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A fantastic trip through the nation’s capital, led by one of my favorite humorists, Christopher Buckley (he of Thank You For Smoking and The White House Mess, among others). Actually, I don’t think this works nearly as well as a walking tour as it does a history lesson. Buckley walks us through some fascinating stories behind the famous landmarks of DC — occasionally weaving in his own experience as speechwriter for then-Vice President Bush — and, best of all, shows the eerie interconnectedness of it all.

You’d be absolutely fascinated, for instance, to find out how many Presidential assassinations the son of Abraham Lincoln witnessed first-hand. Or the strange tales told by the dead men in Arlington Cemetary. Buckley’s dry (though occasionally snobbish) wit delivers these facts entertainingly and leaves you wishing DC was bigger, if only to increase the size of the book.

The frustrating thing about Al Franken is that he and Michael Moore are about all the left has in the way of obnoxious cheerleaders. (“Obnoxious” in this context is meant in the most flattering possible way.)

The right has a seemingly unending barrage of radio talk shows, but how often do you hear a liberal radio show? How many times have you dialed past a Democrat-leaning commentator lambasting the President, his crooked corporate connections and his shady non-reasons for taking us to war in Iraq? Personally, having lived in the Washington DC area for all but 2 of my 29 years, I can honestly say “never.”

Which is why books like this are not only welcome, but necessary. I won’t spoil it for you, but there are some pretty scathing indictments contained within this volume, not only involving Fox News toadies like Fake Newsman Bill O’Reilly, but also the President himself. The chapter on 9/11 (“Operation: Ignore”) almost made me physically ill, and not because it was poorly written.

There’s a lot going on in this country that we’re not being made aware of. I’m glad someone like Al Franken is stepping up and serving it with the very palatable sophomoric humor for which he’s become famous.

Similar in ambition to The Science of Superheroes (reviewed elsewhere on this site), The Science of Superman delves deeply into the mythos of the last son of Krypton and examines just how plausible all those crazy powers of his really are. Surprisingly, most of it ends up being at least faintly believable, given a few basic assumptions regarding the environment on Krypton and the Kryptonian physique. I always enjoy stuff like this — especially when the author is looking to prove, rather than disprove, the possibility that someone like Superman could exist.

However, this book focuses a bit too much on the “science” and not quite so much on the “Superman.” While the scientific background and examples are helpful, they end up comprising about 75% of the text. I found myself skimming past complex explanations of physics, chemistry and biology just to get to the point: how, exactly, do these things apply to the son of Jor-El? Nevertheless, a fascinating read for any geek.

This came from a recommendation in one of the books on writing comics that I’d read recently. I’ve had some experience with this sort of thing in the past, but it’s never been very positive. To my way of thinking, shoving your ideas into a preexisting framework is the same thing as being formulaic — and I’ve never cared for formulaic. But this book made me realize that there are more basic elements in common in nearly all the great stories in history.

“The Hero’s Journey” described within deals more with that shared humanity, and allows for an incredible flexibility that includes such diverse works as The Wizard of Oz, Titanic and Pulp Fiction. It takes the ideas set out by Joseph Conrad, as applied to ancient mythology, and translates them into terms better understood by contemporary screenwriters (and, by extension, comic book scripters).

Best of all, for the first time, it made me realize that a basic framework isn’t always a bad thing. By taking the assortment of cool scenes and characters that had been floating around in my head and giving them a little more order, I was able to come up with what I feel to be my best work to date — the still-in-work third rewrite of Tales of the Odd. I think the results will speak for themselves.

A book like this can go one of two ways — either it’ll suck all the fun out of comic books, or it’ll be a lot of fun. Fortunately, this book falls into the latter category. Its authors acknowledge early on that comic books require a suspension of disbelief, and it is not their intention to prove that it’s all based on a bunch of wrong science and poor thinking, but rather to wonder aloud if any of it could happen in the real world.

Naturally, the answer is pretty much always “no,” but the narrative doesn’t end there — there’s also a bit of informed speculation as to, for instance, what actual scientific phenomena could cause a person’s skin to turn green and his muscles to bulge.

The book’s only crime (aside from merely glossing over the very basics of comicdom) is the occasional overlong sidetrip into wordy scientific explanations, such as the four-page snoozefest on how a black hole works in the middle of the Green Lantern chapter. But these occasional diversions aside, The Science of Superheroes is tremendously entertaining — a successful melding of two of the things geeks love most.

You’d think a book that satirizes the OJ Simpson trial, the Monica Lewinsky scandal and people’s hatred for Hilary Clinton would seem a tad dated in 2002. To that, I can only say this: trust Christopher Buckley. He knows what he’s doing.

While No Way to Treat a First Lady might seem like those things, it is also a whole lot more — a pretty dead-on indictment (so to speak) of DC, “media circus” trials and the true power of attorneys in modern culture. All in all, like his previous novels (Little Green Men, The White House Mess and my favorite, Thank You for Smoking), the author creates a witty and entertaining narrative from a fairly sophisticated understanding of politics and popular culture.

Anyone can write political satire (one assumes) — but to write something worthy of consumption by the elite and the masses alike takes real talent. Thankfully, Christopher Buckley seems capable as ever of using said talent to benefit us all (and probably make himself extremely rich in the process). Finally, I think it’s relevant to point out that No Way to Treat a First Lady is the first book since… well, since a long time before it, to put me into “ignore everything, must finish book” mode. And for this easily distracted reader, that’s really saying something.

I should have known this book would be a pretensious collection of self-important intellectual crap that takes the fun out of the most fun half hour on television. But I’ve been wrong before, and I was hoping that would be the case here. Nope.

I honestly didn’t make it through the whole thing — after being disgusted with the first two essays (“Homer and Aristotle” and “Lisa and American Anti-intellectualism”), I skimmed the first page or so of what remained, confirming my suspicions. I learned little beyond this: there’s no easier way to destroy comedy’s inherent goal (to make you laugh) than to analyze it in detail. From essays deconstructing various characters (we all know by now that there’s not supposed to be any continuity to The Simpsons — the characters are general molds that are customized to fit the needs of a particular episode) to one that accuses the show of not attacking Bill Clinton enough (will the Limbaughs of the world ever be satisfied?), this book reminds me of… well, a Simpsons quote. Bart and Lisa are playing a board game with Rod and Tod Flanders, who move their pieces one space at each turn rather than rolling dice. “It’s less fun that way,” they say.

One single essay (“The Simpsons and Allusion: Worst Essay Ever”) stands out among the rest on the simple virtue that its authors seem to actually get the joke. Rather than search for any deeper meaning within the actions of specific characters or situations, this piece instead explores the value of one of the show’s most powerful tools: references. The significance of The Simpsons’ cultural shorthand — both highbrow and low — is examined, without once straying into that “let’s take it apart till it stops working” mentality that seems to drive the rest of this book.

I’ve argued for years that The Simpsons contains much of intellectual value, but as most good parody shows us, there is such a thing as going too far. Be proud of yourself for laughing at the references to Ayn Rand or Jackson Pollock — but don’t be afraid to laugh when Homer falls down on his ass, either. Call me an American anti-intellectual if you must, but books like this sometimes make me glad I never finished college.

This book makes me even more sad that Douglas Adams is dead.

Like the first Dirk Gently book, it manages to balance a sense of complete chaos with a slight feeling of melancholy (just enough to stir something in you, without getting all mopey about it) and the usual Adams-ian wit. The plot — such as it is — centers around discarded Asgardian deities, old refrigerators and the absence of delivery pizza in the UK. But it’s about so much more.

There are wonderful little asides — like the one that blindsided me about three quarters through and actually made me sympathize with the plight of “the whales” (of “save the…” fame) for the first time. The characters are simultaneously stretched cartoonishly out of proportion, yet completely believable. And then there’s Mr. Gently, whose “holistic” methods are really little more than an excuse for the author to tie everything together with implausible coincidences, chalking them up to “the fundamental interconnectedness of all things.” A cheap ploy it may be (like the Infinite Improbability Drive that came before it), but it works.

All in all, a great book — everything I look for in a good recreational read. I truly, sincerely wish there could be another.

I don’t know why it took me so long to get into this book – I absolutely loved it. I know I’d attempted to pick it up once or twice over the years, but something just didn’t quite click with me for some reason. This time, it did – with the help of an “as read by the author” book-on-CD and a long car trip.

It would be futile for me to attempt to describe or sort out the plot in this encapsulated format. (Even Adams himself has admitted that he made the story so complex in order to disguise the fact that it was full of holes.) I will say – and this really isn’t meant to sound as presumptuous as it sounds – that he very much succeeded with the sort of novel that I wanted my own Fish Stories to be. It’s a science fiction story at its core, but it also contains elements of the paranormal that might otherwise move it into the “fantasy” genre. It is, of course, silly in that uniquely British way, but also contains some very profoundly serious and touching moments. The events that unfold could never happen in the rational world that we know, yet most of the inhabitants of said world seem quite familiar and realistic.

So where I’ve been trying to sell Fish Stories to people by comparing it to Hitchhiker’s Guide, perhaps I should instead be comparing it to this, Adams’ lesser-known (yet no less entertaining) work. I look forward to reading the second (and, sadly, the last) book in this series.

In Mike Nelson’s second book since the untimely cancellation of Mystery Science Theater 3000 (his first, Mike Nelson’s Movie Mega-Cheese, felt more like an extension of that series), we’re treated to a series of short, humorous essays — sort of a compilation of his successful newspaper column, if he actually had one.

His wit is sharper than ever, and despite fairly routine subject matter — everyday annoyances, parenting, theories on the downfall of modern society — he manages to make it work. Even more impressive than that is his ability to keep you laughing while working almost completely clean. The book practically emanates waves of wholesome midwesternity, and while the author’s obvious discomfort with all things sexual might seem out of place anywhere else, it somehow adds to this particular author’s charm. Writing humor is hard. Writing good humor is even harder. Writing good humor without falling back on the easy shock-laugh is nigh impossible. Kudos to you, Nel-stone. Now quit writing books and get back in that theater, boobie!