Book Review: American Mermaid

 By Julia Langbein

• Pub Date: 2023

• Genre: Fantasy

• Where I bought this book: The Bookshelf, Cincinnati 

• Why I bought this book: Hey, I like the idea of mermaids  

 *****

    This debut novel is an uneven book, wonderful in some places, confusing and unfocused in others. At one point, I found myself identifying with a character who was "still struggling to follow" what is going on.

    The author has a varied biography that includes a doctorate in history, a stretch as a standup comedienne, and a food, art, comic book and blog writer. It might explain her wobbly style.

    Langbein loves her metaphors and similes, offering us the good, (a restaurant in a "faux Teutonic Tudor hut ... [that] looks like something Hitler build for Donald Duck"), the bad (people singing along in a room with speakers on a high ceiling as "Whitney Houston's lush vibrato pours down into the bad coffee of our voices like heavy cream"), and the ugly (an oyster dish that was "filling my mouth with the taste of original Pringles and jizz.")

    Even the author of the book's blurb seemed to have trouble capturing the essence of the tale, claiming "Hollywood insists she convert her fierce, androgynous protagonist into a teen sex object in a clamshell bra." The studio writers wanted to make a lot of changes, but that wasn't one of them.

    And that brings up that root of the novel's structure: It a novel about a novel being turned into a bad movie, and the plots merge and separate and merge again on nonparallel tracks.

    The basic story is that English teacher Penelope Schleeman's debut novel, American Mermaid, becomes a best seller, and Hollywood wants to make it a major motion picture. The advances allow Schleeman to quit her teaching job (which she claims to love), and move to Los Angeles to become a consultant on the script.

    So the book intertwines stories of Schleeman's life, chapters from her book, and the behind the scenes drama of writing a movie. There are other characters, some from real-life, others no doubt based on real-life people, and others who are solely from Langbein's imaginations. Some of the characters from the book's book mirror those of Langbein's novel, others are from Schleeman's past life as a teacher and others from her new life as a movie person. Some come out of nowhere, and disappear as quickly. Their purposes are obscure.

    Somewhere in American Mermaid is a good story warning about the power of billionaires, global warming, and the impact it may have on mermaids. But it's hard to find amidst the wandering subplots and fusion of characters. It's all very confusing, and Langbein's writing ultimately fails to carry it along. 

Book Review: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

• Author: Taylor Jenkins Reid

• Where I bought this book: Barnes & Noble, West Chester, Ohio

• Why I bought this book: I really don't remember, but I liked the title

******

    Imagine, if you will, a Hollywood starlet -- talented, smart, and oh, so beautiful. A blonde bombshell, if you will, a combination of Marilyn Monroe and Jean Harlow, but with the wit and cunning of the smartest producer in Hollywood.

    She's a woman who is willing to do just about anything to achieve the fame and fortune she believes she deserves. An actress who knows that the tabloid reporters and the paparazzi use her, but who also knows how to use them. A performer who recognizes that her private life can advance or destroy her career, and takes that into account in every decision she makes.

    Now suppose, just for supposing's sake, that the aging starlet Evelyn Hugo wants to auction some of her famous dresses for charity. And she chooses a certain young journalist at a certain popular celebrity magazine to be the one to write about the upcoming event with a special photo shoot.

    Except -- except -- when said reporter arrives for the appointment, said Hollywood legend says she is not going to talk about the dresses, but about her life. She will speak only to this young but ambitious reporter. She'll reveal all the details, all the secrets, all the reasons. She tells the reporter they can be published in all their meticulous specificity in an authorized biography.

    But only when she is dead.

    That's how this book begins. OK, there may be a few spoilers in the above rendition. But not many. And there's a lot more to story to come.

    The book has two basic characters: Hugo and her writer (and alter-ego? protege?admirer?) Monique Grant. There are others that come and go in the book, but they are they only to say something about Hugo and Grant.

    The story is told as a biography of one of its biggest fictional stars, told in exquisite detail by the legend herself. It's a tale of Hollywood, about how the movie industry really works. It's a believeable yarn, with more glamour and seediness than we think we already know. It's a place where secrets are both open and hidden.

    But interspersed is the growing relationship between Hugo and Grant, and why the older actress chose the young writer to tell the story. Hints throughout that we will learn something awful about their connection are kind of annoying, trying to make us guess what ties them together.

    Both are strong characters. Hugo doesn't apologize for any of her choices. She may have a few regrets, but nothing major. She lived her life the way she wanted -- and needed -- and is satisfied.

    Grant is a bit more conflicted. She likes Hugo's strength and power, and would like to emulate her. But she also fears Hugo's actions were selfish and harmful.

    And therein lies the tale.

Book Review: Actress

Actress, by Anne Enright

    Katherine O'Dell was one of Ireland's best-known and beloved actresses.

    But author Anne Enright relates a few problems with that in this finctional biography/memoir of O'Dell, narrated by her daughter Norah

     For one thing, O'Dell was born in England. Her acting career, while it encompassed some starring roles in the West End, Broadway, and Hollywood, was largely mythical. So she became Ireland's best-known actress by pretending to be Ireland's best-known actress.

    The eyes were naturally green. The hair was dyed the appropriate Irish color. Her agent dictated her style.

"From now on," he said, "you wear any color you like, so long as it's green." By this he meant anything from teal to emerald -- all forty shades of it. The hotel dresser arrived, pulled my mother's head gently back into the sink, and two hours later she was a flaming redhead.

    So she looked the part and played the role well. Being Irish is a character, and she was good at it. On the stage or in front of the camera, she was the familiar Irish ingenue. She pulled off the intrigue needed to keep up the illusion of her craft. She was as much the idea of an actor as she was the reality.

   O'Dell lived in Dublin in the rare ol' times, where little was as it seemed,  and where everyone kept their closest feelings close to the vest. That meant O'Dell was always performing. She was the star. 

    Norah, the narrator, reveals the stories of her mother the actress along with her own. Both their stories are similar and familiar. She reveals her mother's hopes, dreams, and fears. She mixes in tales of her own life, which paled in comparison to her mother's. But both shared bouts of drinking, days of torment, and instances of trauma and abuse.

    As the narrator, Norah speaks like a neighbor -- or perhaps, an older, wiser aunt -- telling the tale over a laminated kitchen table filled with cooling cups of tea, ignored biscuits, and over-flowing ashtrays. She would nod her head at whatever you had to say, then with a wink and a knowing smile, put you to rights. "Aye," she say, "but let me tell ya what's really going on.

    And then she'd be off. 

    There are some quibbles. Some of the minor characters are merely background noise, although they play brief but important roles in the story. But they are poorly drawn out, and thus hard to remember. And our narrator tends to jumps around in time, here and there, introducing new characters without warning, causing one to get confused.

    But overall, it's a well-told tale. 

Book Review: Day of the Locust

The Day of the Locust, by Nathanael West

This short novel, written in 1939, portrays Hollywood as it was seen at the time -- insular, bigoted, contrived, full of ego and fury. Which, likewise, is pretty much how it is seen now.

The book was made into an Oscar-nominated film in 1975, long after its author was dead. Since then, it's been pretty much forgotten, but a friend and movie buff recommended I read it. It seemed like a short and easy read, so I did.

Short it was; easy not so much. Its writing is good -- tight but descriptive. But its story is meandering and vague, and sometimes seems like a series of random vignettes. More than halfway through, I wondered where the tale was going, and whether it had a point.

In the end, it got someplace with a vengence. And, oh my, it certainly has a point. It wasn't pretty, but is was a conclusion.

The tale centers around Tod Hackett, an artist and designer who moves to California with a goal of striking it big in the movie industry. There, he meets a series of chracters, each who seems to personify a Hollwood character, a stereotype, perhaps even a trope. There's the savage and angry midget, the starlet whom everyone lusts after, the losers, and the clowns. Tod is the guy who wants to be part of the surreal scene, and fit in with the Hollywood upper crust. 

Did I say surreal? Listen to a part of the description as Tod wanders around a Hollywood lot, looking for some of his friends: 

"He left the road and climbed across the spine of the hill to look down on the other side. From there he could see a ten-acre field of cockleburrs spouted with clumps of sunflowers and wild gum. In the center of the field was a gigantic pile of sets, flats, and props, While he watched, a ten-ton truck added another load to it. ... When he saw a red glare in the sky and heard the rumble of cannon, he knew it must be Waterloo. From around a bend in the road trotted several cavalry regiments. They wore capes and chest armor of black cardbord and carried long horse pistols in their saddle holsters."

Then there is Homer Simpson, who represents us -- the smiling yet vacant fan, who knows he will never be part of  the elite, but is content to linger around the edges and be exploited. Listen to how Tod describes him: "(Homer) was grateful and increased his smile. Tod couldn't help seeing all its annoying attributes, resignation, kindliness, and humility."