McCarthy's Bar by Pete McCarthy

From time to time, I read books that confound me. In my middle-dotage, I've started shoving those books to the side with a phrase along the lines of "There's not enough time in the world to finish tripe like that." Within the first fifty pages of Pete McCarthy's McCarthy's Bar, I found myself wondering what the heck was his point. But I continued. I love Ireland and I'm not averse to drinking. And McCarthy has a way with words and phrases. At that point, I wasn't so sure about his having a way with books, but like I said, I'm not averse to drinking.

Before I'd reached page 100, I had realized it was basically a travelogue. He's driving around Ireland drinking in pubs, visiting stone circles, being accosted by killer cows (ok, not a killer), waxing philosophical and spiritual at times, and sleeping in B&Bs of all sorts. And telling stories about the many, varied people he meets in all these places. I don't really read travelogues too often, but that's fine. I mean, the guy's funny, so why not?

See, this is where I had a problem. McCarthy is funny. I would laugh out loud at times, which can be a little strange when you're sitting among weary commuters heading to or from New York. By page 150 or so, I'd decided that I would finish reading the book even though I was having a hard time justifying it to my inner book-reading snob.

Along the way, I discovered that the book has more going for it than just a travelogue. It really is about learning about your identity. McCarthy's asking, "Where do I belong?" He was born in England, though his family is Irish and he still has cousins and uncles living in Ireland. His accent is English, so there's no BSing about it to the Irish. (He's not visiting the U.S., after all.) And those he meets on his travels include people from Germany, Belgium, Russia... I think there may even have been an Uzbek in there somewhere. And they're becoming Irish — at least their kids are.

So can an English-born guy with Irish roots claim to be Irish? I'll let you read for yourself.

So carry the book with you for a few weeks. I wouldn't recommend you read it all in one sitting, unless you've got a lot of beer and hearty food with you. No, take it with you to a pub, read a few pages over a pint. Mark your place when someone sits down near you and chats (it may help to stop in an Irishy pub; they're everywhere now, which also is a point McCarthy makes), and enjoy the craic.

You may not remember every single person you meet on these pages, but you don't have to. This is one of those books where the journey is far more important than the destination. But when you've reached the last page, you'll realize you've found a nice place for resurrection.

Confessions of a Beer Guy

Though I've not been partaking of the grain much this holiday weekend, I'm an unabashed beer guy. I've got the gut to prove it (I've paid good money for this, so I'm not going to be ashamed of it — though I wouldn't mind being in better shape). While I have no problem with the occasional glass of wine — usually white when I have it — I'm unable to fully appreciate the nuance and subtlety of a fine wine; I simply don't have that training.

So when I saw a press release discussing a book on the differences between beer and wine, I knew I had to comment on it.

The book is called Grape vs. Grain: A Historical, Technological, and Social Comparison of Wine and Beer, and it's written by an academic of sorts -- Charles Bamforth, head of the brewing program at the University of California, Davis, but I get the impression that his book is at least worth picking up for a look see, even if you don't buy it.

The 224-page book includes social commentary on beer and wine, and comparisons of their histories, production techniques, types and styles, healthfulness, and future outlooks.

This Memorial Day Weekend, I think I'll be more likely to do my own personal experimenting with beer than read about other people's social commentary about it.

Here's my social commentary: Crack open a cold one and have a wonderful Memorial Day!

Hello NaNo WriMo

As you can see from the yum-yum yellow banner on the left-hand side, I've ventured into NaNo WriMo Land. They only require 50,000 words -- not 90,000 -- so it's not quite as rigorous as I'd feared. (I should have known better; my 282-page novel clocks in at around 95,000 words. I guess this novella would clock in around 120-125 pages.)

To any of the writers from the competition coming by to visit (and anyone else for that matter), welcome! I hope we can develop a little conversation and dialogue here. Think of the Bookshelf as a place to rest your pint glass that doesn't require coasters. Scotch drinkers welcome too. Sorry, no smoking.