The Black Russian by Vladimir Alexandrov

Published by Atlantic Monthly Press on March 5, 2013

Both history and biography, The Black Russian is sort of a Horatio Alger story with a twist. Hard work and perseverance are the formula for success, but in this case success was possible for a black American only because he became an entrepreneur in Russia, where his race was not an obstacle to achievement.

Born in the Mississippi Delta to recently freed slaves, Frederick Thomas was raised in a successful farm family. Unlike many Delta blacks, Thomas was given the opportunity to discover that there was more to life than "an endless cycle of labor, food, and sleep." When his father and stepmother lost their property to an unscrupulous white landowner -- a swindle that was partially rectified after a protracted legal battle -- Thomas learned how quickly the course of a life can change. More than once, his own life followed a similar "rags-to-riches-to-rags" pattern.

Supporting himself with service jobs in restaurants and hotels, Thomas made his way to Chicago and then to Brooklyn. He escaped American racism by moving to London and then to Paris. Thomas worked his way through Europe, refining his skills in the restaurant and hotel trades, and in 1899 made his way to Russia. Thomas eventually settled in Moscow, an ethnically diverse city that drew no color lines. In 1912 he entered into a partnership to turn an old Moscow theater into a classy establishment that offered fine dining, dancing, and stage entertainment. By the end of its first season, Thomas was a rich man. His success encouraged him to make new investments.

To protect himself (and his businesses) from the consequences of war, Thomas became a Russian citizen in 1915. Just two years later, in a time of revolution, his status as a "prosperous bourgeois capitalist" worked against him. To avoid arrest, he made a perilous journey from Moscow to Odessa, but he was still at risk. Fortunately, Thomas never informed the United States of his new citizenship and neither did Russia, omissions that benefited Thomas when, in 1919, having lost the wealth he accumulated over twenty years to the Bolshevik Revolution, he fled Odessa with the help of the American consul.

At the age of forty-seven, virtually penniless, Thomas arrived in Constantinople determined to reinvent himself. An influx of Westerners created opportunities that Thomas was positioned to exploit. Thomas knew how to provide the elegant and sophisticated food and entertainment that wealthy foreigners craved and that conservative Turks condemned. Despite complications caused by an ex-wife and a racist American bureaucrat, Thomas was able to replicate (at least to some degree) his success in the entertainment industry. After a few years, however, it became clear that Thomas had escaped from one volatile political situation only to find himself in the midst of another. Denied the benefits of an American passport, apparently due to a combination of racism and incompetence in a State Department that refused to acknowledge his American birth, Thomas was stuck in Constantinople. He ended his days in prison, unable to pay the debts that accumulated after the Turkish government made a point of sabotaging foreign enterprises.

The Black Russian makes clear that Thomas was a remarkable man. He had as many successes and failures as Donald Trump (although, unlike Trump, he couldn't rely on bankruptcy courts to rescue him from hard times). His successful introduction of jazz to his clientele in both Moscow and Constantinople seems both visionary and quixotic. Yet as a biography, The Black Russian is curiously detached from its subject. We see hints of Thomas' personality from time to time (sometimes boastful, sometimes devious, and oddly unattached to his children), but I never got the sense of knowing Thomas as a person.

The Black Russian is clearly the product of meticulous research. History is often based on inference, but Vladimir Alexandrov is careful to distinguish between known and assumed facts. There are times when the book threatens to bog down with detail, and several collateral passages come across as filler that have little to do with Thomas' life. Still, the book isn't dull. While Alexandrov's writing style isn't always lively, it is neither dry nor overly academic. Although The Black Russian is filled with census data and other statistics, Alexandrov gives careful attention to the cultural atmosphere that surrounded Thomas, both in the United States and abroad. Alexandrov paints a descriptive picture of the entertainment business in both Moscow and Constantinople, underscoring the contrast between their repressive governance and the public's lust for the things their leaders condemned as decadent. In short, The Black Russian tells an interesting and informative -- but not particularly captivating -- story of a largely unknown American entrepreneur who found success in surprising environments. 

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Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday! by Penn Jillette

Published by Blue Rider Press on November 13, 2012 

If you read God, No!, you know what you're in for with Penn Jillette's new book. Penn rambles. Digression should be Penn's middle name. He can't talk about Christmas songs without launching into an analysis of the lyrics to the "Theme from Shaft." The books are nonetheless noticeably different. Where God, No! has an organizing theme (not that the book is in the least bit organized), this one aspires to be nothing more than a collection of stories. In a strange way, however, that makes Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday a better book. If Penn is just sitting back and telling story after story without aiming for a broader point, it doesn't matter so much that he rambles. And on the whole, the tone of Every Day is an Atheist Holiday is less angry than the last book, seemingly written by a kinder, gentler Penn, although one who is still acerbic when the mood strikes. The stories are funnier, or at least more consistently funny. Some are brash, some are sweet, some are both at the same time.

The title notwithstanding, Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday is even less about atheism than God, No! One of Penn's longest and best riffs on religion examines Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech, pointing out that King reached out to all Americans, not just religious Americans, and included relatively little religious language in the speech. Penn suggests that the concept of inclusion has been lost in the rhetoric of those who incorrectly proclaim America to be a "Christian nation," a phrase that deliberately excludes every American who isn't a Christian. He then meanders into a biting discussion of evangelical politicians and of cynical politicians who aren't particularly religious but nonetheless make a big show of attending church (particularly when they get a chance to make a speech). He skewers Republicans and Democrats alike, and does so with sustained coherence. Every Day is an Atheist Holiday is worth reading for that chapter alone.

Apart from a concluding chapter that equates morality with atheism (rehashing an argument from God, No!), Penn returns to storytelling for most of the rest of the book. In that regard, Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday can be viewed as a celebration of life (as opposed to the celebration of a deity), particularly naked life. Penn likes to be naked, especially in public, and he likes to write about naked people and about his reproductive organ. A photograph of Penn receiving oral gratification resulted in a blackmail attempt that Penn turns into an amusing story. Other, seemingly random stories he tells focus on pranks he's pulled, mishaps he's endured, and celebrities he knows (no surprises: Donald Trump is a pompous a-hole, Clay Aiken is bitchy, Bob Dylan is a nice guy). He talks quite a bit about the history of Penn & Teller and a little bit about magic. Occasional stories pertain at least tangentially to atheism, including a dustup with Disney, a company that is no friend of freedom.

When he stays on track (which isn't often), he philosophizes -- and actually has interesting, carefully considered things to say -- about comedy and the art of performance, death and the passage of time, tolerance and friendship. He even devotes a brief chapter to denigrating atheists who insist on labeling all Christians as racist or sexist, thus indulging in the same sort of name calling to which religious extremists resort when they attack atheists. Fortunately, he tends to espouse libertarianism less in this book than he did in the last one. Despite his tendency toward redundancy (it's great that he loves his kids, but I got that the first twenty times he said it), much of what Penn says in this book provokes laughter and/or thought, and that's more than enough to make it worthwhile.

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What's a Dog For? by John Homans

Published by Penguin Press on November 8, 2012 

"Canine science is intended to shed light not only on what makes dogs dogs but on what makes people people," says John Homans. What's a Dog For? reviews a wealth of canine science. Some of it pertains to wolves, the dog's genetic ancestor, but wolves don't necessarily tell us much about dogs, at least from a behavioral perspective. Some of it examines a dog's cognitive skills, including the ability to interpret human gestures. Some of it addresses the reasons people seek canine companionship. Dogs are a hedge against loneliness. Dogs are part of our families, but they also fill the gaps when our families disintegrate. When we gaze into a dog's eyes, our levels of oxytocin -- a hormone that promotes bonding and attachment --spike. Perhaps a dog's purpose is to sustain the mental health of dog lovers. While the health benefits of dog ownership are disputed, one study result stands out in my mind as being undeniably correct: dogs are better stress relievers than spouses.

We bestow honorary personhood upon dogs (at least the dogs we love), but are they entitled to it? The central question, according to Homans, is whether dogs, during the course of their long association with humans, have taken on human qualities. It's clear that dogs have developed communicative and cooperative abilities that surpass those of their ancestral wolves, but those abilities appear to be an outgrowth of tameness and are not necessarily unique to dogs (tame Siberian foxes, for instance, exhibit some of the same traits). But that may mean that dogs (and some other tame animals) are much like humans in this sense: they have evolved a capacity for cooperation that supplants the instinctive trait of competition. In other words, dogs are like humans because they are willing to look to others for help when they need it (and dogs need lots of help, given their inability to open the refrigerator by themselves). Like many other propositions advanced by canine scientists, this one is far from undisputed. In fact, canine science is a field that is riddled with disagreement. Homans offers a balanced view, taking care to interview scientists who have sharply differing opinions about canine evolution, canine intelligence, canine communication, and a host of other canine topics.

Of course, science only takes us so far. Scientists caution against anthropomorphism while dog lovers (including Charles Darwin) readily attribute human traits to their canine companions. Homans' survey of the research is filtered through his relationship with his dog Stella. He believes Stella experiences guilt and jealousy and that she has a sense of fairness (although her sense of fairness is skewed in her favor: "two treats for me, one for you"). Yet he understands that his yearning for a connection with Stella inclines him toward a bias. Of course Stella experiences human emotions. Of course she's smiling at her family members. Well, maybe she is and maybe she isn't. Separating anthropomorphism from rigorous analysis isn't easy.

Stella is part Labrador, so we learn a good bit about the history of Labs. This leads to a discussion of breeding for pedigree (which served the whims of the aristocracy rather than the needs of dogs) and dog shows (which an early breeder demeaned as "the greatest humbug in the world"). Homans also discusses the genetic basis for cross-breeding (to produce, for instance, hypoallergenic dogs) and the risk that such techniques will lead to puppy mills. He takes a look at stray dogs and the ethical controversy that surrounds the practice of euthanizing them, as well as the growing market for rescue dogs. All of this is interesting if familiar, but only tangentially relevant to the question posed by the book's title.

Of greater value, although not explored at length, is a section discussing cultural attitudes toward dogs. Although many dog owners treat their dogs as family members, many others (predominantly in the south) view dogs as property and consider themselves free to fill canvas bags with rocks and unwanted puppies and drop them off a bridge as a means of population control. "To many a southerner," Homans writes, "the notion that a dog is entitled to humanlike treatment is simply loopy." I don't want to disparage southerners, but I'd like to throw them off a bridge if they think they have the right to murder dogs. In any event, Homans makes the telling point that if dogs earn honorary personhood at the moment of adoption, the same rights of personhood should obtain at the moment of birth -- hence the need (even in the South) to regulate puppy mills and build no-kill shelters. Stella, in fact, traveled to a Long Island shelter from Tennessee -- a fortunate journey for both Stella and Homans.

The book concludes with a discussion of the growing consensus that animals deserve to be treated with empathy and compassion. This sets the stage for the ultimate question: To what extent should dogs have rights that override the owner's property rights? It is a broad question more easily asked than answered, and Homans' analysis -- focused largely on the euthanasia versus no-kill debate -- is a bit superficial.

Homans' prose is lively and evocative, making What's a Dog For? a pleasure to read. In the end, all of the historical and scientific information that Homans assembles is interesting and intellectually stimulating, but science and history do little to answer the philosophical question posed by the book's title. Homans addresses it in a final chapter that is both sweet and sad. To me, and to most dog owners, the answer is obvious. What's a dog for? I love my dog. That's what a dog's for.

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Assholes: A Theory by Aaron James

Published by Doubleday on October 30, 2012 

Aaron James took a break from the philosopher's customary search for the meaning of life to ponder a more burning question: What does it mean to be an asshole? I have the sense that James wrote Assholes so he could share his complaints about surfers who behave like assholes, particularly Brazilians. Whatever his motivation, and despite his earnest attempt to subject assholes to scholarly thought, much of Assholes is enjoyable simply because the topic is so appealing. Everyone, after all, has an opinion about assholes.

Assholes consistently cut in line, interrupt, and engage in name-calling. They do not play well with others (in James' language, they are not fully cooperative members of society). Many (perhaps most) people occasionally behave like an asshole without becoming an asshole. As a theory of the asshole, James posits that an asshole is a person who enjoys "special advantages in interpersonal relations out of an entrenched sense of entitlement that immunizes him against the complaints of other people." Although I think "asshole" is pretty much self-defining, in the sense of "I know one when I see one," I like James' definition. I think it's a definition rather than a theory, but I'm probably just quibbling about semantics (which is pretty much the philosopher's job description, making it a battle I can't win). Whether it is a theory or a definition, after he finishes parsing it, James politely suggests that it is up to the reader to decide whether to agree with it. James is plainly no asshole.

James tells us that assholes are morally repugnant but not truly evil. If you're interested in standard philosophical discussions of moral behavior and moral responsibility with references to the likes of Aristotle, Kant, and Buber, you'll find them here. Those of us who needed strong coffee to make it through our philosophy classes are probably hoping for something more fun than a rehash of Martin Buber in a book titled Assholes. We're looking for the author to name names. Happily, James does so (although not without some preliminary hand-wringing about whether calling out assholes is something only an asshole would do). From Simon Cowell to Mel Gibson, from Donald Trump to Steve Jobs, from Ann Coulter to Bill O'Reilly, James finds assholes in every walk of life. James even suggests that book reviewers can be assholes (oh my!) although he does so in the context of academia.

Consistent with his definitional/taxonomic approach, James classifies assholes by type, including the boorish asshole (Rush Limbaugh, Michael Moore), the smug asshole (Richard Dawkins, Larry Summers), the asshole boss (Naomi Campbell), the presidential asshole (Hugo Chavez), the reckless asshole (Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld), the self-aggrandizing asshole (Ralph Nader), the cable news asshole (Neil Cavuto, Keith Olbermann), and the delusional asshole (Kanye West, Wall Street bankers).

James' approach to categorization lends itself to party games. You can make up categories James overlooked, like the sports asshole (George Steinbrenner, Michael Vick), or you can add names to the categories he's invented. Don't worry, there are plenty more assholes identified in the book -- the names I've cherry-picked are illustrative only -- as well as some categories I haven't mentioned, but you'll easily think of more. The book is short and the world is filled with assholes.

Returning to the realm of philosophy, James considers whether assholes are morally responsible for being assholes, which leads to a discussion of whether assholes have free will. James' conclusion is at odds with the answer you would get from a neuroscientist like Bruce Hood, but whether you blame assholes or accept that they can't help being who they are, you're still stuck with them. James reasons that assholes are generally male because they are shaped by the culture of gender, although I think he puts too fine a point on it when he draws subtle distinctions between assholes and bitches. I also think he's a bit naive when he argues that, for cultural reasons, American men are more likely to be assholes than Japanese men, a proposition with which many Southeast Asians (not to mention the surviving residents of Nanking) would disagree.

James includes a chapter on how to manage assholes (short version: you really can't, but you can try to make yourself feel good) and a chapter that suggests how capitalist societies (which encourage the sense of entitlement on which assholes thrive) can deteriorate when the asshole ethic takes root (short version: greed isn't good, Gordon Gecko notwithstanding). The concluding chapter tells us how to find a peaceful life in a world full of assholes (short version: reconcile yourself to the things you cannot change while hoping for a better world). These chapters give James a chance to apply the thoughts of Plato and St. Augustine and the Stoics and Rousseau and even Jesus to the topic of assholes. Heavy thinkers will probably enjoy those discussions. Lightweight thinkers, like me, will enjoy the name naming while looking forward to the party games the book inspires.

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One for the Books by Joe Queenan

Published by Viking on October 25, 2012

Joe Queenan is a columnist/journalist/writer/reviewer.  He describes his regular work as “ridiculing nincompoops and scoundrels.”  To some extent, One for the Books is a collection of funny, book-related stories that do exactly that.  He ridicules the inept security guards who detained his bag in a library, the luncheons he has attended to honor writers because “they are still breathing,” and the book store employees who treat him like dirt because he isn’t searching for their favored titles.  More significantly, One for the Books offers an amusing glimpse at the life of a dedicated reader.  The last few paragraphs in particular are a wonderful tribute to reading.

Although reading has collateral benefits, Queenan is convinced that most book lovers read books “to escape to a more exciting, more rewarding world,” a proposition with which I completely agree.  Queenan reads every day and would read more if he could.  He reads enduring literature and he reads trash (although less of the latter as he ages).  He sometimes reads “the types of books that thirtyish women devour at private swim clubs, often to the dismay of their drowning children,” but only years after they have lost their trendy bestseller status.  He forms relationships with his books and often prefers their company to the bozos he knows.

Queenan is equally fervent about the books he has read and those he refuses to read, ever.  He names names.  Yet, for all the titles that Queenan drops (typically several on every page), this isn’t a work of literary criticism.  He may or may not mention what the book is about or his impressions of it, but when he does, he rarely employs more than a few words.  One for the Books is about Queenan’s experiences as a reader and feelings about reading more than it is about the books he has read.

Queenan is something of a book snob and he makes no effort to disguise his snobbery.  Rather, he revels in it.  He expresses his opinions forcefully, in the manner of a curmudgeon.  Books about businessmen and politicians “are interchangeably awful.”  Detective novels are “piffle.”  He would rather have his “eyelids gnawed on by famished gerbils than join a book club.”  He ridicules the questions prepared for book clubs that can be found in the backs of books and on websites, and contributes (mockingly) a few of his own.  He does not want friends to loan him books and cannot understand “how one human being could ask another human being to read Look Homeward, Angel and then expect to remain on speaking terms.”  He doesn’t like to discuss books with people who don’t love serious literature because they always set the conversational agenda, which tends to focus on current bestsellers, but he enjoys pulling a book from his shelves and reading “striking passages to baffled dimwits who have turned up at my house.” Although he frequents a variety of bookstores and finds some of them alluring, he is acerbic in his description of their employees (particularly the “Irony Boys”).  He complains about readers “upon whom the gift of literacy may have been wasted.”  He thinks book critics are “mostly servile muttonheads” while blurb writers are “liars and sycophants.”  He refuses to read books about the Yankees and their “slimy fans” or books written by Yankees fans (Salman Rushdie included).  He will not read books with ugly covers.  He does not read digital editions because they make reading “rote and mechanical,” stripped of its “transcendent component.”  He is no friend of the Kindle.

Although we’re often on the same page (so to speak), about equally often I disagree with Queenan’s opinions.  This is, after all, a guy who cavalierly dismisses two of my favorite novels, Catcher in the Rye and Catch-22.  His decisions about books he will not read are often capricious.  That’s fine.  Agreement with Queenan is irrelevant because he writes with such passion and conviction and humor that it is impossible not to be entertained, and occasionally moved, by his words.  Besides, as Queenan points out, people who care about books are willing to get into knife fights to defend their beliefs.  I appreciate that he cares so much, even if I might sometimes be inclined to tangle with him using sharp blades.

Other than a long list of books ranging from The Iliad to the obscure, is there anything Queenan actually likes?  Shockingly enough, he claims to admire Amazon book reviews, at least the snide ones written by courageous reviewers who hide behind the bushes, fire their muskets and run away.  He even offers (mockingly) a few Amazon reviews of his own.  They are hilarious.

Queenan would hate this review because I have nothing nasty to say about his book.  My only complaints about One for the Books are (1) its haphazard organization and corresponding (albeit occasional) tendency toward redundancy, and (2) a chapter that is largely devoted to the visits he has made to towns and homes and graves of dead writers bogs down in stream-of-consciousness triviality.  Otherwise, I have to say sorry, Joe, but I really enjoyed your book.  Fortunately, someone else will come along and trash it, providing him with the kind of review he admires.

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