Gunns, Germs, and Steel

It is not a secret that a good man is hard to find. Let it be said that Tim Gunn is a good man. He, along with Kate Moloney, has published Tim Gunn: A Guide to Quality, Taste and Style, an exquisitely stylish yet practical how-to tome. There is effusive language, dishy asides, and an immaculate collection of must haves. The authors speak to the reader not as one addresses a wayward, unenlightened child but as one speaks to a flower yet to blossom. That's right, this book will have you making such analogies as you type in your ballet flats, charcoal slacks and blouson top. I can't recommend it more; if you like him on PR or if you were fortunate enough to catch his own show (Tim! Loved the Magic Closet!!), then you should do yourself the favor of reading his book. Good for delightful, chic instruction.

I am Madame X, by Gioia Diliberto, is germinated in the identity behind of one of Art's more enduring portraits. It's set in Paris, bien sur, and the lady in question is a questionable lady. She's an American, penniless, beautiful and yet somehow (here's the metaphoric wink wink) she captures the heart of powerful men, becomes a fixture of high society, and sits for the talented but difficult John Singer Sargent. Diliberto is an adequate writer, her stage is filled with enough Parisian grandeur and pomp for most appetites. Her characters fall a little flat, however. Her Madame X is somewhat listless and boring if not beautiful; her life's work, little domestic details such as parties and lovers, alternate between voyeuristic and offhand objectivity. If the questions of beauty, morality, and identity are going to be asked from someone with a famously doubtful character, why not plump up her failures or successes instead of relying on her ennui? Good for beaches, or rainy afternoons.

Pearl S. Buck can rightfully take her place in the pantheon of American writers. She is confident, spare, and compassionate. I loved the Good Earth, and so I read The Mother thinking I would have more of the same. I did. It took some time settling into her prose which comes off stiff and old fashioned; the characters speak as though they lived in Jolly Olde pre-revolutionary China. This is a minor complaint, though. The Mother (we never discover her name) is a loving sketch of a woman, abandoned by her pretty and selfish husband, who must take up the mantle of responsibility for her children. She changes as she does so, becoming less a soft girl and more of a steely woman even as her interior girl pops up now and again to wreck havoc. The Mother falls into various traps as she struggles with her difficult circumstances, and like all Buck books there is an unexpected plot twist that levels the playing ground for all of the characters. Good when one needs substance, or a book report for Comp.