The Grouchy Editor

by Arthur Marx

Arthur Marx (Groucho’s son) wrote this tell-all, an odd-but-compelling mix of typical showbiz biography and lurid sex anecdotes about the famous comedian.

The Good:  I loved the showbiz stories, and they are legion in this book because Hope’s career spanned 1920s vaudeville to 1990s television.  Despite the unflattering tales of Hope’s adulterous affairs (also legion), Marx’s reporting seems fair and balanced.  For every unsavory sex episode, there are examples of the entertainer’s outstanding philanthropy.  Hope is a fascinating subject and Marx sheds light on much – but not all – of his life.

The Bad:  Even though I gobbled up those show-biz tales, there might be a few too many of them.  Marx covers nearly every benefit, tour, movie, radio show, and airplane ride of Hope’s storied career.  Some of Marx’s critical allegations would benefit from footnotes, which are conspicuously missing.   The book’s editing and proofreading are horrendous – or nonexistent.

The Verdict:  When I finished the book, I had a strong desire to watch Hope at his best in some of his 1940s Paramount pictures.  But I was also disillusioned by his hypocrisy and embarrassing career windup – pretty much everything he appeared in from 1960 until his death at age 100 was dreadful.  If you idolize Hope the man, this book will shatter your illusions.  Yes, Hope’s USO tours are legendary – but so are his adulterous flings, misogyny, right-wing politics, and miserliness.

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by Katherine Boo

Katherine Boo’s Behind the Beautiful Forevers is in many ways an astonishing piece of work.  Yet it’s also the type of “nonfiction” narrative that triggers nagging doubts (thanks a lot, James Frey).

The good.  Boo spent three years recording the lives of slum-dwellers at Annawadi, a squalid settlement adjacent to fancy tourist hotels and Mumbai’s international airport.  Boo avoids sentiment and, in depicting a world so harsh, unforgiving, and corrupt, has no need to embellish the facts.  (But does she?  See below.)  She uncovers a small slice of poverty and in the process sheds volumes of light on income inequality in India.

The suspect.  Imagine this:  A group of male street-toughs, all of them teenage thieves or scavengers, are gathered on a corner.  They discuss the sort of things that young boys discuss:  girls, music, movies.  They spot a white woman who is middle-aged, well-educated, privileged – and American.  “Hey lady,” say the boys, “come join us and we’ll share our secrets and dreams with you, and treat you like just one of the guys.”  See the problem?  And yet Boo manages to probe the innermost thoughts and dreams of these kids.  Great journalism, or creative license?

In an author’s note, Boo proffers a fairly convincing explanation of the techniques she used to get Indians like those boys to open up.   In a separate interview, Boo calls narrative nonfiction “a selective art.”  That leaves the reader with a choice:  buy into the reporter’s “selective art” … or not.

© 2010-2024 grouchyeditor.com (text only)