Saturday, January 31, 2009

Palm Beach or Bust by guest blogger Steven Head

Here's our latest review from our gurst blogger, Steve. His opening sentence is ironic, considering the springlike weekend we just had, and the pormise of similar weather this week. But I fear that Steve's first line is reality, and what we are experiencing is, well, just some nasty trick perpetrated by the evil spirits. It has been cold in my neighborhood and I know it is in the Manitowoc-Two Rivers metroplex as well. What a good time to read a book about a warm place, like Palm Beach, Florida, like this short book with a long title, “The Misadventures of Oliver Booth Life in the Lap of Luxury”.

Palm Beach, with mansions of “… thousands upon thousands of clay roof tiles bearing the shape and hue of bronzed Latin thighs sheltering their privileged residents from the steamy tropical climate”. Sounds good compared to a below zero wind chill.

Another charm of this little book, an afternoon’s read, is the way the title character, Oliver Booth, a pompous little man who behaves badly, finds himself repeatedly snubbed, pushed into a swimming pool, and facing commitment to a mental institution, to name a few. This brand of justice is best dished out in a novel, since real life is not usually as fair.

Bernard Dauphine is the other major character in this book, a young Frenchman who works as a server at one of Palm Beach’s social clubs and also the newest assistant at Oliver’s antique shop. While Bernard has no formal training in antiques, his knowledge of French history and ability to appreciate beauty, makes him superior to Oliver in antique acquisition.

The middle section of the book covers the trip Bernard and Oliver take to Paris to acquire antiques for a wealthy Palm Beach patron. It is in France where Oliver has some of his grandest misadventures. Starting with the flight and his attempt to get upgraded to first class, his ‘upgrade’ of hotel accommodations, his smashing encounter with a flea market vendor, and the engagement with the French legal system. Smiles and chuckles the constant companion.

I did not find any deep truths, no penetrating glimpses into human behavior, or redeeming moral values reveals. But it is a light hearted amusement and sometimes that is exactly what is needed.

The other item of interest is author David Desmond is the nephew of Donald Trump. Makes you wonder who served as the modeled for the boorish obnoxious title character.

***Interested in being a guest blogger? Email me at bdenor@lsol.net.

Oh, To Be A Star!

When the bitter January cold hits, the phone starts ringing relentlessly, my email count rises, and the random, drop-in visitors at LaDeDa multiply. That's because it's Heart-A-Rama time, and the itch to get eh latest HAR scoops gets the best of everyone in our production family. This always reminds me of that August cold snap signaling opening day of the county fair, and the first day of school. People just know. Throughout January and the coming months, somewhere in Manitowoc County, a HAR committee is meeting and planning some aspect of the annual wackiness presented in the name of heart health. 2009 marks our 39Th year. Can you believe that? 39 years of dressing up funny, selling toilet seats, assembling hot dogs., painting hearts upon bald heads...and this year we will reach our second million in donations. Next year, when the organization hits middle age, we will officially begin working on our third million.

If you follow my blog, you know that the book talk falls off this time of year,as I fill my posts with HAR news. This year, my plan is to photograph the scene behinders as they work to pull the show together. But, to kick things off, I dragged out a few pictures from the archives.

Sifting through the piles left me with two startling discoveries. First, I have no pictures of my friends doing normal things. They are all in costume, caked with make-up, and mugging. I'm not sure I know what any of them really look like. Second, I realize that our HAR men are troupers considering the use and abuse they endure for the show. Our women get to play the sweet young things, the vixens, and the unlikely villains. They get attractive wardrobe, and do their own make-up, which is an advantage since they know how to work with the contours of their faces - no freakish character make-up for them. Our men, on the other hand, just take a seat in the make-up room, and let someone have at them. Then they put whatever outlandish outfit has been prepared for them, and they step on stage, ready to greet the spirited audience - frequently in drag as you will see.

Enjoy these pictures.. I'm sure the subjects would agree that a little humiliation among friends keeps us all grounded.

This is Bobby. He was playing an orphan in a "Little Orphan Annie" parody called "Little Afrin' Arnie." He's holding a teddy bear and smoking a cigar. He also sported a nice topnotch, an Alfalfa sprout, but that isn't showing up here. Bobby had the darnedest time keeping his trap door shut. Double stick tape. Velcro. Nothing worked. The long-johns were so old that sewing it shut wasn't an option. The thread just tore through the fabric. Eventually, he opted to live with the breeze on his hinterlands, providing us many nights of off-stage laughter, and some fun photos.




Here's our Fritzie, playing Chuck! Yes, I said Chuck. Chuck needed money, so he took a gig as a substitute sex-ed teacher. The school preferred a woman, so Chuck posed as Lola, when applying for the job. "Chuck Needs Money; Chuck Wants Romance; Chuck Gets Brand New Underpants" pretty much tidies up the plotline for you.
Finally, here's Brad. We put him in a dress so many years in a row that he eventually broke down and bought his own, properly fitting underpinnings. The five o'clock shadow and thousdands of tiny hairs on his hands add a little somthing.


Well, that's HAR report for this week. Auditions are Sunday, Feb 8Th at 12:00, and Monday, Feb. 9Th at 7:00. Be there! Kadow Hall at the Capitol Civic Centre. Oh joy! Oh Rapture! Yippee! It's Heart-A-Rama time!

*****What am I reading? The Secret of Lost Things by Sheridan Hay...perfect for anyone who likes books, or hanging around in bookstores. More next week...maybe.


*****Who needs a joke of the week when you have Brad's pensive graduation pose to set your heart to dancing?

*****From the "Nonsense News" drawer...my Christmas tree is still up. I may be committed to a long haul with this one. It's growing! Check back tomorrow. I might take a few pictures for you if I'm not too emotionally distraught after tonight's episode of "The Bachelor."

Friday, January 23, 2009





Here's the small stack of advance ready copies (ARC's) that we received this week. Nooks and crannies around the store - the kitchen, the office, the hallways - and my home basement...are filled with these. Now, don't go getting the impression that I'm a crazy pack-rat person. What I save, I save with intention, or by accident, or out of fear of economic depression, enemy insurrection, threat of monsoons, or personal tragedy so profound it renders me incapable of gathering more stuff. So, I repeat, I am not a crazy pack-rat person.

Then why do I allow these ARC's to occupy spaces in my life where little or no space exists? Part of me believes that I will someday read them. One by one. Page by page. Story by story. I want to read them, and so when the great winter sorting begins, the ARC's generally make it though the cut. I also enjoy giving copies to friends who I know have a favorite author, theme, or style. Sometime I slip them a title contrary to their norm to see what happens.

I like the imagined conversations the recipients of these free tokens might have with the bookish companions. "Of course I read that old thing. I read it six months before it was published. Pre-publication novels are my genre of choice. But you have to wait until the release date, or until the library scrapes together enough cash to buy a copy. You poor, poor creature, you!" At this point, there is surely a superior head toss, and a nasty, satisfied, internal laugh.

Each of these little treasure comes with tons of hype exploding off the covers, and in letters from the publishers and authors promising the book to be the next NYT #1 bestseller. The teasers are all quite hyperbolic...but, I fall for them. Hence the collection of unread ARC's at every turn.

Here's a sample of the promo material...
Secrets She Left Behind.....One afternoon, single mother, Sara Weston, says that she's going to the store - and never returns. In her absence, she leaves her teenage son alone with his damaged past and a legacy of secrets!

The Duck that Won the Lottery...more addictive mental workouts from the author of The Pig that Wants to be Eaten

The Boss...exposes the truth about what work can do to the human soul

and finally....

Fool, by Christopher Moore...Warning: this is a bawdy tale. Herein you will find gratuitous shagging, murder, spanking, maiming, treason, and heretofore unexplored heights of vulgarity and profanity, as well as non-traditional grammar, split infinitive, and the odd wank. If that sort of thing bothers you, then gentle reader, pass by, for we endeavor only to entertain, not to offend. That said, if that's the sort of thing you think you might enjoy, then you have happened upon the perfect story.

So, which one would you pick? I'm reading Fool. The tantalizing warning was playful enough to draw me in, but I do enjoy Moore's work in small doses. He is bawdy. He is irreverent. He is twisted. But he takes classic stories and fractures them to the point of irresistible hilarity. Fool is a retelling of Shakespeare's King Lear, from the court jester's perspective, and everything promised in the marketing come-on is delivered. I have to read Moore books fast. His humor has momentum, and if I stop reading at the wrong point in the set up, and return to the plot in mid-stream, it seems a lot like frat boy humor. The stuff that made David Letterman famous...throwing water balloons out of 12 story windows at passers-by.

So far, so good. The plot is true to the Lear line of daughters, Regan, Goneril and Cordelia. Since I know what happens in the original, I can concentrate on the escapades of the rascally jester, and his stories of saints' lives - St.Rufus of Pipewrench who was licked to death by a marmot; St. Cinnamon who drove the mazdas out of Swinden. Moore makes me laugh. So does Augusten Borroughs. I have also dug into his essay collection called Magical Thinking. He's got a David Sedaris vibe, and that works just fine for me.

**********

Heart-A-Rama kicked off on Sunday when the steering committee gathered to read the scripts that our writing groups have submitted for this year's show. That means auditions are not far behind. HAR serves as a wonderful winter blues buster for me. When I was still teaching, I'd hear my colleagues talk about the long haul from Christmas to Easter with hardly a break. I was never affected. I had HAR rehearsals to look forward to a couple night a week, along with all the hoopla of getting the show details organized. The time flew. Winter is not so cumbersome when you have something you enjoy to fill the chilly days.


*****Here's GB after her haircut. What's up with that crazy eye, huh?


I just cannot get a good picture of this animal. GB is much cuter than this satanic eye shot shows. But, at least I can say that I have a picture of her face. I usually get her tail, or her butt, as she walks out of the shot. I call this her Sarah Woodruff pose. Remember that heartbreaking scene in The French Lieutenant's Woman, where Sarah stares out to sea, painfully alone, waiting for the return of her lost lover? The sticken look on Meryl Streep's face remains one of the strongest movie images for me. Can't you just feel the melancholy in GB's heart? Perhaps it's gas.


Here's a Shakespeare chuckle:


Three things you'll never hear a redneck say:

3. Come to think of it, I would enjoy a cosmopolitan.

2. Duct tape most certainly will not fix that!

1. I'll take Shakespeare for $1000.00, Alex.


And so, I bid you adieu.

A short afterword: What a difference a day makes! I wrote this blog yesterday, and while, yes, it is still bitterly cold today, isn't this a beautiful day? The air is clear, and the sun is dancing off the ice crusted snowbanks. Now, I suppose it helps that I went to bed at 9:30 last night. GB's snoring work me. She had nestled herself on my pillow with her back end tucked neatly into the curve shaped by my neck and shoulder. The world sure does look grand after a good night's rest with a dog butt on your shoulder!

Oh, if you can, check out the exhibit at the Rahr West...featured works by Ron Stokes and the Art and About group.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Don't Stop the Carnival

The deep freeze finally got the best of me. I packed my bags and went off on a Caribbean adventure with two favorite characters - Jimmy Buffett and Norman Paperman. Right now, while you shiver in your long johns, feeling the guilt of having wished away those 100 degree temps in August, I am sipping a coconut and pineapple concoction on the rickety boardwalk of a colorful island hideaway.

In reality, I'm reading Herman Wouk's Don't Stop the Carnival, and listening to bit of a musical soundtrack by the same name. If you know me well, you know that flying doesn't suit me, but the right book at the right time works just fine for a quick getaway. The way I figure it, we have a few more weeks of this cantankerous weather, and I refuse to spend those weeks yammering about how relentless Mother Nature is... burying us in heavy white gunk which we must shovel day after day, or, when the mood strikes, she attempts to freeze us in some dialbolical science experiment. Instead, when it gets to be too much, I will run away.

The comedic "Carnival," written in 1965, is a departure for Wouk, who is best know for more serious works including Marjorie Morningstar, The Caine Mutiny, and War and Remembrance. Our hero, Norman Paperman is a successful Broadway producer (Wouk got me right away with the theatre theme) who has a heart attack, an epiphany, and a mid-life crisis in quick succession. Like many straining to escape the rat race, Norman briefly explores his options, and then hastily decides to buy a hotel in the Caribbean. Makes sense, doesn't it?

From there, Murphy's Law rears it's ugly head, and Norman's dream of life in a tropical paradise is threatened at every turn. Welcome to the isle of discontent, Norman Paperman! Upon his arrival, Norman is greeted by the governor who walks him through the hotel, pointing out the existing violations which must be fixed immedialty. The hotel water system fails on Norman's first night. It has run dry due to a drought, and the emergency cistern works on a pump that no one actually knows how to operate. When, Hippolyte, the former hotel handyman agrees to return to work, Norman discovers that he is a homicidal maniac - yet another issue for Norman to resolve.

Amid the craziness, a bouquet of colorful, engaging characters bloom. Is it sadistic for me to say that it was fun watching someone else's troubles? No. That is exactly what Wouk wanted. He effectively creates the type of tension where, page after page, you're blurting things like "No, Hippolyte isn't really going to try to behead island millionaire, Tom Tilson...oh yes he is!" That happens time and time again. Wouk sets up the situation, leads you down the path, then quickly doubles back, masking the impending doom in a veil of false security. And, then, with a simplly turned phrase, - disaster. If you're a person who feels the need to warn those sweet young things in slasher movies..."No, don't go up the steps. Please, please, please, don't walk down that dark hall. Grab a baseball bat, for crying out loud. OK, well, it's OK that you're up there, but don't open the bedroom door...Oh jezze, I told you not to do that!" - you'll like this book. It's Herman Wouk -obviously it's going to be more sophisticated than a slasher movie. All sorts of themes present themselves, for those of you who need justification for reading a farce of a tale like this...love vs. lust, fantasy vs. reality...the nature of friendship, the complexity of desire....

Jimmy Buffet, who in my estimation, is one of the best musical storytellers around (and runs a close race with Johnny Depp for my affections,) took on the legend of Norman Paperman. In 1997, he debuted a musical taking it's name and plot from the Wouk novel. Basically, it bombed, but the music is magical. It stands alone nicely as a concept piece without knowing the book, but is much richer if you have read Don't Stop the Carnival.
So, that's it. No time for a little joke this week. I'm late for a Harry Belafonte concert.

***Is it just my imagination, but does that Jimmy Buffett profile at the top look at teensy bit like our favorite, local high school principal?

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Gargoyle or Grotesque? by guest blogger Steven Head



What do you do when you get the same book from two people in a 24 hour period? It is some kind of sign? Or could it be a curse? Should the book be read or avoided?

I don’t know about you but I was unable to resist. The first person raved about the first chapter. I read the first chapter and was struck more by the opening sentence than the entire chapter. “Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.” I could have let the first chapter stand alone, an open ended mystery. And then the mailman brought the second copy, the sender not giving a reason.

And what is the title of this book? The Gargoyle, by Andrew Davidson, a first (published) novel. The first person narrative opens with an auto accident that finds a trapped main character, upside down in a burning car that rolls further down the ravine into a creek, putting out the fire, and saving his life. This chapter is filled with detailed descriptions of burning flesh and begins the novel-long description of burn patient treatment and recovery. Some may find this chapter very intense and the urge to put the book down will be similar to the inclination to ‘look away’ when seeing a burn victim. Work through it, the effort yields reward.

By the end of the second chapter we’ve learned more about the treatment of severe burns and narrator’s personal history started in chapter one. We also discover our main character has no desire to keep on living and has planned a detailed suicide that makes the description ‘redundant’ sound pedestrian.

Chapter three is when Marianne Engel enters the story and starts us down the path of this love story that spans centuries. Marianne befriends the charred narrator and subsequently shares a number of stories of love with a common theme of sacrifice. She also measures out the details of her own history and reveals in segments the key moments of their love affair starting in medieval Germany. The narrator is skeptical of this claim of a centuries old love but her attachment to him is sincere, yet cryptic, and she is indifferent to his appearance whereas former friends have turned and run.

The other element of this novel that deserves mention is Dante Alighieri’s “Divine Comedy”, and specifically the ‘Inferno’ section, which weaves in and out of the story. But you really do not need to have read this work to appreciate the role it plays. Although even a little knowledge can help.

If you have the discipline to read a chapter a day this book will take a month to read. I found the story too compelling to limit my intake to such small bites. History, religion, literature, medieval culture, stone sculpting, revenge, betrayal, addiction, and more are all peripheral to this love story. Many chapters end with a cliff-hanger, keeping you turning page after page. Once again, this is primarily a story of love, not to be confused with a romance novel.

So why did two different women think this aging bachelor should read this book? Given the first person narrative it is difficult not to identify with the central character, if even momentarily. I hope never to know the experience of burns covering most of my body. But I do know the disappointments, regrets, indifference, and failure of will in relationships. So was there some message for me in this book? Yup, and there may be one for you as well.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Dog Day Afternoons

This happy Christmas card from my friend Emily and her buddy, Sydney, arrived about the same time I gave in to endless peer pressure to read Marley and Me. I had been resisting from the moment the book started showing up in trade journals. You know that whenever there is a dog in a book, there is a sad ending. Take Old Yeller, for example...need I say more? And Bambie..or The Yearling...or The Red Pony...OOPS...not dogs, but the same darn concept. Who wants to read about how wonderful an animal is, only to have the good times come to a screeching halt when the inevitable nastiness happens?

Nonetheless, I have been reading about Marley cautiously, knowing full well what will happen at the end. I turn each page slowly, and peek for any words that hint at impending doom. So far, so good, but I know I will not read to the dog-gone end. I honestly am enjoying the book. Not only is Marley truly the worst dog in the world, he is not so very different from the bad dogs I have owned.

I didn't have dogs as a kid, except for one that I never got a chance to name. It (didn't get to know it well enough to determine if it was male or female) scared me, and I believe I let it loose on it's first night with us. No sign of the poor thing after that. My only memory of good old nameless, besides the fear, was feeding it Cheerios through a hastily opened and slammed door. There was a string of canaries, all named Peep. None of them would sing. Once Peep Three got loose and I stopped him from making a break for it by slamming my hand down on his tail as he scurried across the living room floor. Peep kept moving, but his tail stayed behind. The next day Peep Four came to live with us. After the canaries, I moved on to the Georges, a series of blue parakeets. They would not speak, or do any of the tricks the library books professed they could be taught. I played them birdsong records endlessly trying to get them to imitate other birds. There were a couple turtles in the mix, and I think there might have been a kitten, but I don't really remember. All I know is that I really wanted a dog, and my parents just keep showing up with other critters.

Dynamite Marilyn was my first dog. When I wore my parents down, they found a poodle breeder and made arrangements for me to pick one out when the litter was old enough to move on. I didn't want a poodle. Too, fussy. Too fancy. What I wanted was a wiener dog, that is, until I spotted a puny mutt getting beaten up by a bunch of hoodlum dogs in the window of the Colonial Pet Shop on 8th street. Before long, I was the proud owner of Dynamite Marilyn, the $8.00 wonder dog.
TNT was the best. This dog was so patient, although most people interpreted her patience as slowness. When she wanted a belly rub, she ambled up to the nearest arm and placed her front paw on it. There she would wait until some gratuitous rubbing ensued. She would wait endlessly. Dynamite had OCD and cleaned compulsively. I never saw an animal wash as much as she did. Her daily bath began with the outside parts she could reach, followed by the undercarriage areas, then the face. She would lick her paws, and rub then over her face again and again and again. When she finished cleaning herself, she started in on the furniture. At bedtime, the cleansing of the sheets ritual began. For nine years, my dog, my house and yes, even me, were spit polish clean. Was she my best dog? She definitely was one of my best.
Bandit arrived soon after Dynamite died from a long, drawn out ordeal with cancer. Just horrible. The poor girl looked like an anatomy chart the last six months of her life. Half of her body was shaved for surgeries, the other had a beautiful, blond coat. Bandit, I learned shortly after her purchase, had been bred in a puppy mill. She was great the first 24 hours at home, then she just laid down, and seemed determined to die at 6 weeks old. I packed the little three pound Shi Tzu up and off we went to the vet, who found three parasites in her intestines; she was also loaded with nits. His staff stayed overtime that night to pick hundreds of nits from her coat. Then he began a crusade to shut down the Green Bay pet shop where I purchased her. He was successful.
Bandit was a lovey puppy. Contentment, to her, was sitting on my lap, or laying tight against me as I read, watched TV or slept. Some of my fondest memories of her are from Heart-A-Rama writing on Sunday afternoons. More often than not, Marilyn Lloyd would grab the wicker chair near the fireplace, put her feet up on the footstool, and wait for Bandit to slip into place across her ankles. The two of them spent many Sunday afternoons that way - Marilyn helping write song lyrics and one-liners for the show, and Bandit, snoring on her feet. Bandit took a special liking to Jim Jansen, who you might remember a the little person from the DMV. Jim had a severe allergy to dogs, and even though Shi Tzus generally are OK for most people, he would wind up sneezing. Wouldn't you know, Bandit adored him. Jim, too, wrote for Heart-A-Rama, and Bandit was always happy to see him. She snuggled with him, and even accompanied him to the bathroom. He tried to reason with her, but that didn't work. Bandit lived nearly 18 years. Most of them were pretty good for her, despite the loss of hearing and eyesight toward the end.
Now I have Mrs. George Burns (GB), and this is a whole new experience. We have been together nearly seven years, and she still doesn't like me all that much. She prefers the neighbors. I am utilitarian to her. Food. Minimal play (her choice, not mine), and opening the door so she can rush into the backyard to empty out. Other than that, she lives her life, and I live mine. I'm not sure what to make of it, exactly, and I keep hoping that she will grow up to be Bandit. GB isn't very bright. When she wants to avoid me, she hides in full view under the coffee table. She sits under the skylight and watches air. GB has a single communication technique - kicking her back legs out behind her like a bull preparing to change. This means "I am thirsty, hungry, have to go outside, bored, tired, can't find a toy..." I get to guess. Despite it all, I like her just fine, and know that as long as she is around, I am guaranteed to laugh several times a day. Our favorite friend outing is going to the vet. It's always fun to watch heads turn when the vet tech comes into the waiting area and hollers," George Burns, you can see the doctor now."
I didn't make her holiday haircut appointment early enough this year, and so she looked a little like a Rastafarian until Jan 6th, when she finally was groomed. Here' s a picture of her (before haircut) in a new jacket my neighbors bought her.


Here's this week little chuckle:

What do you get when you cross a pit bull with a collie?

A dog that rips your leg off and then runs to get help.

And... in keeping with out goal to make you all smile more each day, go to Yahoo or Google, and type in "Cute Things Falling Asleep." Guaranteed to make you smile.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Let's Laugh!


I stuck this CD in my car player about three weeks ago, and have been having a grand time. No one is better storyteller than Garrison Keillor, and his annual Prairie Home Companion joke show is one I anticipate and generally miss. So, I bought the CD's instead.

The discs are riddled with puns, one-liners, knock-knock, bar jokes, light bulb jokes, regional humor and lots more. There are knee-slappers, side-splitters and groaners, with some thoughtful commentary from Keillor for balance.

One comment has always intrigued and troubled me, and today I finally took the time to verify through a couple of different sources. The numbers vary, depending on the source, but the chasm between the high and low stats are deep, no matter the source, and deeply troubling.

What am I talking about? According to Keillor, and others (with the above disclaimer explaining any statistical discrepancies for those of you who may nose around to double check the numbers!) , children laugh 300 times a day. Adults, on average, laugh 20 times.

That is pathetic! That is sad. That is just so very wrong. We need to change that! While that number is happily not true of most people in my life, we have made a pact around here to laugh more, have more fun, and not take the day-to-day stuff too seriously. And so, my blog friends, I will be including you all in our mission to make Manitowoc laugh, chuckle, chortle, guffaw, snicker, titter, snort, giggle, grin, or whatever it is you personally do when amused. Yes, I will do my best to include a riddle, joke, or little comic at the end of each post- mostly one-liners. They are short and there is less chance for typos which I hope you poof-reading gurus will appreciate.

Our first little joke is from Terri.

Q: What goes "Ha ha ha ha thump?"

A: A man laughing his head off!

******Inventory with be done by the end of the day Saturday. I am soooo sad. Then the big post-holiday cleaning extravagana begins.

I finished Little Women, which I have determined, is much like The Adventures of Robin Hood. Everyone seems to know the story, but no one has really read it. More next week.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Night train to Tehran by guest blogger Steven Head



Over the past 10 days we learned of a new outbreak of violence along the Gaza Strip involving the Palestinian’s and Israel. It seems the 6 months cease fire had ended and now both sides are pointing at the other as being the bad actor. Hamas, Hezbollah, Palestinians. We hear the names but know little about them, much like Kurds, Sunni, Shia. Of course Middle Easterners would scratch their heads if they heard about Catholics, Episcopalians, and the various Lutheran tribes, Wisconsin and Missouri, to name a few.

Over the Thanksgiving break I caught a segment of a C-Span author interview concerning a new book about the Middle East, and Iran in particular. The author is Robert Baer, and his book is The Devil We Know, Dealing With the New Iranian Superpower, published earlier this year. A little over 2 weeks ago I picked it up and recently finished reading it and think it is worth recommending.

I first encountered Robert Baer on a road trip to Manitowoc about a year ago. I listened to the audio version of Baer’s See No Evil about his experience as a CIA operative from the mid 1970’s to the mid 1990’s, primarily in the Middle East. It was this book that is supposed to have inspired the movie “Syrianna” with Rosemary Clooney’s nephew. In addition to being well written it offered an insight into the workings of the Middle East as well as the forces that shaped the US relationships with this region.

If you already know all you want or need to know about Iran right now, then do not buy his new book. On the other hand if you are curious about the politics, partners, strategies, goals, and paradoxes of Iran, then you might want to give this book a read. Baer’s insights into Iran are not based upon his CIA days some 10 years ago but from a recent visit as part of the production team of a British documentary as well as on-going contacts with current and former players in and from the Middle East.

In the US, the conventional wisdom is this area of the world is made up on people living in the past tied to religions we do not understand, with a predisposition to violence against each other, and a history of making threats against America. The US presence in Afghanistan and Iraq have made us aware of this region but little has been done to really educate us about it, particularly from the ‘news media’. While we had hoped to combat terrorism, bring an end to a cruel dictator, and promote democracy, the reality is far from our hopes.

Baer contends the US, as the only current superpower, needs to be open to the idea that Iran has visions of, and is moving toward, becoming a superpower. And he does not necessarily think this is a bad thing. Contrary to conventional wisdom, Baer points out Iran has become very pragmatic and while the Muslim religion is important, it is balanced with political and economic sophistication, as well as military might.

Baer combines his insights into contemporary Iran along with a review of regional events including the Lebanon-Israel conflict where Iran was a silent player supporting the Lebanese in turning back the invading Israeli’s, which in part explains Israel’s ‘elephant gun to kill an ant’ actions of the past several days. He explores the on-going connection of Iran, Hezbollah, and Hamas, the lessons Iran took from the Iran-Iraq war, relations with neighboring countries pre- and post-Saddam and especially Saudi Arabia, the role of Iran in the Iraq occupation by the US, and the desire of Iran to create an Empire. He also explores the fundamental misunderstanding of this region by current and previous White House administrations. This is not a feel good book. The observations and conclusions offered by Baer will not let you sleep more comfortably.




The conclusion of the book offers three alternatives for the US, i) contain Iran through a hundred year military presence in the region; ii) provoke a civil war between the Sunni and Shia; ii) find a way to make Iran an ally and work toward mutually beneficial ends. None without risk although for Baer the choice is clear. He also offers a 9 point negotiation strategy with Iran.




I cannot say if everything he says is true or not, and he shares his own pessimism about what he has been told. However, he is a trained observer, an experienced intelligence gatherer, a spy if you will, and an intelligence analyst. Reading this book has at least helped me to identify the players, their strengths and weaknesses, and how they are alike and different. If you are curious, pick up this book and give it a read.