Shopgirl (Steve Martin)

Shopgirl is a novel by Steve Martin.

Yes.  The Steve Martin.

Yes.  A novel.

No.  Not a comedy.

I first realized that Steve - May I call him Steve? - is a serious thinker and a good writer when I read (well, listened to) his autobiography, Born Standing Up: A Comic’s Life.  So, when I needed to spend three more dollars to get free Amazon Super Saver Shipping and then saw Shopgirl on the bargain list, I thought, “Hey.  Could be fun.”  Once I started reading it, I polished it off in three days. 

Here’s a teaser:  The main character, twenty-eight year old Mirabelle, works at the glove counter at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills.  She’s subtly smart, unconventionally beautiful, and quietly talented.  She’s also debilitatingly introverted, chronically undermotivated, and clinically depressed.  She begins relationships with two men - one young, classless, and broke, and the other middle-aged, refined, and filthy rich.  Then there’s the requisite nemesis, the seductive Lisa, whose perpetual objective is to usurp Mirabelle’s romantic interests.

I found Steve’s narrative sometimes rushed, especially toward the end.  He could have, should have, spent a few more chapters detailing key events that he barely mentions in conclusion.  Also, a couple of his point-of-view shifts feel jouncy.  But because I like Steve so much, I’m willing to forgive.  For someone who isn’t primarily lauded as an author, the story is surprisingly effective and engaging, with a couple of fun twists, some fairly profound psychological insight, and a nice amount of hot sex.

Shopgirl isn’t gonna make it into any anthologies of great American literature, but if you’re a Steve Martin fan - and even if you’re not - I bet you’ll enjoy!

Check it out on Amazon!

Natural Acts: A Sidelong View of Science & Nature (David Quammen)

In his introduction to Natural Acts, Quammen aptly describes the book as “a chimerical creature.”  It’s a collection of his articles and essays spanning the years 1981-2007, grouped roughly according to the time period in which he wrote them.  The sections are, as a group, pretty darned mismatched, but each is cohesive in and of itself.  Quammen is a cerebral writer with a vast vocabulary.  He avoids verbal filler and fluff, and he sticks to his purpose, which is to inspire among Joe Schmoes like me a concern for ecological issues.

For me, Quammen’s first section, “All God’s Vermin,” achieves that objective.  In these early writings, he talks on a friend-to-friend level about various animals of generally ill repute: beetles, mosquitoes, crows, black widows, octopi, vampire moths, anacondas, and bats.  He’s life-of-the-party funny, the kind of person you want to sit next to at a banquet so he can regale you with his commentary.  But while you’re laughing, he gets you to consider and appreciate the unsung merits of these “vermin,” and that gets you thinking that other not-so-beloved creatures may also deserve your attention and respect.

After that, unfortunately, things get a little boring.  The author loses his sense of humor, and the essays get didactic, like required university lectures - more cerebral dissertation than witty conversation.  If you’re into environmentalism, you’ll probably like it more than I did.  But for me, the subject matter in most of the later essays couldn’t hold my interest, and the deficit of comedy didn’t help.  I felt as if I’d been duped into sitting through an under-inspiring sermon because the pastor opened with a few great jokes.

Check it out on Amazon!