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Call of the Cats
by Andrew Bloomfield

There are two possible takeaways from reading Andrew Bloomfield's Call of the Cats: What I learned about Life and Love from a Feral Colony.

One is that Bloomfield is an uncommonly dedicated animal lover, one who devoted a huge part of his life to taking care of a group of backyard cats for little more than the intangible rewards of good deeds done (and maybe, perhaps, a decent writing contract).

The other potential takeaway is that Bloomfield confirms many observers' perceptions of cat people as weird, off-center, and perhaps more than a little crazy.

Andrew Bloomfield's Call of the Cats

The latter notion comes through to the reader less by way of the author's interaction with the cats in his neighborhood's large feral colony and more through what Bloomfield reveals about himself in the process of telling his story. In various diversions, Bloomfield discusses his time in Nepal, his on-again, off-again work as an astrologer, his spectacularly unsuccessful career as a day trader, his time as a dealer in rare Asian artworks...in short, Bloomfield relates the story of a peripatetic working life in which he apparently did everything except hold a normal job. The implication--no normal job because he's no normal person--seems clear, and certainly reinforces the notion that someone who would dedicate himself so vigorously to taking care of a group of cats--who often feel substantially less care for him--is probably a bit of a misfit, at least as far as the general rules of society go.

Nothing particularly revealing there. Those of us who love cats, in general, would have no problem with characterizing ourselves as misfits. In this world, dog owners are clearly deemed to be the normal people; they fit in, and one could even say they come across as quite satisfied with themselves. No such comfort exists for cat lovers, particularly those who really love cats. Bloomfield, apparently, qualifies on all counts there.

If you can get past the author's eccentricity, you do get an interesting and informative portrait of just how difficult it can be to handle--literally and figuratively--a colony of feral cats. The stories range from heartening--tales of this or that cat's recovery from a seemingly fatal illness--to heartbreaking--the devastation wreaked upon the colony, and particularly its kitten population, by the local predator population (coyotes, raccoons, opossums). It ain't easy living out there in the spaces in between, and it can be a harrowing experience if you're trying to help the cats who have settled into those spaces. That message shines through in Bloomfield's writing, at least as strongly as the characterization of the author himself does.

If there's any problem with Call of the Cats, it's mostly from a sense that the tale told in the book is comprised of many disjointed segments; a sense of flowing narrative rarely comes out of these pages. (Bloomfield's personal diversions do as much harm to that sense of flow as they do to his chance of being perceived as normal.) Also, the cast of feline characters grows too large at certain points for the casual, not-entirely-attentive reader to keep straight. The reader winds up feeling muddled in more than one stretch of the book's length.

But it's hard for a cat lover to make too negative an assessment of a book like this, and for an author who clearly exposes a deep and abiding love for the subjects of his literary inspiration. Those of us who deem ourselves to be true feline friends will find more than enough pleasure from Call of the Cats. And even the dog people among us, if they're feeling charitable towards their eccentric neighbors--and can get past feeling so satisfied with themselves--might get a bit of joy out of this very cat-centric book, too. It's certainly worth picking it up and giving it a try.

Reel Reviews

American Sniper -- Sometimes it’s good to be behind the times. Like, for instance, when you watch a movie a year after it hits theaters, and all of its accompanying controversy has receded into the background. This film would probably have been hard to judge when it first arrived, given the heated atmosphere surrounding it then. When viewed with some perspective, you can judge this film clearly: a very good movie featuring an excellent performance by Bradley Cooper, and not nearly as much jingo as its harshest critics believed. As usual, director Clint Eastwood brings much more nuance to a potentially propagandistic subject than the casual observer might expect. Certainly, he clearly shows that, for all his gung-ho, Chris Kyle paid an enormous price for his time in Iraq--and as such stands as an appropriate metaphor for the nation as a whole. Definitely worth a look.

Reel Reviews

The Imitation Game -- Much of what you see here is actually very standard, boilerplate "outsider" drama, set in the equally standard venue of a World War II movie. The loser who ultimately wins, the challenge to authority, the competition won--it's all there, as it is in a hundred other films. So why is this movie different? Different enough to be really, really good? Two things. One, the true story goes beyond the win to show the outsider ultimately losing (though with a winning legacy); and two (and this is the thing that really makes the movie worth watching), the expert execution of the presentation, particularly in the job the actors do in inhabiting their roles. Special performances by the leads (and, for that matter, the supporting cast) elevate this pic from the standard to a truly special viewing experience.

Reel Reviews

Boyhood -- Upon release, this movie got a lot of praise for its unique concept of filming a story over a decade with the same actors, allowing the audience to see the young boy grow to manhood. I think many observers got caught up in the gimmick and glossed over the key film-making mechanism in that idea: the experience of seeing the actors--particularly the children--age over a compressed time period creates an artificial sense of long-term familiarity. That is, the viewer gets the impression that he knows these people like friends or family, which raises the quotient of caring about what happens to this boy, this family, these people. Had this story been filmed in three months, with different young actors representing the stages of the children's lives, viewers would be faced with the fact that, in and of itself, any given individual's life cycle is not especially meaningful or interesting to an outside observer. But develop that artificial sense of intimacy, as this movie does, and you find yourself caring about these characters far beyond anything on the screen--in terms of "story"--actually demands. It's a unique experience, to be sure, and worth seeing for yourself--but perhaps it's not as profound as some might have you believe.

Accomplishment

Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Cat Did What?

Well, the day has finally arrived. August 19 marked the publication of the new book, Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Cat Did What? Normally, that would not particularly pique my interest, but this ain't normal. This new book includes my story, "The Marks of a Lasting Love" (pg. 172), and it represents my first paid writing effort. Hopefully the first of many to come. The check should arrive sometime in the next month or so; $200 big ones. I could get used to this whole writing thing.

The story tells the tale of the one and only time we tried to give our first cat, WT, a bath, and how that led to me winding up in the emergency room at the local hospital. A good story, if I may say so myself, and it is a sincere tribute to my dearly departed kitty and the legacy that she left in my life.

I had to wait a whole year from submission to today, when the book finally hit the stores. I did get 10 author's copies (all gone now, save one I kept for myself) for free, so that's another good thing about it. I haven't read any of the stories other than my own (so far I've been too busy) but I'm guessing that they're probably all quite entertaining and worth a read.

Better yet, this won't be the only thing I get published this year. Another story, "Giving Thanks for the Big Birds," is scheduled to appear in the November issue of the magazine Watching Backyard Birds. I get a year's subscription to that periodical, no money for publication, but it is another credit, and hopefully will help grease the skids towards more writings of mine gaining acceptance with paying publications. (I currently have drafts of two pieces written right now, with the concepts for two others worked out in my head and partially written up in notes.)

So things be movin'. Let's hope I can sustain the momentum for a while longer. Like, say, the rest of my life. Excelsior.

Recently Read

Holy Toledo
Lessons From Bill King, Renaissance Man of the Mic
by Ken Korach

There is a dilemma that lives somewhere behind this book, one that I have experienced many a time with regards to various things in my own life: when you find something great, do you want to share it with everyone else in the world, or do you prefer to keep this great joy all to yourself?

Holy Toledo by Ken Korach

The answer depends, of course, upon the nature of the great thing. If it’s the music of some hugely talented performer, you’re bound to want to share, since there’s no real way in which your own enjoyment of a song or a musician can be diminished by others enjoying the same work. The same applies, to an extent, with a restaurant that serves great food; certainly, you want others to patronize the place, lest it should otherwise go out of business; yet, you also don’t want the joint to be too crowded during those times when you want a meal for yourself.

And then again, there are those great things that you want to keep all to yourself--or, at least, you don’t particularly care if others get to experience their share of that greatness. You’ll be perfectly happy to keep that personal favorite truly personal, to let that secret joy be your own little oasis in an otherwise desert landscape.

For many sports fans in the Bay Area, that latter sentiment surely holds true for their appreciation of the late Bill King.

Recently Read

Wind, Sand and Stars
By Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Wind, Sand and Stars

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, best known to posterity as the author of The Little Prince, served eight years as a pilot in the French mail service, winging his way to distant and dangerous lands in the 1920s and '30s--days when climbing into the cockpit of an airplane was no casual act. Out of those flights came the book Wind, Sand and Stars, offering the author's ruminations on life as a pilot and all that he saw from his lofty perch--not just the physical landscape, but metaphysical views about the world, nature, and man's place therein.

At its best, Wind, Sand and Stars offers de Saint-Exupéry's philosophical insights wrapped in poetic imagery that sweeps the reader away from his living room and back, through space and time, to the lonely wilds of Patagonia and the Sahara. Every so often the author writes prose so rich and satisfying to read that the book seems as elevated as the wings of the former pilot's plane. Yet, the text also suffers at the hands of the very same philosophizing; at times, de Saint-Exupéry's words trail through tangents that seem, if not pointless, then at least lacking in the same level of insight as other parts of the work.

Thus, the text veers up and down in accordance with the whims of the writer's thoughts. An emergency landing due to some mechanical failure--apparently an all-too-common occurrence in those days--produced the author's account of a visit with a family in Argentina, a delightful, charming, whimsical scene. Tales of days and nights spent in the desolation of the Sahara evoke exactly the sense of adventure and wonder one would expect from such adventures. And de Saint-Exupéry's account of a crash landing in the Libyan desert, an occasion when he and his engineer nearly died of thirst and exposure, brings to vivid life the experience of desperation and despair, as well as the joy of salvation felt upon their miraculous rescue by a Bedouin herdsman. These episodes are thoroughly enjoyable reads in their own right, even if they make together a disjointed narrative.

Then again, other passages go completely off course. Some of de Saint-Exupery's ruminations on life and being, while hardly worthy of contempt, come across as unsatisfying, and perhaps a little too far out of context, And the book's close--the author's lengthy account of his time spent in Spain during that nation's civil war, including his meandering contemplation of every man around him and his greater meaning--takes all the steam out of the narrative. The last thirty pages of the book are, to be frank, just plain boring--even though those pages are focused on the life and death struggle of a civil war!

Wind, Sand and Stars is uneven, to say the least. As a time capsule, revealing to its readers visions of a word long since past, and certainly never to be seen again, the book has some value. But too much of this work, when trying to soar to lofty heights, simply crashes and burns. How much pleasure you will get from these pages depends largely upon your interest in that other time, in aviation, in meditations upon the life of man--and your indulgence.

Recently Read

Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist: The Gonzo Letters, Vol. II, 1968-1976
by Hunter S. Thompson

You don't have to be an ether-sniffing fiend to appreciate Fear and Loathing in America. I'm not saying it wouldn't help, but...it would serve as an unnecessary component of the literary experience, and should only be added at the reader's discretion.

Fear and Loathing in America

This collection of Thompson's correspondence covers the crucial years of the infamous journalist's career: from the bad craziness of 1968, including Thompson's political awakening at the Democratic convention in Chicago that year, to the election year of 1976, when Thompson's prophetic vision of the possibilities of Jimmy Carter's campaign--recognized two years before--finally came to fruition.

For longtime Thompson readers, there are some surprises, but few major revelations. It doesn't come as a shock, considering the personality in question, to learn that some of the Doctor's responses to random fan mail could be as entertaining to read as his correspondence with political and literary heavyweights. More surprising, perhaps, are the troubles Thompson had with his writing, both in trying to follow up his first Hells Angels success--the abortive "American Dream" nonfiction project--and in his attempts to stride beyond his celebrity status in the wake of his greatest success with Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Looking back, it's difficult to imagine a writer of Thompson's talent struggling to put words on the page. Yet, again and again, Thompson expresses his frustrations with all the destructive interference that plagued his writing output: his lack of any handle on the American Dream project's greater meaning, the inevitable distractions that went with running for sheriff of Pitkin County back in 1970, and the demands of celebrity in the wake of his outrageous success.

Perhaps the biggest surprise in these pages centers not on Thompson at all, but in the person of Oscar Zeta Acosta, both the legendary "Dr. Gonzo" of Las Vegas fame and the all-too-real Chicano lawyer and activist from Los Angeles. Acosta was a friend and collaborator with Thompson from the late-'60s onward, until disputes over his depiction in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the potential film rights and clearances scuttled their friendship, not long before Acosta's mysterious disappearance in the mid-'70s. Reading their correspondence, particularly Acosta's letters to Thompson, reveals a much deeper portrait of the man than the Doctor's readers ever got from the Gonzo canon. "Strange Rumblings in Atzlan" gave readers a bare portrait of a thoughtful, dedicated man; the Dr. Gonzo character of Las Vegas, in retrospect, really did border on caricature, if not outright libel. It is disquieting to think, from the vantage of the future, that the falling out may very well have been Thompson's fault. Perhaps. It's only a handful of letters, and they are subject to interpretation, to be sure. But clearly, more went on there than met the eye.

Fear and Loathing in America has its downsides. The book is quite long, covering its eight year period in exhaustive detail, and some inevitable repetition. Thompson, in his correspondence, never hesitated to reiterate himself, and his letters to his editor concerning the American Dream project, composed over the course of three plus years, often tread over the same ground. Also, Thompson's narcissism often held sway; any event in his life was sure to find its way into his letters, again and again, in carbon copy detail. For each individual letter recipient, the story undoubtedly held together as a coherent thread; but for anyone reading those letters collected, an inevitable sense of deja vu creeps into the proceedings.

Finally, despite the interesting tidbits revealed in Fear and Loathing in America, these pages also represent something sad for Thompson fans. Except perhaps for his Rolling Stone obituary for Richard Nixon--a work well worthy of the Gonzo canon--Thompson rarely hit the high notes after the period covered in Fear and Loathing in America. Once The Great Shark Hunt reached bookstore shelves back in the late '70s, Thompson's output consisted of sporadic pieces of uneven work, from then until his eventual suicide. The experienced reader knows, as he reads through Fear and Loathing in America, that he is peering back at a height already ascended, glancing over his shoulder at a mountain that will never be climbed all the way to the top again. That knowledge lends the effort a melancholy air, one that colors the entire effort.

Still, if you are a Thompson fan, you always welcome a chance to read his words, especially pieces that you may not have seen before. There's always a passage or two that calls up the magic once again, words that summon something that few writers have ever been able to conjure. Perhaps the next volume of Thompson's letters will reveal greater insights, and possibly provide better material than the published works of later years. In the mean time, we can console ourselves with what we have: the voice of a great writer that, despite death and time, has not yet been silenced. In Thompson's case, that is enough.

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Prisoner of Trebekistan: A Decade In Jeopardy!
By Bob Harris

My perpetual quest to make it onto Jeopardy! continues apace, and leads me down more and more oblique paths. For instance, this book, a combination "peek behind the curtain/mental travelogue" offered by one of the show's five-time champions.

In Prisoner of Trebekistan, author Harris relates his odyssey to, onto, and through the show, from growing up in Cleveland's suburbs to failing the tryout exam to his ultimate success, failure, and successful failure on the game itself. His breezy narrative is chock full of minor insights about the show, a lot of Harris's insights into himself (gleaned via his time preparing for and appearing on the show itself), and plenty of humor. The humor goes a long way towards making the book as appealing as it is. It also helps that Harris, once a stand-up comic, is funny. Not Aziz Ansari funny, but...

A big upside to Prisoner of Trebekistan, in this reader's eyes: if you want to go on Jeopardy!, you can get some good lowdown on what it takes to get there, and what it takes to win once you get on. It's both encouraging and discouraging, almost depending upon what page you're reading. But that's no criticism of the author; Harris is just giving us the goods, and it's up to the reader to figure out where to go with it.

The biggest weakness of this book comes from Harris's personal ruminations about life, the universe, and everything, as seen through the prism of his Jeopardy! experiences. A lot of what Harris describes in his book concerns some intensely personal--almost singularly personal--thoughts about how his wins and losses on the show have changed his life and outlook. The problem with intensely personal, idiosyncratic ideas is that they are--wait for it--intensely personal and idiosyncratic, and thus somewhat less accessible to those who have not had that experience themselves. Like, for instance, the vast majority of Harris's readers. Whether that's a flaw in the author's work, or in ourselves, is perhaps best left to the individual reader's judgment. For this reader, it must be said, some of the author's views and experiences (particularly the stuff relating to his family), while touching and obviously heartfelt, fail to connect, especially when the reader has his own narcissistic interest in learning about a certain quiz show.

But again, it's not necessarily the author's fault that his focus is not as tight as mine. Laying that one debate aside, then, one has to conclude that Prisoner of Trebekistan should be counted among Bob Harris's bigger wins.

Recently Read

Outlaw Journalist: The Life and Times of Hunter S. Thompson
by William McKeon

A volume to be greeted with gratitude by Thompson's fans, for McKeon has finally delivered the clear, concise, balanced, and straightforward account of Thompson's life that has been largely missing till now, especially in the wake of his 2005 suicide. McKeon steers largely clear of the personal axes to grind that have burdened so many of the others who have written on the literary legend. There's no faux Gonzo, no misplaced literary experimentation, no hagiography here; the reader is treated to a simple and direct recounting of Thompson's life, one that makes a complex man a little more accessible to both his devoted readers and those with only a mild interest. Outlaw Journalist provides the clearest look I've yet to find at one of the 20th century's most influential voices; it's a must read for anyone with a serious interest about writers and writing--the elements that go into making a literary life and how that life makes the literary output. Bravo.

Reel Reviews

Her Majesty, Mrs. Brown -- What have I learned from the movies? That every single queen in the history of England has looked exactly like Judi Dench. As for this movie, the notable performance comes from Billy Connolly, who brings much fire, energy and depth to the role of Victoria's deeply loved Scottish servant, John Brown. He's bang up, and the film's message--that compassion and caring know no bounds of propriety--is ever welcome.