Book 5: Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar

Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar: Understanding Philosophy Through Jokes
Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein

There isn't too much to be said for this book, which basically lives up to its title and provides readers with a fun, quick glossary of major philosophical terms as the authors liven up an esoteric and thought-based discipline. Divided into sections covering everything from metaphysics to metaphilosophy, Cathcart and Klein construct a sort of narrative, traveling through the most important philosophical questions in an order that makes sense and with astounding clarity. Jokes aside, it is clear that the authors know their philosophy and bring a genuine desire to help readers gain an understanding of the field, difficult as it may be. The jokes, of course, do not hurt and in fact the authors are able to deftly pull off the whole conceit: philosophy may in fact be at its best and most accessible when revealed through these jokes, all of which sufficiently illustrate a principle as intended and many of which deserve audible chuckling or re-telling. Recurring characters Dimitri and Tasso introduce and conclude each chapter with a bit of weak shtick, but they do provide a way for readers to see how the philosophy to follow (or preceding) can arise from questions puzzling real (or are we?) people living in the real (or is it?) world. Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar will provide a basic philosophical background to newcomers but, more importantly, has great value as a reference book as well, ready to clarify with solid examples. While its authors can exude a bit too much comedic bravado in their passages introducing philosophical principles and the jokes that (always brilliantly) illustrate them, Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar is a quick, entertaining, and accessible guide to philosophy, which after all may well deserve to be approached with tongue firmly in cheek.

Grade: A

Book 4: The Truth of Buffy

The Truth of Buffy: Essays on Fiction Illuminating Reality
Edited by Emily Dial-Driver, Sally Emmons-Featherston, Jim Ford, and Carolyn Anne Taylor

Pop culture is often maligned for being throwaway entertainment, and it may therefore seem somewhat strange to see a minor network's show about a teenage girl battling various demons praised with the critical acclaim and academic study afforded to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy does, however, probe deep and complex philosophical and moral issues throughout its seven-season run, the variety of which is reflected in the essays of The Truth of Buffy. Tackling issues raised in and developed by Buffy, various academics explore the academic side of popular culture and universally defend the ability of a genre-bending cult phenomenon to be both popular and smart. While some essays, such as baffling show-off "Is It Art," which wastes its pages showcasing the author's knowledge of classical art while almost completely ignoring "Hush," perhaps the series's best episode, fall into typical academic pitfalls, the quality of the essays is generally passable. "Not Just Another Love Song" and "The Ants Go Marching" tackle the particular uses of music in the series, providing interesting insights into some of the art of television as displayed in Buffy. Other essays, such as "What Shall Cordelia Say?," "Witchy Women," and "Is That Stereotype Dead" get a bit off track but adequately work to put Buffy in a greater artistic context, exploring the way that the show plays off of predecessors like Shakespeare or within the context of modern Native American stereotypes.

The most successful and, therefore, interesting essays are, however, the pieces that examine the content of Buffy over several of its seasons and examine the way in which the series illuminates life. "Lord Acton Is Alive and Well in Sunnydale" provides an interesting, if somewhat stunted, look at power politics in the Buffyverse and would form an excellent basis for a further probe. Likewise, "Willow's Electric Arcs," which examines the power of interpersonal connections to affect our actions, seems like a specific case-study in what could well become a larger examination of human psychology and moral choice. Several essays, in fact, tackle the peculiarly deep moral questions offered by Buffy and the Scoobies as they discover that simple good/bad distinctions do not function in the real world or, in fact, in Sunnydale. "I'm Cookie Dough" offers a post-feminist reading of Buffy, thoughtfully and intelligently engaging questions of Buffy's status as a feminist icon, coming to a reasonable conclusion by avoiding the shrillest voices on either side of the debate.

Overall, the essays in The Truth of Buffy may falter at points, with none seeming to be a piece of standout scholarship, but taken together they provide a strong starting point from which fans of the show can begin a more academic exploration of the many merits of the show, as a work of art, an intellectual playpen, or as a product of the context in which it was created and viewed. Essays such as "Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs" even have resonance beyond the series, placing it in an artistic context as a teleplay and providing long-time viewers with an explanation of why the series hangs so many lampshades and how this practice affects the show and its viewers. Most delightful to Buffy fans, however, will be a study of the myriad allusions that make the show a witty viewer's delight. "Texting Buffy: Allusions of Many Kinds" only begins to scratch the surface regarding the show's beloved tactic of dropping as many references as possible. Dealing only with outside references (ignoring inter-episode allusions and inside jokes), the authors statistically study the pop-culture name-dropping that makes Buffy so intelligent, probing the reasons why Xander, for example, makes the most and why Andrew, present for only two seasons, makes 3% of the show's references. The essay is, like the others, loving and appreciative of the depth and artistry of Buffy. The Truth of Buffy may not meet the highest of academic standards and may not contain the most well-written material, but it should please Buffy fans as a jumping-off point to explore the richness provided by, yes, a show about a teenage girl killing vampires.

Grade: B+

Book 3: In Cold Blood

In Cold Blood
Truman Capote

I have long been skeptical of true crime, but this book may have single-handedly changed my mind about the genre, evoking a perfectly executed sense of mystery in a known historical situation and demonstrating the power of good writing and plotting in creating a compelling narrative. In Cold Blood follows the true story of a multiple homicide in rural Kansas in 1959; with the book being released in 1965, the public already had the means to discover the ending, which is given away by modern back copy. The appeal of In Cold Blood is not in discovering who committed the murders, but in tracing their steps, reconstructed realistically from their own words and admissions, and meticulously examining the psychological impact of the crimes on the people of tiny Holcomb, Kansas and on the murderers themselves. Capote possesses a brilliant, esoteric gift for evoking suspense; his language draws readers in immediately, spares no details, and makes one want to keep reading. This is no small achievement given that readers already know how the narrative ends; the quality of the suspense and characterization in this book are a testament to Capote's supreme talent and narrative eye. He knows just how to construct his story, knows just which details to reveal at just the right moments, to construct a narrative that rivals the best novels for its sheer appeal.

Despite the grisly subject matter, and the fact that Capote ultimately spares readers no details, much of the writing within the book is beautiful. Descriptions of rural Kansas and its changing weather patterns rank among some of the most evocative writing I have read and Capote's ability to explore the psychology of hunters and hunted achieves the impossible: readers get to know the murderers intimately and may actually come to feel for them. Capote possesses a keen awareness of the human psyche, and his characterizations are remarkable and, more importantly, easily believed. Throughout the book, Capote aims to depict the events as truthfully as possible, offering embellishments on embedded pieces of the historical record to weave his own observations and conclusions seamlessly in with related primary sources while resisting, for the most part, the trend of modern nonfiction authors to expound on tangentially related subjects at length, often to the detriment of the narrative. The few brief sojourns taken by Capote are relevant and build on the narrative without allowing readers to escape from it completely. In fact, the only time the book falls flat is toward the end where large blocks of testimony are reproduced without interruption or embellishment; the reader here longs for the rich prose of the chase, for the depth with which Capote probes the reaction of the event's major players. Though its final chapter may leave a bit to be desired, it is no wonder that In Cold Blood is upheld as the seminal work of true crime, one that transcends its genre and which is, throughout, a profound look at human nature and the psychology within us we may prefer to ignore.

Grade: A

Book 2: Cloud Atlas

Cloud Atlas
David Mitchell

Some books are obviously, painfully meant for critics, and are often as a consequence difficult for the ordinary reader to slog through with any enjoyment at all. Others, however, are so brilliant and well-executed that serious readers and critics alike can enjoy and appreciate them; Cloud Atlas is, to my mind, a fine example of the latter species. With a structure difficult to pull off and remarkably original given its inherent simplicity, Cloud Atlas not only delivers six enthralling stories but, in doing so, forces readers to think about the effects of stories and storytelling. The book is set up as a series of nested narratives, with the beginning story's second half as the very last part of the book; the sixth (and perhaps the most compelling) is presented in the unbroken middle. The structure can get a bit clumsy at times, especially as readers descend from the strongest stories to the weakest, but its fiction-within-fiction-within-fiction conceit serves its overall storyline and narrative thrust instead of imposing an impressive structure on mediocre narratives. True, few of the stories are exemplars of their genres ("Half-Lives: The First Luisa Rey Mystery" is a fairly standard, though fun, thoughtless mystery and "An Orison of Sonmi~451", despite being well-executed and touching, riffs on dystopian themes heard time and again), but each is more than sufficient and each lends its own particular voice and rhythm to Mitchell's larger examination of the role that storytelling has in our society.

Each story stands on its own but, more cleverly, appears in the stories around it as well, creating a nested effect greater than the physical layout of the book may at first imply. Mitchell weaves his stories together carefully on the way to the middle story, with characters finding the first half of the preceding story cut off, much as the reader has. This creates a nice layered effect but unfortunately loses some steam as the interconnectedness of the stories becomes connected; this becomes particularly wearisome as the stories descend to the first and the discovery of the second half of the story, introduced with profoundly moving simplicity at the end of the middle piece, thereafter is accomplished with decreasingly successful plot devices. Cloud Atlas does, however, carefully and remarkably reveal subtle plot details as the stories move chronologically forward; we find out, for example, that "The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish" is experienced as a movie by the protagonist of "An Orison of Sonmi~451", and the concluding half of his narrative includes side notes to a projected future director, lovingly nicknamed Lars. Similar clever bits allow those in the chronological future to dwell on the fates of those whose stories precede and inform their own without revealing too much of the plot.

There are times, however, that the whole conceit wears a little thin, as Mitchell allows his characters to discusses their reactions to his own stories. It is almost insufferable to hear Luisa Rey gush about the poignancy inherent in the "Letters from Zedelghem", as it is obvious that Mitchell is in the business of congratulating himself instead of allowing the stories to speak for themselves, which they do in many other varied and interesting ways. The evolution of language, for example, to include future adoption of brand names as generic nouns (nikes are shoes, disneys are movies and, most intriguingly, to judas is to betray) is introspective and well-executed. There is no question that, though Mitchell may only truly master the forms of the modern comedy and apocalyptic oral history, his ability to operate in numerous utterly distinct genres is absolutely incredible. "Half Lives: The First Luisa Rey Mystery" would certainly not deserve critical praise but it may, in fact, find itself selling moderately well as a middle-of-the-road newspaper thriller, "Sloosha's Crossin' an' Ev'rythin' After" is a well-equipped post-apocalyptic tale, and Somni does, though treading familiar ground, make interesting points about corporate culture and a possible future trajectory. Most enjoyable, however, is probably Timothy Cavendish's ghastly ordeal, whose second half far eclipses its first and provides the last truly great moment of the novel.

Cloud Atlas aims to demonstrate, with its interlocked stories and its unique narrative structure, that stories and language are essential building blocks with which we construct a coherent and shared view of the world. Even "Half-Lives", the only story presented in the third person, fundamentally revolves around communication and has a newspaper reporter as its protagonist. Each of the stories is serviceable on its own, though it is tough to know that "The Pacific Journal of Adam Ewing" is the final chord struck in the symphony. Its very final notes are effective but the novel's best moments are peppered throughout its rich middle sections, but this is the only major failure of the book's gutsy structure. Cloud Atlas is a rich and rewarding reading experience that manages a tricky dance of crescendos and diminuendos among clumsy tangos and midnight rendezvous. The book is a joy to read both for its enthralling contents and in the way it employs an unique structure to speak to the importance of stories to all of us and, perhaps, to underline the tenuous threads connecting us to the past and the future.

Grade: A

Book 1: Erewhon

Erewhon
Samuel Butler

How better to begin a new year and new decade than with a healthy dose of sarcastic, biting satire wrapped in a nice conceit? I figured so, at least, and began the year with Samuel Butler's biting yet dated Erewhon. Beginning as so many Victorian samples do with a nested conceit assuring the reader that the fllowing astonishing account is, in fact, absolutely true. This sets up an evocative, but somewhat boring, account of the man's overland journey to Erewhon, an expansive human-controlled kingdom as yet undiscovered and possessing a rich cultural heritage of its own. The form and plot, such as it is, are serviceable though small semblances of plot often go missing for several pages during Butler's own intense intellectual journeys into satirical jabs at Victorian society. These are well-constructed and sufficiently thought out to apply even to our own time; Butler's vision of mechanical evolution and the rights of animals and plants, ostensibly penned by Erewhonian philosophers, are at once scathing and intriguing, particularly in an age when computer sentience seems to be on the horizon.

Though much of the satirical elements in Erewhon are dated and lost among the large patches of dull prose, some of it cuts through and is quite hilarious in its send-up of Victorian manners and, indeed, our own continuing follies. I am sure there is a relevant and witty satire of the institutions of religion in the Musical Banks and the peculiar Erewhonian treatment of crime as a disease and disease as a crime has gained new relevance in our age of never-ending mental disorders and chemical advances in neuroscience. Most biting is the criticism of institutions of higher learning; indeed, they do seem like Colleges of Unreason and though Latin is undeniably important to a select group of scholars, I am with Butler in thinking that teaching hypothetical languages to every student may not be the most effective use of higher education and skyrocketing tuition bills. The conceit, while obviously a thin narrative framework constructed to support the satire, does come to a hilarious end when the narrator begins to embody those characteristics he seemed to despise in the Erewhonians, displaying equal or greater foolishness than the misguided future converts. Even better, however, is his growing desperation amidst fears that his plan to profit off of Erewhon will be usurped by a pretender. Here the conceit works, for the first time, perfectly, proving that good satire can coexist with such rarities as plot and character. Erewhon is well worth reading for its jabs at Victorian culture, but will be best appreciated by those with a background in that culture or with accompanying introductions to ground the time-tied cultural criticism that makes the bulk of the book.

Grade: B

2009 Year in Review

Another year, another sixty-odd books under my belt. The year began strongly, with Tipping the Velvet and continued through several unread and re-read classics. I wanted to make a dent in my reading of the classics, and I was reasonably successful in the first part of the year, which also included some further probing of the science fiction field, which remains largely elusive to me. I did a lot of exploration this year, with my first graphic novel, as I finally picked up Watchmen and was delighted with its vibrant tale and stunning art. I also learned that the memoir can be well-written and enjoyable (via The Unlikely Disciple) and essays as well (Maps and Legends). I plan to read more graphic novels in the coming year and open myself up to the form, which I think is neglected by the serious literati and which can be a lot of fun while telling some deep stories. With the middle of the year and my acceptance into graduate school, my reading included many works on library and information science as well as the art of reading in general; my summer reading consisted largely of books about books. David Weinberger's Everything Is Miscellaneous was an incredibly pleasant surprise, an entire book about classification schemes that validates this incredibly nerdy and odd side of my personality. I even managed to keep a strong pace throughout the year, marred by the gargantuan Europe Central right at the beginning but coming together nicely and allowing me an escape from graduate school and technical reading.

The year's reading was also buoyed by my joining a science fiction and fantasy book group, and though I did not have any specific projects of my own (apart from finishing the Regeneration trilogy), the book club opened my eyes to many books that otherwise wouldn't have appeared on my radar. The YA The True Meaning of Smekday was delightful and Nightwatch, while not ultimately chosen, was an incredibly timely read that I very much enjoyed this past week. I also discovered that essays can, when well-executed, make for exciting and fun reading. For next year, I plan to give myself some projects to direct my reading, but I will also be keeping my eyes and ears open as I will hopefully be traveling to Ireland for a good part of the summer break. Look for a lot of Irish literature to pop up in the coming year, along with the usual mix of classics and modern literary works and some science fiction.

My favorite reads of this year were many, including Tipping the Velvet, an excellent Victorian historical novel, The Unlikely Disciple, a standout work in a flavor-of-the-decade genre I usually avoid; essays from Michael Chabon in Maps and Legends; and The Book Thief, which I finally read after letting it languish on my shelf for years. It was a highly successful year and I look forward to similar good reading in the upcoming year and decade beyond.

Book 64: The I Hate the 21st Century Reader

The I Hate the 21st Century Reader
Edited by Clint Willis and Nate Hardcastle

The title of this book really tells you most of what you want to know: this book is a collection of short essays lamenting the more lamentable facts of life five years into the new Millennium. Released in 2005 and relying entirely on current-events commentary (often from sources of questionable reliability and very questionable writing or fact-checking ability), The I Hate the 21st Century Reader has become necessarily dated over time. Among the rampant Bush-bashing, which shockingly has not actually aged well (despite being my own angry mantra of choice in the same period), there hide a few gems of excellent quality. Paul Krugman's "For Richer," a study of the widening gap between rich and poor in America, admittedly comes from a notorious liberal but is nonetheless an excellent and level-headed look at an ongoing problem and some of its potential consequences. Though taking a few (well-deserved) jabs at the Bush tax cuts, Krugman manages to persuasively discuss the danger of runaway executive salaries, placing the problem in economic and historical context to create a convincing argument. Its polar opposite may be James Fallows with "Countdown to a Meltdown," a laughably unsuccessful attempt to look back at the present from 2016. As with all speculative fiction, it is easy to point out the amusing errors Fallows makes and assume that the piece is silly, but bad writing compounds a lack of foresight driven by a mad desire to make Bush look bad. Admirable though that action may be, Fallows comes off sounding like a very bad satirist instead of creating the earnest call to arms he so fervently seems to desire. It isn't just that he gets the years after 2005 wildly wrong, its that the essay is consistently immature and adds no understanding to its contemporary situation that rises above childish name-calling.

It isn't surprising, then, that the most successful essays in The I Hate the 21st Century Reader are those that examine broader historical trends or ethical issues. Like Krugman's essay, which places economics in historical context, many of the essays in the book aren't wedded exclusively to the early years of the 21st century and pose interesting dilemmas that should be considered into the present day. The two essays in the "Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Science" section consider interesting ethical situations posed by the emergence of black-hole creating particle colliders and human-animal hybrid creations without succumbing to dogmatic black-and-white simplicity. J.M. Berger's "Extreme Science!" does a particularly good job examining the problems inherent in the ultra-specific specialization of today's scientists and injects humor into some very sobering observations. Likewise, "The Coming Death Shortage," by Charles C. Mann, provides a very interesting look into the potential problems caused by an aging population, again addressing the problem with historical context and providing an excellent lead-off piece for the book's best segment, "The New Death." Essays exploring the potential of devastating illnesses to wear on a decaying public health infrastructure and the triumph of the pharmaceutical companies in convincing us we are all suffering from myriad diagnosable problems (an exploration thoughtfully juxtaposed with lyrics from "Mother's Little Helper" by the Rolling Stones) highlight important issues that must be dealt with.

While other intriguing selections await (most notably "The Rebellion of the Tools" and the poignant post-Katrina "The Corpse on Union Street"), the majority of the anthology's best work is present in its first third. Unfortunately, however, these two standout sections occur early in the book and the essays continue on their anti-Bush crusades, often to the detriment not only of their wit and writing quality but also of their arguments, which seem petty when paired so inextricably with the partisan barbs. Sadly, the latter is the dominant force in this anthology, and the virtiol present in various selections from The I Hate the 21st Century Reader undermines otherwise interesting and important points. The anthology suffers from partisan politics so much that it is difficult for even those who agree with its angry writers to enjoy it four years on. The I Hate the 21st Century Reader, then, is valuable for two key reasons: firstly, there are gems to be discovered among its selections that provide thoughtful perspectives on important issues, both wedded to the historical context in which they were written and transcending it to remain vital. Secondly, The I Hate the 21st Century Reader already functions as a sort of nostalgic look back on an era when liberal columnists engaged in the sport of Bush-bashing in seeking solutions to the nation's ills. The hate is in full force and ultimately creates a showcase of anti-Righ sentiment worth revisiting five years on.

Grade: C

Book 63: Nightwatch

Nightwatch
Sergei Lukyanenko

This book is so much more than another riff on the epic, eternal struggle between Good and Evil. Sure, the most fundamental of conflicts affects each and every heart-pounding syllable of this book, but Lukyanenko probes them, and the very nature of morality, time and again throughout his three-act play. He has started from an enticing alternate reality where a special race of enlightened humans are capable of, among other things, using magic and descending into a parallel plane of reality called the Twilight. Neither of these is superfluous and all is explained in stride, allowing readers to quickly adapt to the basic framework of a world with Others while following the plot. Gradual revelations about the rules the Others adhere to occur naturally and advance the plot while adding to the incredible richness with which Lukyanenko has painted his moral landscape. Most importantly, Others must upon their initiation choose either the path of Light or Darkness, a fascinating one-shot that sets up much (but crucially not all) of the moral playing field of the novel. The two polarized camps continue to clash though their main bones of current contention are violations caught by the dedicated watches of either side, a fascinating compromise that sets the ideological backdrop for Nightwatch as well as propelling its plot realistically through several sticky points. This complex reality forms the backbone of the novel and, though its plot sometimes wavers and its characters become very fond of explaining to readers exactly what is going on metaphorically, Nightwatch successfully builds and probes an alternate reality while asking important questions and providing a high-octane plot that entertains throughout.

Composed of three loosely-related plotlines revolving around the lot of Nightwatch agent Anton Gorodetsky, who helps patrol the agents of Darkness for illegal, unlicensed acts of Evil, Nightwatch contains three self-sufficient stories that together add up to a balanced and complete whole. The first is by far the most dynamic and would stand brilliantly on its own as an otherworldly exploration of this alternate reality; though it provides a nice set-up for the next two stories (and presumably the other three books in the series), this first segment is complete and accomplishes much of the work of the novel in a microcosm. This is not to malign, however, the book's bombastic second act, which takes the moral stakes of the first and deploys some occasionally overwrought irony to build on the plot laid out before and throw the moral scales completely off balance. They remain askew through the third act, which begins with a few conversations clarifying What We Have Learned and stumbles to an excellent and wonderfully ambiguous climax. Peppered throughout with song lyrics and the colorful language of incredibly able narrator Anton, the book is filled to the brim with intriguing passages and memorable scenes.

Sergei Lukyanenko is a master of moral ambiguity, and even though he rarely lets it squirm by unnoticed, Nightwatch oozes with questions and, happily, fails to provide any satisfactory answers. Some may read its ambiguous ending as an invitation to read the rest of his books, but it is much more gracious and, I believe, true to the story's intentions to embrace its unwritten ending as a graciously disguised call to action. The book's final act, though the weakest of the three, clarifies and reinforces themes invoked and explored throughout the whole novel. And besides, Nightwatch is a thrilling read, bursting at the seams with exciting plot developments and a wonderful lead character in Anton with a full and rich supporting cast. Nightwatch is a thoroughly engrossing and refreshingly thought-provoking sci-fi/fantasy hybrid that will please genre fans and deep thinkers alike, but above all it is a great ride.

Grade: A

Book 62: Treasure Island

Treasure Island
Robert Louis Stevenson

It's difficult to read this classic novel without conjuring ready-made images from our pre-conceived notions of pirates or, indeed, Muppet Treasure Island. The reason we even have these stereotypes, however, is this very book that launched a thousand pirate tales. Fun and swashbuckling though Disney songs and Tim Curry may predominate the reader's vision of the story, Treasure Island has lost a bit of steam due to its 1850s idiom but remains powerful as the foundational story of pirates in western culture. The narrative is spun by Jim Hawkins, reflecting on the voyage that saw him become a man, and though he provides a heavily charged, and authentic atmosphere, Jim's moral smugness manages to remove all suspense from his story and actively works against the most interesting elements of the story. Treasure Island is, at its heart, a story of the slippery morals of Long John Silver and a testament to his ability to play politician, but Jim's narration shoves this element sadly to the periphery in favor of a moral righteousness that obscures the very interesting workings of Silver's not-solely-piratical mind. The story remains, then, simply a very good adventure story, one that surely deserves its place in the literary canon but one hiding its own treasures underneath the glossy, simple-seeming surface. Robert Louis Stevenson creates an idiom in Treasure Island that is beyond compare in the effect it has had on the popular imagination and, though it seems simple at heart, its swashbuckling fiends and surface adventure are sure to please while the suggestions of moral relativity slip away into the night, with Long John himself and his share of Captain Flint's bounty.

Grade: B+

Book 61: Giving the Game Away

Giving the Game Away: Football, Politics, and Culture on Five Continents
Edited by Stephen Wagg

As part of my extended preparation for the World Cup, and nicely coinciding with the draw for the 2010 competition, I picked up this book while searching for a soccer encyclopedia to browse for my reference class. This book is, as the title suggests, a study of the history of the development of soccer and how it has been adopted and adapted culturally throughout the world (Australia is, despite the title, included along with the other populated continents). The book is a collection of geographically oriented essays, often authored or co-authored by Wagg himself but by various regional experts as well. The book begins with an examination of soccer in its own heartland, the British Isles and, though a bit uneven in its writing it provides a good grounding for the general history of the development of soccer. Developments throughout the world often depended on British exporting of the game through migrant workers and, naturally, colonization, and Britain provides a relatively stable template for development in other countries. Another chapter of particular interest for its discussion of the following for soccer is the chapter on the United States, now out of date but providing an excellent perspective from fifteen years ago, just before the now-successful MLS got off the ground. This chapter not only examines the history of soccer in the United States and Canada but posits several reasons why it has not been as readily and thoroughly accepted as it has been throughout the rest of the world. Thus, its being out of date actually enhances its interest and makes it useful to current readers living in the age of the reemergence of United States football and hoping against all hope for a good result against England in Group C.

Chapters on European soccer quickly devolve into lists of the dates of establishment of various national leagues and note particular teams while containing occasional bits of interest, including notes on the effect of Soviet rule in Eastern Europe and of the adoption of the Confederate flag by various Southern cities along the Mediterranean. Likewise, the essay on soccer in Asia is written without much authorial interest, it seems, and is rather dry. Most enlightening and interesting are chapters on soccer in Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East, perhaps because these regions are most foreign to me but also because of their writing. The chapter on Africa suffers a bit by focusing so directly on Zimbabwe, which has since devolved into an absolute nightmare, but provides a great contextual view of the social significance soccer has had in Africa, particularly as a post-colonial and racially charged activity. Wagg's own chapter on soccer in the Middle East is likewise fascinating due to the ideological distance of these countries from readers in the United States (or Britain, for that matter) and especially in light of recent political developments. This chapter's view of soccer as heavily charged political expression showcases the effect that sports and team affiliations can have, and how they may reach far beyond the game. These insights go beyond soccer and into psychology and sociology without straying at all from the subject at hand; they enlighten in their thoroughness and invite further exploration.

The best essay by far is is, perhaps unsurprisingly, Maurice Biriotti Del Burgo's "Don't Stop the Carnival: Football in the Societies of Latin America." From start to finish, the chapter is entirely engaging, perhaps due to the explosive nature of soccer in Latin American cultures. Far from simply reciting interesting dates or naming the best teams of Brazil, Del Burgo explores the relationship of soccer to particularly Latin American ideas of the individual, nation, and religion. This essay, more than any other, ties the development of soccer firmly to developments of ideological and cultural expressions. The essay, like some others, will be more comprehensible and useful to readers with some grounding on the history of soccer, but anyone interested in the culture of Latin America or interested in the dominance of Brazil will benefit from reading it.

The absolute excellence of the book's top essay does, however, paradoxically highlight the primary fault of the book; though its focus is consistent throughout and each are of the world is represented with a significant block of text, the essays are wildly uneven. Certain differences in writing style are to be expected of course from a book with multiple contributers, but the varying citation style (if citations are even used in a given essay) and use of "soccer" instead of "football" make the collection more difficult to read as a comprehensive view. The concluding chapter and its reflections on the World Cup of 1994 makes interesting observations but its focus on Brazil repeats material and sentiment from the aforementioned regionally-based study. Certain chapters focus much more on dominant teams of the past than on cultural development, and the shift in focus prevents the book from presenting a sense of a comprehensive view of the world's soccer culture. While it is overall a noble attempt and has aged rather gracefully, Giving the Game Away is best read for its standout pieces and by readers particularly interested in one area or another; it simply is not consistent enough to provide a strong backbone for a lay reader's knowledge of soccer across the world.

Grade: B