I am Kyle's self-indulgence

I already own the book the cover layout is based on.

Photoshop job by Michael Carroll

"I'm glad I don't teach in Texas." That was my initial reaction to reading about their state Board of Education's latest rewriting of their curriculum to present the Civil Rights Movement, McCarthyism, and the founding of America in a way that treats conservatives of the past more favorably. It's easiest to shake my head or say, "That's Texas for you," and tell myself that it doesn't really affect me in Missouri. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that this is a symptom of a much greater problem with America.

I noticed several quotes in this article from board members justifying their action in the name of "balance." I've written about this fallacy before: our broadcast media have already allowed their fear of seeming biased compromise their journalistic integrity so that now, in the name of "balance," news stories are presented in a "he said, she said" style whether it is warranted or not. The result is that even in matters of fact, dissenting views are given disproportional weight, giving the illusion of uncertainty when the facts are very clear. When vaccinations are discussed, the expert opinions of medically trained professionals are "balanced" with Jenny McCarthy's anecdotal evidence; scientists for the Large Hadron Collider were forced to share TV air time with hacks who thought the machine would open a black hole; and most disastrously, a great number of Americans doubt the truth of climate change because every article on the subject gives equal credibility to the overwhelming consensus of scientists and the extremely small body of dissenters. Framing issues in a point-counterpoint format is fine when we're talking about subjective matters in which two or mare equally valid positions exist; but some things are just a matter of scientific and historical fact, and to constantly seek out dissenters only serves to misinform and mislead the public.

Already I'm concerned about my students who are becoming citizens at such a time as this. I wonder where they are going to get their news about the world. Certainly not from newspapers, books, or NPR. Increasingly, the only sources of information for Americans are the TV networks, which is frightening, considering how poorly they actually inform the public of what is happening in the world.

Though I value education deeply, I normally cringe when I hear cliches like, "Our young people are America's greatest treasure" or "The most worthwhile investment our government can make is in our schools," even if there is some truth to it. So you can trust that I'm not using hyperbole when I say that the most important problem in America today is people's ability to reason and think critically about information media. Most of our political movements and struggles are temporary, when you take a long view of history. Even the more deep-seated and seemingly insurmountable barriers to progress--campaign finance and corporate lobbying interests--could be resolved if the American people really knew what is happening in their government. Just look at health care reform: why is it that polls show Americans are in favor of the individual provisions, including a public option, yet the bill itself is unpopular? They have been so misled by the sensationalist news media and conservative groups out to defeat any reform that they don't even know what they dislike about the bill. They just know they don't like it.

If America has any hope of making real progress, of making the government represent the people's interests rather than a political establishment and their corporate sponsors, people must educate themselves about history and current events. They must know how to think critically about the things they see and recognize when they are being fed BS by the news media. They must learn that there aren't always two sides to every issue--that there is a universal truth, and when scientists tell us something about the world that has been verified time and again, we must believe it even if it is inconvenient.

This is the most disturbing thing about what the Texas Board of Education is doing. They may think that they are teaching students to value conservative ideals to benefit their own political party, but what they're really doing is undermining responsible academic study, and generations after those men and women and everyone they know is out of power, what will have happened to Texans' (and Americans') ability to think?

Erika and I are still catching up on recent releases. This past week was devoted to catching some Academy Award nominees.

I had been reluctant to see The Hurt Locker despite its rave reviews, but decided I should give it a chance after Roger Ebert claimed (accurately, as it turns out) that Kathryn Bigelow was a shoe-in for best director. I enjoyed it quite a bit--definitely more than any other movies about the Iraq War--and I can see why Bigelow won the Oscar. Every aspect of the film is very well-done. I like the choice of lesser-known actors in the lead roles, and I think they bring a lot of depth to the characters. The suspense is very effective without being overblown or melodramatic (mostly), and the visuals are very appealing. I don't really have anything to complain about, except that it's a bit unrealistic that the soldiers would see this much combat action in such a short span of time. I have to admit I enjoyed it quite a bit. Still, I feel it's just lacking something. When I was thinking about it and evaluating it afterward, the question that came to my mind was, "So what?" This is a well-done movie about some soldiers in Iraq, but there's not really anything else that makes it special. It doesn't have any new insight into war or international relations. And although well-done there's nothing about the movie that is going to make me come back to it again.

I didn't have a chance to see A Serious Man, the latest film from my favorite directing duo, in the theater, and I put off renting it because I knew I would just buy it eventually to put it alongside the rest of my Coen brothers' DVDs (and I wasn't about to pay full price for something I can get used a few months from now). I decided last week that I wanted to see it before the Oscars, though, so I bucked up and bought a new copy. Honestly, I'm still not really sure what to think of it. This one is going to need a second viewing. I like the premise of a Jewish man lost in a sea of troubles and searching for answers from his religion. The characters are interesting and there's plenty of the Coens' subtly dark humor here. I gathered fairly early on that the protagonist would not find any answers because things are never that simple (and it's comedically obvious that his rabbis are not going to be any help). Still, I was baffled by the ending. When I saw No Country For Old Men in the theater I laughed at the guy who yelled, "What he hell?!" when the credits rolled (I had already been warned about the non-ending). Well, this time I was the sucker yelling exactly the same thing. It's not just that there was no resolution, but that...well, I don't want to give it away, but it's just an extremely unexpected place to end the film. That, combined with the apparently unrelated prologue, makes me wonder if the Coens are purposely screwing with the audience. At this point I don't think I would put A Serious Man among the top 50% of the Coen brothers' films. Who knows, though? I could change my mind after repeated viewings.

Extract was obviously not nominated for an Academy Award, but we decided to go with a short, light-hearted film one night this week because Erika had some work to do. This is from Mike Judge, creator of a number of funny TV and movies, including most notably the workplace comedy Office Space. Extract can be seen as kind of a counterpoint to that cult classic, this time told from the point of view of an employer and boss. Jason Bateman plays the owner of an extract factory who is beset by a host of problems in his business and his marriage. He has an injured employee who plans to sue the company on the advice of a beautiful con artist and a wife who cheats on him with a man that the husband hired to sleep with her (it's complicated). Like Judge's other movies, it's a funny premise with lots of good jokes throughout, but the resolution is lacking. The main problem with the company is wrapped up a bit too neatly and quickly, but I realize this may have been to avoid dragging it out any longer. Extract won't enjoy the cult status of Office Space, but it's not a bad way to spend an evening.

I think I enjoyed Inglourious Basterds more than any other movie Quentin Tarantino has done since Pulp Fiction. No kidding. I've been putting off watching it because, knowing Tarantino and the subject matter, I was expecting it to be just unbearably bloody and painful to watch. To my surprise, it was much less graphic than I had imagined. There's plenty of violence, but those scenes are relatively few and far-between. Inglourious Basterds is very dialogue-heavy, which shouldn't be that surprising, I suppose. What really impresses me about Tarantino is that the man can write such extremely long scenes of just people talking, but every moment is not only engaging but downright suspenseful. I think the opening sequence, which is almost entirely a dialogue between a Nazi SS officer and a French dairy farmer, runs for over 20 tense minutes, gradually building in suspense until its inevitable conclusion. Then there are the Basterds of the film's title, a group of Jewish-American soldiers dedicated to repaying the Nazis for their inhumanity with a bit of terrible brutality of their own. Typically this stuff makes me wince, but since Tarantino began with a gruesome reminder of the Nazis' atrocities it's actually thrilling to see them reap the brutality they've sown. This movie is smart, exciting, well-written and well-directed, and it's topped off with the kind of unrealistic and anachronistic ending everyone wants to see in a World War II movie.

Finally, we rounded off our week of movies with Up In The Air. For me this one was the most disappointing. I enjoyed his first two movies, but this one was just not very interesting. A man who constantly travels for his job has severed all meaningful relationships in his life and is living happily until he falls in love with a woman who appears to be a kindred spirit and is forced to travel with a young coworker. His worldview is challenged and he realizes he doesn't like being alone. The whole premise seems like a tired Hollywood cliche. Despite this, the characters are pretty good, and the actors play them well. There are some very funny scenes and smart dialogue when the three meet up. I will also say that the movie ends fairly well, avoiding the obvious sappy lessons it could go for and seeking out a more static resolution for the main character. Ultimately, though, I'm afraid it makes for a pretty forgettable movie.

Seriously, Democrats, if you didn't already have enough incentive, this should clinch it.

I'm not sure where Limbaugh thinks he'll go, though, considering that every other industrialized nation in the world already provides universal health care. I guess there's always Mexico.

Am I the only one who thought Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin were totally unfunny? I know hosting the Oscars is a tough gig, but surely they can do better than that. I laughed twice in 4 hours.

My fears about Avatar sweeping the Oscars turned out to be unfounded. Best visual effects: fine. Art direction: okay, I guess. Cinematography: Really? They used cameras? At least The Hurt Locker beat it out for the big ones.

I know I have a big anti-Bullock bias, but I really can't understand why she won. From the clips that were shown, I get that she plays a very Southern woman. Is there anything more to her character that I'm missing? What made her performance Oscar-worthy? Her acceptance speech was nice, though. She actually looked embarrassed to be receiving the award.

I guess I didn't look very closely at the list of nominees for Best Animated Feature, because I was surprised by their diversity. Just a few years ago I was lamenting that all the nominees were computer-animated (and several were not very good). I don't mind computer animation, but I would hate to see all other forms of animation fall by the wayside. Well, this year the nominees included two stop-motion films, two traditional cel animation, and one computer-animated film from Pixar. That's a good sign. I think we're seeing a new golden age of animation. Oh, and I am definitely going to have to watch The Secret of Kells.

First of all, when I began the movie the first thing Daniel said was, "This looks like your iPod" (Lately Daniel has noticed me watching Dragonball GT on it). Just three years old and he already recognizes the look of Japanese animation. The boy has promise.

Kiki's Delivery Service went over pretty well. About 30 minutes into the movie, Daniel began asking if it was over. I'm not sure if that was due to the plot structure, the pacing, or the fact that he had no nap today and was up past his bedtime (to be honest, the movie dragged a bit in the middle for me as well). When I was putting Daniel to bed he said, "I like that movie. When can I watch it again?"

Erika is leaving town for the weekend, it's time for a family movie night, and I thought this would be a great opportunity for me to rent Ponyo with Daniel. Unfortunately it was all out at the store, so I grabbed Kiki's Delivery Service, another Miyazaki film I haven't seen yet.

That's when inspiration struck: I can raise my kids on anime, beginning with titles for young audiences and graduating to other works as they get older. My kids, untainted as they are by Western biases in film, will love it and will enthusiastically watch whatever anime I select to watch with them. The great thing is that, since there is so much anime available for every age level, this can go on for years, until one day, when Daniel is in high school, we can watch Akira together. That will be a good day.

I'm not sure I'll ever be comfortable watching Ninja Scroll with him, though.

The TV show NCAA On Campus featured three athletes from Truman State University this week: Rhodes Scholar and swimmer Andrew McCall, 20-time All-American swimmer Kate Aherne, and wrestler Ryan Banning. Watch it online here (the piece about Truman begins at the 11:00 mark).

"There ain't no grave can hold my body down" is the line that opens what is presumably the final album of new material from Johnny Cash. Like so many of the songs from his last two albums, it takes on extra layers of meaning in light of its release six years after his passing. Cash's work with producer Rick Rubin was so fruitful that we have now been blessed with not one, but two posthumous releases. Not even the grave can silence Johnny Cash.

This album is similar in theme and tone to Cash's previous release, A Hundred Highways, which is natural, since the songs for both releases come from the same sessions. Here we are given more musings on death and hope, recorded after the death of June Carter Cash and during the time when Johnny's health was declining.

Rick Rubin has again foregone the duets and big arrangements found earlier in the American Recordings series and has opted to accompany Cash's singing only with spare guitar and piano arrangements. I like this a lot. I think Cash sounds best when there are no guest singers or overproduction to get in the way of his voice, which here sounds so fragile and personal.

I feel like the music of Johnny Cash for the last eight years has just been a long series of goodbyes. The Man Comes Around, Cash's last album released before his death, closes with "We'll Meet Again," which only took on greater significance after his passing. Then the first posthumous release, A Hundred Highways, ends with "I'm Free from the Chain Gang Now," which was just about a perfect way to think of the death of a man who sang the songs of the oppressed and downtrodden.

Now, for a final farewell, Ain't No Grave closes with an unusual selection: "Aloha ʻOe," a traditional Hawaiian song of farewell. But as one reviewer pointed out, "aloha" also means affection, love, peace, compassion, and mercy, all things valued and represented in the man's music. It may seem redundant to bid farewell to the man on three consecutive releases, but I really don't mind when the goodbyes sound so sweet. Besides, I've learned by now that we probably still haven't heard the last of Johnny Cash.

That's how much Amazon.com is charging for an mp3 download of the latest Johnny Cash album produced by Rick Rubin. $3.99.

I love Amazon's mp3 store.

My dear and loving wife Erika has joined the ranks of blogdom.

With the kids taking up a lot more time in the evening, Erika and I got out of the habit of watching movies in the last couple of years. Since Daniel quit taking a three-hour nap every day, though, he's been going to bed much more easily, and Eva somehow became the world's greatest sleeper, so we've had much more time in the evenings. Lately we've taken advantage of this change to catch up on some recent DVD releases.

First up is (500) Days of Summer, an indie-romance-comedy about two hip young people who begin an awkward and uncertain relationship. I felt like the movie tries to be very clever with its nonlinear structure, occasional split-screen tricks, and quirky characters. Beneath the surface, though, the story is fairly ordinary: couple meets, begins dating, has conflicts, and breaks up. The nonlinear style doesn't really do anything interesting with this premise, aside from a brief aside about looking back at a relationship and trying to find the moment things turned sour. Ultimately, though, there's just not enough here to distinguish the film from others of its type.

Interestingly, I have nearly identical complaints about District 9. I had heard a lot about this movie and had high expectations going in. I knew it was made by a South African director and is a story about aliens landing on Earth that is an allegory for Apartheid. I expected the film to explore numerous sociopolitical implications of a segregated alien race living on Earth, which the film delivers somewhat in the first 20-30 minutes in a realistic documentary style. After that, though, the film transforms into a very typical action movie: a human and an alien must break into a government facility to retrieve a vial of fluid that will enable the alien to return in the mothership to his home planet. From there it's just a long shoot-em-up sequence until the resolution. It's disappointing to see a movie with such a uniquely promising premise resort to tired old cliches (it even has the "You go ahead--I'll stay here and hold them off"--"No, I'm not going to leave you!" scene that has appeared in every bad action movie ever).

Finally (and just in time for Valentine's Day), Erika and I watched Away We Go. I didn't know anything about this movie except that it's directed by Sam Mendes and stars John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph. I didn't even know it was written by the husband-wife team of Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida until the closing credits rolled, although I definitely got the sense that it must have been written by a new parent: the movie is filled with anxieties over pregnancy and child-rearing that ring so very true that they must have come from someone who has experienced them recently. Krasinski and Rudolph play a young couple expecting their first baby who are in search of a place they can move to and raise their daughter. They visit friends and relatives all over America and Canada, scouting not just locations, but different parenting styles. This setup becomes the stage for a string of characters who represent a gamut of familiar parent types. These visits are sometimes comic and sometimes tragic; and between them, the expecting couple struggle with how they're going to be good parents in a world in which good parenting seems so rare. There's a fine line between sincere sentiment and manipulative sentimentality, and this script manages to walk right up to that line without crossing over. It's a refreshing film that can be genuinely funny and heartfelt without being either too sappy or too cynical.

This is awesome.

The guy impersonating Owen Wilson is spot-on.

The other night I was putting Daniel to bed. We went through our typical routine of bath and pajamas, and I gave him the choice of going to the bathroom right then or after reading a book (I've learned from experience this works best when presented as a choice). Daniel chose book first, so we read Green Eggs and Ham.

After the book I said, "Okay, it's time to go to the bathroom now."

"But I don't want to go to the bathroom."

"You told me you were going to go to the bathroom after our book."

"But I don't need to go to the bathroom."

"I would like you to try."

We went back and forth a few more times, him insisting he didn't want to go, and me insisting he should. Finally, Daniel relented:

"Daddy, if you will let me be, I will go to the bathroom."

(If you don't get the reference, go back and reread the ending to Green Eggs and Ham)

I love Honey Bunches of Oats. Unfortunately, so do my two kids, and if I pour myself a bowl in the morning I end up having to share it with my hungry little vultures. After two or three days of this my cereal is gone.

So lately I've begun rationing my Honey Bunches of Oats and eating it only on days when I'm up and getting ready for work but the kids are still in bed.

This week, on such a morning, I finished a box off and left it out on the counter. When Daniel came out to the kitchen and saw the box, he said, "Did you get your special cereal?"

"Yes."

"I want some of your special cereal."

"I'm sorry. It's all gone."

"Did you eat it all?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you remember one time you were soooo sick and you throwed up in the toilet?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to do that again?"

"No."

"Then next time don't eat all the cereal."

A photographer for National Geographic did a project in which he marked out an area of one cubic foot of space in various ecosystems and documented all the species found just in that space. It's pretty amazing.

Check out the videos here.

Popular Mechanics published their list of 100 things every man (or woman?) should know. What can I do?

1. Handle a blowout. I've never had to deal with one, but the tips listed are pretty much what I would have assumed. Step 1: calmly pull over on the shoulder. Step 2: Change tire.

2. Drive in snow. I've been doing this pretty much since my 16th birthday.

5. Wax a car. My mom made me wax my car once. Once. I know how to do it, I just choose not to.

7. Use a stick welder. This is a skill I picked up while assisting in my capacity as a special ed teacher. I know what to do, but I've never done it for any practical purpose, and I don't imagine I ever will.

10-12. Perform the heimlich, Reverse hypothermia, and Perform hands-only CPR. I was certified to do these things for a number of years. I'm counting on that training to come back instinctually should I ever need it.

13. Escape a sinking car. Seems simple enough. I take comfort in the fact that I still drive a car with a manual window crank.

15. Use a sewing machine. Another skill I learned while teaching special ed students.

18. Remove blood stains from fabric. Parenting has made me a master of all stains. Blood is easy. The secret is cold water.

19. Move heavy stuff. Yeah, I've done that.

39. Change a diaper. I could do it half-asleep, with my eyes closed, at 2:00 in the morning (and I have).

40. Grill with charcoal. I don't use the same technique the article describes, but I think I do it pretty well.

43-45. Treat frostbite, Treat a burn, Help a seizure victim. More first aid stuff I learned years ago as a lifeguard. I've never had to use it, but I think I know what to do in an emergency.

47. Remove a tick. I always heard the "burn it off" method, but I figured out on my own that doesn't work. Tweezers work way better, and my dogs have given me way more practice than I need.

61. Surviving a tornado. Having grown up in the Midwest, this was practically pounded into my brain. I even had the opportunity to practice recently.

67. Change a tire. Yep.

70. Drive a stick shift. My wife taught me. It's all I drive now.

71. Parallel park. Please. Give me a challenge.

73. Tie a necktie. I do a passable job. Mostly I get them tied in a good knot once and leave them that way.

75. Ride a bike. Really? That's on the list? I suppose every man needs to know how to tie his own shoes, but I think that pretty much goes without saying.

76. Install a graphics card. I was doing that in high school.

80. Ditch your hard drive. I have a program that overwrites the drive 35 times.

Thank you PHSChemGuy for the idea.

I love stuff like this.

This week NPR featured a fascinating three-part story about problems with the bail system in America.

Part 1 and Part 2 deal with the inequality faced by defendants who can't afford to pay bail, and Part 3 gets into the business of bail bondsmen and a bail system that serves them and nobody else.

It's the third part I found most interesting. A couple of revelations that surprised me: most defendants who skip bail are caught NOT by bail bondsmen and their bounty hunters, but by sheriff's offices; and when a defendant fails to show up to court, bail bondsmen still do not have to pay the full bail, and sometimes still pay less than the fee they themselves collected.

From the news story the bail bondsmen system seems like a relic of the past that no longer serves the courts, the public, or inmates, but is perpetuated by a powerful bondsmen lobby.

10. One Foot In The Grave Deluxe
Normally I don't consider re-releases in my top ten lists, but the deluxe edition of One Foot In The Grave that came out this year goes above and beyond what is typical for these things. It features 16 tracks not included on the original album. Even if you take into account those that were released as B-sides or on compilations, it still leaves 12 songs that have never been heard before. They're mostly great songs, too. They're lo-fi acoustic folk recordings, but so is the original release. That's part of the reason it remains one of my favorite Beck allbums.

9. Up
Maybe I've just developed unrealistically high expectations for Pixar, but this year's Up didn't impress me quite as much as some of their other recent films. The first act is flawless with its silent montage of a man's entire life and the fantastic premise that could potentially take the film literally anywhere. It's a little baffling, then, that the filmmakers chose to take their protagonists straight to their destination in a matter of minutes, then spent the entire third act having them walk the final several hundred feet. I like movies to have unexpected turns, but this just seemed to not live up to the promising set-up. I'm also not too keen on the standard hero vs. villain conflict that emerges in the third act. Despite these faults, Up is still a great movie: the characters are warm, the talking dogs are funny, and I like the old man's personal revelation at the end; I just think the movie could have been much more. Still, even a so-so Pixar movie is good enough to rank among the year's best.

8. Beck.com
Beck's official website was revamped this year with a dearth of new and archival material. It's still not as navigable as I would like (and features the hated mystery-meat links), but if you're willing to do some digging you'll find music videos, live performances, album pages with (for the first time ever in print) authoritative lyrics and streaming audio, interviews with other famous figures (check out a surreal conversation between Beck and Tom Waits), and lot of other random weirdness.

The best thing about the site's new content, though, is the Record Club, a series of projects in which Beck and assorted guest musicians spend one day to cover an entire classic album with no rehearsals. These recordings are a return to the loose, spontaneous spirit of Beck's earliest albums, which I love. The results tend to be a little hit-or-miss, but there are enough great performances to make listening worthwhile. I recommend checking out "Venus in Furs" and "Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye."

At Beck.com the songs are available only as streaming video, but fan-made mp3 rips can be found. Here are the completed covers of The Velvet Underground and Nico and The Songs of Leonard Cohen, plus a solo acoustic recording of Beck's most recent studio album, Modern Guilt. Beck.com is currently in the process of releasing Skip Spence's Oar, as performed by Beck and Wilco.

7. The BQE
Sometimes it feels like Sufjan Stevens is purposely teasing his fans. After announcing plans to record an album for each of the 50 states in the union, he followed up the greatest album of the decade with a full-length disc of outtakes, a box set of previously bootlegged Christmas music, and now an album of original music that is an instrumental soundtrack to a film about a divided highway. In case it weren't obvious that Sufjan is just going to do whatever the heck he wants, he recently admitted in an interview that the whole 50 States idea was just a gimmick he made up after Illinois came out, and that he has no intentions to fulfill his promise. Although nobody ever believed he would really record 50 albums, hearing him admit the deception actually helps me to relax a bit and enjoy these other projects as more than stops along the way.

So anyway, how is The BQE? Musically it's very good. I still would prefer something with vocals and more rock and folk instruments, but this is quite nice to listen to. It has all the bombast, quietness, and weirdness we've come to expect. The movie that accompanies the music is surprisingly good too. It's nothing but shots of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, but is edited in a collage style that lays three simultaneous screens side by side. The effect is oddly mesmerizing and quite interesting at times.

The DVD and CD set is supplemented with a View-Master disk (you'll have to borrow your kids' View-Master to see it) and a booklet with an essay by Sufjan Stevens. The DVD also includes after the credits two bonus songs: one that is an unnamed electronic noise jam and a beautiful new song (with vocals!) called "The Sleeping Red Wolves." So while The BQE isn't the new album fans have been anxiously waiting for, it is a lovely little assortment of wonders.

6. The Cartoon History of the Modern World, Part 2
Over thirty years after starting, Larry Gonick published the the final volume of his Cartoon History series. It began as The Cartoon History of the Universe, then continued as The Cartoon History of the Modern World in the last two volumes. The final book continues with the winning formula of the rest of the series: very brief summaries of major events with cartoon illustrations and jokes. It's great for filling in the gaps of history that I really don't know much about (I finally understand something about the political state of the world before World War I) and even illuminates a few points about more recent history that I didn't know, such as Iraq's stated reason for invading Kuwait in 1990.

I was also impressed with Gonick's relative objectivity in this book. The previous volume, written in the midst of the Iraq war, tended to look at past events through the lens of Bush-era politics. This book, though, tends to deal with historical events strictly within their own contexts. And while Gonick certainly has his own biases (as all historians do) I think he addresses the political issues of the modern world pretty fairly, even when he gets to the conflict between capitalism and socialism.

This is a great end to a great series of books. Obviously a cartoon history of all of existence is bound to be rather superficial, and as Gonick catches up to recent events it becomes a bit more obvious how compressed his history is (the Iraq war is addressed in just two or three panels), but if you want a survey of history that is informative and entertaining you can't do much better than this.

5. Dark Night of the Soul
Danger Mouse teamed up with Sparklehorse to write and record an album with a wide range of guests. Due to a dispute with EMI, the resultant album may never be released, but you can still stream it at NPR (I'm not sure how they managed that legally) or download it through extra-legal channels.

Normally Sparklehorse's music is a little too flat for my taste, but all the special guests help to make Dark Night of the Soul a dynamic and very enjoyable album. Of course I recommend "Revenge," one of the strongest songs to feature The Flaming Lips in recent years. "Angel's Harp" with Frank Black (or Black Francis) and "Pain" with Iggy Pop are also terrific. With no commercial copy for sale and the creators encouraging fans to download it, there's no reason not to try it for free.

4. Wait For Me
It seems that 2009 was a year of renewal for several of my favorite musicians. I first fell in love with Moby when he released Play ten years ago, but his next several releases after that were disappointing. 18 and Hotel seemed like radio-friendly imitations of what worked on Play, and Last Night is just not at all my cup of tea.

Moby has acknowledged that during this time he often followed the wishes of record company executives against his own better judgment. Then he heard David Lynch say in a speech that creators do best when they are left alone to do what they feel is good, rather than consider market pressures. Moby then decided to make the kind of album he wanted, alone in his home. The result is the best music he's recorded since Play. It is a very quiet and personal album, and it captures the more gentle bits of Everything Is Wrong and Play. For me this is the musical equivalent of wrapping up in a warm blanket.

3. Where The Wild Things Are
I had very high expectations of this film and it was still better than I expected. Spike Jonze does a fantastic job of making blending computer with practical effects to make Max's monsters into believable characters. I love that their personalities reflect the way that kids really think and act. I know that some people thought the story lacks direction, but I thought it was entirely appropriate. Kids are unpredictable: one minute they're laughing and having a great time with a dirt clod fight, and the next they're fighting and yelling at each other because someone's head got stepped on. This is a nice change of pace from movies that just treat children as little adults who think and act rationally. It's ironic that the most realistic children's interaction I've seen in a film in recent memory come from actors in giant fur suits with CG faces.

2. The Hazards of Love
Concept albums have gotten a bad rep in recent years, and a lot of bands try to avoid the label, even when their fans try to interpret their work conceptually. I don't see any objective reason, though, that a 12-to-15-track collection of music can't carry a narrative just as easily as writing or film. After all, music itself began as a way to tell stories. This also happens to be what The Decemberists have been doing with their music, making little stories into songs. On the Tain and The Crane Wife they even told a longer story over multiple tracks, so it was probably inevitable that they would eventually go for a full-length album built around a fairy tale. It's my favorite Decemberists album yet: it has an engaging story, an interesting cast of characters (with corresponding guest vocals) and absolutely flawless songwriting. I know that one complaint people sometimes have about concept albums is that songs that work within the larger context don't really hold up on their own. That is not at all the case here. With the exception of the instrumental prelude, I think any of the songs can easily be enjoyed individually. Within the story, though, they take on even greater emotional power as they build toward the emotional climax.

1. Embryonic
The Flaming Lips have made a career of reinventing themselves, from their early freak-out punk days, to the effects-driven guitar rock of the 90s, to the totally unexpected orchestral space-pop of the past decade. After releasing three albums in that last incarnation, there was a sense that they were marking time, which is death for a band that makes its business to be experimental. So they went into the studio and recorded an album unlike any before.

For starters, they brought Kliph Scurlock, their touring drummer, into the studio for the first time (for years Stephen Drozd played drums and the majority of other instruments when recording). Instead of recording prewritten material, the band spent time just jamming in-studio and chased after whatever hook or fragment interested them. Somehow they grew and assembled these bits into enough songs to fill out a double album. The result is something that is new and original, yet unmistakably The Flaming Lips. It's noisy, adventurous, and rough, which is a refreshing change after the polished production of their last two albums.

Tuesday iTunes released The Dark Side of the Moon, as interpreted by The Flaming Lips and Wayne Coyne's nephew's band, Stardeath and White Dwarfs. This is the same team-up that recorded an amazing version of Madonna's Borderline earlier this year, and their performance of Pink Floyd's classic doesn't disappoint either.

It's clearly an homage to the original recording, but that doesn't stop the bands from making it their own, working in a lot more noisy distortion, weird audio samples, and just different stylistic choices. Even though I've heard Pink Floyd's album at least 50 times, the covered songs are so different at times that I had to listen carefully to recognize what it was. Of course, songs with an immediately recognizable melody like "Money" are hard to disguise, though not for want of trying, with an electronic bleep intro and a half-whispered, half-distorted vocal track.

I wasn't sure how a cover version of a full album would turn out in this case, especially one as class as The Dark Side of the Moon, but I am very impressed with the result. Those who regard Pink Floyd's album as a sacred artifact that should never be touched may want to avoid this release, but those who listen to it with an open mind and a spirit of adventure will be greatly rewarded.

The Dark Side of the Moon by The Flaming Lips & Stardeath and White Dwarfs is available now on iTunes and will available through other online retailers next week.

This has been a great decade for comics. The much-hyped maturation of comics in the mid-1980s resulted not in greater sophistication, but greater violence and sexuality with the same juvenile stories throughout most of the 1990s. But after that, gradually, things shifted. Perhaps it's because new writers and artists emerged who grew up on Frank Miller and Alan Moore or because the comics audience itself was growing older and more mature, but suddenly mainstream comics stopped sucking. The stories got more interesting, the dialogue was more realistic, and characters' body proportions actually began to resemble something at least approximating normal human anatomy.

On the indie side of things there has been improvement as well. Independent comics have always been the place to look for innovation and fresh ideas, but in the age of the Internet they have gained much more exposure and influence over the mainstream, with many talented writers and artists crossing over to both worlds.

Out of this environment came a number of great works that rank not just among the best of the decade, but the best of the modern comics era. Here are my ten favorites.

10. The World's Greatest Super-heroes by Paul Dini and Alex Ross
This is a slipcased hardcover collection of short stories, first published individually in an oversized format, written by Paul Dini and illustrated by Alex Ross. I think Ross's style of painting, both realistic and larger-than-life, is best when he is working on stories that evoke the innocence of golden- and silver-age comics, which is precisely what you get here. The four primary stories in this collection, not technically comics, but illustrations with written captions, each deal with a classic version of one of DC's big heroes struggling with some problem of the real world. Superman tries to solve world hunger, Wonder Woman struggles to get beyond the cultural barriers between her and the women she is trying to protect, Batman fights the root causes of crime in Gotham, and Captain Marvel deals with the abusive father of a boy he has met in the hospital. In each case the hero gains some new wisdom about his or her own limitations and role as a hero.

Rounding out the collection are a series of brief origins of DC's classic heroes and a comic (the only true comic in the book) about the Justice League that is in keeping with the tone of the original four stories. The lessons are stated pretty overtly and the style tends toward the sentimental, but I think it works. The book captures the innocence and sincerity of these classic heroes, but with a modern sensibility. It would make a great introduction to the superheroes for readers of all ages.

9. Daredevil by Brian Micael Bendis and Alex Maleev
It's hard to imagine where Daredevil would be new without Brian Michael Bendis. During the late 90s the series suffered in quality and, presumably, sales and Marvel gave it a reboot in 1998. The first issues of the new series were an improvement over what came before, but still fairly standard superhero fare, even with stories written by Kevin Smith and David Mack, and drawn by Joe Quesada.

But then, after having done an earlier four-issue arc with David Mack, Brian Michael Bendis took over full-time writing duties, starting with issue #26 and continuing for four years and roughly 50 issues. His writing on the book marked an immediate change in tone for the book, with emphasis on strong characterization and snappy dialogue, a cinematic feel inspired by Scorsese, Tarantino, and Mamet, and a return to noir-style crime stories. Illustrating a bulk of Bendis' run was Alex Maleev who helped establish a gritty and realistic (at times photorealistic) look to the series.

The actual storylines are not revolutionary and owe a great debt to Frank Miller's work on the series, with the Kingpin, Bullseye, Elektra, and Gladiator figuring prominently. But with Bendis' gift for character development and natural-sounding dialogue, and Maleev's excellent artwork the series was more fun to read than it had been in many years.

8. Planetary by Warren Ellis and John Cassaday
Warren Ellis's Planetary follows three super-powered beings who claim to be archaeologists of Earth's secret past, and whose investigations unearth remnants of Godzilla-like monsters, obsolete superheroes, alien civilizations, and all manner of characters that resemble familiar characters of science fiction. It's a neat set-up that is used to comment directly on the nature of mainstream comics and pulp fiction.

The series represents Ellis's best writing and is hampered only by an over-reliance on specific references to, and characters from, other comics. Any weaknesses, however, are more than made up for by the otherwise great stories and the breathtaking artwork of John Cassaday. Just take a look at these pages from the Planetary/Batman crossover.


7. All-Star Superman by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely
I don't like Superman. I can appreciate that he was the first superhero and will likely always be considered the best for that fact alone, but I find him terribly boring. He's too powerful and his character is too pure and good to generate that many interesting stories. I'm also not a big fan of Grant Morrison. I feel like much of his writing is purposely obscure and strange without any real point behind it. It's odd, then, that I enjoyed All-Star Superman as much as I did. In fact, it may be the best Superman story I've ever read.

Morrison's series begins with Superman being supercharged with the yellow solar radiation that gives him his abilities, making him more powerful than ever, but also threatening to destroy him on a cellular level. With Superman's days numbered, the rest of the series is like a tour of the long, campy history of Superman, complete with Bizarro, a new kind of kryptonite with transformative powers, a metamorphosed Jimmy Olsen, a superpowered Lois, and more. There are lots of references that comic book geeks will immediately recognize, but it's also accessible to the uninitiated. Because the story takes place outside the DC Universe, it doesn't get bogged down in continuity issues and long character histories. All the characters are presented as if for the first time. It's a fresh, bright take on Superman that pays homage to the past but also feels new and fresh.

6. In the Shadow of No Towers by Art Spiegelman
In the years immediately following the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks a great number of artistic responses emerged. Most of them will probably be forgotten, bound as they are to a specific time, but I like to think that Art Spiegelman's In the Shadow of No Towers will endure longer than others. For one thing, it remains Spiegelman's only volume of new work after the Pulitzer Prize-winning Maus.

Also, Spiegelman copes with the trauma of the attacks and his rage over America's political response by looking back to American comics of the early 1900s. The format of the book is modeled after those full-page Sunday strips: each huge two-page is oriented vertically (like the towers) and contains a range of gags and commentaries from Spiegelman that capture the contradictions and conflicting emotions that arose from that momentous day. Spiegelman's work is both intimately private and broadly communal; it is bitterly critical of America and loyally defensive of it.

5. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill
I think what I love most about Alan Moore's League is how it rewards rereading. The first time I read through the primary volumes I was only interested in the main stories: a collection of Victorian-era heroes and monsters teams up to save England from a mysterious villain and, later, a Martian invasion. As expected from Mr. Moore, these are stories are told with impeccable plotting and fascinating characterization. The emergence of the non-super-powered Mina Harker as the series' strongest character is a particulary inspired move.

In the first two volumes Alan Moore supplements these core comics stories with extras like a serialized short story (volume 1) and an extensive Almanac of fictional places from throughout literature (volume 2). At first these seemed superfluous, and I confess I gave up reading the Almanac after the first several pages.

It wasn't until I read The Black Dossier (itself more a lengthy collection of "extra" material than a full comics story) with the essential Jess Nevins annotations and saw reference after reference after reference to events in the Almanac that I realized there is a story there that tells the adventures of Mina and Allan after the Martian invasion. This, combined with The Black Dossier itself, outlines a much longer and richer history of the League than is revealed in the comics stories, and introduces characters and story elements that are still being developed in the Century series.

4. Pictures That Tick by Dave McKean
While I appreciate good artwork in a comic and even recognize that it is an important factor in good storytelling, I generally don't read comics for the art. I read them for the writing, and I pick what I read based on who the writer is.

My primary exception to this rule is Dave McKean. I will read, watch, or look at anything with his name on it. It doesn't hurt that throughout his career he has chosen only great writers to work with (most often Neil Gaiman), but he also creates a good deal of solo work, much of which is collected in Pictures That Tick.

This volume is a good representation of the full gamut of McKean's artwork: ink drawings, paintings, mixed media, photography (with and without photoshopping), and various combinations of them all. His comics aren't always easy to understand, but that's okay: I get the impression that they are often more about experimenting with interesting visuals or setting a mood than about telling a clear story. But that's not to say he doesn't know how to tell a good story when he wants to. "His Story" is a fairly straightforward autobiographical essay about a story McKean's father told him when he was little, accompanied by the visual metaphor of a shard of class working its way into the boy's mind. It sounds weird, but it works.

Even when the comics are not entirely straightforward (like the wordless "Eye", whose title is not actually the word "eye" but a drawing of a human eye), they are still a delight to read simply for Dave McKean's artwork. This is a book that I consider less a group of stories and more a work of visual art. The very book itself, personally designed by McKean from front to back, is a beautifully crafted art object and is my most treasured book in my collection. For years it was very difficult to find, but it has recently been released in paperback, so it can be enjoyed by anyone.

3. Promethea by Alan Moore and J.H. Williams III
Alan Moore has said that his purpose in creating Promethea was to hook readers with a Wonder Woman-like mythical super-heroine, and then hope at least some of those readers stay on as he turns the series into an outlet for his philosophy of magic. It becomes a very challenging read once the protagonist leaves the physical world to embark on an abstractly intellectual tour of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, and I'm not sure how many readers Moore lost in the process, but those who stick around are treated to the most experimental comics of Alan Moore's career.

I still don't know how he managed some of it, like issue #12, each page of which is based on one of cards of the Tarot deck, with accompanying anagrams for Promethea, historical pictures of Aleister Crowley, and a running joke across the bottom of each page, all of which connect back to the theme of the page; or the final issue, #32, which is a summative essay on magic and language that can physically be dismantled and reassembled as two large posters, and that retains a logical structure however it is read.

I can't imagine this working in any other medium. J.H. Williams's artwork illuminates Moore's more difficult ideas and dazzles the reader throughout what, in prose, would be an unforgivably tedious departure from the main storyline. So while Promethea lacks the efficient and concise storytelling of Alan Moore's other masterpieces, its innovative experimentation makes it his best work of this decade.

2. Blankets by Craig Thompson
I feel about autobiographical comics the same as I do about superhero comics: there are way too many, most of them are crap, but occasionally you read an exceptional work that is totally original and transcends the genre. Blankets is such a comic.

I'm sure at least part of the reason I love it is that I can relate to it so well. Blankets is about a boy raised in a Midwestern conservative Christian household coming of age during his last year of high school. It's mostly about Thompson's first love and heartbreak, but in the end it also gets into his shedding of his parents' beliefs.

Thompson's delicate artwork draws the reader into the emotional inner world of his adolescence and elicits tremendous empathy for his characters. Thompson's girlfriend is rendered with such young grace and beauty that the reader falls achingly in love with her right along with the protagonist.

Blankets is nearly flawless in conception and presentation, and deserves its place among the absolute best graphic novels of all time.

1. Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid On Earth by Chris Ware
Although most of the story was serialized mostly during the 1990s, Jimmy Corrigan wasn't finished and collected as a single volume until 2000, so I'm counting it. Besides, the graphic novel format is how most people experienced it for the first time.

Despite his status as one of the most important comics creators today, Chris Ware's praise often comes with a qualifier. Even the critics who like him tend to celebrate his technical skill, original visual style, and experiments with form, but criticize the content of his stories. I will do nothing of the sort. I think Jimmy Corrigan is an unqualified masterpiece. In real life people don't always achieve reconciliation, they don't alwayas learn valuable lessons from their experiences, and they often just go on with their mundane and unhappy lives.

Despite the gloom, there is a lot to love in this graphic novel. Ware tells the story of three generations of James Corrigans, intercutting between two main stories: the most recent Corrigan, Jimmy, is invited to meet his father for the first time over Thanksgiving; and 100 years previously, Jimmy's grandfather, James Corrigan, struggles to have a relationship with his abusive father in the weeks and months leading up to the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago. James's loneliness stands in contrast with the majesty of the exposition (gorgeously rendered by Ware's geometric drawings), right up to the heartbreaking climax.

In the present day, the setting of the characters' lives is also integral to their stories. Ware perfectly captures the look and feel of a dull Midwestern town in winter, which accentuates the awkwardness of trying to communicate with a father who is a total stranger.

As mundane as this all seems, by the end of the book the reader has the feeling of having undertaken a great journey. And although Jimmy seems little changed, there is a sense that something important has happened, and that, as in real life, the effects are not immediately apparent but are there nonetheless.

The Reprints
One rule I set for myself in making this list was that I could only choose works that were originally published (including at least a majority of the series) during the last decade. This means no reprinted material. However, I would be remiss if I didn't at least mention two essential collections that came out during this decade.

Absolute Sandman by Neil Gaiman and various
DC has released a wealth of material in their Absolute format in the last several years, some of which has been great and some of which has been disappointingly identical to their standard releases (but bigger). There's little doubt, though, that no other volumes can compare with what was done with Sandman. The first entire volume completely recolored the original art in a way that dramatically enhances the story, and all four volumes boast copious amounts of bonus material, including a couple of stories that have been reprinted nowhere else. This is how Sandman needs to be read.

Akira (Dark Horse Reprints) by Katsuhiro Otomo
This decade also saw the first publication of Akira in English, which still surprises me, considering the importance of the Akira movie in American culture. And even though I had seen the film many times, the manga series still blew me away when I finally got to read it. With incredible artwork and an epic story that dwarfs the movie but still manages to be cohesive, it's a crime that this was unavailable in America for so long, and an even greater crime that it went back out of print. Fortunately, I've just learned that Random House is in the process of bringing it back in a new edition.

Tom Tomorrow has had some great comics recently contrasting the real Obama with the imaginary Obama, but I think this one really nails it.

This was both the easiest and the hardest to compile of all my "Best of the Aughts" lists: easy because I had so few books to choose from, and hard because I quickly began to question whether I could legitimately claim that these are the best books of the decade, even in my opinion. My problem is that I just don't read very much contemporary prose literature. I read plenty of great books over the last ten years. It's just that most of them were not written this decade.

But the point of all these lists isn't necessarily to establish the greatest works of the decade, but merely the ones that had the most profound impact on me personally. So with that in mind, I present my list: the Best Prose Books of the Aughts.

Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon
As a reader I really like to challenge myself to read works that tend toward the avant-garde and the difficult. It was probably inevitable, then, that I would eventually give Thomas Pynchon a crack. I started with the then-brand-new Against the Day, and blogged the whole experience. http://www.brendoman.com/kyle?s=against+the+day+pynchon&sentence=AND&submit=Search
Since I've already written so much I won't go back to revisit it, except to say that overall it was an enjoyable book, albeit a very long one. I plan to read all of Pynchon's book someday, but I have yet to read another. I'm just waiting for the right combination of ambition and free time.

Teacher Man by Frank McCourt
Frank McCourt's third and final memoir is all about his career as a teacher, from his start teaching working-class kids to his retirement and the start of his new career as a successful writer. As an English teacher myself, I found it to be fun to read because I recognize so many of the problems McCourt dealt with, and also encouraging to know that he was not a great teacher from the start, but that he learned from his mistakes. I think that was an important thing for me to see during my own first two years of teaching English to working-class kids.

Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner
Defining economics broadly, Levitt and Dubner use scientific statistical methods to describe and explain a bizarre range of human behavior. Some of my favorite chapters are the ones that prove teachers in Chicago cheat for their students on standardized tests, outline the organizational structure of a street gang (which, interestingly, looks a lot like a fast food chain), and make the very provocative claim that decreased crime in the 1990s is mostly a result of Roe v. Wade. On the latter point, the authors stress that they are making no moral or political argument, but are merely attempting to account for the truth. This objective, scientific approach to a diverse range of unusual questions makes Freakonomics an essential read.

The Universe In A Nutshell by Stephen Hawking
Theoretical physics fascinates me, although I don't pretend to understand more than a small fraction of it. The most helpful and enjoyable book I've read on the subject is this one. The low per-page word count, concise writing, and numerous color illustrations and diagrams help me to read it at such a pace that I can mostly follow what Hawking is saying, although I still get lost when he starts mentioning Branes, and what I do understand of it blows my mind.

American Gods by Neil Gaiman
I haven't read American Gods since it came out in 2001, back when my only exposure to Neil Gaiman was through his comics. I read almost the whole book in one sitting, on a 20-hour bus ride to Florida in the middle of winter, and something about watching the landscape fly past the window resonated with Shadow's mythical journey across America. This is familiar territory for those who have read Sandman: a world in which all gods and mythical figures physically exist and draw their power from the beliefs of their followers. Gaiman writes it very well, though, and has some new things to say about the waning power of these gods and what the new gods are in a modern America.

Everyday Apocalypse by David Dark
My approach to Christianity has changed considerably over the past 5-10 years, and there are certain ideas and assumptions that I take for granted now that seemed revolutionary to me just five years ago. http://www.brendoman.com/kyle/2004/06/14/everyday_apocalypse So when I think about the book Everyday Apocalypse and its proposition that spiritual Truth can be found in the best of "secular" popular culture, that in fact, any separation of religious and secular is artificial, my gut reaction is "Well, duh." It seems so obvious now. I think that's a tribute to the influence David Dark's book (and its follow-up, The Gospel According To America) has had on my worldview.

America (The Book) by Jon Stewart and The Daily Show
Next to The Onion's Our Dumb Century, America (The Book) is one of the most hilarious works of political satire I've ever read. Done in the style of a Civics textbook gives the authors room to mock American history, contemporary politics, and school textbooks themselves. I also think this was the first audiobook I ever listened to (performed by Jon Stewart and the cast of The Daily Show), which made for a very entertaining drive to Chicago. Here's one of my favorite bits:

Warren G. Harding: Our Worst President by Stephen Colbert

Historians debate feverishly over who is the best president in American history. However, there is little disagreement over who was the worst. His name was Warren G. Harding (1921-1923), and he sucked.

The reasons why he sucked are many and, to be truthful, have been widely catalogued in the annals of presidential history. So, with your indulgence, I'd like to focus instead on the intensity of his sucking.

Warren G. Harding was a worthless piece of s***. F*** him. His presidency was a taint, not just in the sense of a "stain on the office," but literally a taint--the anatomical area between the anus and the testicles. I hate Warren G. Harding.

To this day, every time I hear the name Warren G. Harding I can hear Stephen Colbert slowly slowly enunciating "I hate Warren G. Harding."

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
During my senior year in college I wrote a paper about the modern adult-oriented trend in American comics, and whenever I would talk about it with people in my writing class I would hear, "Have you read Kavalier and Clay?" I had not, and I didn't have much desire to read it: I was much more interested in good contemporary comics than a prose novel that take a nostalgic look at Golden Age of American comic books. Still, enough people brought it up that I decided I ought to give it a try.

What struck me at first was how well-researched the novel was: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is about a pair of fictional comics creators, but some very specific elements of their characters are obviously inspired by their real-life counterparts: Siegel, Shuster, Kirby, Lee, Eisner, etc. Plus, the world they work in and the course of events are very true to the history of American comics.

Chabon does great things with this set-up. He is a masterful writer who elicits powerful empathy in the reader. It's been about seven years since I read the book, and I don't recall much about Chabon's specific writing style or even all the events of the story, but I have very vivid memories of how it feels to inhabit the world of his novel: I can still see and smell the office of Amazing Midget Radio Comics and the abandoned Antarctic cabin. It's this quality of description and characterization, paired with Chabon's sincere love of comics and genre fiction, that has made him one of my favorite living writers.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
I just can't say enough good things about Gaiman's recent all-ages novel. It has a simple premise: orphan boy raised by ghosts; but it's written so well that each self-contained chapter is an absolute delight to read. This is a book that I hated to finish, not because the ending is sad (and it is), but because I, as a reader, do not want to have to leave the characters and the world they inhabit. My favorite character by far is Silas. He's the type of character, like Gandalf in Lord of the Rings, who is lovable but also very dangerous, and who you're just glad is on the right side. I think The Graveyard Book has the potential to be a new children's classic. I'm certainly looking forward to reading it with my kids.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic masterpiece is the most engaging and heart-wrenching book I have read in recent memory. The premise is that some global catastrophe has killed all plant life, and therefore all animals that survive on plants, and so on up the food chain until, when the book opens, the only living creatures left are people. In this world a man and his son struggle for survival, scavenging for what food they can find without being eaten themselves. This description really doesn't do justice, though, to the real heart of the novel: the relationship between father and son and the desperate empathy they evoke in the reader.

Once I began reading The Road I didn't want to stop even to sleep because I couldn't bear to leave the characters in such dire circumstances. It's not that there is a lot of action or new threats constantly popping up: it's that the characters are so close to starvation and so vulnerable in this lawless world that something as simple as walking down an abandoned highway and seeing another figure far off in the distance takes on a nail-biting suspense.

The hopelessness of the characters' situation is so unrelenting that, in the one moment when they have a very brief respite, when they are actually able to fill their stomachs and sleep safely for the night, I felt a great relief and and could finally put the book down and get some sleep myself.

Why read a book that is so hopelessly and utterly grim from beginning to end? In the midst of all this darkness, of a nightmare world in which it seems the only survivors are the very worst of humanity, there is a single shining spark in this father and son, determined to not just survive, but survive without resorting to murder and cannibalism. I have to admit that several times during the course of the book, I questioned why they even bother. There is no hope of rescue in this novel, no chance that the human race can recover from this. Everyone is just delaying the inevitable extinction that will come when all food is gone.

It reminds me of what Wayne Coyne said about the song "Evil Will Prevail": to recognize that evil really will win out in the end and that there is no reward for those who do good, but to choose to do good anyway is a noble and beautiful thing.