The Grouchy Editor

by Jon Ronson

Ronson is a peculiar fellow.  At times, while reading his descriptions of the charm and deception utilized by psychopaths to get their way, I wondered if perhaps Ronson himself was a psychopath, using his considerable writing skills to mislead us and cajole us into buying his book.  For one thing, the title of The Psychopath Test is inaccurate:  Yes, Ronson unearths a psychopath or two, but mostly he presents a series of encounters with people who are merely odd – or possibly crazy, but not psychopaths.

Test is no scholarly analysis of mental illness, but it is a fascinating read, letters from a Caspar Milquetoast with balls (Ronson) who passes on the unwelcome news that all of us harbor some of the traits found on the Hare checklist of psychopathic symptoms.  There is also the unsettling possibility that – with all of our recent talk about the wealthy “one percent” – we should perhaps be focused on a different “one percent”: the estimated number of psychopaths in our midst.

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                                                         by Bill Maher                                                                     

I’m tempted to call Bill Maher a genius – but if I did that, I might be accused of self-flattery, because I happen to agree with about 95 percent of his opinions.  No, that’s not true:  96 percent.  If you lean left like me, Maher is your man, because he counters any “bleeding-heart-liberal” charges with take-no-prisoners wit.

As Maher points out in the foreword to New Rules, this is primarily a joke book, with hundreds of one-paragraph zingers targeting pop culture and everyday life.  The jokes are usually clever, often true, and frequently funny.  But Maher also includes dozens of longer essays – mostly about politics – and this is where he does us pinkos proud.

© 2010-2026 grouchyeditor.com (text only)

by Janet Evanovich

Reading an Evanovich “Stephanie Plum” novel is a bit like watching an episode of I Love Lucy.  Everyone is silly and everything is far-fetched – and yet it’s often quite amusing.  Evanovich goes all supernatural on us in her “between-the-numbers” books, including this one, which makes the proceedings in Plum Spooky even more ridiculous than usual.

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by Ross Macdonald

As I was reading this mystery, I was reminded of a Hollywood legend about the movie script for another classic detective story, Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep.  Supposedly, the novel’s plot was so convoluted that at one point the screenwriters contacted Chandler to ask him who was responsible for the death of one character.  “They sent me a wire,” Chandler later said, “asking me, and dammit I didn’t know either.”  The Chill, in which Southern California detective Lew Archer attempts to solve several murders, is all plot, plot, plot – but Macdonald’s dialogue is snappy, his action is fast-paced, and his characters are colorful.  Best of all, the denouement features a wonderful twist –  and it doesn’t cheat.

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by Mel Ayton     

True-crime books can be literary gems, like In Cold Blood and The Executioner’s Song.  Or they can be luridly entertaining, like The Stranger Beside Me and Deadly Innocence.  Unfortunately, true-crime books can also be plodding and dull, which brings me to Dark Soul of the South, historian Mel Ayton’s bland chronicle of Joseph Paul Franklin, the racist sniper who shot Larry Flynt and Vernon Jordan.  Serial-killer biographies like this one are inherently unpleasant; they require a gifted writer to keep the reader absorbed, but Ayton’s workmanlike approach is only mildly engaging.

As a side note, do book publishers no longer hire editors and proofreaders?  The level of sloppiness in this book is embarrassing.

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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.

© 2010-2026 grouchyeditor.com (text only)