Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: Bestsellers (Page 64 of 71)

We know Oscar Meyer. Oscar Wilde? Not so much.

Dad and son came in to look around.

“Hmmm,” said Dad. “A bookstore.” He didn’t sound optimistic, but came in anyway.

His son might have been nine or ten years old. Certainly old enough to read and tall enough to see over the edge of the counter, where a doll-sized figure was displayed in a clear plastic card-backed package.

“Dad,” he called out. “Who is Oscar, Wild…Will-dee?”

“Uh-oh,” I thought. “This could be an awkward moment.”

I was remembering the scandals associated with Oscar Wilde (his name has an E at the end, which is – I suppose – why the young man read it as will-dee).

Even as the dad was considering his answer, I recalled putting a similar question to my mother.

“Mom,” I called out. “Who is Bridget Bardot?” Her name must have been mentioned on the television, that big clunky piece of furniture in our living room that displayed only black and white pictures. Maybe I saw a black and white version of Bridget Bardot that piqued my interest.

My mother didn’t hesitate in her reply.

“A movie star,” she said. “She likes to run around wearing nothing but a bath towel.”

I guess the answer worked well enough. I got the idea.

With the young man’s question posed in the book shop, I waited to hear the father’s answer. Finally, he sighed and admitted, “I have noooo idea.”

“He was an 1800s English writer,” I offered, trying to help out the dad. The kid was quick.

“Then why does that say ‘Action Figure?”

“It’s kind of a joke,” I responded. “He wasn’t known for X-Men kind of action.”

When Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde died in 1900, he was destitute and living in Paris. A victim of a scandal of his own creation.

He objected to something that was alleged to have been said about him by John Douglas, the Marquess of Queensbury. It was whisperings (some not so quiet) about Wilde and the son of the Marquess, Lord Alfred Douglas. Wilde sued for slander. In the course of the trial, enough mud was dragged into court concerning Wilde’s antics that he dropped the slander suit. It was too late, though. Wilde was charged with “gross indecencies,” convicted, and sentenced to two years of hard labor. He spent time in jail, although he spelled it gaol. He might have had better fortune in our current society, but in 1890s London there were some things best kept out of conversation.

In his day, Oscar Wilde was one of the most famous personalities around. He was born into a wealthy intellectual family, was well educated, known for his quick wit, and in 1890 authored a popular story called The Picture of Dorian Gray. It didn’t help the author during his lifetime, but when moving pictures were invented it was one of the early books adapted to film. It has been redone several times since that first Hungarian version in 1918.

Wilde had the intellect and wit of Dick Cavett, the social circles of Oprah Winfrey, the theatrical following of Neil Simon, and a wife as influential in her day as Hillary Clinton (well, maybe that last one is a stretch…).

Dapper-looking as he is, I thought Oscar the action figure would be gone by now, landing under some lucky literary Christmas tree. His action figure comrade Charles Dickens found himself a home over the holidays.

But then again – he was more will-dee than Wilde.

Here comes the sun…

Maybe no one noticed.

The headline on Tulsa World writer Jason Ashley Wright’s column this morning noted the particularly rainy day we experienced here in Broken Arrow, while many areas to the east suffered through severe weather. The photo (if you look close enough) says “Tulsa World file.”

Wright was taking a little tour of the Rose District, which amounted to popping in a few stores in the block south of the book shop. As many folks do, he started at the Main Street Tavern.

The bookstore is in the photo that accompanies the story, although from across the street where the photographer snapped the shot, the lettering is a little hard to read on the awning. That’s okay. Any publicity is fine with me, even if it doesn’t include the store name, a mention, or a recognizable store front.

What I really like is the way the rain falls invisibly in Broken Arrow.

No splashy streets. No gusty winds. No dripping umbrellas and store awnings. Brilliant sunshine all round.

That’s the way I feel about the relocation of the store to the Rose District of downtown Broken Arrow.

It’s all sunshine, on a rainy day.

Smarty/Bossypants

The title is Bossypants, but it could have easily been called Smartyhead. Comedian Tina Fey is a funny woman. Maybe a little smart-alecky, but that’s what we expect of comedians. She’s obviously a bright woman. Maybe it could have been called Smartypants.

She had a lot to say when she sat down to write.

Just short of two-hundred pages into the book, Ms Fey addresses her readers on a subject, and then presumably realized that her public isn’t necessarily comprised exclusively of women. She compares applying her newly bought contact lenses to activities required by feminine hygiene products.

“If you are male,” she writes, “I would liken it to touching your own eyeball and thank you for buying this book.”

Since I am a male reader, I appreciated the recognition while bearing up under her condescension – not that I particularly cared to visualize the analogy she had offered to women readers. I think I caught the drift of it. But I’m guessing she didn’t expect men to read the book.

It’s for the most part entertaining, as would be expected from a comedian. Humor isn’t the sole focus though, and that’s where it bogs down a little, particularly for the men. Birthday party planning, breast feedings, bad dates. I wasn’t looking for slapstick, but I was caught off-guard by some of the contents.

There is a how-to section regarding comedy performance. I guess there are up-and-coming comedians who might read the book for insights in honing the funny-skills. Personally, the guidelines for improvisation are wasted on me. I don’t see myself – near future or long-term – trying out a humor routine in front of an audience.

Similarly, the topics she covers in the space given to her Boss experiences have already been covered in greater detail by business management and human relations authors. Her insights are interesting, but seem wedged in and slightly out of place in a memoir (That’s how the book is categorized on the back cover).

Bossypants speaks to female equality, maternal issues, and Oprah. ESPN is not mentioned once. Therein lies the appeal – or lagging interest – depending on perspective. (I didn’t really expect sports jokes. There are some places that might have benefited by the inclusion of one or two as a distraction from the strict female orientation.)

Still, Bossypants is a quick and easy read, offering plenty of familiar cultural references. Some of the funniest lines are those throw-away types:

Two peanuts were walking down the street and one was a salted.

That’s her token joke, one she says she included for book buyers expecting a humorous read.

I guess that is enough for me.

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