, even if you had attended a seder every year, but suddenly are hosting and feel you are going to freeze up and not know what to do. The book is well-organized, and explains how to arrange everything, and talks about dietary restrictions (Ashkenazi and Sephardic, and offering many vegetarian recipes, of course); there’s nothing missing from this book, and so it is valuable. I imagine that fans of Piercy’s previous work will find this book a very welcome addition to their shelves. But you have to be willing to accept a lot of grandstanding along with the sane, reasonable, and good humored vision Piercy offers us.
I can’t say as I’ve ever read Marge Piercy before, but my general impression of her work is that it wouldn’t appeal to me. I base this on my impression of her fans – with whom I do have some experience, after almost twenty years as a bookseller – who tend to be very, very earnest women. I don’t want to say they’re humorless, but I will say that they don’t tend to be the kind of people I’d want to drink Manhattans with. They’re more “just a glass of white wine, thanks” type people. Nice, but… that’s kind of the problem.
Still, I felt I had to read this book. I flipped through it and wasn’t too thrilled to see it had a lot of poetry in it (Edith does not enjoy poetry unless it’s the shorter work of Dorothy Parker or maybe, maybe… Philip Larkin; though, of course, I should have expected it); I was cheered to see that it had a lot of recipes. That kind of flippy-floppy reaction to the book is basically how I feel about the whole thing, in the end. It annoyed me, and it bored me, and then something struck me as charming or funny or smart. And then it annoyed me again.
Piercy has apparently hosted a seder every year for decades (in our household, this will be the 4th or 5th seder we’ve hosted, so we’re relative neophytes) and over the years has composed a Haggadah, which I gather is sort of a work-in-progress. She adds to it and takes things away as she’s moved; it’s a flexible text. (How PoMo.) Her book opens with a wide-eyed, pleading chapter on how contemporary Jews need to be reintroduced to the seder in such a way that they feel they can make it their own; she feels that too many people remember the seder as a sort of boring lecture that is endured simply to get to the food. Well, I can’t really argue with that. I don’t know that I’d call it a lecture, but I do think seders are fairly dull, and I do think it’s mostly about the food. It’s Thanksgiving dinner for Jews. Without the turkey, and, thank god, without the fucking cranberries. I think even my family’s sloppy seder is religiously moving, though – I mean, I think it has its moments – and I know I would not relish the thought of attending a seder that took itself much more seriously than we take ours. Bad Jew? Probably. So be it.
So Piercy wants us to rewrite our Haggadot to reflect our lives; she particularly wants us to rework the texts to reflect political views, preferably ones like hers. Piercy’s book dwells deeply in this area, with limited range. Has she never met a Jew who was a Republican? This was a large part of the annoyance factor in this book: over and over again, her added texts harp on subjects that, while important, I cannot be comfortable with at a seder. And she assumes that all her readers will agree with her, not allowing for debate in her lists of blessings. Her reworking of Dayenu made me want to scream. I should read about abortion rights at the seder table? I should read about the Iraq war at the seder table? No; I won’t forbid other people from doing it (not that it’d be possible to shut up some of my relatives anyhow without throwing the Cuisinart at them), but I’m not the kind of gal who’s going to encourage this kind of conversation at my table. Sorry.
So Piercy gets on my nerves… but then she writes these nice bits about her family, for example; she’s particularly affectionate when remembering her mother and grandmother. One story that amused me perhaps more than it should have was about her grandmother’s cat. “My grandmother’s gentleman cat, Blackie, always attended the seder, having a chair of his own. He did not, however, read the haggadah.” I can imagine our own gentleman cat sitting on a chair of his own at our seder; he often sits on a chair at our kitchen table anyway, looking at us and seeming to follow the conversation, wishing someone would offer him a drink, too.
In many ways, Piercy’s book is encouraging and comforting; it would be, I think, a wonderful book for someone who was preparing to do their first seder without having grown up attending seders regularly. Or, maybe, even if you had attended a seder every year, but suddenly are hosting and feel you are going to freeze up and not know what to do. The book is well-organized, and explains how to arrange everything, and talks about dietary restrictions (Ashkenazi and Sephardic, and offering many vegetarian recipes, of course); there’s nothing missing from this book, and so it is valuable. I imagine that fans of Piercy’s previous work will find this book a very welcome addition to their shelves. But you have to be willing to accept a lot of grandstanding along with the sane, reasonable, and good humored vision Piercy offers us.
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