Non-Fiction Reviews

Eating Animals

Jonathan Safran Foer is the first to admit it: "I am not a journalist, activist, veterinarian, lawyer or philosopher," he writes in this thoughtful meditation on meat-eating. But precisely because he is none of those things, his perspective on what all omnivores must willfully ignore is simply — and powerfully — human. Though Foer has the tendency to go off on philosophical tangents, the core of his book succeeds as a sensitive, reasonable and impossible-to-dismiss argument for making more informed eating choices. People familiar with Michael Pollan and Food, Inc. will see some similar material here, but Eating Animals goes further, making a nearly airtight case for vegetarianism as a moral imperative. After pages and pages documenting the innumerable ills of the meat industry — and its toll on the well-being of humans, animals and the planet — Foer finally asks, point-blank: "Just how destructive does a culinary preference have to be before we decide to eat something else?"

Our Noise: The Story of Merge Records

This oral history probably won't rocket to the top of the bestseller list, and that'll be just fine for McCaughan and Ballance, the Superchunk/Merge Records founders who've made a career of keeping things successful but manageable. Which is not to say that Our Noise: The Story of Merge Records, the Indie Label that Got Big and Stayed Small — flush with pics, history, dirt and some telling tales after school — won't be absolutely devoured by those who came of age in the keep-it-real/don't-sell-out/wear-lots-of-corduroy 1990s. Critic/journo Cook pieces together a galaxy of interviews with the likes of Ian MacKaye, Tom Scharpling, Steve Albini and others to tell the origin stories of some of indie rock's most beloved bands (Neutral Milk Hotel, Magnetic Fields, Butterglory, Superchunk, etc.). Especially impressive is the candor with which the subjects speak about sensitive issues, including disappointing sales, acrimonious personnel changes, and even McCaughan and Ballance's romantic split that threatened to doom their band and label in their infancy.

Israel vs. Utopia

If the title doesn't get armchair Zionists' blood boiling, Israel vs. Utopia's flora-and-barbed-wire cover art will. And that's a shame, because they'd find valuable revelations in Joel Schalit's clear-eyed vision of Israel. The former managing editor of Tikkun was born in Israel, came of age in America and is now based in Italy, which gives him the intimate knowledge and necessary distance to focus on the gap between perceptions of Israel and its reality. Israel vs. Utopia examines the facts on the ground to explain how Israel and the U.S. have become ever more entwined over the past four decades. It's a codependent relationship, Schalit argues, and one Israel will have to work out before it can forge healthy bonds with other potential partners in the region and beyond. The book's denser than it looks, and it occasionally gets bogged down by details that will only derail its intended audience. But by exploring what it is outsiders want to see, perhaps Schalit can open eyes to what is actually there.

Manhood for Amateurs

The Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay makes his nonfiction debut with a thoughtful and poignant collection of autobiographical essays in Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father and Son. In "To the LegoLand Station," Chabon describes his experience purchasing a set of Legos for his son in the '90s; the building blocks had gone from being a vehicle for abstract creativity to "full-blown realism [reigning] supreme in the Legosphere," sets that were more focused on reconstructing Star Wars than sparking imagination. General cultural commentary aside, Manhood allows Chabon to comment on his life as a father and husband with incredible candor: He detests the notion of male stubbornness, when men don't know their own limits, yet reveals that he, too, is capable of such behavior. With all its humor and lighthearted moments, Manhood allows readers a look into the life of a man responsible for a plethora of fiction in this decade, a person who acknowledges his limitations and transforms them into powerful prose.

The Tao of Wu

Robert Diggs, aka The RZA, is a modern marvel. A multimedia giant before Apple ruled the universe, RZA's street savvy and artistic agility have made him something of a 21st-century renaissance figure. From his assembly of hip-hop's eminent crew, The Wu-Tang Clan, to his own clothing line, to his oft-allegiances with the likes of everyone from Jim Jarmusch to Quentin Tarantino, RZA has mastered New York and Hollywood alike with evident aplomb. The writer comes off as alternately wistful in his gritty recollections of his rags-to-riches Staten Island days and circularly didactic in his attempts to reconcile his numerous interests and influences. RZA does well to make his citizen-of-the-world life philosophy both intriguing and poignant. He is known as the Abbot, after all, a teacher with a curriculum that incorporates Islam, numerology, chess theory and Judeo-Christian extrapolations, usually disseminated by hip-hop rubrics and classic kung fu flicks. Not required reading, but a good companion piece to the mystique of Wu.

Bicycle Diaries

David Byrne doesn't ride a fixie. Nor is he training for the Tour de France. Instead, the former Talking Head represents an oft-forgotten segment of the biking population: commuters who also like to leisurely explore neighborhoods from their banana seats. And Byrne is a famous musician with a folding bike, so he gets around. Bicycle Diaries collects his observations biking in about 15 cities, including Berlin, Buenos Aires and his home base of New York. (No chapter on Philly, sadly.) Everywhere he goes, Byrne maintains an open curiosity about his surroundings, delivered in a smart yet unfussy writing style that isn't far removed from his lyrics. But after a while, the writing starts to feel rote. Most chapters follow the same trajectory: Byrne bikes around a city, wryly commenting on its history, poverty, etc. Then he meets up with friends and invariably visits an art gallery. Byrne redeems Bicycle Diaries at the end; the latter chapters concretely address the benefits and challenges of urban cycling. But overall, the book could've used more bicycles, fewer diaries.

High Society: The Life of Grace Kelly

Donald Spoto knows where the bodies are buried when it comes to Hollywood's most notorious. So throw in Philadelphia convent-schoolgirl-turned-Oscar-winner-turned-princess Grace Kelly and it's a steamy recipe. Sadly, Spoto doesn't linger on Kelly's Main Line backstory, Jack Kelly's construction business or her time at Ravenhill or Stevens. There's not very much on the uncles who introduced Grace to theater, either, save to say that George Kelly pushed her gently toward Manhattan's American Academy of Dramatic Arts. The first chapters rush by plushly and settle solidly on her affairs with Clark Gable and other members of the cinematic elite, playing the blonde to Hitchcock's obsessions and gadflying about with Sinatra until she was yanked too quickly away from movies to monarchy. It's a good read on a short life, but one can't help but have wanted more from our own royal highness.

Big Man: Real Life & Tall Tales

Few sidekicks ever garner the same level of adulation as their frontman. But when Bruce Springsteen introduces E Street Band saxman Clarence Clemons, the cheers are deafening. Even Bruce worships at the altar of the Minister of Soul. Clemons teamed up with best friend/veteran TV producer Don Reo (M.A.S.H., My Wife and Kids) for Big Man, swapping stories with an interesting dual perspective: Clemons writes about what it's like to be Clemons; Reo writes about what it's like to be in his presence. There are no bombshells, no Bruce-related exposés. Clemons' voice is both ingratiating and borderline cheesy, only further demonstrating his love for his boss, our Boss. Clemons is also a great liar: Every few chapters, he'll fabricate some far-out story — like the time he played nine-ball with Fidel Castro while Hunter S. Thompson dosed Castro's bodyguard with liquid LSD. But he's not Clarence in these tall tales, he's the Big Man. "And the Big Man," as Clemons says, "is a motherfucker."