Southern Bookman

"Anyone But You" and "The Idea of You" give rom-com entertainment

OK, I'll confess to watching "Anyone But You" and "The Idea of You" this week.

Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell vs. Anne Hathaway and Nicholas Galitzine.

A little bit of rom-com heaven right here on earth, thanks to Netflix and Prime Video.

The two films with their opposing titles present surprisingly similar takes on the travails of modern love.

In "Anyone But You," Sweeney's a young woman trying to discover herself. She finds her life's purpose in Powell's character, a modern-day Cary Grant who bumbles along yet keeps standing, often taking off his clothes.

"The Idea of You" offers Anne Hathaway as 40-year-old seeking to reinvent herself. She finds happiness in a fling with a 24-year-old singer in a boy band she implausibly meets.

As with Galitzine's engaging British lad, Anne had me at hello.

I'd forgotten that the film, purportedly taking place in the Los Angeles area and the south of France, was shot in Atlanta.  Virginia-Highland turned into Glendale, Calif.  The Georgian coast stars as the Mediterranean.

As some Internet wag mentioned, the main purpose of "Anyone But You" seemed to be showing Powell without his shirt.

I've been reading about the new Brad Pitt's appearance in the acclaimed new crime noir thriller "Hit Man," and wanted to gauge his star power along with Sweeney.

The takeoff of Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" wobbled a few times with clunky dialogue, and Sweeney is a bit wooden. Yet she offered a passable imitation of the young Goldie Hawn, and I laughed at her comic scenes.

Although Powell at times appeared to be wondering how he had arrived in such a silly movie, he persevered to the end. The inevitable coming together of him and Sweeney delivered a satisfying finish.

The movie was also worth watching because of the gorgeous shots of another Sydney, Sydney. Australia. The city's harbor with its spectacular opera house rising from a small island and its skyline gave me an urge to hop on a plane and go down under.

With all of the bad news about political turmoil, extreme weather and the Braves, I enjoyed such escapist fare.

They reminded me of movies Hollywood used to turn out that just wanted to entertain.

 

 

 

Jimmy Breslin's classic columns collected in Library of America volume

Jimmy Breslin began as a sportswriter, telling personal stories of triumph and failure. 

Breslin progressed from writing about jockeys, baseball players and fighters to using the same focus on character and personality in his acclaimed later work.

The new Library of America collection of Breslin's "Essential Writings" reveals how Breslin quickly advnced from his profiles of dyspeptic jockey Bill Hartack, aging pitcher Early Wynn and embattled New York Mets manager Casey Stengel to his famous columns about the emergency room doctor who treated the fatally wounded John F. Kennedy and the worker who dug the slain president's grave.

Although Breslin arrived in Dallas on the night of Kennedy's assassination on Nov. 22, 1963, his column on surgeon Malcolm Perry's efforts to revive the president gives the impression that Breslin was present in the Parkland Memorial Hospital emergency room on the afternoon of the slaying.

The young New York Herald Tribune columnist gathered details from a second day news conference by Perry and by talking to the doctor.

He also interviewed the priest who gave Kennedy his last rites, and the Dallas funeral home director who chose the bronze coffin in which Kennedy's body was placed for the trip back to Washington, D.C.

Breslin's "A Death in Emergency Room One" describes Perry's performing a tracheotomy on a wound in Kennedy's throat and the president's widow, Jacqueline Kennedy, observing from a corner in her blood-stained pink suit.

The column, written on deadline, expresses the view that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone in assassinating the president from the Texas Book Depository Building. Yet the detail about Perry calling the throat wound an entrance wound strikes a chord through the years.

Breslin also brings the personal touch he learned as a sportswriter to his famous piece on Clifton Pollard, the $3.01 an hour Arlington National Cemetery gravedigger who dug the president's grave.

The column "It's an Honor," written for the New York Herald Tribune, gives an account of Pollard's workday from the time he was called at home to come to the cemetery. Working on nearby graves into the afternoon, Pollard tried to attend the Kennedy service but was kept away by heavy security.

The title comes from Pollard's telling Breslin about his sense of pride in carrying out his grim duty.

Breslin's column brings back that horrible day with the immediacy of 60 years ago.

 

 

 

 

Ronald Acuna Jr. again suffers season-ending injury

Ronald Acuna Jr.'s power and speed come with heart-breaking fragility.

The young Braves star's dazzling gifts blaze against a history of devastating injuries.

Acuna on Sunday afternoon in Pittsburgh suffered a season-ending torn ACL in his left knee on a routine motion, turning to head back to second base after halting a move to steal third. His left knee buckled from the seemingly innocuous spin.

In 2021, Acuna was lost for the season when he tore the ACL in his right knee chasing a fly ball in Miami, a much more athletically challenging play. Without Acuna, Atlanta won the World Series, but Braves fans still mourned his absence.

Fans could understand Acuna hurting himself in 2021 while leaping for a fly ball in right field. This year's torn ACL making an every-day turn on the infield dirt was more difficult to accept.

After winning the National League Most Valuable Player Award last season, hitting 42 home runs and stealing 73 bases, Acuna limped off Pittsburgh's sun-splashed field, his season over in an instant.

Baseball fans throughout the nation hope that Acuna returns with the same grace and power, enjoying a long and successful career.

But many fear that injuries will prevent Acuna from achieving his full potential.

Acuna's only 26 years old. It's sad that he's gone for another season.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Columnist Dick Yarbrough's solitary campaign to protect the Okefenokee Swamp

Popular columnist Dick Yarbrough's battle to save the Okefenokee Swamp from a potentially devastating mining operation contrasts with The Atlanta Journal-Constitution's recent silence on the issue.

Yarbrough, whose column appears in the Neighbor newspapers in Atlanta and elsewhere across the state, recently published a passionate open letter to Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp imploring him to stop the Twin Pines Minerals corporation's proposed mining operation on Trail Ridge near the swamp.

Environmentalists fear the mining operation would seriously damage the Okefenokee's water levels and wildlife. Yarbrough emphasized that the mine could ruin a proposed UNESCO World Heritage Site for the extraction of a material commonly used in consumer products.

The former Olympics public relations executive skewered the Georgia Legislature for not taking action to halt the Alabama company's plan to mine titanium dioxide, a whitening substance used in toothpaste, paint and other products.

Georgia's Environmental Protection Division has issued draft permits for  the Twin Pines' project.

Yarbrough expressed his ire at Senate Majority Leader Steve Gooch, who opposed legislation to halt the mining operation.

"Those are decisions that shouldn't be made by political entities," Gooch lamely asserted, to Yarbrough's consternation.

As Yarbrough battles Twin Pines, the mining proposal has disappeared from the AJC, which thoroughly covered the issue during the legislative session, including Gooch's controversial statement.

No AJC updates have appeared on the status of the EPD permits, or  investigative reports on the company's contributions to Georgia political leaders.

Unlike Yarbrough, AJC columnists haven't spoken out in support of the Okefenokee. Nor has the newspaper taken any new editorial stands against the mine.

Yarbrough stands alone in seeking to save the Okefenokee.

Writer Erik Reece follows author Harry Middleton's fly-fishing quest

Writer Harry Middleton like French philosopher Simone Weil found spiritual enlightenment from blue-collar work.

Middleton, whose devoted fans revere his books on fly-fishing, worked as a garbage man in suburban Birmingham on his last job. He died in 1993 at age 44, suffering a heart attack while swimming with his family. 

Battling severe depression throughout his life, what he called "the gut-bucket blues," Middleton went into a tailspin after his firing as a columnist for Southern Living magazine. He previously wrote for Louisiana Life magazine.

A graduate of Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, La., and recipient of a master's degree in western history from LSU, Middleton in his last days also worked as a factory janitor and grocery store stocker.

In his book "The Bright Country," Middleton expresses affection for his fellow sanitation workers and gives a heart-rending account of futilely seeking treatment for his depression. He rivals Weil as a writer who seeks spiritual fulfillment in everyday work.

Middleton's most fervent praise comes from fly-fishing acolytes who consider him one of the best chroniclers of the sport as a mystical quest.

The little-known writer receives an overdue homage in the current issue of "Garden & Gun" magazine, which consistently publishes compelling articles on Southern culture, branching out to places outside of the region that have a Southern connection.

Writer and University of Kentucky professor Erik Reece's "Deep Creek Communion" follows the paths traveled by Middleton in the  book "On the Spine of Time: A Flyfisher's Journey Among Mountain People, Streams & Trout," which details a fishing trip Middleton took across the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Published in 1991, "On the Spine of Time" describes Middleton's encounters with colorful characters and presents philosophical reflections on the journey from Abrams Creek on the park's western boundary to Big Creek on the East.

In the Garden & Gun article, Reece and his cousin Tye return to the places that Middleton visited. Reece cites relevant passages from "On the Spine of Time" and gives his own vivid impressions of the park's natural beauty. Gorgeous oil paintings by artist Gordon Allen illustrate the article.

I imagined Harry's spirit guiding Reece and his cousin toward their "deep communion."

 

A new Thomas McGuane short story in New Yorker a treasured literary event

I'm happy that a Thomas McGuane short story appears in the current New Yorker.

"Thataway," about an elderly brother and sister reconciling after the death of another sister, isn't one of McGuane's best stories, but I read it with a quick rush of pleasure.

Most contemporary stories in the New Yorker and literary journals lose me after the first paragraph. McGuane at age 84 is one of the few remaining writers whose stories I look forward to reading.

McGaune began publishing stories in the New Yorker in 1994 after writing classic novels such as "Ninety Two  in the Shade" and "The Bushwacked Piano." He also turned to screenwriting and directing films.

Beginning in the 1960s, McGuane along with Jim Harrison, Raymond Carver, Sam Shepard, Harry Crews, Richard Brautigan and other writers brought a new macho energy to American literature.

Like many of his stories, "Thataway" takes place in the American West. He's lived in rural Montana and Key West, Fla. along with other "outsider" writers. 

While McGuane's reputation as a novelist has somewhat declined, he's established himself as a master of the American short story.

One of the last surviving writers of his generation, McGuane's still creating work of enduring value.

 

My infatuation with Anthony Edwards, Naz Reid and the Minnesota Timberwolves

I'm an instant fan of the Minnesota Timberwolves.

Watching the Timberwolves for the first time this year during their series with the defending champion Denver Nuggets, I've become infatuated with their exciting play, culminating with their comeback from 20 points down Sunday night to beat the Nuggets and advance to the Western Conference finals against the Dallas Mavericks.

I've been following rising Timberwolves superstar Anthony "Antman" Edwards since he was an Atlanta prep sensation and inconsistently brilliant player for the Georgia Bulldogs.

Edwards plays with Michael Jordan-like swagger, using mesmerizing moves to hit three-pointers or drive to the basket. 

Along with at times underachieving star Karl Anthony Towns, defensive specialist Rudy Gobert, solid performer Jaden McDaniels and steady point guard Mike Conley, the Timberwolves surge when local folk hero Naz Reid enters the game.

Reid, unchosen in the NBA draft when he left LSU, received the league's sixth man award this year. He came off the bench Sunday night to spark the Timberwolves' fourth quarter rally, scoring 11 points and harassing NBA MVP Nikola Jokic. 

Tattoos of Reid's name are popular among Timberwolves fans, according to a recent Wall Street Journal article.

I'd love to see an NBA finals between the Timberwolves and the Indiana Pacers, who beat the New York Knicks Sunday to advance to the Eastern Conference finals against the Boston Celtics.

That would set up a battle between Edwards and the Pacers' incandescent young star, Tyrese Haliburton. Gobert, Towns and Reid would square off inside against the Pacers' Pascal Siakam and Myles Turner.

Oh no, I'm captivated by the NBA.

 

 

Atlanta rises above 500,000 in population

Atlanta has surpassed 500,000 in population, a long elusive landmark.

The city added 12,000 new residents between 2002 and 2003, reaching a population of 510,800 in July of last year, according to new census figures reported by The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

After years of hemorrhaging population, Atlanta has gained residents in the last decade, reaching an all-time high. Even in its years of growth following World War II, Atlanta never broke the 500,000 threshold.

 The city briefly exceeded 500,000 in 2019, but those numbers declined in the 2020 census, the AJC said

Metro Atlanta is now the sixth largest in the nation, outranking Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., according to recent figures. The metro population is projected to reach 7.9 million by 2050, in increase of 1.8 million over the 2020 census total.

While the city and outer regions of the metro area grow, the once booming North Fulton corridor of Sandy Springs, Johns Creek and Roswell surprisingly lost a little over 1 percent of their populations, the latest figures show.  Alpharetta, Stonecrest and Dunwoody suffered smaller falloffs.

The figures revealed that people are moving to the "exurbs" farther out from the city, while fleeing the close-in suburbs. Cumming, about 40 miles from the city of Atlanta, increased its population by 23 percent from 2022 to 2023.

Those puzzling findings indicate that while more people enjoy the convenience, cultural offerings and job opportunities of the inner city, others are attracted by the exurbs' lower costs. Businesses are also moving father out.

After years of attracting new residents and businesses, Sandy Springs and other close-in suburbs feel the downside of growth, higher housing prices, rising traffic and falling populations.

The suburbs that once derided the inner city now decline as Atlanta rises.

 

 

 

 

Washington Post critic Michael Dirda's "An Open Book" a Proustian memoir

Michael Dirda when growing up often had his nose in a book, upsetting his steel-mill worker father, Michael Dirda Sr.

Dirda's blue-collar upbringing in industrial Lorain, Ohio, gave him little preparation for a literary career, as recounted in his engaging 2003 memoir "An Open Book: Coming of Age in the Heartland."

In its wealth of details and memorable characters, Dirda's book recalls "In Search of Lost Time" by Marcel Proust, one of the many writers he mentions along the way. He also loved as a child paperback adventure stories, fantasy and science fiction and comic books, along with 1950s-era TV westerns.

The Washington Post's acclaimed book critic, who won the 1993 Pulitzer Prize, recalls a childhood marred by his father's anger and sense of failure and bolstered by his mother's stoic devotion to her son and his three younger sisters.

Dirda recalls his painful relationship with his father with a mixture of regret, compassion and sad humor.

Exacerbating his irritation at Dirda's bookishness, his father erupted in anger at his son when he enlisted his help on ambitious home construction projects that often went awry. A benevolent uncle, his mother's brother, often was enlisted to salvage the disastrous work.

Along with his abusive behavior, Dirda's father displays moments of rough love for his son, including frequent trips to the public library and dispensing folksy advice.

Dirda's Slovakian mother, Christine Burkl Dirda, is portrayed as an exuberant personality who showers her children with affection along with strict discipline. She holds on to her positive spirit, countering her husband's dark moods.

The introverted, nearsighted and unathletic Dirda feels isolated from Lorain, an ethnically diverse industrial city on Lake Erie near Cleveland.

Yet he also expresses affection for Lorain's parks, colorful characters and interesting stores and shopping centers, sharing his mother's pleasure at finding bargains. Dirda also fondly remembers visits to his family's many relatives of eastern European descent.

In contrast to more privileged intellectuals, Dirda eventually worked in hazardous jobs at his father's plant and as a construction worker installing aluminum siding.

Despite his love for reading, Dirda struggles academically until the end of high school. Eventually, he enjoys teen adventures with a close circle of friends and begins to excel in the classroom under the guidance of inspiring teachers.

Accepted to Oberlin College, a progressive liberal arts school near his home, Dirda slowly discovers his literary calling.

After initially struggling with Oberlin's demanding academic regimen, he at his father's life-changing encouragement studies harder and excels. He also finds his first serious girlfriend, a young woman from Nashville, Tenn.

Vietnam protests stir the campus, although Dirda mainly stays on sidelines He's more devoted to literature and classical music.

Dirda finds the model for his literary career when he meets the writer and translator Robert Phelps on his first visit to New York City before an expansive trip to Europe in the revolutionary summer of 1968.

Phelps, the father of one of Dirda's roommates, gives Dirda a decisive glimpse of the bookish life, inviting him to his crammed Greenwich Village study, where Dirda enjoys martinis and sees his first page proofs.

The book closes with Dirda's Oberlin-sponsored trip to idyllic Aix en Provence and Paris, still smoldering from the revolutionary turmoil of May, 1968.

Dirda also enjoys a passionate romantic encounter with a young women he meets at the opera. They take a hitch-hiking trip to Florence, then say farewell forever.

Exciting moments in Aix and Paris glow in his memory, yet Lorain and his childhood shine brighter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alice Munro's short story mastery casts light on genre's recent decline

Alice Munro stood at the forefront of the short story renaissance in the late 20th century.

Munro, who died at age 92 Monday at her home in Point Hope, Ontario, devoted herself to short stories in her nearly 50 year career that began in 1968.

Never publishing a novel, Munro won the Nobel Prize in 2013, honored for bringing new depth and psychological complexity to the short story format.

Along with Raymond Carver, John Cheever and Ann Beattie, she revived the popularity of short stories after years of the genre's declining readership.

While short stories flourish in literary journals and short story collections are still published, the genre again appears to be declining as a major literary form. The New Yorker and Harper's are the only mainstream magazines that still publish short stories.

Lorrie Moore, who wrote an appreciation of Munro's career published on the Atlantic's web site, is one of the few contemporary writers who've found widespread success with short story collections. In recent years, Moore's turned her attention to novels and critical essays.

Munro's popularity as a short story writer seems unlikely to be repeated.