Tag: book review

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The Secret to Superhuman Creativity

Alison Bechdel breaks molds, and I’m here for it. When most people think of graphic novels, The Killing Joke or Watchmen often spring to mind first. Those were epic milestones of a young medium, but this cartoonist takes her creativity beyond old expectations. This is a compelling autobiography told through drawings and sharp observations.

The Secret to Superhuman Strength isn’t about making oneself invulnerable. Bechdel’s quest for health through exercise spans decades, but it’s really about confronting mortality. With humor, honesty, and, most of all, vulnerability, she chronicles her career struggles, personal failings, and a holistic view of her journey. Nothing is off-limits in this auto-biography of an artist pursuing a unique life and achieving success in an underappreciated medium. (Warning: distrust success. From her experience, it looks as exhausting as it is exhilarating, and, of course, it’s fleeting. That artistic struggle doesn’t end.)

If you aren’t already familiar with this celebrated American cartoonist, you’ve probably heard of the Bechdel test. She says now that the test began as a joke, but it spurred serious discussion. Raising awareness of the representation of women, the test is whether at least two female characters in a fictional narrative have a conversation about something other than a man. That’s all I knew of Alison Bechdel before I found The Secret to Superhuman Strength.

Full of wit and wisdom, Bechdel explores her history and those of other artists. For instance, in testing her appetite for self-destruction, she explores how Jack Kerouac’s life ended. Observing her growth through the decades is fascinating as she deals with love, loss, self-doubt, loneliness, and heartbreak. If you’re older, you’ll enjoy the little nostalgic details that cue where she sits in time and place. Her life experience might turn you on to therapy, reading more, daring more, and living more fully.

From skiing to yoga, cycling, karate, and running, Bechdel seems up for anything to make herself stronger. That’s not necessarily where this journey leads. Her quest for athletic excellence and health drew me in. It was her contemplation of Buddhism that gives readers some solace as we shiver in the cold shadow of existential dread.

What is the secret to superhuman creativity?

People talk about talent, but many may not realize how hard the talented have to work. From my own experience and what I glean from Alison Bechdel’s book, the true answer is vulnerability plus attention to detail.

What you call oversharing, I call the muse. Endemic is about a lonely, neurodivergent woman seeking safety and independence amid a plague. My novels are frequently about flawed protagonists searching for revenge and escape. That’s all me in there somewhere, confessing my sins, imagining clever vengeance, and exposing my not-so-secret resentments.

I resonated thoroughly with Alison Bechdel. Her struggle is a struggle we all share. How do we find our way? How can we live longer, better, and more authentically in a world that often values that quest? I admit I’m still struggling with the way-to-die part of the equation. Reading this graphic novel made me feel a little more comfortable with the relentless passage of time, the scary present, and the dark future.

She has other works. Here’s her website. Click here to check it out.

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For the love of Stanley Tucci

I have proof She Who Must Be Obeyed is my soulmate: At Christmas, I bought this book for her and she bought a copy for me.

Last year, I rhapsodized about Taste by Stanley Tucci. It’s part memoir, some family history, and delicious Italian recipes. Stanley has a dry wit, a fascinating life and career, and very strong opinions on which shape of pasta should go with what sauce. What I Ate in One Year picks up where Taste left off. It’s a near-daily diary of the trials, tribulations, travel, projects, rewards, and feasts the Internet’s boyfriend is heir to. If you’ve watched his series Searching for Italy, it’s impossible not to hear his dulcet tones as you read. Love that!

Reading this book in Cuba was particularly poignant and pointed. It was poignant because Stanley dwells on his mortality quite a bit. His first wife died of the disease and he is a cancer survivor. Meanwhile, I was far from home, sick and waiting to die by a tropical pool. Weak, cursing, and coughing, I was reminded of my father’s telling of how incredibly ill he was at sea. Flat on his back at the bottom of a fishing trawler in high seas, Dad told me, “First, I was afraid I was going to die. Then I was afraid I wouldn’t.” He survived the seasickness, and I survived my virus. Almost ninety years later, Dad was faced with the same feeling. He chose the needle rather than endure what sadists call “a natural death.” (Jury’s still out on my eventual exit, but I hope I go with the same eagerness and dignity, instead of screaming in childish protest, as is my wont.)

Stanley’s love of food was especially pointed in Cuba because he would starve to death there. When a meal fails to rise to his standards, Stanley refuses to participate in such abominations unto the Lord. He doesn’t hold back, reporting, for instance, that a meal was not just awful, but “fucking awful.” Mostly, he dines very well. As for us on vacation in Cuba, the pork was good a couple of times. Mostly, we survived the week on buttered buns. The buns were good, but I’ve had a much more delicious and authentic Cubano sandwich from Starbucks.

No matter what I ordered on this trip, I couldn’t receive the same thing twice. A cafe bombon was first a delicious ice cream treat (not what I envisioned, but great). Then, it was merely iced coffee. Intrepid and trying again, a cafe bombon became a foamy thing sort of like the first attempt, but without ice. A proper cafe bombon should be an espresso with sweetened condensed milk. (Full details here. You’re welcome.) I finally got a decent cafe bombon when I flew home and made it myself. (Note to self: Learn Spanish before heading south again.)

It’s tempting to say, if you’re traveling to Cuba, bring food. I’m being a little unfair. On my first Cuban trip to a different resort, I enjoyed the meals. Our last meal in Cuba eight years ago turned me on to Italian food. I didn’t think it was special until I savored shrimp on angel hair pasta. This most recent trip was a gastronomic disaster, but the food wasn’t the point of the escape. We got to spend more time with our kids than we get all year, and that was wonderful. The weather was great, and we needed a break. I wish we hadn’t been sick for most of the trip, but I don’t regret going. SWMBO remarked she caught the virus from me, but in deference to my long history of service, devotion, and conviviality, she agreed to never say that again.

Travel and Book Recommendations

If you plan to visit Cuba, the country has a lot of supply problems. For instance, there’s no Kleenex, a fact we lamented deeply as our illness progressed. The staff appreciate over-the-counter medicines that are often unavailable to them. Besides tips, we left the staff a miniature pharmacy. For money, they prefer American dollars, but they graciously accepted our Canadian currency.

Wherever you live, on vacation or hard at work in air traffic control, read Stanley Tucci’s What I Ate in One Year. Okay, maybe not while you’re controlling air traffic, but otherwise, I highly recommend it. I devoured this book in a couple of days. I didn’t want it to end. And I really wanted to devour the great food he wrote about. A person can survive on buttered buns alone, but after a while, you don’t want to.

Home again, I’m back to the business of writing novels. The food tastes even better than I remember. I am grateful.