According to People Who Know These Things, the ideal breadbox contributes to the nutritional felicity and fiscal sensibility of the household. It sustains its contents at median kitchen temperature and opens wide the much-debated familial windows of tastiness and edibility. The stylish-yet-sturdy design promotes airflow, inhibiting mold growth even as it shelters doughy innards from vermin and domestic pests.
A formful and functional order! The Cellar Door Book Society demands as much from the metaphorical breadbox, one of our primary assessment tools for book selection:
A formful and functional order! The Cellar Door Book Society demands as much from the metaphorical breadbox, one of our primary assessment tools for book selection:
1Q84 by Haruki Murakami; translated from the Japanese by Jay Rubin.
Knopf, 2011. 925 pages.
Fiction Favorites
Is it bigger than a breadbox? Absolutely!
This gargantuan-ambitious-richly-imagined story, delivered with a domo arigato to George Orwell, opens in 1984 Tokyo and unfolds from alternating female and male perspectives. First, we meet vengeful angel Aomame, a petite professional assassin working for a clandestine organization that punishes perpetrators of violence against women. In the wake of an unsettling taxi ride, our sympathetic heroine perceives mystifying discrepancies in her world and concludes that she has entered an alternate existence that she calls, for lack of a more traditional date, 1Q84. Q stands for Question Mark, and we’d like to arrange a meeting between Aomame and equally vengeful Dragon-Tattoo-Girl Lisbeth Salander. That would be tons of non-traditional fun… question mark? And then we meet Aomame’s star-crossed—or perhaps double-moon-crossed—love Tengo, a burly mathematics instructor and aspiring writer who undertakes a sketchy ghostwriting project, drawing him into the parallel universe in question:
A mystifying air chrysalis, a creepy cat town, a cloistered dowager, a dyslexic teenage seductress, a malformed private investigator, an ominously persistent television-fee collector: Cellar Door Extreme Readers DLC, NWC, and BJM spend a considerable amount of time contemplating 1Q84 and its beguiling dystopian vision. As the profoundly tangled narratives of Aomame and Tengo come together over nearly a thousand pages and a calendar year, we are reading a profound love story, a tangled mystery, an epic fantasy, and a fantastically epic struggle between forces of fate and free will. And stash this in the metaphorical breadbox for stay-fresh future reference: Tengo’s editor has an egg-shaped head.
What I Talk about When I Talk about Running: A Memoir by Haruki Murakami; translated from the Japanese by Philip Gabriel.
Vintage International, 2009 (2008), 179 pages.
Non Fiction and Biographies
It’s smaller than a breadbox but packed with intimate reflection and lighthearted humor, nourishing words about our solitary yet unexpectedly sociable pursuits. The author of 1Q84 contemplates tandem and beautifully twined passions, sharing how writing has influenced his running and how running has inspired his writing. Murakami talks about where he has run, people he has run into, the road behind, the road ahead... Every three miles I stop and drink water at a water station. Every time I stop I briskly do some stretching. My muscles are as hard as week-old cafeteria bread. I can’t believe these are really my muscles. Sounds like Murakami’s metaphorical cafeteria personnel need to talk about purchasing a metaphorical breadbox.
2666 by Roberto Bolaño; translated from the Spanish by Natasha Wimmer.
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008. 898 pages.
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2008. 898 pages.
Fiction Favorites/ What Were We Thinking?
Is it bigger than a bread box? ¡Sí!
Is it weirder than a bread box? ¡Sí!
Is it weirder than a bread box? ¡Sí!
It's cryptically titled. It’s all over the map, all over the timeline, full of messed up relationships, messed up careers, stories within stories, smoke and mirrors, mirrors and shadows, señoritas and serial killers, and no less than twenty mentions of eggs, with particular attention given to scrambled eggs. For our reading convenience, the late Chilean author’s last novel is divided into five completely whacked-out sections:
1. The Part about the Critics introduces us to a restless, somewhat sketchy foursome of European literary critics who travel to Santa Teresa, a restless, completely sketchy border town in Sonora, Mexico, in search of elusive German novelist Benno von Archimboldi.
2. The Part about Amalfitano directs our increasingly perplexed reading attention to Oscar Amalfitano, a philosophy professor at the University of Santa Teresa who worries that his daughter will somehow be drawn into the restless sketchiness of the city. A rational parental concern, given the rash of unsolved local murders... hold on, hold on: is upwards of three hundred a rash? Let’s call it a raging epidemic of unsolved local murders.
3. The Part about Fate follows African-American journalist Oscar Fate as he travels to Santa Teresa to cover a boxing match. Fate, not surprisingly, is drawn into the restless sketchiness of the city and haunted by the raging epidemic of unsolved local murders.
4. The Part about the Crimes is one of the most disturbing two-hundred-eighty-four page chunks of partitioned fiction that we have stumbled upon in our reading: page after restless sketchy page detailing dozens of unsolved demographically-related crimes and a less-than-flattering depiction of the Santa Teresa police force’s fruitless attempts to crack the case. There's a breadbox crisis in Santa Teresa, too: The only thing in the kitchen that had spoiled was the bread, which was stale. If it is possible to avert one’s eyes and keep reading during a serial crime spree, that’s what we do here.
5. The Part about Archimboldi reveals that elusive German novelist Benno von Archimboldi is none other than former provincial soldier and previously unexamined character Hans Reiter! Hans Reiter: guided by the intruding hand of fate and blessed with an interesting Prussian work ethic, he finagles his way from the nightmarish Eastern Front of World War II to glorious, if antisocial, contention for the Nobel Prize.
That makes five parts; however, we would be remiss if we failed to mention...
2666. The Part about KMJ Shopping at Target during the Meeting. She may have stocked up on Tide Laundry Detergent and Bounty Paper Towels, but she missed lively conversation about Apocalyptic Visions and Amoral Depictions of Twentieth-Century Decline, all manner of speculation about the Swabian (The Part about the Critics) and an incisive character analysis of the delightfully named Mrs. Bubis (The Part about the Critics and a reappearance in The Part about Archimboldi).
Do we judge a book-- or a breadbox-- by its cover? Let's take a look at an animated description of the design process for the dust jacket of the British edition of The Sense of an Ending:
This rash of egg-cracking and bread-binning puts us in the mood to whip up a celebratory dish of MG's fabulous Egg Brunch Casserole. It's been a festive and tasty tradition at our annual holiday gathering for nigh unto a decade, and MG graciously shares the recipe with us:
Egg Brunch Casserole
Is it bigger than a breadbox? Ah yes, the existentially nostalgic question, popularized by quizzical television panelist Steve Allen on mid-twentieth century game show What’s My Line? Our reply offers ample opportunity for all manner of fifties-style inferential fun. Just ask Mrs. Nell Brisendine of Atlanta, Georgia:
4. The Part about the Crimes is one of the most disturbing two-hundred-eighty-four page chunks of partitioned fiction that we have stumbled upon in our reading: page after restless sketchy page detailing dozens of unsolved demographically-related crimes and a less-than-flattering depiction of the Santa Teresa police force’s fruitless attempts to crack the case. There's a breadbox crisis in Santa Teresa, too: The only thing in the kitchen that had spoiled was the bread, which was stale. If it is possible to avert one’s eyes and keep reading during a serial crime spree, that’s what we do here.
5. The Part about Archimboldi reveals that elusive German novelist Benno von Archimboldi is none other than former provincial soldier and previously unexamined character Hans Reiter! Hans Reiter: guided by the intruding hand of fate and blessed with an interesting Prussian work ethic, he finagles his way from the nightmarish Eastern Front of World War II to glorious, if antisocial, contention for the Nobel Prize.
That makes five parts; however, we would be remiss if we failed to mention...
2666. The Part about KMJ Shopping at Target during the Meeting. She may have stocked up on Tide Laundry Detergent and Bounty Paper Towels, but she missed lively conversation about Apocalyptic Visions and Amoral Depictions of Twentieth-Century Decline, all manner of speculation about the Swabian (The Part about the Critics) and an incisive character analysis of the delightfully named Mrs. Bubis (The Part about the Critics and a reappearance in The Part about Archimboldi).
The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes.
Knopf, 2011. 167 pages.
Fiction Favorites
Is the Man Booker Prize 2011 winner bigger than a breadbox? No. But is it more beautifully crafted than a breadbox? Yes!
Amicably divorced and complacently middle-aged Tony Webster reevaluates his life and revisits youthful relationships when he is presented with a peculiar bequest from an even more peculiar source. We appreciate the undeniable tension, the irresistible cadence to this carefully-distilled fiction selection. A yearning tautness and a restive rhythm draw us in and pull us along, frequently asking us to reorient our understanding of Tony's nuanced narration and memory.
Even as FF calls it a beautiful little jewel, savored with a cup of hot tea, many of us digress into an enthusiastic discussion of ovoid symbolism and psychologically-charged hand gestures: I thought of a woman frying eggs in a carefree, slapdash way, untroubled when one of them broke in the pan; then the same woman, later, making a secret, horizontal gesture beneath a sunlit wisteria. What’s up with Veronica’s mother? Does she simply like knocking about in the kitchen, or is she egging Tony on? CB finishes the book and exclaims, Oh yeah... the eggs! We learn that egg-cracking, hand-waving Mrs. Ford remained in good health until a year or so ago, when her memory began to fail. A small stroke was suspected… she started putting the tea in the fridge and the eggs in the breadbin, that sort of thing. BJM flips through the pages and exclaims, Eggs in the breadbin! What's up with the eggs?
Do we judge a book-- or a breadbox-- by its cover? Let's take a look at an animated description of the design process for the dust jacket of the British edition of The Sense of an Ending:
This rash of egg-cracking and bread-binning puts us in the mood to whip up a celebratory dish of MG's fabulous Egg Brunch Casserole. It's been a festive and tasty tradition at our annual holiday gathering for nigh unto a decade, and MG graciously shares the recipe with us:
1 pound sausage, cooked and cut
1/2 pound bacon, cooked and cut
9 eggs
3 cups milk
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
salt and pepper to taste
12 slices bread, cubed, without crust
1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
Mix all ingredients together-- except sausage and bacon. Stir well and then add the meats. Pour into a 13 x 9 baking dish. Refrigerate overnight. In the morning, bake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees.
Is it bigger than a breadbox? Ah yes, the existentially nostalgic question, popularized by quizzical television panelist Steve Allen on mid-twentieth century game show What’s My Line? Our reply offers ample opportunity for all manner of fifties-style inferential fun. Just ask Mrs. Nell Brisendine of Atlanta, Georgia:
If a vintage 1950s-style breadbox measures sixteen inches wide by eight inches high and ten inches deep, then one could cram freshly baked copies of 1Q84 and 2666 inside or, alternatively, one slim day-old copy of The Sense of an Ending, two servings of Egg Brunch, and one room-temperature set of Mrs. Brisendine’s long underwear. And that’s what we talk about when we talk about breadboxes.
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