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February 16, 2007

1043: Sometimes I read, too.

I keep meaning to update the side column here with what I'm currently reading because it's now severely out of date. It's been months since I last read anything by James Ellroy, and leaving My Dark Places over there seems to imply some kind of endorsement on my part -- which it's not.

In all honesty, it's the Ellroy's choice of subject matter which appeals to me and not at all his style of writing. I think people often confuse the two -- his style and his subject -- in describing his work as being "brutal." He writes about gruesome, heinous things (notorious L.A. murders being a favorite subject) but he does so in a distractingly overwrought, heavy way that deflates the inherent brutality and intensity of his stories. I don't find his work "brutal," and at the risk of sounding completely put-the-lotion-in-the-basket crazy, I find it falls short in this respect. I could do with something much more brutal -- something like Mishima.

I love, love, love Mishima. Although, obviously, I've only ever read his work translated into English, he writes about equally brutal subjects (sometimes in the sense of being psychologically brutal rather than physically, but there's still plenty of gratuitous bloodshed) with a far more brutal sense of restraint. His writing is sparse, whereas Ellroy's is dense; Mishima picks a few perfect words to hint at something unspeakably gruesome, while Ellroy devotes pages to beating a dead horse. And however nutty Mishima was (which is evidently quite a lot), he didn't talk about wanting to sleep with his murdered and mangled mom like, say, Ellroy does. (To quote Ari Gold, "True story!") I suppose my biggest complaint about Ellroy is that he, like many true crime or true crime-inspired writers, can't leave well enough alone; why doesn't anyone trust that the facts (however few and far between those are) concerning the Black Dahlia (for instance) are interesting enough in their own right? The truth is often much more shocking and upsetting than fiction.

Case in point: Whitey Bulger:

For the amount of time I spend on CrimeLibrary and all my curiosity about true crime crap, you'd think I'd have given Mr. Bulger more of my attention than I have. It wasn't until Pete and I, being loyal Scorsese fans, sat down to watch The Departed that I became significantly interested in the Irish mob. I promptly got to work on teh internets and plowed through Black Mass: The True Story of an Unholy Alliance Between the FBI and the Irish Mob. I scared Pete's mom a bit* by launching into everything I now knew about the subject, but the truth is that the Irish mob's story is a completely fascinating one -- particularly where Whitey Bulger is concerned.

I won't go into much detail about his exploits or relationship with the law here, out of a desire not to ruin The Departed for anyone who hasn't yet seen it. As I've mentioned before and as many of you well known, The Departed was based on the Hong Kong crime thriller Infernal Affairs and major characters in The Departed were based on actual mobsters and FBI agents in and around the Boston area. (In the film, these FBI agents are written as State Police, with whom the FBI have a long-standing rivalry and plenty of bad blood -- all of which is detailed in the above-mentioned book.)

Without providing any spoilers, let me just say that however incredible the deceptions and violence in The Departed seems, what's happened in real life is far, far more incredible. The level of corruption within the Boston FBI and Bulger's ability to manipulate law enforcement are both more than a little horrifying. For years, it seems, Bulger not only had the FBI protecting him as he rose to power in Boston's criminal underworld, but also used the agency to eliminate anyone who might stand in his way. And what's more -- he effectively got away with it!

I wasn't sure what I wanted to read next, but thanks to a well-chosen gift from Pete, I found myself with a copy of Shiya Ribowsky's Dead Center: Behind the Scenes at the World's Largest Medical Examiner's Office. Without exaggeration, Ribowsky is a hero. His book describes the day-in, day-out work of a medical examiner, his unusual career path, and what he considers to be his life's most important work -- spearheading the World Trade Center victim identification effort.

It's not the most beautifully written book, but the subject is innately interesting and Ribowsky's dedication to his work is genuinely inspiring. I joke about how the book taught me how to perform an autopsy (how helpful!) and enjoyed the grossed-out looks of people reading over my shoulder on the subway (bwhaha!), but one thing this book does that I appreciate is to humanize people like Ribowsky. In the same way that David Cordingly's Under the Black Flag: The Romance and the Reality of Life Among the Pirates (another personal favorite) dissected and deflated popular culture fantasies about pirates, Ribowsky's book sheds light on the reality of medical examiners and their dedicated staff.

Shows like Law & Order (for which Ribowsky has acted as a consultant) tend to misrepresent these people as being whacky, slightly off-kilter jerks who nonchalantly eat food in autopsy rooms while cracking wise about the stiff laying out before them. (Actually, Law & Order, to its credit isn't particularly guilty of this offense -- it's mostly CSI-type shows that feel it necessary to portray medical examiners in this fashion.) The truth is that the people responsible for examining bodies at crime scenes and other difficult, unpleasant and sometimes traumatizing experiences are just as human as anyone else. They don't love corpses in some unnatural way. They're just doing their jobs, which Ribowsky realizes is just as essential to law enforcement as it is to helping the families of the deceased grieve. This is perhaps most evident in the OCME's dedication to identifying the remains of the 9/11 victims, on which Ribowsky spends the bulk of the book. It's worth reading, if only for his personal accounts of tunneling several stories underground through the WTC rubble. Amazing stuff. This guy is a hero. If I saw him on the street, I'd absolutely tell him so.

And now for something completely different...

I was again at a loss for what to read, and on a whim, I picked up a copy of Marie Antoinette: The Journey. Initially, I was put off by Kierstin Dunst (ugh!) being on the cover, along with that annoying "the book that inspired the film!" bubble thrown into the cover's design in a truly crappy fashion. I hate that. I don't know why, exactly, it just kind of sets me off. The reason I bought the book had nothing to do with the movie, which I haven't seen yet but undoubtedly will soon (more on that in a second), but with the fact that when I flipped to a random page and started reading, I was immediately taken with it.

I like history. I like, in particular, European history but I can't say I knew too much about Marie Antoinette as a person. But, like Whitey Bulger, as soon as I opened myself up to knowing more about her, I couldn't get enough. She's not at all the person pop culture has assumed her to be; in fact, she's completely adorable -- if a little childish. The book is as much about the world surrounding her as it is about her on a personal level, and it paints a picture of a girl struggling to carry the burden of international relations on her very young and largely under-prepared shoulders. She means well. She's virtuous. She's hampered by insecurity. The world turns on her as swiftly as it fell in love with her and she's unable to defend herself against unfounded, cruel criticisms on a national level as well as in her very home. And she had really great clothes. Do I love her? Oui.

Watching Lost in Translation with Pete again last night, I decided to scope out the soundtract for Marie Antoinette. I mention this, of course, because Sophia Coppola directed both and every time I see Lost in Translation, I'm always struck by perfectly chosen the soundtrack is.

I love this movie. Like every reasonably intelligent girl, I can't help watching it without identifying a bit with Charlotte or falling in love with Bill Murray just a little, in that charmed but sex-less, undefined and perfect way. For Pete it carries additional meaning because it reminds him of living in Japan, and for both of us it has the surreal contentment of overseas travel and of nights that seem pleasantly without end, when you're young and foreign and unburdened by responsibility. It's sad and funny and tender, and owes much of this in no small part to its soundtrack.

I wondered, despite however bad everyone tells me Marie Antoinette was, did Coppola manage to at least make the same excellent use of music that she did in Lost in Translation? I'm crossing my fingers that she does and I can already feel that this is going to be one of those terrible movies I forgive for being terrible and love anyway -- if only because of its art direction, its ambition, and its music. Siouxsie Sioux? The Cure? New Order? I already love it. I just married it and had ten thousand of its babies!

* I think I scared her a bit more when I couldn't stop talking about the Mossad, but really, can you blame me?

Posted by ashley at February 16, 2007 11:26 AM

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