The Splendid Things We Planned by Blake Bailey

Blake Bailey

Full Title: The Splendid Things We Planned: A Family Portrait by Blake Bailey  

The question at the core of this soul-wrenching memoir is the extent to which a parasitic family member can be allowed to exhaust familial financial and emotional stores of love and forgiveness. 

The splendid things planned in the title of this family portrait refer to the vague but infinite hopes of two boys growing up in a home where the stability of their parents’ marriage was nearly always precarious.  Scott Bailey, a few years older than Blake, enjoyed the subtle advantages of being the first-born child, combined with the sense of being viewed, even by Blake, as handsomer of the two.
  
Early on, this did not create major conflict.  Scott may have been their parents’ “golden Boy”, but, in a few years, Blake was also recognized as having intellectual and artistic ability, some of which transcended those of his older brother. In further ways, Scott’s freedom to exploit his seniority began to disintegrate.
  
The threads connecting the fabric of any family are impossible for any one member to define or disentangle from the perceptions of others.  Still, Blake Bailey does depict in scourging detail, Scott’s deterioration from occasional cannabis user to heroin-addicted alcoholic. 

At around this time, their parents’ marriage, long conflicted, began to dissolve.  Whether these crises were interwoven will probably never be fully known.  Although Blake recounts his own blunders and victories, as well as those of those close to him, Scott’s travails soon begin to absorb more and more of his overall canvas.
  
As often happens, the most troubled and least productive member of any family, however extreme and repetitive his demands may become, all too quickly becomes its magnetic center.  Even those who initially refuse to comply can find themselves intertwined via slow osmosis.
  
Despite his bizarre behavior, and the family’s awareness,  Scott must be left, at some juncture, to struggle through consequences by himself in order to learn, parents who have conceived and brought a child into this world, tend to find it impossible to disconnect to the point of letting him risk dying at a fairly young age, when they know they have the resources with which to sustain him.  One more chance, followed by yet one further chance,-and then one more last one-at what point do parents surrender to hopelessness, and how long can the cycle continue? 

Readers disturbed by the foulest of language, especially when aimed at one’s parents, may find this book too distressing.  Still, those who persevere through its coarse and sordid wording, voiced by Scott, I believe, will find an enhanced understanding of this type of mental distortion, freed by drugs and alcohol to unharness bridled miseries.  For my part, while horrified by reading recounts of Scott’s verbal and physical assaults on their mother, including a genuine threat on her life, I found a reluctant deepening of my own understanding.  

Despite his years of flagrant drug-taking and extreme drinking, and self-justifying refusal to commit to any positive lifestyle, this mother held the belief that, as Scott had succeeded in the marine corps, honorably discharged, with a veterans’ pension, he could still access the will power to become a productive member of society. 

It is up to future readers to decide whether this maternal perspective was realistic.  At any rate, this book provides a roster of reactions and levels of involvement of father, mother, brother, and close but more detached relatives, regarding Scott’s escalating path towards disaster.  Despite their growing frustration and fury, none of them could let their concern and tenderness to evaporate or dissolve.
  
Hence, in a circuitous way, this brings us back to our opening question: is there a limit to absolute love.  Inferentially, if there is, do any of us wish to seek to overstep its boundaries?  

Halfway Heaven by Melanie Thernstrom.

Melanie Thernstrom

Full Title:  Halfway Heaven: Diary of a Harvard Murder by Melanie Thernstrom.

This book chronicles the emotional pain resulting in death, with social commentary as to how it might have been prevented.

Despite the respect inspired by many universities, the word “Harvard” resonates throughout the globe with almost reverential significance.  Indeed, its sanctity was voiced when Vietnamese student Trang Phuong Ho was given a choice between Harvard and another eminent university.  One close relative told her the choice was clear; Harvard was “halfway heaven”.

Having opted for Harvard, Trang could have spent a happy, fulfilling four years, had it not been for the horrific tragedy at the core of this book. 

Conversely, Ethiopian student Sinedu Tadesse had already been emotionally scarred when she arrived at Harvard.  During a political conflict in her homeland, Sinedu’s father was murdered. Sadly, as often occurs in such times, during her growing years, she became shunned and ostracized.  This absence of friends created a feeling of isolation so deep as to impel her to spend every moment she could in intensive studying.  

Having graduated at the top of her class in Ethiopia, Sinedu felt sure she had every reason to gain high enough grades from Harvard to enable her to enter its medical school, or one comparable in prestige.  For some while, she felt no reason to worry; as long as she studied, she ought to do well. 

Then, during an anguishing interview, she was told that while her grades were adequate, they were insufficient to gain her entry into a medical school.  Her previous education had not equipped her with the knowledge to allow her to compete, realistically, with the thousands of applicant with higher grade point averages. 

A basic understanding of the frameworks of these two young women is crucial in striving to understand the consequences of their later friendship and venomous dissension.  As Sinedu struggled on both social and academic levels, Trang found it easy to develop warm friendships, while maintaining high grades.  Thus, when she and Sinedu formed a bond, what became an enjoyable friendship for Trang grew essential to Sinedu, to the point of writing in her journal, “She will be the queen of my heart”. 

In time, the two became roommates.  Returning to Ethiopia, Sinedu brought back a native dress for Trang.  Perhaps this dress had a deeper meaning for Sinedu than Trang understood.  At any rate, Trang found Sinedu’s haphazard approach to room care disturbing. In addition, she viewed Sinedu’s constant demands for her company overwhelming.  Hence, towards the end of the spring semester, Trang wrote a note to Sinedu saying that while she continued to like and respect her, she had decided to room in a suite with a few other girls during the upcoming fall term.

I will end the story line here, rather than ruin its catharsis for future readers.  Largely, author Melanie Thernstrom offers a social commentary upon the ways in which even the seemingly topnotch universities ignore blatant signs of psychotic behavior. 

At some point, Sinedu began phoning random numbers from the telephone directory to ask whoever answered the call to become her friend and listen to her outpourings of hurt and disappointment. Not surprisingly, most recipients of such calls hung up, feeling annoyed and bewildered.  Still, one compassionate person, after having ascertained her name and location, alerted Harvard’s as to this bizarre and potentially dangerous conduct.  

When questioned later, a university representative said, perhaps with a hint of sheepishness, this information had given them a heads-up as to observing Sinedu.  Still, what is a “heads-up”? What does it mean when a student is manifesting symptoms of such despair as to plead for friendship via the voice of an absolute stranger?  

Ms. Thernstrom, herself a Harvard graduate, relates having found her years there as nurturing – a quiet but definite preparation for career shaping and formation?  Still, she acknowledges, she was not choked and bound by emotional or mental health issues.

Having described the Sinedu/Trang relationship, Ms Thernstrom discusses similar examples of other universities’ negligence, or deliberate obliviousness to conduct which shows the need for intensive efforts to ascertain and deal with its cause.
   
As this book was written around twenty years ago, it is hoped such attention has become more pro-active.  Still, perhaps closer scrutiny is needed, if not to halt, at least to detect and curtail the increasing number of violent acts by one student towards one or more others.

Have the Men Had Enough? By Margaret Forster.

Margaret Forster

Initially, as I began reading this novel, I felt overwhelmed by the spectrum of the central characters, during the first few pages.  Still, I soon came to realize the rightness of this approach.

Beginning with a candid description of a weekly Sunday lunch, quite elaborate, prepared by one daughter-in-law of the pivotal figure, Grandma.  At no point is this elderly lady, fast approaching the final stage of senile dementia, referred to or addressed in any other way.  

The details of her gastronomical habits are depicted with gritty grotesqueness. This proves vital in that the reaction of each family member to what, stretching political correctness to its outermost boundary, might be dubbed “eccentricities.  These members range from her grown children and spouses, to her nearly grown grandchildren.  While each of them cherishes her in their way, their level of aggravation depends on the degree of care asked of them.

To some extent, Ms. Forster deploys Grandma’s tendency, brought about by her dementia, as a tool to voice the social commentary at the core of this book.  By way of example, before she can agree to accept so much as a potato at lunch, Grandma must repeatedly ask “Have the men had enough?” Inferentially, women could only eat after the men have gorged themselves on a meal prepared by the women.  

Arguably, during an era when men were obliged to do exhausting farming or mining work, their need for sufficient food had to be preeminent.  Thus, as a symptom of senile dementia involves retention of long-term memories, Grandma’s deepest recollections center upon the men’s satisfaction, full-bellied and gratified.  She is not aware of the fact that the level of labor for men has become largely sedentary, and limited to eight hours on week-days. 

Conversely, care of an elderly woman who can no longer deal with her most basic needs is viewed by them as “women’s work.”
Of course they are only joking, just being playful.  What sort of modern woman could interpret such comments as anything more? Still, when a crisis occurs, it is these female good sports who are expected to clean up the consequent mess, on whatever level.

As months pass, and grandma’s awareness dwindles to lack of consciousness of her surroundings, the women become more enmeshed, while the men withdraw further.  All too soon, these women learn the most expedient way to extricate Grandma and themselves from an awkward  scenario is to “remind” her the men will be coming in for their lunches or dinners, and are likely to become cross if she does not have their meal prepared  to perfection.  

The Overall story is told from the perspectives of two women, related to Grandma in various ways.  The reader is invited to join them in trying to gauge to what degree, if any, Grandma makes use of her dementia as a means of maneuvering in order to gain extra care and companionship.  In all probability, Grandma herself does not know the genuine answer.  

A deep sense of sadness pervades this book, much of it voiced by Hannah, a seventeen-year old student, compelled, far too early, to weigh her ideals against realities.  What will she do if her mother, so wise and strong, one day becomes like Grandma?  In addition, although she does not address it directly, Hannah, even at her young age, knows she is not immortal. 

She has no choice but to see the ghastly nature of growing old in a society where there is no bulwark between the loneliness of longevity and the societal inability to do more than sedate, confine to a hospital bed, and then decide, if pneumonia sets in, whether to provide antibiotics, or “let nature take its course.” 

In the ultimate sense, the question becomes not only what is best for the patient, but for the family as a whole, when nothing but further deterioration can be expected from a person experiencing senile dementia.  

Seductive Poison by Deborah Layton

 

Deborah Layton

Full title: Seductive Poison: A Jonestown Survivor's Story of Life and Death in the People's Temple.

Boundaries between extreme religious or political fundamentalism and cults can prove hard to discern.  Still, cults are characterized by isolation from family and friends, demands for absolute adherence to the beliefs of one leader, and eventually the threat,  subtle but omnipresent, of the danger of any attempts to depart. 

Sadly, especially for those still young enough to be filled by ideals, implementing and tightening of these shackles can be far too insidious to be recognized, until their force have become overpowering.  By the time this is understood, what at first appeared to be a gossamer strand of welcome has shown itself to be iron chains of restraint.

Each experience is individual, and every cult unique in its way. Still, the detailed candor of Ms. Layton’s memoir is especially vivid.  By the time she began to suspect its fraudulence, she had become indoctrinated, almost to the edge of automatism.  For these reasons, this book can serve as a road-map, exhibiting warning signs to those tempted by any similar avenue.  

Like many cult leaders, despite his seeming logic and eloquence, Jim Jones preached a hodgepodge of flimsy philosophies, choosing whatever aspects of Marxism and Christianity served his goal as being perceived as the penultimate oracle. 

Deborah Layton, born in 1953, reached her mid-teens during the late 1960s, an era when a cornucopia of gurus of various kinds were abundant.  The ethos of the time encouraged openness and exploration.  Often, chemical and spiritual  avenues were combined in a melange which, if scrutinized, simply meant relinquishing freedom of thought and will to an autocrat.  

(As a member of a different cult stated, while being urged to think for one’s self, the leaders demanded a type of mind control which left no space for even the slightest vestige of genuine self-analysis.)  
Initially, Ms. Layton attended Jim Jones’ meetings by way of experiment, hoping to add to her spectrum of ideas via gleaning the benefits of his renowned intensive reading and understanding.  
Who then was this monumental Jim Jones?  The ways by which he accomplished his preeminence are not relevant here.  They are complex and lengthy, and can be found in any number of books, as well as on websites.  As this book review centers upon the recollections of Ms. Deborah Layton, our discussion will touch upon only the basic facts regarding Jim Jones rise to a Messiah-like status.

James Warren Jones was Born on May 13 1931, in Indiana.  He married nurse Marceline Baldwin in 1949.  His good looks, combined with a comforting, nearly mesmeric voice and demeanor, allowed him to convince some of those on the highest levels of political echelons of his worthiness to continue his “ministry” in various parts of America.  Beginning in Indiana, he traveled to the most cutting edge areas of the already radical centers of California, where his beliefs became yet one more route for those thirsting for an authority figure outside their parental strictures.

Jim Jones died, on November 18 1978, along with his wife, children and those followers who felt too committed or intimidated to leave his by then well-established Jonestown in British Guyana.

Returning to Deborah Layton’s memoir;  after a few private conversations, Jones began imploring her to help him reach others in need of his healing abilities.  He stated that while his community would succeed without her impetus, it would evolve in a far slower, less focused way.  Would she allow that to happen?  By then, her choice had nearly crystallized.  Her belief in Jones’ teachings was such as to allow her to accept his blandishments as realities. Like many in their late teens and early twenties, Ms. Layton’s ego was eager to sponge up a sense of being crucial to the acceleration of a potentially global endeavor.  

Hence, having succumbed, she was allowed to become aware of previously concealed chicaneries. In time, she came to believe if staged healing were needed to bring atheists to the Lord, such frauds could be justified. As her elevation in the Jones’ People’s Temple increased, her awareness of sordid tactics grew clearer. 

When any follower voiced a wish to leave, he or she was sedated into a long-term slumber, in hidden rooms reserved for this purpose. As Jones’ wife Marceline was a nurse, she could ascertain the correct amount for the body weight, without causing either brain damage or death.  When allowed to awaken, the skeptic would have no memory of the experience, and ideally, no further wish to leave.  

An equally venomous tool of control lay in Jones’ pretense of wishing a sense of harmony to pervade the community.  In fact, the principle of “divide and rule” was exploited to its utmost.  This resulted in the quelling of potential friendships.  Jones encouraged the slightest hint of grousing to be reported to him, ASAP.  Those who complied had an opportunity to rise in rank in his mini-empire.  
As to Ms. Layton’s decision to leave, it is always hard to determine, just as in any relationship or friendship, when someone, dissatisfied for some while, decides to end long-term ties.  In her incisive but vivid way, Ms. Layton shows us, as readers, her growing disillusionment.  Once having decided to leave, she realized the need to plan. In fact, this meant her waiting until 1978  in order to flee.  

She was wise to have chosen that time, as only a few months later, on November 18 of that same year, the 909 adherents remaining in Jonestown were coerced into joining in a videoed mass suicide, brought about by ingesting a soft drink containing a deadly dose of cyanide.  (Jones himself appears to have died due to a self-inflicted bullet wound to his head)

Although this book review may seem to cover Ms. Layton’s memoir, in fact it is only an outline of a book which voices adult understanding of a girl on the edge of womanhood, wishing to contribute globally, and vulnerable to the cajoling of a master strategist. 

I believe almost anyone reading this book, especially those who grew up during that era when the hopes of youth were reinforced by beliefs in invincibility, will feel the intensity which impelled Ms. Layton to be absorbed by this seemingly infinite path towards   universal improvement.  

The Quality of Mercy: An Autobiography by Mercedes McCambridge

Carlotta Mercedes Agnes McCambridge. March 16, 1916 – March 2, 2004

While reading absorbs a great deal of my leisure time, the books I value most are those I know will remain with me for the rest of my life.  Somewhat to my surprise, this happened with the Mercedes McCambridge autobiography. 

Overall, I tend to enjoy memoirs written by or about those who took part in films where, not allowed the visual effects and erotic scenes of current movies, were obliged to create programs, whether comic or dramatic, with well-scripted dialogue, in order to grasp and retain listeners’ absorption. 

(As a proud, self-proclaimed curmudgeon, I believe the easy reliance on visual effects and erotica available in our time has eroded creativity while making it easy for laziness regarding to dialog and characterization.)  Beginning her acting career in radio, Ms. McCambridge was described by Orson wells as the finest living radio actress.  

Early on, in this autobiography, she gives homage to nineteenth-century actress Sarah Siddons, who wrote of herself, “I was an honest actress.”  In an age where cosmetic surgery was either nonexistent or hazardous, anyone hoping for public appeal needed to gain it by talent, charisma, and yes, an honesty which could reach the souls of an audience.  Like Sarah Siddons, once television took over, she felt she could not compete, at least on a visual level, with Ava Gardner, Lana Turner, and the then thought incomparable Elizabeth Taylor.

Born on March 16 1916 in Joliet Illinois into an Irish Catholic family, christened Carlotta Mercedes Agnes McCambridge, later shortened to “Mercy” (Indeed, her book begins with her saying she enjoys this abbreviation, as it is difficult to voice the word “mercy” with any real anger.)  Having said that, she shows us, though she does not seek out confrontation, she does not deflect it when it seems vital, in order to shield herself or a person or animal cherished by her.  Her parents’ marriage, like many during that time, was one in which the wife remained tight-lipped and long-suffering, while the husband sought pleasures.

In one characteristic example, as a young man, her father promised his priest he would not imbibe even one sip of alcohol for a year. The sole flexibility lay in his freedom to drink at weddings, funerals and wakes.  While adhering to his word, Mr. McCambridge scrutinized newspaper announcements of any of the above-mentioned ceremonies or solemnities, within one hundred miles of his home.. Having found such a ceremony, he would arrive uninvited, fully partaking in all available types of refreshments. Evidently, his charm was such as to allow him to mingle with guests or mourners while evoking no inquiries which necessitated his demanded departure. 

It may have been this enjoyment of drinking which predisposed Ms. McCambridge to the alcoholism which was to haunt her middle years.  Still, given the candor of every part of this book, she does not attempt to blame anyone for a dependence which resulted in several hospitalizations. 

During an era when a guest in one’s home, at almost any hour, was offered a drink as casually as coffee is in our day, it was often difficult to perceive the edge beyond which conviviality deepened into a condition which ended or shortened the lives of so many of both the famous and unknown.  Due to her own determination and the bolstering of fellow members of Alcoholics Anonymous, she grew brave enough to publicly acknowledge this struggle, and admit to the anguish of overcoming its grip.  

Although causing her family some chagrin, her statement allowed many others to accept and seek help.  A further dimension of this book is her cameo portraits of various intimates, directors, fellow actors and political figures.  One of the most poignant moments occurs when an aging actor, asked by a student from a group he was addressing, the best way to become a good actor, paused a moment, then replied with no trace of sarcasm, “By acting in about four-hundred plays."

A unique encounter occurred between actress Marlene Dietrich and Ms. McCambridge.  Ms. Dietrich, staving off the onslaught of time with increasing effort, but with success, once spoke to Ms. McCambridge in a way which initially sounded amazingly rude. Beginning with the obligatory Hollywood “Darling”, she told Ms. McCambridge she need not look as bad as she did.  Still, this comment was based on a benevolence which later emerged when Ms. Dietrich sent her four of her loveliest gowns from which to choose for her appearance at the upcoming Academy Awards.
  
Having chosen a chiffon dress, Ms. McCambridge returned all four gowns to Ms. Dietrich after the event.  With true grace, Ms. Dietrich sent back the chosen one, advising her to wear it all the time.  Though this advice was a bit eccentric, Ms. McCambridge understood it stemmed from a genuine kindness.  In fact, she did receive an Oscar for her role in the 1949 film All the King’s Men, and a similar nomination for her role in a movie adapted from the Edna Ferber novel, Giant.

Undoubtedly, her most exotic role was as the demon in the 1973 film The Exorcist, a novel by William Peter Blatty.  To gain the horrific speech and breathing patterns and rhythms required, she forced herself to swallow raw eggs and be tied to a chair.  Later, the magnificence of her performance would be marred, in the minds of many, by an exhaustive contractual dispute as to whether she had relinquished the right to the listing of her name among the credits. Given the pivotal nature of this demon who she made seem so credible, it is hard to conceive of how any controversy could have arisen.  Still, given the decades, in addition to the elevation of this film’s classic, any behind-the-scenes squabbles and quarrels have been, in all probability, largely forgotten.
  
Her numerous roles on radio, in films, and on television can be easily found.  In addition, the names and outlines of her two husbands and son are available in the briefest of profiles. 

This book, starting with its opening sentence, made a connection deep within me, and I hope it will have the same impact upon future readers. 

Unbuttoning America by Ardis Cameron

Unbuttoning America

Full Title: Unbuttoning America: A biography of "Peyton Place" by Ardis Cameron

Any writer able to create a character or location which becomes part of the linguistic landscape is, I believe, entitled to both respect and honor.  
This recognition indicates a profound part of the human soul has been tapped into and touched.  Hence, to describe any one as a Scrooge evokes ideas of major stinginess, while the word "quixotic” is based on Cervantes’ “Don Quixote”, depicting someone consumed by ideals to the point of dismissing the dreary details of daily monotony.  

Given this standard, Grace Metalious’ 1956 novel, “Peyton Place" has joined this lexicon.  Viewed in its time as lascivious and salacious, even now, whether or not one has read it, any town, community, university, office etc. where undercurrents of passion and corruption exist just beneath a polished, genteel ambiance, is likely to be referred to as a Peyton Place.  Ardis Cameron’s book is, in its true sense, a dual biography of both the history of Peyton Place through the years, and its writer, Grace Metalious.  

During WWII, countless young women had worked as nurses, or taken on factory jobs, striving to fill the emptiness left by so many young men having to risk/sacrifice their lives.  This freedom, while motivated by need, made it easier for women to interact with both one another and whatever men were not in military service.  Hence, latent lesbianism came to the fore.  Overall, the liberty to release libidos, permitted only to men throughout the centuries, grew available to women as well, although nearly always beneath a deeper veneer of discretion.

Given the joy of admitting and acting out erotic urges towards men who were not their husbands, made it difficult, after the war, to return to docile domesticity.  Once having reveled in their release, many women felt confined by those traditional roles once again foisted upon them.  Undoubtedly partly due to this reason, when during the mid 1950s, Grace Metalious found a publisher for her novel, (Peyton Place), she unearthed an audience thirsting for the candor it offered.

Women who had become pregnant, felt the need to undergo clandestine abortions, engage in extra-marital liaisons, or the penultimate taboo, incest, felt allowed to admit these facts and emotions, first to themselves, and then in letters to Grace, long before fan mail became an acceptable means of reaching a celebrity of any kind.  Until her stacks of mail became overwhelming, she responded to every letter with respect and candor. 

Who then was this Grace Metalious?  Given her writing, she was perceived as a gazelle who was offered and delighted in every fleshly pleasure.  In fact, she was an overweight wife and mother, who made only the most basic efforts to enhance the appearance of her hair, face and body, and then only for interviews conducted on televised talk shows. 

When asked why she had written her book, she said, in addition to her delight in the writing process, her family needed the money. All to often, living solely on her husband’s salary as a schoolteacher, she had needed to scrounge through their cupboards in order to prepare a barely edible dinner.  Once her novel was published, her husband suffered the humiliation of being fired from his job, due to the perceived sordid nature of “Peyton Place”.  Still, as it soon became a best/seller, this shortfall was remedied. 

Although at first surprised and disconcerted by the contrast between their perception of Grace and her unabashed stance of “Take me as I  am, or don’t bother”, this soon became a source of comfort and motivation to many of her female readers.  If a woman in her late thirties, on the plain and plump side, could achieve the fame Grace had accrued, why could they not do so as well, or at least make the effort ?  In what I view as one of her most sparkling responses regarding the supposed paltriness of her book,  she said if she was a lousy writer, there must be a large number of readers out there with equally lousy taste. 

Still, despite her seeming self-confidence, a bottle of whiskey was at hand, nearly at all times.  Doubtless due to this alcoholism, she died at only thirty-nine, due to what would currently have been diagnosed as cirrhosis of the liver.

Her book, or various versions of it, outlived her for decades. During the early 1960 s, it became a TV serial which would have almost certainly appalled her.  In keeping with the cliches of its time, heroes and heroines were rewarded, while villains were punished.  In short, what Grace Metalious intended as a puncturing of the balloon of small town life, was transformed into syrup.

Still, despite its popularity, with episodes featured three times each week, this series has become more-or-less forgotten.  What has remained is the term “Peyton Place”, which has become a way of conveying those glints of gossip which comprise so much of our day-to-day conversation.  

Arguably, this is, in itself, a triumph. 

The Rose Hotel by Rahimeh Andalibian

Rahimeh Andalibian 

Full Title: The Rose Hotel: A Memoir of Secrets, Loss, and Love From Iran to America by Rahimeh Andalibian 

This book begins with a delightful account of Ms. Andalibian and her brother’s happily romping through their parents’ Rose Hotel. While their opening the refrigerator in order to ascertain the location of chocolate bars for future reference, and playing hide-and-seek on business premises were beyond parental guidelines, these children knew, if caught, they would be reprimanded gently.
  
Their home in Iran was pervaded by warmth, affection, delectable food, and a discipline which, although definite, always conveyed   understanding.  Its   main requirement consisted of absolute adherence to Islamic teachings.  Although this entailed strictures unusual in many parts of the world, these children, grown accustomed to its demands, complied with no more than the occasional inner sense of frustration.  Then, as often happens, a seemingly minor incident sets in motion a series of events which would haunt the family for decades to come, eventually forcing them to feel the need to leave Iran for America.  

Sadly, revolutions tend to release evil; actions which would not be dared in ordinary day-to-day life become permissible.  This proves especially true if the perpetrators can convince a court their motives were based on political principles, rather than the egoistic joy of reveling in a sense of control-causing harm with impunity.  Hence, in 1979, two drunken youths raped and battered a woman old enough to have been their grandmother.  When their victim pointed this out, indicating the grayness of her hair, they simply scoffed in hilarity.

Once this woman, abandoned and injured, had been rescued and brought to a hospital, the question became what should be done to prevent her abusers from harming others in the same or similar ways.  As her recollections were vague, the suspects needed to be confined somewhere before they could be arrested.  Given his reputation as being public-spirited and deeply moralistic, Mr. Andalibian was asked to house the suspected perpetrators in his hotel, while the police gathered evidence to justify their arrest and imprisonment. 

Therefore, despite his wife’s fury and terror regarding these criminals potential contact with their children, the father, having secluded the suspects for some while, in time, allowed them to perform jobs in the hotel.  Like many truly fine human beings, Mr. Andalibian believed the goodness in others could be awakened if sufficient trust was bestowed.

Unfortunately, his eldest son, Abdullah, in his mid-teens, was at the most opportune time in life to enjoy a sense of revolt.  Just as Iranians were being urged to over-turn long-held beliefs, Abdullah began to talk with these suspects.  Eager to avenge themselves on his father, they were overjoyed to recruit and exploit his son.  To recount the consequences of this “friendship” would ruin the rest of this book for future readers.  It is enough to say increasing layers of subterfuge were needed to be deployed.  This ended in the family’s realization of their need to first visit, and later take up permanent residence in America.  

Still, their emotional past could not be avoided.  The veiling of information became more suffocating than the most extreme form of purdah.  It would take years of estrangement, horrific substance abuse, and intense interpersonal strife, until, urged by a psycho-therapist, the true nature of what had occurred was revealed and then discussed between all of them. 

This memoir ends with a sense of familial reconciliation earned by a willingness by each member to be open with one another. Silences and tensions arise, but each member knows, at some point, they will become a unit again.

Ms. Andalibian, herself a psycho-therapist, has also begun a program to help those with learning disabilities to gain knowledge in an enjoyable way.  Her memoir indicates her work will become imprinted upon psychological awareness.
  
She ends her book with the hope that the nakedness of her exposure of concealed conflicts within her family will motivate others to scrutinize issues they have ignored for years, thereby growing closer to one another.  Painful as this purging might be, if done with tenderness and honesty, it will, she believes, prove worth the depths of its anguish.  

Down The Rabbit Hole by Holly Madison

Holly Madison

Full Title: Down The Rabbit Hole: Curious Adventures and Cautionary Tales of a Former Playboy Bunny by Holly Madison

There are those who believe some of the most well-armored feminists harbor a hidden wish to be viewed as gorgeous enough to be featured in "girly magazines” generally, and, until fairly recent times, Playboy in particular. 

After reading Holly Madison’s account of her years as a resident of the famed Playboy Mansion, many would-be models might reconsider.  In fact, according to Ms. Madison, the founder of Playboy, Hugh Hefner, rents the mansion, and each individual room, from a separate corporation.  

In much the same way, he rented each girl.  Those he deemed vital, both to the magazine and his own libido, were allowed to live there, with free room and board.  Still, though most of these girls and young women ranged from their late teens to their mid to late twenties, their cossetted life depended upon conformity with such rules as an absolute 9 pm curfew.

While Hefner strove to preserve the myth that those girls in his mansion were sisterly, and his relationship to each of them one of paternal concern, according to Holly Madison, this was far from reality.  As to sisterhood, aside from the occasional genuine bond, rivalries and its consequent attempts to undercut one another were rampant. 

Also, Hefner fostered conflict among the “playmates”, as it heightened his control over each one of them.  Expulsion from the mansion would result if one girl could be shown to be antagonistic towards others on a continuous basis.  He also seemed to savor the hope that the basis of this competitiveness was due to a yearning for his attention.

Regarding his platonic concern, every girl living at his home was expected to perform those services demanded of a wife or concubine in an Asian or Middle-eastern harem. None of them were permitted to leave, even to attend the wedding of a close relative or long-term friend, without first groveling for Hefner’s permission.

A further threat lay in the fear of losing ones position by exceeding whatever age was deemed unacceptable.  Hefner exploited this vulnerability by belittling the oldest girl in his circle.  One such internal report, mentioned a young woman’s age being twenty-eight, as if this meant she was heading towards the edge of mortality.  

Still, as Holly Madison was an adult with a strong education, the natural question is why she continued to stay for several years in a state of near subjugation.  Cynically viewed, the 24-hour kitchen service, providing whatever food and/or beverage was requested at any time, with gratuities to household staff prohibited, combined with a topnotch gym, and every beautifying treatment, lessened the appeal of a regular job.  

Still, Ms. Madison states, she became enmeshed in the Hefner hierarchy.  Though married to his second wife, living next-door, he always had an official girlfriend.  As Holly had always been treated as one of the less sought-after bunnies, she recounts her surprise at having been chosen.  She attributes this choice, in part, to her pleasure in watching old movies with him, rather than craving the night life sought by her competitors.  Also, she did genuinely like him.  

Asked during an interview what her ideal life would be in five years, she stated she hoped she and Hefner could live alone in his mansion. How much of this response stemmed from hype may never be known, even by Holly Madison.  Still, although he was in his seventies, she asked him to be clinically tested in order to ascertain whether he could still father children.  As she admits, this test was pointless in that, even if they two conceived a child, his fatherhood was bound to be so brief as to prove almost non-existent.  

Eventually, finding her life suffocating, and yearning to find a man her own age, she told Hefner she would be leaving.  By then, her growing withdrawal had induced him to fill her place in his life with an eager replacement. 

In conclusion, while this book review touches upon major issues, it is only an overview of the intriguing detail contained in this memoir.  

Holly Madison’s book ends with her sense that, though wretched at times, she feels she learned an enormous amount via her Playboy experience.  

Anyone Can Do It: My Story by Duncan Bannatyne

Duncan Bannatyne

While rags-to-riches memoirs abound, I doubt there are many as genuine, gripping and just plain fun to read as this account by Duncan Bannatyne. 

During his early years, though none of his friends or neighbors were wealthy, quite a few families could afford cars, televisions, and other conveniences of the time. 

Whatever their financial position, no other child he knew needed to go without the occasional treat, such as an ice cream from a passing vendor.  The standard parental response to the young Bannatyne questions as to why he could never have one, was simply that they were poor. 

They viewed this poverty as an innate condition, not to be complained-of, as there was absolutely no expectation of change.
Indeed, When Bannatyne began his first major commercial venture, his father stated that people like them did not start businesses.  It sounded as if they were born with a taint which would prove inescapable.

As this autobiography shows, while never anticipating the affluence he would one day obtain, he did not accept this predestined reality. At a fairly early age, he decided he would find or forge some pathway viable enough to provide himself and those close to him with those amenities taken for granted by others.

Today, there is a great deal of talk regarding overall concepts and the big picture.  Often, however, this belief in future billions as the well-deserved consequence of a dream, tends to allow would-be entrepreneurs to ignore the finer details which create its groundwork.

It was this awareness of seeming trivia which garnered Bannatyne his initial small business.  Having noted newspapers were not being delivered to his own and similar vicinity, he approached the lady in charge, to ask for a job in so-doing.  She replied, in a somewhat high-handed tone, that no-one in those areas could afford such a service.  Instead of accepting her snub, Bannatyne went door-to-door.  Soon, he was able to offer a list of one-hundred potential partakers of such a delivery service.  This documented number left the elitist lady with little choice but to hire him.

As a businessman, with savvy acquired by experience, he realized it would have been far more advantageous to  offer to sell her his list.  Still, for a boy starting out, he showed a strong instinct for economics development. 

Later, this understanding of small things was to bolster his sales in his role as the same type of ice cream vendor who’s goods had eluded him as a young boy.  Why not take a few seconds to draw a face on an ice cream, or to greet a boy with “Johnny” written on his T-shirt by asking, “What would you like today, Johnny?”
A few further examples of his acumen indicate his reasons for such astounding success, as well as his ethical framework. 

If he signed a contract, then found several thousand pounds added to his bill as customary expenses, he refused to pay them. Limousine travel, nights in upscale hotels, exorbitant dinners with “clients, unless a provably part of the contract, he would not pay.  In addition, he puts his name on any type of enterprise he chooses to enter:, health clubs, care homes and such.  Every member of one of his fitness centers is given an email address where they are welcome to contact him, if they have a query or grievance which cannot be resolved by local staff.

In addition, from his outset, he prohibited waste.  Although Paper clips are viewed by most companies as negligible, their incessant use can prove as costly as water left dripping from a tap.  Hence, rather than purchase these clips, he instructed his clerical staff to remove them from any mail, and then reuse them.  

When he decided to expand into care homes for the elderly, he pretended to be seeking a suitable residence for his mother.  As such, he was granted investigative privileges not allowed to potential competitors.  In this guise, he was able to contrast the foul conditions of some homes with the nurturing concern shown by others.

In ethical terms, at one point he was forced to realize a previously loyal employee was stealing money.  When he confronted her in a direct but compassionate way, she conceded the truth of his findings, explaining her husband had abandoned her and their three children-her theft has truly resulted from need. He did not fire her, based on her vow not to defraud him again.  Still, when he found she had defaulted upon this promise, he felt no choice but to end her employment.  Still, though he could have brought legal action, he forbore to do so.

In recent times, Bannatyne is best-known for being a dragon on the widely televised ”Dragon’s Den”, a program in which would-be entrepreneurs are asked, in a verbal trial by fire, to justify why their idea is worthy of big-time investments.  Although characterized as one of the most ferocious of dragons, in truth he cuts to the core of the question: if I invest in your plan, what returns can I expect, and by what documentation can you justify this belief.  Unless the applicant has, or is willing to risk mortgaging a home and pursuing every feasible loan avenue, he says, “I’m out”, and that is the end of the matter.

Unless an entrepreneur believes enough in his idea to risk all he has on its chance of success, he has no right to ask anyone else to invest.  Whatever his level of wealth, any investor has a right to know he will gain a significant sum beyond the amount invested. This bottom-line approach cuts through even the most eloquent pitch, or clever palaver.  

The Real Doctor Will See You Shortly by Matt McCarthy

Matt McCarthy

Full Title: The Real  Doctor Will See You Shortly: A Physician’s First Year by Matt McCarthy

Many of us, even those fortunate enough to live in parts of  the globe where health care is most advanced, have groused, at times, as to the seemingly needless delays and ineptitude of those engaged in the medical profession. While some complaints regarding aspects of treatment are valid, I believe Dr. Matt McCarthy’s account of his first year as an intern will increase my empathy, especially when dealing with those agonizing through their year of internships.

To a large degree, the grinding and grueling nature of this work is deliberate.  The belief is that those who cannot withstand the rigorous training process are not equipped to deal with the ceaseless day-to-day strife of becoming a full-fledged physician.

As it happened, one of his earliest patients, a middle-aged professor, might have died unnecessarily, due to Dr. McCarthy’s failure to gauge the potential implications of what appeared to be a trivial fact.  Perhaps the castigation given him by his supervisor was more severe than this oversight warranted.  Still, it alerted him to the need to treat even what might appear to be a simple anomaly as worthy of deeper examination.  

A further hurdle lay in the lack of balance between the number of patients scheduled and the time allowed to deal with each one in a comprehensive manner.  Hence, when a respectable-looking gentleman asked for a refill on his Viagra prescription, Dr. McCarthy could discern no reason not to oblige.  

Chagrin and humiliation arose when his supervisor asked if he had read the patient’s chart well enough to learn the man had a criminal record which had resulted in imprisonment.  He then felt the ultimate layer of shame  when informed this patient’s conviction had been for sexual assault.

A question of humanity arose when, a woman with only a remnant of sight, afflicted with immune deficiency syndrome  AIDS, was found to be carrying a small bag containing cannabis.  Despite her pleas not to deprive her of it, as it comprised the only remaining relief she could find, ethical obligations compelled Dr. McCarthy to do so.  Naturally, Any such lapse on his part would have placed his license to practice in serious jeopardy.

Still, a more subtle issue arose when this patient refused to take the medications prescribed to slow the progression of her AIDS.  Her physical and emotional pain had reached a level where she could find no reason for prolonging her life.   

This refusal forced Dr. McCarthy to accept the reality of the right of a patient of sound mind to engage in a form of passive suicide. Due to the rapport which had developed between them, for a few days she agreed to take a small number of tablets.  Still, to his dismay and personal hurt, he found, one morning, this lady had checked herself out in the night, and could not be dissuaded from leaving.  

Later, encountering her in the waiting-room, he told her how he had felt, and asked her reasons.  She told him, in an almost maternal way, she had done what she felt was necessary, and that her departure had not in any way reflected a lack of gratitude for his care and concern.  As they parted, he felt no certainty that she would go back onto those medications.  Still, he knew he had offered her all he could in terms of support, and she had felt warmed by his kindness.

Sadly, this solicitude brought to the fore his most profound terror. After showing a more recent intern the most efficient way to draw blood from a patient, he inadvertently pricked his own thumb with the needle.  This might have been a minor mishap, had the patient in question not been afflicted with AIDS. 

Fear for his health as well as ethics required Dr. McCarthy to reveal this both to his supervisor and fiancee.  While both of them gave him encouragement and and tenderness, they could not shield him from the horror of the potential effects if the disease were to take hold.   

As a reader, I found the most moving part of this book to have been Dr. McCarthy’s generosity in confiding this to the above-mentioned female patient, along with a willingness to take his medications with her.

Ultimately, this memoir opens to us the small but persistent area of uncertainty between professionalism and humanity.  In short, we are permitted  to see both Matt  as a human being and Dr. McCarthy as a physician.  

Born with Teeth: A Memoir by Kate Mulgrew.

Kate Mulgrew

The title of this memoir reflects two levels of meaning.  Kate Mulgrew was born in Dubuque Iowa on April 29 1955 with a full set of baby teeth.  There is also the one in which she had an innate ability to develop the metaphorical teeth she would need in order to reach stardom in the cutthroat ambiance of the stage and screen spheres.

Although perhaps best-known for her seven-year role as Captain Kathryn Janeway on the long-lasting series Star Trek: Voyager, this memoir is by no means an addition to the often criticized genre of tell-all show business gossip.  In fact, its ending is such as to have led me to do a search for Ms. Mulgrew’s later life.  

Her early years within an Irish Catholic family did not contain as many hugs and cuddles as she might have wished.  Still, when at age seventeen, she was accepted into the daunting Stella Adler Conservatory of Acting, her parents did all they could to bolster her hopes of success.

Tragically, a younger sister, Tessie, who Kate had treated as her slave, in terms of errands and tasks, contracted a slow-growing brain tumor.  Sedated by morphine for two years, the family were forced to observe her gradual but definite deterioration.  Still, despite Tessie's plea with Kate not to leave her in order to begin drama training, it was tacitly understood between these two sisters that Kate would be adventuring for both herself and Tessie.

Given that a large amount of successful acting entails reliving previous pain, Tessie’s illness and death doubtless came back to Kate when she needed to evoke a deep source of sorrow. 

As with any young woman viewed as attractive and talented, Kate received a good deal of male adulation.  Still, while acknowledging this with some natural joy, she also allows us, as readers, to see the absolute nakedness of her soul in despair.  Having become pregnant in a relationship where marriage was not an option, with profound reluctance, she offered her unborn child for adoption, via a supposedly Christian organization.

After the birth, Kate persuaded a compassionate nurse to circumvent strict hospital rules by permitting her one small glimpse of her infant daughter. Brief as it was, this moment became infused into Kate’s waiting wellspring of love. Hence, interwoven throughout this memoir is her guilt and search for some information regarding this child.  Her anguish became compounded when she learned, nearly twenty years later, the charity’s deceit as to the family to whom her baby was given. 

Kate’s ability to create a credible character on an ongoing basis became clear when she played Mary Ryan in the soap opera Ryan’s Hope.  A further triumph occurred when, portraying the central character in the 19th-century Norwegian playwright Henrick Ibsen drama, Hedda Gabler.  Kate was told she was one of the few actresses to have truly comprehended and conveyed Hedda’s gnawing, overwhelming anguish. 

The book goes on to describe further liaisons, and her disappointing marriage to Robert Egan.  The two boys born of this union were not always happy with there mother’s sometimes lengthy absences. Their sense of desertion grew in 1995, when she accepted the prestigious but absorbing role of the first female captain, Kathryn Janeway, in the renowned series Star Trek: Voyager. 

One of her most worthwhile points, I believe, is that a male actor’s need to be away for protracted periods is accepted as part of what daddies do.  Conversely, no matter how scrupulously Kate Mulgrew screened and ensured the concern and abilities of nannies, her children frequently voiced  or showed their rage, once even resorting to calling her a bad mother.

This echoed the comment of a previous colleague as to her inability to be a true mother, due to her emphasis on her career. The criticism plagued Kate, although she continued her work, returning home or bringing her children with her as often as feasible.  The question of equilibrium between career and maternal duties may never be completely resolved. 

My own perspective is that Kate Mulgrew made the best compromise she could between nurturing her children almost entirely by herself, and forfeiting all those years during which she had striven to establish herself as an actress.