The 40s: The Story of A Decade from The New Yorker

A generous friend brought me a book the other day. As you can imagine, I rarely turn down the gift of a book. It was one he wanted to pass on and thought I would like.

Oh, yes.

The book contains a collection of fine pieces from that illustrious magazine The New Yorker and is entitled The 40s: The Story of a Decade.

And what a decade it was. During the first half the world was at war and the second half was spent beginning recovery from that war.

I whooped out loud with glee when I opened the book to the Table of Contents. Oh, the riches. Here are pieces written during WWII by E.B. White, A.J. Liebling, along with John Hersey’s profile on the then Lieutenant John F. Kennedy.

There are post-war pieces by Edmund Wilson, Lillian Ross, and Rebecca West’s report on the Nuremberg trials.

And, oh, the section of Character Studies: Walt Disney, Edith Piaf, Duke Ellington, Albert Einstein, and Eleanor Roosevelt.

Of course I read the book section first. Clifton Fadiman muses on Ernest Hemingway’s latest offering For Whom the Bell Tolls (he finds it to be a much deeper book than The Sun Also Rises), and Lionel Trilling gets a glimpse of the future in George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, a book he found to be “profound, terrifying, and wholly fascinating.” It is compelling to read these reviews written so soon after the now-famous books were just hitting the market.

There is also commentary on film, theatre, art and architecture, musical events, and fashion.

And of course it wouldn’t be The New Yorker without poetry - verses by William Carlos Williams, W.H. Auden, and Elizabeth Bishop - and fiction - Carson McCullers, John Cheever, and the first publication of Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery.

Irresistible! You can see why I am excited to have this book at hand. History combined with stellar writing. So much more convenient - even at almost 700 pages - than a mile-high pile of ten years’ worth of magazines.

It is one I will dip into slowly and savor every word.

P.S I am quite a fan of The New Yorker, especially its early years. You can read three of my previous posts on the writers from that era here, here, and here.

Life Among the Savages

Shirley Jackson's Life Among the Savages is the first of two books based on her domestic life with her husband; at first two (Laurie and Jannie), then three (Sally), and by the end of the book, four (Barry) children; various cats; a dog; neighbors and tradespeople. She and her family have moved from Manhattan to a rambling house in Vermont. She learns to drive a car, her children start school, she drinks coffee and smokes cigarettes and muses on the chaos. 

Some of the situations were amusing but for me there were too many lengthy, nonsensical conversations with and among the children - in the car or at the breakfast table. I found myself growing impatient; I kept wanting the action to move on a bit.

One of the most entertaining stories was her chapter on The Puzzle of the Missing Blanket. Everyone in the household is suffering with the grippe. Ms. Jackson sets up the mystery in a fine manner giving the reader the layout of the four bedrooms on the second floor, the temperature in each bedroom, the color of the bed linen, and where everyone sleeps. 

Sniffling, Dad moves into the guest room taking his cigarettes, matches, an ashtray and his tumbler of water. Ms. Jackson takes to her bed, with her cigarettes, matches, ashtray and a small glass of brandy. Soon one of the children winds up in bed with Mom with her own pillow, books, doll, and fruit juice. Mom gathers up her cigarettes et al., and heads to the guest room. Dad now finds it to be too warm in the guest room and gathers his paraphernalia
and heads down the hall to another bedroom while the son trundles into the guest room with the dog. By the end of the story, all the members of the family, including the dog, have changed beds at least twice if not three times taking with them on each switch all their tumblers, blankets, pillows, dolls, cigarettes and ashtrays. 

She ends this tale, which is written in the finest manner of a Game of Clue, thusly:

The puzzle is, of course, what became of the blanket from Sally's bed? I took it off her crib and put it on the bottom half of the double-decker [bunk bed], but the dog did not have it when he woke up, and neither did any of the other beds. It was a blue-patterned patchwork quilt, and has not been seen since, and I would most particularly like to know where it got to. 

For a minute, I was tempted to reread the story and plot the path of the Missing Blanket as it moved from bed to bed. But it is much too late now to let Ms. Jackson know where her blanket ended up.

Absolutely my last book purchases for 2012

Oh goody. My Powell's order arrived today. I promise these are the last books I am buying in 2012 but I am such a sucker for free shipping and these four are all 'previously owned' and I am happy to have them.

As I am late in discovering the very funny author Bill Bryson (here is My fan letter to Mr. Bryson), I went on a bit of a tear and ordered three of his books: a hardcover edition of At Home and paperback editions of The Lost Continent (who better to take a road trip of small towns in America than with Mr. Bryson) and Neither Here Nor There about his adventures in Europe.

I am so in the mood to do some armchair traveling.

The final book in the order is Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson. Yes, that Shirley Jackson of the creepy short story "The Lottery," The Haunting of Hill House, and We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

This book will not keep me up at night unless it is because I am laughing. I am not sure where I read about it, but it is really a series of short-stories-turned-into-a-novel. It is one of those books about domestic chaos -  based on her own experiences raising four children in a big, rambling house - that can be so charming and hilarious. Think Diary of a Provincial Lady and anything written by Erma Bombeck.

I am all set for a little light reading to wind up the year.