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Reviews of Books I Sorta Skimmed Through
from "You Idiot"
Man, have I found some great books lately. We're talking about books that have grammatical mistakes that literally make you wince, books that take a terrifying approach to parenting based on literal reading of the bible, crazy books that wail about seeing the devil everywhere, and plenty of other literary masterpieces that tackle subjects the mainstream media is evidently too scared to examine themselves.
Here's the deal, though—it's pretty mind-numbing to actually wade all the way through a book called “Larson's Book of Rock” or “The Truth About Power Rangers”. Not only is it arguably a waste of time, but the process involves trudging through 40 pages of inane, stilted writing to find the one goofy paragraph that makes you crack a smile.
So in a nutshell, I want to review these absurd books I've scored over the last few months but I don't want to actually read them. The question is-- is that wrong, to grade a book that you haven't actually read? I say… no!
To understand why, consider the case of 60 Second Previews. You've probably heard it or seen it in connection with a move review before— “‘A rollicking rollercoaster ride for the whole family! Magical!', says Jeff Craig of Sixty Second Previews”, that sort of thing. But guess what? Jeff Craig doesn't even fucking watch most of the movies he reviews! He watches a preview for them – hence the name – has some people help him out with research as needed, and then puts together a blurb that the studio can use for promotional purposes. According to Time, he “seem(s) to exist mainly to service the studios with glowing quotes to hype their latest releases”. Roger Ebert once used a column to ask his readers “Has anyone ever actually seen Jeff Craig of ‘Sixty Second Previews' at a movie? For that matter, does anyone know what ‘Sixty Second Previews' is? I ask in all sincerity”, and got the following response: “Jeff Craig is the host of the thing, but since the program comes on CD, a month at a time, he apparently hasn't actually seen most of the movies -- thus ‘previews,' not ‘reviews.' Still, his gushing about an upcoming movie he hasn't yet seen ends up being used as blurbs in movie ads.”
Now, I don't want to just give glowing reviews, but I do like the style. Less work, more rock! Or something of that nature. Anyway, that's the format we're going with here: these book reviews are based not on a critical reading but on an uncritical skimming, coupled with internet research, studying the covers, reading other peoples' reviews, and so on. Way fucking easier for me!
You'll probably say “gee, fucknut, why should I trust your review when you're admitting upfront that you didn't even read the goddamn thing?”. Well, to appease you, I will also include Amazon review excerpts (presumably written by people who actually devoured the entire book) so you will be getting a fair and balanced summary that I am reporting and you are deciding on. Fair enough? I thought so.
Do Cats Have ESP? by Jeane Dixon
My Review:
 Wow, I finally found a book that could be trimmed down to one word. In this case, that word is “No”. I mean, c'mon--- “Do Cats Have ESP”? That query wouldn't even get you very far in a room full of drooling stoners. These kinds of questions – this and, say, “Can Goats Teleport?” – aren't even worthy of a thoughtful post-bong-rip pause. The answer is clearly No Goddamnit, so don't bother asking in the first place.
Ms. Dixon, however, thinks that the answer is Yes and she was furthermore able to convince a book publisher to pay her a presumably decent sum to sort-of explain why over the course of a light 108 pages.
Want to hear one example she uses to prove this feline ESP? Well, check it out-- she used to have a cat that she named Mike the Magicat, and one day this Magicat brought home another cat. Jeane's husband took a liking to this new cat. The logical conclusion to draw from this remarkable story is that Mike the Magicat has extrasensory abilities. As Jeane puts it “If Mike didn't have extrasensory perception, how could he have known that Jimmy had his heart on a pedigreed cat?”. Ohhhh, burn—hopefully that silence you're suffering through right now isn't too painful, skeptics.
The majority of the (short!) book is filled with similarly inane (and unsourced, I might add) mentions of supposedly psychic cats that fail to overwhelm the reader. The only noteworthy passage I noticed in my skim regarded a time she was summoned to Japan to use her mighty psychic powers. A Japanese company wanted to know if there was a scandal on their horizon, so naturally they flew over a psychic from across the globe to give them a definitive answer. Much simpler and more accurate than doing an internal investigation or an audit of the books or what have you.
Once there, Jeane went into a conference room to explain her psychic mumbo jumbo to the assembled businessmen. She was getting nervous when suddenly a cat entered the room. Jeane “talked” to it. The cat responded by licking her, and then made “sounds that included chirrups and gentle mews”. Jeane then told the group her verdict (a guy in the company is completely innocent but will go down in scandal if he doesn't resign now). She ends the story by concluding “an international incident was avoided thanks to the interception of a very wise and talkative cat”.
I re-read this passage twice and still have no idea what the fuck she's talking about. Hey… that's actually a decent summary of the entire book!
Nothing on Amazon! But someone on Bookcrossing raved “The Purrrrrfect catch. The whole house is very happy about this one” So there you go.
Phil Phillips is best known for his book Turmoil in the Toybox, a bizarre religious screed (reviewed in You Idiot #4) that attempted to draw the connection between the devil and My Little Pony, along with a slew of other seemingly innocent and non-hellish childrens toys.
The book came out in the mid 80s, so the targets were all toys of the day: he-man, strawberry shortcake, the smurfs, and other relatively bland offerings. After finishing the book, my second thought (after “Jesus Christ I can't believe I just read that”) was “Whoa, I wonder if this guy is still around?”. I mean, toys nowadays are way more – what's the word? – X-treme than the ones found in the 80s, so presumably Phillips would lose his mind, or at least write a kickass article, if he was still paying attention to them.
Alas, I couldn't find any truly contemporary Phil Phillips books, but I did stumble across a couple of post-Turmoil releases-- The Truth About Power Rangers, from 1995, and Saturday Morning Mind control, from 1991.
The books are pretty much exactly like Turmoil in tone; Phil did not exactly progress as a writer during the years in between the releases. He still strikes the reader as being a dough-faced, unsmiling prude who bores an audience and is screwy in the head from some kind of childhood trauma (indeed, Turmoil outlined how Phil jumped into a hole full of sewage as young boy, an event that in his mind served as the catalyst for his later battles with “spiritual sewage”). But even though he's a searingly dull scold, he's also one who will occasionally opine something so insane that it makes all of the preceding boring nonsense seem like a worthwhile, slow-burning build-up. It's the sort of thing that would cause you to nudge your friends if you witnessed it play out in real time— “Seriously man, just wait. It'll get good, trust me”.
This sort of style encourages one to simply flip through a book like “The Truth About Power Rangers”, eyes hopefully scanning for words like “filth”, “Satan”, or “possessed”. So that's what I did! In doing so, I discovered that a good chunk of the book appears to simply be Phillips giving mind-numbingly detailed plot outlines to various Morphin' episodes. I mean, he spends pages discussing “Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Karate Club (Level 1)”, saying things like “then the ‘fun' begins. The video teaches some karate moves”, followed by a bullet-point listing of the 10 moves in question. Why he bothers trudging into such detail, I do not know. Did he expect a parent to yelp “Good lord, they teach them the Shuto Chop?!”?
Overall, the book, at least based on a skim, really sucks. He warns about the dangers of the occult, eastern religions, levitation, crystal balls, the fact that “rock music feeds the lust for power”, and so on, but there still isn't a “whoa, did he just suggest strawberry shortcake is satanic?” moment as their was in Turmoil. BOR-ing, Phil.
Slightly, but only slightly, better is Saturday Morning Mind Control, partly because in it he doesn't need to limit his craziness to one specific thing. He can talk about how Alvin and the Chipmunks promotes gangsterism, mention how My Little Pony subtlety promotes the usage of magic mushrooms, relate the episode where Mighty Mouse snorted cocaine, touch upon the occultic overtones of the Super Mario Brothers, rail against the portrayal of “sex, violence, and the occult” in Rainbow Brite, and still have room to decry that She-Ra teaches people to foolishly believe that “trolls are good guys”.
The back of the book boasts that Phillips “studied over a thousand hours of cartoons” to come up with this stuff, a tidbit that brings up a fairly pathetic image: a grown man watching harmless stupid shit like the Teen Wolf cartoon show, frantically scribbling down each occurrence of “mystical experiences” and “criminal activities”, perhaps pausing the tape every now and then to wipe the tension-based sweat from his brow. “H-he's… turning into a wolf again!”
Power Rangers: “i realy enjoyed it. i thing this book is excelent because i learned alot abot the power rangers and how long it takes to put a show toghter” (Five stars) – Amazon.com reviewer
Saturday Morning Mind Control: “The postive thing I can say about this book is that it proves in America, anyone with no research or writting skills CAN GET A BOOK PUBLISHED”
 The old adage that one cannot judge a book by its cover holds true to this day. Who knows-- the greatest novel of the last hundred years could be nestled behind that cheezy, arty-farty cover full of colorful blobs and weird typefaces. Conversely, a crafty book publisher can easily hide a piece of literary dung behind eye-catching, ground-breaking cover art. The saying is true—you should take the cover with a grain of salt and dive in, figuring out for yourself if the book sucks or rules.
However, it could easily be argued that you can accurately judge a book by its first line. Since it's actually created by the author, not some jackass graphic designer at Random House, it gives you an idea of what's to come in the paragraphs and pages to follow. Yes, this isn't always the case-- sometimes the first line may end up being misleading, a terrific or terrible starting point that doesn't accurately reflect the thousands of lines that follow it. But oftentimes it perfectly sets you up for what's to come.
The first line to the catchily-titled Baby Drama Mama: I Can't Believe My Wife Left My Son and Me for Another is such a case. You read it, stop and think “wait, what?”, and have a perfect introduction for the confusing mess that awaits you. The opening line is this: “As I got off the bus at the laundry”. That's it. No comma, no nothing. End of sentence.
It's not some poetic / avant-garde style of writing, either—the second line is “I searched my pockets for some extra change, but all I found was enough to do my laundry”, so good ole ineptitude is obviously the culprit here, and it continues on the same way for the rest of the book, making for an amazingly incoherent ride.
“OK, fine, it looks like Mr. Bailey can't write for shit” you say “but maybe the plot is amazing and makes up for any stylistic shortcomings. Eh?” Plenty of great bands were barely able to play their instruments and yet cranked out classic albums; perhaps Bailey pulls off the same thing literary-wise?
Nope! Here is a one paragraph synopsis of how Baby Mama Drama: I Can't Believe My Wife Left My Son and Me for Another (hereafter abbreviated to “BDM:ICBMWLMSAMFA”) gets started: After accusing him of cheating on her, our hero John's wife leaves him and hooks up with his friend Tyrone. As the novel opens, John is dejectedly mulling this over at the laundromat when his wife shows up and they get in an argument. Although he doesn't notice it at the time, she is holding their recently-born baby (which he also doesn't know about) in a plastic bag. After telling him off, she goes behind the laundromat and tosses the kid into a dumpster. Luckily John finds it but as he races off to the hospital, his wife gives chase and opens fire. She shoots and kills his best friend, and then when the cops arrive she frames John and Tyrone (who showed up at the scene of the crime for some reason) for the murders and they promptly get tossed in the slammer. The prison decides to put the two in a cell together which gives them ample time to plot a legal strategy, but they are poor plotters as it takes them seven years (a space of time denoted by the phrase “seven years later” nestled in between two paragraphs in the middle of a chapter) to clear their names.
Reading such a book, especially a double-spaced 85 page one that reads like it was dictated by a pixie-stick-addled seven year old, would generally be an easy task. However, BDM:ICBMWLMSAMFA is littered with so many bizarre punctuation choices, randomly ending sentences, and just all-around pitiful use of the language that you are forced to stop every few seconds and say “—huh?” in bewilderment as you plod along. For example, you'll read a line like “look John it's your wife, and the witch has a gun duck!” (bolded in original), and then spend a good twenty seconds or so trying to figure out what a gun duck is before groaning as you realize the author's intent. Bailey in particular struggles with the concept of tenses, as seen in lurching sections like “Suddenly the gun went flying from her hand-it was Tyrone. They wrestle to the ground for the gun, and it went off the bullet just grazed my hand”. He also has a difficult time placing the comma where it needs to go, as we see in lines like “We had a nice family business, and now look at me I'm washing, my two pair of pants, one shirt, one pair of boxers and two pair of socks in a Laundromat”, or “As much as, I hated to admit it I still was in love with her”
All of this makes for a bizarre, unintentionally amusing read for the first 11 chapters or so, when suddenly and without prior warning the book becomes a bizarre, homophobic christian tale. This is quite the change-up—one moment John and Tyrone are slumped in their prison cell, talking about the woman who landed them in there (“Look who's talking you willfully had an affair, I was blacked mailed into having sex with your crazy wife!”), when suddenly we are told that homosexuals are doomed to hell. See, in yet another wacky plot twist, while in prison John learns that his wife has become a lesbian and is now involved with -- who else? -- Tyrone's wife. Initially this appears to be simply another weird turn in the “story”, but before you know it the book moves its setting to Hell, where the two lesbians in question are dead and rotting away. The author switches away from first person to explain:
“Men lying with men, women lying with women in the eyes of God these things are not only sinful but are an abomination to Him. Which simply means it is very nasty in His sight”.
And then, after John and Tyrone are released from jail, open a car dealership, and go to Disneyland, the book ends.
People on Amazon seem to agree with me on this one, with the exception of one 5 star review that I assume was written by the author: “I could not put this book down it capture the very essence of having everything you could ever want in your life. Than find in one breathe it has all been taken away evaporated like water on a windsheld. Who ever you are who plans to buy this wonderful book remember these or our own opinion of what we feel a good curl by the fire read tell you feel your part of the story plot book is”. That last sentence literally makes my head hurt!
The basic premise of the parenting advice dished out in To Train Up a Child is this: pretend that your child is a mule and pretend that you are an asshole towards mules. There are various little details that fill in this philosophy – warn your 10 month old child twice, not once, before thwacking him or her with a tree branch when he or she tries to grab at your cereal bowl – but that's the basic gist. All you need is a “little reinforcing pain. It may take several times, but if you are consistent, they will learn to consistently obey”.
Like many things that are crazy, the inspiration for this ogre-esque philosophy comes primarily from the bible. Why are infants self-centered brats that can't be trusted? Cuz a Psalm says that they “go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies”. You should, accordingly, beat them with a rod. Why? Cuz the bible says you should “Withhold not correction from the child, for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die, Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell (Prov. 23: 13-14)”. Duh.
Now, you might balk at this whole beat-your-confused-infant-with-a-rod plan as a horrifying practice that was probably discarded as sound parenting a few centuries ago and would likely cause your kid to stab you to death in a maniacal revenge frenzy down the road. But get this—if you don't beat your child, you're dissing God: “The God who made little children, and therefore knows what is best for them, has told parents to employ the rod in training up a child. To refrain from doing so, based on a claim of love, is an indictment on God himself”
Since you surely don't want to second-guess the big G, your next question is probably “well, ok, what are some rod-beating tips?” To Train Up a Child has got you covered! Sit on the little scamp as needed and “hold him there until he is surrendered. Prove that you are bigger, tougher, more patiently enduring and are unmoved by his wailing. Defeat him totally. Accept no conditions for surrender. No compromise”. Yeah! And always remember: the rod is your friend. Think of it “as a `magic wand'”, and never forget that “a failure to apply the rod is due to the parents' hating the child”. You don't hate your baby, right? That would be messed up if you did.
The book isn't simply about rods and how to beat kids with them, either. No siree bob. We also learn that if a child bites during breastfeeding, the mother should pull his or her hair to send a strong signal (“an alternative has to be sought for baldheaded babies”), and that one way to teach your young child to properly fear the water is by shoving them into a pond when they don't expect it. Makes sense, right? The author explains how he pulled this move on his daughter. See, there was a pond on their property that would be dangerous for a child to fall into. Clearly, a lesson needed to be taught, but the girl “always had marvelous coordination. She just wouldn't fall in.” The author “got weary taking walks to the pond”, so he knocked her into the water and, fortunately, it “distressed her enough to make her not want to play around the pond”. Mission accomplished!
Finally, don't forget that your kid will probably thank you for all of this barbarism, as evident in this passage: “I have heard a rebellious teenager say, ‘If they only loved me enough to whip me'”
The book was not warmly received, with 446 1-star reviews on Amazon.com.
One reviewer complained “Do we really need a book on how to whip children? Any idiot can w/out thought processes can do that”
However, it is not without its supporters. One five star review raved “My husband was saved & filled with the Holy Ghost a few months ago . . . The Holy Spirit is teaching Tony to be disciplined & he has read this book & is implimenting it in our lives!! Thank you Lord for answered prayer… I would place a bet that this book and method ONLY WORKS when applied with a TON of prayer!!! AMEN!!! PRAY WITHOUT CEASING!”
The author of this book is irritating for a few reasons. First, his writing style has the annoying feature of over-italicizing passages that really don't require any sort of special emphasis, which in the end reminds the reader of a sketchy late-night infomercial host. Did you know that numbers have special powers? That you can unleash these powers by doing some stuff? It is amazing what you can do with these numbers. And so on.
Secondly, the batshit-insane-meter is flickering by the top for this guy's theories, which is fine, but he fails to offer an even vaguely cool explanation for his cukoo ideas. Check it out and try to follow along: every person has a “blueprint” based on various numbers. You get these numbers based on the name that appears on your birth certificate. Not the name you use throughout life, or even the name that was intended for you—whatever is typed on that certificate is what determines your destiny, “even if the nurse or doctor makes a typo”. Your destiny is, furthermore, mapped out by your “birthname number”. All of this has to do with vibrations somehow.
Blah blah blah. Borrrring. Personally, I prefer the easier-to-understand and arguably more absurd brand of numerology that became popular after 9/11, wherein you attempt to diving meaning and make connections between things based on important things like the number of letters they have. Here's some actual examples from a numerology site:
“The date of the attack: 9/11 - 9 + 1 + 1 = 11.”
“September 11th is the 254th day of the year: 2 + 5 + 4 = 11”
“The Pentagon” - 11 letters”
Spooky, huh? And it doesn't rely on “blueprints” or other such nonsense, instead simply levelling you with the cold hard facts. “The Pentagon” does have 11 letters in it. That proves that…. the number 11…. well, something. Plus, check out how easy it is to use this vastly superior brand of numerology…the book “Numerology Made Easy” cost me nine cents via an online purchase. You might think that's an insignificant tidbit, but check it out:
“Numerology Made Easy” = 18 letters. 1+8 = 9
It was published in 1979. 1x9 + 7x9 = 72. 7+2 = 9
The title has eight syllables. There are 9 letters in the word “syllables”.
So yeah: 9. The implications are staggering. Or something. But yeah, that shit is way more fun than the ‘vibrations' mumbo jumbo this book peddles. So, don't bother with this stupid book and instead have your own fun with numbers!
In a review titled “Amazingly Accurate!”, a reader raves “I can still remember being in a laundromat in San Francisco working out the numerological charts for me and my companion with this book and being amazed and overwhelmed to find evidence of why we were soulmates”. So there you go-- works just fine for some people. Fair enough! |
