Floater - Calvin Trillin

One of the books I bought when I was in Washington DC, and read immediately within one day, was the unfortunately-named Floater (1980) by Calvin Trillin.  I didn't realise when I picked it up, but it's about journalists living in Washington DC - extremely apt, since I was staying with journalists living in Washington DC.

So, what is a floater, I hear you ask?  The floater in question is Fred Becker, and the title means that he has no permanent position in the office of the national newsmagazine for which he works, but moves from section to section, filling in for holiday, illness, or whatever.  Becker steadfastly resists any attempts to tie him down to a single section, preferring the peripatetic life, even if it leaves him jack of all trades and master of none...

As a back-of-the-book floater, he had accumulated a store of knowledge on all sorts of subjects - a knowledge of millenarian sects from his bondage in Religion, familiarity with the workings of hot-air balloons from a summer week in Sports, more than he wanted to know about New Math from a period spent in Education when Milt Silvers went to the hospital with an alligator bite.  One of the problems with a floater's knowledge, though, was its spottiness.  He knew a lot about millenarian sects, but he had no idea what, say, Methodists believe.  From several weeks in the Business section at one time or another, he happened to have learned a lot about Asian currency manipulation and the speculative market in bull semen, but he wouldn't have had the first notion about how to go about obtaining a mortgage.  He knew practically nothing about French impressionism, but he could have delivered an after-dinner speech on the work of one abstract expressionist who happened to die when the regular Art writer was on vacation.

Lovely!  Trillin has a way with words which I love, never quite tipping over into ba-dum-crash joke territory, but with a light absurdity which is just the sort of thing I love.  Take, for example, the incident where Becker tries to get off the Religion page by writing 'allegedly' after everything mentioned - 'the alleged birth of Christ', for instance.  And then there is the Lifestyles piece on '2/3 stockings'.  Becker can find nobody who has a clue what this means, but plenty of people willing to pretend.  Floater reminded me a lot of Scoop by Evelyn Waugh, which is no bad thing, but without nearly Waugh's level of meanness.  Like Tepper Isn't Going Out, this novel (which was Trillin's first) is often about the stupidity and irrationality of the workplace, but never with the menace of Magnus Mills or the dark claustrophobia of Kafka - rather, again like Tepper, there is an amiability about it all.

That, I think, is the novel's main achievement: the amiability of Becker.  There is a managing editor who isn't pleasant, and an officious staff member desperate to be offended by everything that is said, but ultimately everybody is a little bit selfish but essentially amiable.  I'm using that word again, because it is the one which fits best - the characters are not good, except in the way that a sort of weary inertia prevents anybody doing anything outright bad.  But to make a character as unwittingly charming as Becker is an impressive feat, one replicated two decades later in Tepper.  One of my favourite characters - or, rather, my favourite lampoon - is Silvers.  He is that self-conscious eccentric we all know (particularly in Oxford); the sort of person who describes themselves as 'a bit mad', and makes sure they are surrounded by props to back it up.

"The deal on the London taxi is closed," Silvers said.  "Of course, you should have heard my insurance man's voice when I called to switch the insurance over from the John Deere tractor.  He thinks I'm a little unusual."

Becker had never figured out how to reply to Silvers in a way that did not provoke more stories.  Usually, he just stood there nodding dumbly while using the Thai's concentration methods or glancing around for escape routes.

"One of the great advantages of a London taxi, of course, is that if you happen to have a unicycle, which I just happen to have, the unicycle will fit snugly in the luggage area right next to the driver.  Of course, when your average New York traffic cop sees a London taxi drive by with a unicycle right..."

Becker briefly considered pretending to have a heart attack.

There is a narrative threaded through it all, concerning rumours about the President's wife, with all manner of intrigue, plot, and counter-plot, but (although rather satisfying when it all comes together) it is largely incidental to Floater, which is primarily successful because of the creation of Becker and the tone Trillin achieves.

I've only found one other blog review - Teresa's - and she wasn't a huge fan, so there's fair warning.  I found it a quick, wryly amusing, delight; a send-up of an environment for which Trillin obviously feels a great deal of affection.

Talking of Grief

I hope I don't sound odd when I say that I am rather fascinated by the idea of grief.  Not in a sadistic way, of course, but simply because it is a fundamental aspect of human life which I have yet to experience.  Recently I have read two very different non-fiction books on the topic, and it seemed to make sense (briefly) to consider them together - Calvin Trillin's About Alice (2006) and C.S. Lewis's A Grief Observed (1961).  Both are by husbands who are coming to terms with the premature loss of their wife to cancer, but from that point, they are incredibly different.

As the title suggests, Trillin's book is about Alice, his wife.  It is essentially a memoir of their marriage, concentrating on those qualities he most loved in Alice - and how bravely and determinedly she was when she first had cancer, which went into remission, and then returned.  What made About Alice moving to me was, actually, the fact that I didn't warm to Alice at all.  The characteristics Trillin adored - such as bluntness,  or a willingness to use her beauty to avoid speeding tickets - weren't ones which I admire, which made Trillin's portrait all the stronger and affecting.  Reminiscences - in fact or fiction - which detail how uniformly perfect the deceased was, and how terribly they are mourned by everyone, never quite ring true.  We all know that our very favourite people are not everyone's favourite people, and a personal grief is much more powerful for being personal.

I'm struggling to know what to write about About Alice.  It's a beautiful portrait of a relationship, as well as a woman.  It is not really a book about grief - that isn't the sort of book Trillin chose to write.   I found it moving, but as the reflection of a life that has sadly ended, rather than reflections upon Trillin's own ongoing life.

Lewis's A Grief Observed is the flip-side of the coin.  There is little about Joy's character and life, because Lewis's focus is the process(es) of grief - particularly, grief as a Christian.  A Grief Observed isn't a work of theology, though, because that would suggest settled conclusions, with arguments and illustrations to support and work towards them.  Lewis writes that sort of book very well (c.f. Mere Christianity), but in A Grief Observed he is openly flailing.  It really is the documentation of an ongoing process.  Lewis hasn't edited the book to make it feel consistent or conclusive - indeed, he often backtracks or offers alternative interpretations of what he has already written.

I wrote that last night.  It was a yell rather than a thought.  Let me try it over again.

Somehow, Lewis manages to write down the varying states of his mind and spirit without sounding self-absorbed or introspective.  Grief genuinely seems to confound and puzzle him, as he tries to ascertain how he really feels, and how he will manage the future.  Part of this is concerned with his faith, and re-assessing his understanding of God.  In soaps or light fiction, grief would have ended his faith - Lewis's relationship with God was too strong and real for that, but the pain of losing his wife does make him reconsider God's character, and how he has previously misunderstood it.  Again, Lewis doesn't have any predetermined conclusions here, and he doesn't really come to any by the end of the book, but he is remarkably eloquent about his journey here.  (Sorry, I meant to avoid the word 'journey', but... well, it felt like one.)

A Grief Observed is starkly, vividly, astonishingly honest.   It is also eloquent and thoughtful, without losing spontaneity or genuine emotion.  Through the nature of Lewis's approach, it is of wider applicability that Trillin's book.  Although nobody else will have the exact experience Lewis did, plenty of people will probably agree with the general points he discovers along the way.

I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow.  Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process.  It needs not a map but a history, and if I don't stop writing that history at some quite arbitrary point, there's no reason why I should ever stop.  There is something new to be chronicled every day.  Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.

I read A Grief Observed with the interest of the outsider, keen to understand a facet of emotion I cannot grasp.  One day, presumably, I will need to turn to it as a fellow-griever.  I found Lewis's book so powerful and wise even without having experienced grief - and now, thankfully, I will know exactly where to turn when I first experience it.  And I imagine it will feel like a completely different book then.

Deadline Poet - Calvin Trillin

When I wrote recently about his disengagement with poetry, and asked for your help (much appreciated!) I didn't expect my next dalliance with poetry to be something quite like Calvin Trillin's Deadline Poet.  I have Thomas to thank for introducing me to Trillin, and Nancy to thank for mentioning Deadline Poet on this post back here.  And now it has filled one of the tricky 1990s spots on A Century of Books.

Given my disinclination to read poetry, it was perhaps a surprising choice for me.  Even more surprising is that it's about Trillin's time writing weekly 'doggerel' (his word) for The Nation about contemporary political figures. Contemporary being, in this case, the 1990s.  Trillin always refers to his boss as 'the wily and parsimonious Victor S. Navasky', whose one condition for offering Trillin $100 a week for his verse was: "Don't tell any of the real poets you're getting that much." - "Your secret is safe with me," I assured him.

Now, I know nothing about politics in 1990s America.  Indeed, I know nothing about politics in any place, at any time, up to and including 2012 Britain...  Thankfully Deadline Poet isn't simply a collection of verse - Trillin knows that, if a week is a long time in politics, a year is an eternity.  Light verse published in a newspaper necessarily relies upon topicality - so even those who know who Zoe Baird, Clarence Thomas, Robert Penn Warren etc. are (sorry, I don't) might not remember the intricacies of various campaigns and speeches.  So Trillin prefaces his poems with explanations - or, rather, the poems occupy a lot of a journalist's memoir.  The poetry and prose take up about equal amounts of page space, so it doesn't feel like a collection with notes, nor like a traditional memoir, but a really engaging and funny combination of the two.

And the poetry itself?  Well, Trillin probably isn't being unduly bashful when he calls himself a doggerelist.  There isn't a lot of it that would make Wordsworth uneasy.  Scanning and syntax tend to fall below rhyming in Trillin's list of priorities (then again, that never did Tennyson any harm) and even there he prefers an abcb rhyme scheme, rather than abab, which is a little lazy - still, there is plenty of ingenious rhyming and wittiness throughout.  Here's one I enjoyed.  (I should add, I have no idea who Ross Perot is.  I don't even know which is Republican and which is Democrat, since the words mean the same thing.  So sorry if Perot is 'your' party... you probably know by now that I am not seeking to offend.)

The Ross Perot Guide to Answering Embarrassing Questions

When something in my history is found
Which contradicts the views that I propound,
Or shows that I am surely hardly who
I claim to be, here's what I usually do:

I lie
I simply, baldly falsify.
I look the fellow in the eye,
And cross my heart and hope to die - 
And lie.

I don t apologize. Not me. Instead,
I say I never said the things I said
Nor did the things that people saw me do.
Confronted with some things they know are true,

I lie.
I offer them no alibi,
Nor say, "You oversimplify."
I just deny, deny, deny.
I lie.

I hate the weasel words some slickies use
To blur their pasts or muddy up their views.
Not me. I'm blunt. One thing that makes me great
Is that I'll never dodge nor obfuscate.

I'll lie.

I imagine those of you who were politically aware in the 1990s will enjoy Deadline Poet greatly (especially if you agree with Trillin's views, which I think are liberal).  It is testament to Trillin's humour and drollery that even I, entirely ignorant, found Deadline Poet a really entertaining read.  Perhaps it isn't quite how I saw myself engaging with poetry, and political verse certainly isn't an avenue I'll be exploring further, but as the memoir of a weekly journalist and light verse writer, I found it a whole heap o' fun.

Tepper Isn't Going Out

When lovely Thomas at My Porch visited England last November, he very charmingly bought all the bloggers he met (and some he didn't) books which he thought we'd like. He put a lot of thought into this, and I was impressed - for me was chosen Tepper Isn't Going Out (2001) by Calvin Trillin, which Thomas had seen in my Amazon Wishlist. It was there because of him, in fact - he wrote here that Tepper was his favourite fictional character, and that was enough to sway me. Then I read the novel last December, thought it was quirky and great, and... somehow never got around to writing about it. I'm going to do my best to remember now what was great about it.

Murray Tepper is a very laid-back, ordinary man - with one rather bizarre quirk. He likes to spend time sat in his car, reading the newspaper, minding his own business and not bothering him. He parks his car in various spots around New York, knowing which roads use which parking systems, and where he and his car can best be undisturbed. Since he's sitting in his car, he'll often get people asking if he's leaving the parking space - but Tepper isn't going out.

He doesn't try to justify his behaviour, and his intricate knowledge of the city's parking potential - leaving his wife rather long-suffering, and his daughter Linda affectionately confused:

"Hi, Daddy," she said.

"I'm not going out," Tepper said.

"Daddy, it's me - Linda," his daughter said.

"I recognised you. One of the advantages of having only one daughter is that remembering her name and what she looks like is not difficult. Are you looking for a spot?"

"Of course I'm not looking for a spot, Daddy. Be serious."

"If you are, it's good here after six. But I'm not going out."

Tepper's job is one of the delights of the novel. I don't know if it's the sort of thing that really exists anymore, but it lends great comic possibility. I don't know what the job title is, but Tepper and his company 'Worldwide Lists' compare lists of consumers to see where unexpected similarities between disparate lists might exist. Will buyers of binoculars want bird-watching books, or buyers of earplugs also want lettuce-dryers, etc. And they use this sort of information to sell addresses of customers to people designing products. I'll let Tepper explain the process himself:

"We start with the obvious. We make a little universe around this imaginary customer of whatever Mittigin's selling - in this case, someone trying to sleep on an airplane. So people who belong to frequent flyer programs are obviously in this universe. If there aren't enough people in the center of the universe, we just reach a little farther - where the population is thinner. Barney likes it when we find a little clot of people we didn't expect - maybe subscribers to the most sophisticated trade magazine for mainframe computer repair people, because those people are always travelling and they're usually tired and because of their technical bent they might actually be able to figure out Barney's maps. It gives him a thrill.

Barney Mittigin ("a schmuck") is responsible for some of the richest comedy in the novel - he specialises in objects which double as other objects. A candlesnuffer that also cuts out melon chunks. An attache case that turns into a foldout computer table. And, in this case, a round-the-neck sleep pillow covered in maps of major airports. Wonderful stuff.

But the main thread of Tepper Isn't Going Out is definitely Tepper's determined parking. He starts off being noticed simply by those irked by his seemingly irrational occupancy of spaces - but mayor Frank Ducavelli is on the warpath, and he thinks Tepper is an anarchist.

This is where innocent, odd but pleasant Tepper gets caught up in a furore. Everyone invests his parking with different meaning - and they line up to sit with him and ask advice. For some he is battling the status quo; for others he is the symbol of a left-wing cause. Trillin takes a quirky, slightly silly topic and looks at the hysteria that can arise around a man who doesn't say very much - but Trillin is wise, and doesn't let the novel creep too far away from its quirky, silly basis. This isn't Orwell territory, Trillin isn't trying to make huge political points through metaphor - he is enjoying the surreal and entertaining things that can happen to offbeat people.

When I'm not reading interwar domestic novels, this is precisely the other sort of novel I rave about. I keep using that word 'quirky', but that's what it is - and it's so difficult to find left-of-centre novels which aren't also macabre or ridiculous or *too* silly. Tepper Isn't Going Out is grounded firmly in the normal world, and nobody's actions and reactions are all that unlikely. It's a gem of a novel, and I'm so pleased that Thomas gave it to me - and that I finally got around to writing about it!


Books to get Stuck into:

All Quiet on the Orient Express - Magnus Mills: I only reviewed this recently, but it is a similar (if slightly more unsettling) deadpan look at a surreal situation. For other suggestions, see those at the bottom of this review!